My Hair is in Your Hands

  The time to discover that you really wish you were more fluent in French is not when you're in a beauty salon. Exposed roots may be in style somewhere, but it's not here.  French women take the care of their hair just as seriously as they do their food.  Scratch that.  They are MUCH MORE serious about their hair.
  Hair styles and cuts here, from what I've observed are simple.  The Bob, (not like Dorothy Hamill's cut) in different forms, is still very popular.  In this hot and humid weather lately,  women with long hair have been putting it up in a nonchalant twist or a casual ponytail.  Gratefully I don't see them constantly playing with their long hair, tossing it around, or god forbid, running their fingers through it while at the grocery store.
  They're into simple here, simple makeup, simple hair styles.  Not for them is a morning routine of washing, drying and burning one's hair with a hot roller set.  (Which probably explains why when I was searching for a curling rod, I found just one in all of this part of Paris.)
  What they do not like is frizzy hair.  With the heat and the humidity this summer, the French woman wages war against the dreaded frizz.
  Moving to Paris was taking a chance.  Getting my hair done for the first time in a Paris hair salon was an act of bravery.  But "color" is easily understood, especially when your roots are as wide as the Champs d'Elysees.
  The salon I went to had a stylist who spoke some English and was fluent in pantomime.  She apologized about her lack of vocabulary.  I said I'd never be able to speak French as well as she already spoke English, but my pantomime was very good too.  Mireille told me nowadays, people must learn English if they want to get ahead.
  I was helped into my fashionable disposable gown and offered the beverage of my choice.  Color, wash, condition, wash, Keratin magic applied, iron, wash...I lost track of the steps and the procedure.  My head has never been treated with such tenderness-my scalp was massaged to the state where I was really just putty in Mireille's hands.  
  I've had my hair ironed straight before, but not to the point where it changed the color and smelled like shrimp tempura.  Other clients at the salon were obviously interested in what was being done to my hair, while surreptitiously looking for the fire exits.  Medusa herself never caused such concern.
 Four hours later, (almost as long as a French dinner) the roots had been dispelled and I had a color that can be described as delicious.  My hair resembled a Dior mink coat-sleek, shiny and soft.  And almost as expensive.
  But it was the first time a Parisian hair stylist has done my hair. And I was pampered by the entire staff, cosseted by the salon owner, and smiled at by the other clients.
  To a round of "oh la la's", I paid my bill (my own "oh la la" moment) and Mirielle handed me her business card.  As I was leaving, she smiled at me, and in perfect English said, "Thank you for trusting me."

Small Things Matter

  The refrigerator I had in my dorm room has found a new life as the permanent resident in our Paris kitchen.  Its small size almost demands that I shop for groceries on a daily basis.
  So I haul out my aerodynamic shopping cart, uncool as it may be to pull one of those.  I don't care.  It carries a lot of things over the bumpy cobble stone roads I have to walk.
  It's overcast this morning as I roll my cart along.  I'm going to the closest market where the staff are Indian and speak French and English fluently.
  Here's a photo of the cheese section.  It's just 1/4th the size of the selection.

  I maintained self control.  We already have 8 different kinds of cheese in our refrigerator.

  Checkout time:  Every sales clerk I've encountered at a grocery store sits on a stool at their register.  You unload your own purchases.  When you're given your total, almost always you're asked if you have exact change or change?  When my total is 38.75 euros and I hand the clerk two 20 euro bills I don't expect to be asked for the exact change.  I do know the currency and can give her the exact change but I don't have it this morning, desolee.
  And then I pack my own groceries in my non-chic rolling cart and head out the door.

  Maybe I'm the only woman pushing a shopping cart who stops dead in her tracks to admire something and take a photo of it.

 

  Then I pass the statue of Benjamin Franklin I see every day.

 

I'm shopping for my groceries.  In Paris.  And I feel at home here.

Doing it All Can't be Done

  I'm glad I have an iPhone and can take advantage of its camera because I dislike lugging a big camera around.

  I confess that don't really like taking photographs.
  1) Whatever I'd like to photograph has already been done, and by professionals.
  2) Whenever I take a photo of something, I always feel "removed" from it.  Something is between me and my actual experience.

  But I do buy some postcards because
  1) somebody caught whatever the subject was, better than I could
  2) and they may have a more interesting angle
  3) and they're likely not to have throngs of camera toting tourists clogging up the scene.

  On some trips I just don't have the time to sit and do a thorough entry.  I WANT TO BE IN THE EXPERIENCE, not just recording it.  So I'll glue a favorite postcard, write down a few facts and my  impressions and then do a very quick sketch.

  That's how I feel like I really saw and experienced something.

Le Chat Noir-seen everywhere and on everything.
I love it.

Living in a Foreign Country is for the Courageous!

  Some people who get to live in a foreign country don't feel comfortable there.  They seek out places that other Americans live, eat only in American restaurants (really!) and don't bother to learn the language.  I don't get that.  Why not just stay home?
  Anyone who has lived overseas has challenges.  The language, the customs, the currency, etc.  It's one thing to be a tourist, yet another to be an expat, muddling through the day.
  Every day I'm challenged and I take it as a dare to get through it.
  Last night my challenge was to figure out how to operate the gas stove without torching our flat.  (We have an electric range at home.  I can't remember when I last had gas.  A stove, you know.)
  I admit it.  I've been here almost 2 weeks and have not cooked a single meal until last night.  I finally decide to, and I'm faced with a cook top that demands translation.

    "Not intuitively obvious" as my dear husband says.
  I take it as a sign that I shouldn't cook while living here in Paris.

Challenging Myself

  "I think I'll draw the Eiffel Tower" I said to myself.
   And so I did.

Driving in Paris

  There is so much to see here in Paris!  There are so many things to do here!  It may sound sentimental but there are moments here that actually my eyes leak a little.
  Yesterday we picked up my niece and her boyfriend and did a road trip outside of the city.  (Lucky kids are doing work study here in Paris.)
  We went on a drive to Reims, the city of Joan of Arc.  (I'm used to the English spelling of "Reims" as "Rheims", but when you are in France, I'll side with the natives.)
  We had a leisurely lunch (2 1/2 hours) then split up.  I spent all my time in the church-Notre Dame du Reims.  I took a lot of photos and tried to sketch a stained glass panel I admired.  It's mind boggling to think that some kind of place of worship stood here since the 400's A.D.  (Yes, that's 400 HUNDRED A.D.  Without a "1" in front of that "4".)
  My favorite things were the sculptures on the exterior of the church.  And the gargoyles and waterspouts were whimsical and scary too.
 The day ended with a drive around the Arc de Triomphe.  I'd tell you what that looked like but I was busy praying with my eyes closed.
  Twelve roads feed into 7 lanes around the Arc.  "Lanes" is a subjective term.
  You better know what you are doing or you will be going around and around the Arc until you've made a groove in the pavement or run out of petrol.  I wouldn't know as I am never going to drive in Paris.
 

Best Intentions

  I really thought I could blog about our life in Paris on a daily basis.  Truthfully, that requires more discipline than I have.  I've been exploring our neighborhood by foot (the best way to see it) and eating my way through 400 plus varieties of cheese (purely research).
  I am on a daily adventure the minute I step outside our ornate and heavy doors.  I love my life here and I'm so grateful for this opportunity.

 
    A few steps from our apartment, we can take the Metro and be anywhere in Paris in a few minutes.  While it's convenient, once you get the hang of it, you're underground.  Granted, some of the stops are pretty amazing but all the action is above ground.
  Today we drove ("we" meaning "my husband") to the huge British book store, W.H. Smith.  We opted to do this just to see how bad traffic and parking could be on a Saturday in Paris.  Many people are on holiday and away from the city now.
  I've seen worse when it comes to traffic while in Boston or LA.  As for parking, Mark found a spot just around the corner from the bookstore.
  What a visual feast to see the monuments!  I was chattering away like a mynah bird as my husband was trying to concentrate on his driving.
  We have a lot more exploring to do, whether it's by car, bus or by walking.  We'll wait until the temperatures aren't in the 90's to do so.

The Paths of Paris

  There are two ways to walk down to the Seine from our apartment.  The first one-all you have to do is follow the crowds of tourists to the Trocadero.  Walk past Displays of Public Affection (yes, they make out a lot here in Paris), bouncing baby carriages (see previous comment) and end up in photos where someone from Milan is going to ask someday "Who is that person?"
  The second option is the path my husband showed me the other well-lit evening.  Apparently it's only known to the locals.  Follow that path and your only companions are birds.

  The rails are made to resemble curved tree branches and trunks.  The path is mossy and green.  I feel compelled to slow down and take it all in.
  What a contrast the scenery here is, compared to the desert.
  I am enchanted by this path and use it every day.

Vignettes

  Today I went exploring.  I decided to have lunch at Le Wilson.  Here is a photo of the "Shepherdess Salad".

  Enough for me and three of my best shepherdess friends.

  Cafe creme:  the best coffee I've had so far since I've been here:
 

  I don't intend to make this a food blog but it's not easy to write about Paris and not talk about food too.  Paris really is a moveable feast.

Surprise! Surprise!

  Life here is full of surprises.  I tell myself to just go with it.  Say "Oui oui" a lot and hope you just didn't agree to give a stranger the title to your car.
 
  I slept in until almost noon this morning.  Parisians stay out late and sleep in and I'm just doing what the locals do.
  I lie.  I am jet lagged.  Jet laaaaagggggggged.
 
  It's noon and I'm still in my sleep shirt.  I hear the door open and wonder why my husband is home mid day?
  He's not.  There's a woman I don't know, and she has cleaning supplies.  Apparently we have a cleaning lady.  Apparently the woman in charge of overseeing the care of our apartment (I don't know what to call her anything but "my Angel") sent her.
  Or I just let a broom and mop armed serial killer into our apartment.
  She doesn't speak English. My French?  Brought to you today by the Letter O.
  Dammit.  Even the cleaning women here are chic and Size Nonexistent!  She's blonde, built like a ballerina, with sculpted arms and beautiful beaded sandals.
  And here I am-a non-fashionable, lucky to have something on, American woman.
  I am not doing anything to advance our cause, American ladies!
  I have an excuse.  I am jet lagged.  Jet laaaaaaggged.
  Righto.

Lafayette, I am ici!

  Pardon, madames et monsieurs, my "franglais", but I am happy to be here in Paris. I'm getting settled in slowly.
 Being in Paris-- I have been put through the wringer since June, and I believe this is my reward

 For the record:  ( I am so far behind on posts)

• June consisted of a horrendous move to Colorado Springs that took days longer than it should have
• Mark had to return to Paris 3 days after we were in Colorado 
• that left all the unpacking to me, which included wrestling heavy objects around and not killing myself or the dogs in the process
• someone tried to use my debit card in New York City, so I had to cancel it and get it replaced
• called a plumber, dripping faucet
• called an electrician after the circuits popped.  Outlets replaced
• my dear Lola got seriously ill unexpectedly
• Mark came home for just 4 days
• we had to put Lola to sleep.  Stunned and very sad
• Mark had to go back to Paris

  I was so tired and very sad after Lola's passing that I would have put off my trip.  But M's company had arranged for this and paid for my ticket so postponing wasn't possible.  Yes, it's PARIS, but I had a heavy heart.  I just felt banged up from everything.

  June 19th

  My flight from Colorado Springs to Dallas Fort Worth was uneventful.  It was the trip from there to Paris that things got hairy.  I noticed that we seemed to be flying in one big circle when our pilot finally announced that the airport "is closed"---no further explanation.  Then he announces that we have to fly to Oklahoma City to refuel because they only had enough fuel to fly from Colorado Springs to Dallas!
  Oklahoma City-on the ground for an hour.  Passengers whose final destination was Oklahoma City are wondering why they can't disembark there?  Flurry of activity, final result:  "Well, sure, but your luggage will still be in Dallas".  No takers there.
  Back to Dallas, land safely.  I know our technology can be irritating sometimes but I was glad I could look up the American Airlines application on my iPhone.  It gave me the current information that when I landed I would be several gates from where my flight to Paris was taking off.  Of course!
  Run to the airport train.  Ride several stops.  Get off at the right gate.  Be relieved that the lobby is full of passengers.  Panic when I realize that they are waiting to board for a flight to Peoria, NOT Paris.  Nice man tells me to go to the front of the line, to wait for the agent.  Other man tells me that the line forms behind him.  I tell him I was told to go there.  He says "the other man is waiting to be helped first."  Agent comes and announces "Passengers in the lobby waiting to board flight to Paris, please come forward."  Other man looks sheepish as he steps aside for his flight to Peoria.  I'm too harried and too nice to shoot him a dead look.
 No time to upgrade, as I hoped.  No room anyway. I am the last person to board the flight to Paris.
  Seat 41, as close to the latrines as you can get without actually sitting on them.  I hate sitting back there because the airplane's tail shudders side to side almost the entire time of the flight.  I've flown many times but this is the first time that I think I may actually get airsick.  So I cranked the "fresh air" flow on and settle in for a 10 hour flight.  

Parlez vous?

DH:  "By the time I leave Paris, I'll be fluent in French enough to be able to talk with a three year old."
Me:  "See if they have Sesame Street in French."

I Need to Be There

  This is the lovely entrance to our apartment building, 13 rue Benjamin Franklin.  I love the old architecture found in Europe, so this door makes me swoon.  I showed my mother this photo and she said it looks like my husband "lives in the French Embassy".  I laughed.
  If you're a student of French history as I am (I love history, period) you know why a street in Paris is named for an American diplomat.  Yes, our Benjamin Franklin.  My husband said, "See, that is why you need to be here-to tell me about these things."
  Well, dear Husband, just as soon as that ticket is purchased, I'm there.

New Wheels

  I haven't posted here in awhile because there really hasn't been anything new.  At least that's the situation on my end of this transcontinental relationship!  I'm still unpacking and ruthlessly getting rid of things.  My mantra:  "Do you really want to move this again?!"  It's very effective.

  The good news is that my DH will be here in Colorado in mid-July, for a few days.  He's put the paper work in for my trip to Paris-the one that is courtesy of his company.  We should know what is happening with that next week.

  I am so proud of my husband.  He's getting to know his way around Paris.  Tired of the fickleness of service on the Metro, he rented a car.
  My husband has driven in Boston and Los Angeles.  He's driven in Rome.  When we lived in London, he was the only American in his company to own and drive a car there.  He's a car enthusiast, so relying on public transportation just isn't his thing.
  I'm amazed that he can remember his way around a city, years after he's been there.  It's amazing because when we're in a shopping mall, he sometimes can't remember what entrance we came in.  But drop him in Boston and he's good to go!
  He's always loved BMWs, his car of choice.  So I wasn't surprised that he bought a car to drive in Paris.  The dealer spoke some English and Mark speaks passable French, et voilà !
  His concession to narrow streets was to buy the smallest BMW he could.  If he ever gets to drive the German Autobahn, there is a powerful engine under that small hood.
 

Ah well.  We all have our passions.

I told him to do laps around the Arc de Triomphe.  

One of Those Days

  My DH was able to buy two air conditioners from a couple of expats, returning to the States.  Air conditioners aren't common in Paris, and they are very expensive too.  I'm referring to small units that go in apartment windows.
  Mark hasn't had time to install his units.  With the temperatures in the high 60's and low 70's he "doesn't need them yet."  So two nearly new air conditioning units are sitting in his apartment, unused.
  Meanwhile, I'm here in Colorado Springs where it's unseasonably warm.  Though not near me, three wildfires are burning and ash has fallen on my hair.  My eyes are watering from the smoke.  I have four fans going and hope my brothers-in-law will set up my air conditioner soon.

  My best friend had to help her parents load up their belongings and evacuate their home.  The estimate is 100 homes destroyed and possibly some deaths.  The fire hasn't been contained.  It isn't even summer yet.

  I'm still unpacking, making some progress.  At least I can walk around and not fall into a box or a storage crate. I do have to take a chihuahua head count before I take a box out to the recyclables container.

  DH just got back from two days in Brussels, Belgium.  Tomorrow he leaves for Poland.  I can't sigh any deeper without harming a body part.

  I'm watching my chihuahuas playing right now.  All six are trying to cram themselves into one dog crate, like clowns in a Volkswagen.

  I have nothing funny or clever to end this entry with.  So here's a photo of the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Paris.

Yeah.  I'm not there either.

Monday

  Up and down a ladder.  Up and down stairs, carrying things. Moving furniture around.
  Taking down a heavy Christmas tree that has stood since November 2012 because we didn't have time or desire before we left to go back to Tucson. By myself.
  If I could find a hacksaw in this moving mess, I'd cut that sucker apart and celebrate a different holiday that doesn't involve artificial 9 foot tall trees.
  No wonder my knee looks like figgy pudding.  Big purple bruise too. I don't like the sounds it's making or the looseness. I don't want more knee surgery.
  I want to cry big tears of self pity, hoping I haven't redamaged my scarred mess of a knee.

  Then I read the quote I received in my email today.
  "Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out."

  I'm going to have a nice lunch now. And then I'll go buy a huge fan because it's over 80 degrees in this house.
  When it's all over, I'm going shopping like I've won the lottery.
 

Miscellaneous Stuff

It's difficult for me to believe that at this time last week we were a few hours away from our final destination of Colorado Springs. In some ways the time has scurried past.  In other ways,such as today, it feels as if it just drags on forever. I'm still unpacking. When will it be done?!
  Notes to myself:  Never ever make an artist move. We have lots of stuff.
   The stuff I do want?  It's in storage for two years.
  Never underestimate how moving and unpacking can physically beat you up.  My poor hands ache to the point where I can't grasp things tightly. I dropped a mug of coffee the other morning. Bad hands- the kind that end a pro football or baseball career.
 I need to remember that I have been here  less than week. The stuff is not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere soon.
  Hard not to envy my husband who is going to Belgium and Poland on business this week.

Inflatable Furniture--its Time has Come

  Friday May 31 was the longest day of this move.  The crew didn't leave until 7:30 p.m.  This move is now the longest one we ever had to endure-4 days of packing and loading.  We were so done with it 2 days ago.

  Today was very emotional, stressed and tiring.  It started with me having to take my panther chameleon, Tiger, to the vet to be helped over the Rainbow Bridge.  Tiger was an elderly chameleon, 4 years old, and had quit eating.  My vet, Dr. Yeager, agreed that it was time.  He was so thin and his eyes were sunken.  So I handed over my colorful companion to Dr. Yeager.  I also said my goodbyes to her and her wonderful staff and was told I was going to be missed.

  I went back to the chaos at our house for a short while then left for Kaitlin's Creative Cottage.  For the last time, I enjoyed being with my artistic friends.  We laughed a lot and traded stories, and promised to stay in touch.  I'm going to miss these creative and compassionate women and am glad for the short time I had them in my life.  

  It was almost 3 p.m. when I got back to the house.  I saw 2 moving trucks in our driveway and my  heart just fell.  They were supposed to have finished up by noon!  I was not happy.

  Thursday the movers couldn't get our overstuffed sofa out of the living room.  Well, the men who delivered it to our home obviously got it inside, didn't they?  So they lifted it up, turned it this way and that, walked it down the hallway and otherwise took it for a parade through the house.  They even removed the window in the living room to try to take it out that way. FINALLY they listened to me when I told them to remove the moving blankets and the plastic wrap. And yes, the sofa went right through the front door. 

  Lack of sleep, fatigue, stress and 98 degrees--it wasn't surprising that I got a major migraine headache.  What awful timing!  Light streaming in, noise, and heat-all of it made me nauseous and gave me such a headache I could've punched myself, hoping to get relief.  The pain was so awful that I had tears running down my face.  I just wanted to lie down and whimper.  So I went to the darkest room and laid on the carpet. Two tablets and two cups of strong coffee and I managed to pull myself together.
  The estimator was apologetic about how long it took and said he learns from every move. What he should learn is to listen to us experienced moving victims when it comes to how long a job will take. This move has been the worst of ALL our other moves combined. And that includes TWO trips overseas.
  The best thing we did for ourselves that day was to make a hotel reservation.  I tried to find my sense of humor again.  Pretty sure it is in the very last box packed. 

Feelings, Whoa, Oh oh Feelings...

How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.

Asking for a small elephant.
And a big big fork...

Zut Alors!

  What a fiasco Moving Day 2 was.  They started at 8:15 and they're still here, 10 hours later.  Mark and I could have another career as moving estimators.  We knew it would take more than two days to pack us, and here it is, the end of Day 2 and they're still not done.
  Why do moving companies employ people as estimators when the estimator has never spent a day actually packing?  They need to be sent into the trenches with the worker ants.  Then maybe they'll see the amount of time and the effort it takes to get a house packed up.
  It's not for lack of effort, I'll give them credit there.  They are efficient, polite, quick and thorough.    We are getting a first rate packing, we just need all hands on deck.
  Jonathan, the estimator, said this weekend and the next are the two busiest of their entire year.  That makes sense.  Memorial Day weekend many people move.  Which is also why they're short staffed.  A lot of moving jobs, not enough workers.   Hmm.  Maybe some adjustments need to be made?

  This fiasco isn't even THE fiasco of the day.  Three days ago we reserved a 6x12 foot trailer after it was evident that our own little trailer would not be able to transport all the stuff we want to go to Colorado.  We made a reservation three days ago.  Mark called U-Haul today and found out that they had a trailer for us.  But it was at a location half way between Tucson and Phoenix-at least a 30 minute drive one way.  Time is our most valuable commodity now.  We don't have a spare 30 minutes lying around to  make a 30 minute drive.  And the "manager" said he was short staffed and didn't have anyone to go pick up the trailer.
  Mark has a little vein on his forehead that is a good indicator of future behavior.  If that vein starts to throb, and Mark blinks 3 times, it's time to run to a bomb shelter.  He's a very patient man, but there's only so much Stupid that he's going to listen to.  I have never seen him lose his temper, but today it almost happened.  Why was it going to be left to us to get that trailer down here?  Why else do you rent in-town if not for the convenience of picking it up?
  Wisely, Mark said he'd call back.  Throb, throb, blink, blink,blink.  He called U-Haul back, asked what they did have in stock and what kind of price break would he be given for the inconvenience?  The result: we're getting a 14 foot long TRUCK for the same price he would've paid for a 6x12 TRAILER.  Now we don't have to worry about lack of space!  Bring everything to Colorado!  I can fill this truck with my art supplies, even the liquids and aerosols and paper!  This truck is large enough to put our little trailer in, but we're not going to do that.  We'll tow it behind the truck.
  As good as it is to get a truck, the reality is that it changes our entire plan to drive to Colorado.  IF we had gotten the trailer like we were supposed to, we'd store our little trailer and tow the rental behind our SUV and make it to Colorado in one long day.  Now we have two vehicles to get to Colorado.  And since we can't go as fast as the speed limit suggests  permits, the usual 13 hour drive-done-in-one-long-day has become a 2 day trip.  We plan to drive to Albuquerque on Saturday and stay the night.  Sunday we'll get up early and do the 6 hours more to Colorado Springs.
  Breaking the trip into two parts means we'll be staying at a very pet friendly hotel, first floor, so we can bring our 6 chihuahuas, 3 parrots and 2 turtles into our room.  (We hope our traveling zoo allows us to get some sleep Saturday night.)

  I really don't know how come I'm so calm during this big move when a lot has already happened.  It certainly helps that I'm married to an awesome problem solver/negotiator/planner type of guy.  Plus,we have made some allowance in time in case things like these happen. The reality may be that I'm wiser, older and much too fatigued to get nerved up about anything anymore.  I'm keeping my eyes on the prize.  It's going to be worth it all.

Lafayette, We're Coming!

  When Mark went apartment hunting last Friday, he sent me photos of a place he really liked.  I almost swooned when I saw them, but didn't want to get my hopes up.  It was already evening there, and we wouldn't know if our offer was accepted until the first of this week.
  "Offer"-a strange word to use when talking about renting an apartment.  It seems that when you see an apartment you like, there's a suggested monthly rental price and you can actually negotiate that.  As Mark said, "Everything in France is negotiable."  (I believe he was joking.)
  So we waited until today to find out if our offer on the apartment was accepted.  It could have been a long wait, but we were too busy trying to survive Day 1 of The Move.  Since Paris is 9 hours ahead of Tucson, at 7a.m. local time we were sent an email saying our offer was accepted.
  The apartment is on the top floor and is fully furnished.  We have a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower and will be walking distance to most of Paris' attractions.
  The address:  it's on Rue Benjamin Franklin.  Yes, that Benjamin Franklin.

The apartment is right behind the Trocadero.

Moving Day 1

  The movers were supposed to show up today at 9 a.m.  At 8:15, the door bell rang, and three of the crew were on our front porch.  Awesome start!  We've never had that happen before!  The Good News was they could start sooner than expected.  The Bad News was Mark was still in the shower!  
  The door bell rang again, less than 15 minutes later.  It was the owner and two more crew members.  This was a great start.

  Last night I'd gone through each room, a Post-it Notes tablet in my hand.  I labeled our stuff "Paris", "Storage" and "Don't Touch!"  It made things much easier than to have to try to remember things.

  The SMARTEST thing I did today, was take all 6 chihuahuas to the boarding kennel.  No barking, no worries that a dog would get trampled or bite someone, or wander off into the desert!  So the dogs basically went to doggie day camp for the duration of the packing. I think they got the best end of the deal.
  If there was a birdie day camp, maybe I would have taken Scooter there.  Poor Scooter is tired now-he screamed a lot more than he ever does, but I knew it was because of all the strangers in the house.  Eventually he quieted down,after I offered him his favorite treats of Wheat Thins, an almond and a tiny piece of pizza crust.

  So we left the packers to do their thing, with us checking out how things were going.  And we had another visit from Jonathan, the guy who did the estimate yesterday.
  Two people got stuck packing my studio.  I asked the female packer if she did crafts?  "No."  Okay then...As for the man helping her, he told me it was his first day working for the moving company, so I decided to let him alone.  No one burst into tears, walked out or started swearing at me.  
  While the woman, Debbie, wasn't into crafts, I did take solace in one thing.  She's been working for this company, Ralph's Transfer, Inc.  since 1972!  Ralph's has been in business here in Tucson since 1926-still family owned and operated.  
  Ralph's Transfer must be doing something right, to be subcontracted to Cartus. Cartus Corporation, according to wikipedia "is a services corporation specializing in employee relocation, including home sale and home purchase, household goods shipping, move management, property management, rental and temporary housing, settling-in, spouse/partner career transition assistance, visa and immigration services, intercultural and language training, relocation accounting, international assignment compensation services, policy consulting services supporting benchmarking, program startups, group moves, mergers and acquisitions, and change management."  
  
  We kept an eye on things and stayed out of the way.  I was impressed with how efficient they were.  They were impressed that we bought pizzas and sodas for everyone.  
  Anyway, they left at 4:30 today, still insisting they'll be done packing tomorrow,with loading done on Thursday.  
  We'll see...
  The owner called to check on how the move went today.  

  While the packing was being done, Mark had two phones on, and struggled to stay awake.  Poor man just got here on Saturday and is severely jet lagged.  Plus his allergies have returned.  
  A few days ago I was really struggling with what was going to Paris, what was going to Colorado and what was going into storage?  By lunch time I was so over the emotional aspect of this move.  I just wanted it done!

  Tomorrow they'll be here at 8 a.m. again.  If things go as smoothly as they did today, we'll be in great shape.  And I'll owe Jonathan an apology for doubting him.


 And while all this was going on, our realtors came over to go over the paperwork to put this house up for sale..."Sign this, sign that, initial this, initial that."  Maybe I should be more emotional about leaving this house, but truthfully, I've moved so often and bought and sold houses many times over.  What I've learned from all of it is that wherever my husband is, that is home.   Even if it's the hotel we'll check into Thursday night.

Do What You Have to Do

1. Colorado to Arizona
2. Arizona to New Hampshire
3. New Hampshire to Massachusetts
4. Massachusetts to California
5. California to New Mexico
6. New Mexico to the Netherlands
7. The Netherlands to Virginia
8. Virginia back to Arizona
9. house in east side of Tucson.  Move to the central foothills of Tucson
10. Split time between Arizona and London
11. Mark to Paris
12. me to Colorado Springs.  Plan to go to Paris frequently

All this in 27 years of marriage.  We should be PROFESSIONALS at the moving thing.  What I've learned is that every move is different and none go smoothly.  Something unexpected can and will pop up, despite the best made plans.  I can expect it to be an emotionally charged time, even if the move is highly anticipated.  There are good things about every place we weren't fond of living in.  There have been bad things about every place we loved.  The good always outweighed the bad.

June of this year we will have lived in Tucson 9 years.  That is the longest amount of time by far, of any of the places we've lived in.  We always get itchy at the 3 year mark, wondering if, when and where we might be going to next?  We didn't go starkers during 9 years in Tucson because Mark spent 2 years in London and I flew back and forth to see him there.

You think you're settling down somewhere and "this is the place".  Well, there's a saying I like that goes "If you want to make God laugh, tell him you made plans."  You never know what may be in the works-a family issue, a life change or a fantastic job opportunity that has to be taken.  

We survived all the moves we made and we'll survive this one.  We'll lean on each other and try to maintain our sense of humor. If all else fails,we'll resort to drinking because we have to.  The movers won't transport liquor anyway.

The Little Things That Shine

  

Over thirty years ago I was single and an overworked, underpaid and un-appreciated floral designer in Redmond, Washington. The flower shop sold gift items too, including Swarovski crystal.  

A beautiful crystal ball, about 1 1/2 inches in size, was one of the gifts for sale.  In a special glass display case, I admired it every day. But I just couldn't justify buying such a luxury when I was struggling and had bills to pay.

One day I ignored the cautionary voice and finally bought it.  Of course I've forgotten what I paid for it those years ago.  Yet it's been worth every single hard earned cent because it was the very first thing I'd ever splurged on just for myself.   And I bought it just because it was beautiful.

Which is why all these years later, I'm wrapping it carefully and taking it with me to its new home in Colorado.

What Stuff, Which Way?

  I have been in total denial that the movers are coming on Tuesday.  I really thought I had until mid-June.  I completely underestimated how my husband can get things going.  I can't even get repairmen to return my calls.

  The estimator comes tomorrow, yes, on Memorial Day.  Summer is their busiest time of the year, so no holiday for them tomorrow.  And the microwave that's been out of commission for 2 weeks?  Supposedly the repairmen are coming tomorrow also.

  I wonder how many times we've moved over a Memorial Day weekend?
 
  Why this move is different--stuff is going in three opposite directions.

  What things will be packed and shipped to Paris?  
  Household goods like towels, cutlery, dinnerware, pots and pans, etc.
  Shower curtain, liner and rod. We may end up having a shower in Paris that consists of sitting down and wetting yourself with a hand held device.  (I remember what a hard time Mark had in London, trying to find a shower rod.  I don't remember why it was so difficult though.)
  Think how I'd go about setting up a new apartment.  No sheets or bedding shipped to Paris because I guarantee that they won't fit whatever bed we end up getting.  (Apartments in Paris aren't made to accommodate large beds. "King sized" beds in France probably belonged to real kings.)

  The stuff that we'll take with us to Colorado Springs:
  Not nearly as important because we have stuff already in our house there.  It's fully furnished.  I'm taking a lot of art supplies, cooler weather clothing and the pets, of course.  This house is a third the size of our Tucson house.  Since it's already fully furnished, there is no room for large items-no room for much at all.  And what I don't take with me I can buy.

  I'd like to take some of my house plants.  I'm so tired of giving those away.  With all the moves we've made, I'm like a green plant version of Johnny Appleseed.  I've given away so plants.  They now reside in other homes from coast to coast.

 The pets aren't going to Paris.  They're all moving here to the Springs.  I don't know how many times I've been asked this.  I couldn't take all of them anyway.  Forget getting exotic birds and lizards into France!  And six dogs?  Where would I put them?

  The stuff that will go into storage for 2 years minimum:
   It pains me to have to decide this.  As I look at my studio, I'm saying goodbye to my favorite things.  These things comfort me,  and I can't take them all.  There's just no room in our SUV and trailer. 
 
   No matter how much I disliked a place I've lived in, there were good things too.  No matter how much I've looked forward to a new location, there are things I've dreaded too.
  I need to remind myself to quit looking behind so much.  The view ahead of me has so many possibilities.

Tres Chic, Tres Cher

  Last week I recorded an HGTV episode of "House Hunters International".  I don't usually watch HHI but this episode featured a woman looking to buy an apartment in Paris.  She had been working in Paris for five years and decided it was time to buy.
  When asked how much she had budgeted, the buyer said her limit was "$550,000.00, with $100,000.00 set aside for renovations."  Normally sums like that would make most people choke.  FIVE HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS to BUY an APARTMENT?  And an additional ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to renovate?!  You'd think for that kind of money you'd be able to buy a large home in move in ready condition, surely!
  No.  Nope. Non. Not in Paris-one of the most expensive real estate markets in the world. What that kind of money buys in Paris is a 400 square foot apartment.  Yes, 400 SQUARE FEET. That works out to be $1,375.00 per square foot.
  That does not guarantee that you'll get a fully equipped kitchen either.  Counter space will be non-existant and a buyer will have to be creative.  Leave behind any notion of buying a large American-style apartment, let alone house, you're in Paris and things will be different.
  The buyer was shown three different apartments.  Two of them were in the very popular Marais area.  The last one was further out but had a terrace.  All had "views", if looking at rows and rows of roof tops is a person's idea of a view.  All had small kitchens that lacked counter space.  One apartment had a bathroom door way that was so narrow that a person had to walk in sideways to get in it.
  The buyer ended up choosing the first apartment she saw, despite disliking the glass block wall that was all that separated the kitchen from the sole bed room.  With some of the money she'd set aside for renovations, she had the glass block wall removed and a nice door put in place.
  When they returned 3 months later to see how the buyer was doing, I liked what she had done with her place.  I was also impressed to see that she'd gotten the renovation done in 3 months, as my experience with living overseas is that custom work can be a long, frustrating wait.
  I keep this episode in mind, as we try to find an apartment to rent in Paris.  My husband has chosen a few apartments to look at, only to discover they've already been rented.  While I looked forward to the experience of finding an apartment with my husband, the reality, we decided, is that he's going to have to find one on his own.  Places are getting rented so quickly we are afraid we may not have much to choose from if we wait until I can come to Paris to look.
  If I'm lucky, Mark or the apartment rental agent will send me photographs of potential places.  I told Mark to go ahead and rent something as I trust his judgement.  (We had a fabulous top floor apartment, overlooking the River Thames, when he was working in London.  He chose it himself.)
  While I may not have direct input into selecting our place, I'll be fine with it.  I'm already comforting myself with a new book I bought that is about the markets in Paris.

Moving Frustration

Thursday morning I woke up to:
1. the microwave on the fritz.  Since I'm trying to finish off the food in the refrigerator, this is the appliance I use the most.  Don't judge me.
2. the irrigation system not working.  It's a matter of hours before Tucson gets its first 100 degree day and this is not good.  My plants look pained.
3. a mix up with my insurance at my primary care provider. This just hours before I was scheduled to see my doctor.

So, I called a work order in for the microwave to be fixed.  My husband made a great suggestion, that I just go buy a small microwave.  I'm going to do this after the repairman comes to fix the irrigation.

Which segues into THIS:

1. I called the irrigation office and was told someone would call me back.  Two hours later, still no phone call.
2. My DH calls me all the way from Paris and gets an earful from me-not sweet murmuring in his ears, either.  HE calls them long distance and voila, HE gets the owner.  Minutes later, I get a call from them, and am on their schedule for Saturday at 9 a.m.
3. Saturday morning, 9 a.m.  NO REPAIRMAN. Why am I not surprised?  DH calls to find out if he's here yet and gets an earful again.  DH calls them and you know what happens.  I get an immediate phone call, but not what I want to hear.
4. "The repairman is running late-45 minutes to an hour."  It's now going on 2 hours after the original "scheduled" visit.  

Don't even get me started on the office staff my doctor employs.  They gave me the impression that my doctor wasn't accepting my insurance any more, when it wasn't that at all.  Once again, it took a phone call from my husband in PARIS to straighten things out.  

Which leads to:

I call the doctor's office to reschedule my appointment and I get *put*on*HOLD* forever.  I hung up and redialed and was put straight through to the woman who messed things up in the first place.

I often wonder why my veterinarian's staff is much more on the ball and efficient than my own doctor?  Why my vet herself, actually CALLS me to find out how my pets are doing, even after a routine check?  Why do I never develop mange or rabies so I can see my vet and get taken care of quickly?  

What does this rant have to do with moving to Paris?  Maybe nothing, but this is my blog after all.  

Thursday's events just show how emotional a move can be, with frustration being a major part of it.  

Why do things like this happen when Mark's not here?  Why am I the one who gets to deal with this crap?  Why do people fail to do what they are paid to do, and in a timely manner?

I'm so annoyed I could scream sometimes.  A high pitched howling should get me seen by my veterinarian anyway.

Tour de Paris

 

I love this whimsical sculpture that is on the banks of the Seine.

While Paris isn't really known as a city for bicyclists, you can rent a bicycle from hundreds of different locations around the city.  

Small Treats

  In Paris a simple dessert is still a thing of beauty, even if it's from a tiny neighborhood bakery.

Getting Around and Around

  Today Mark had his first experience with the pitfalls of using the Metro to get around.  His usual 20 minute train ride to work took almost an hour due to a breakdown at the main station at the Gare du Nord.  He plans to rent a car tomorrow and drive to work.  Google Maps assures him the drive is just 20 minutes.  (And we all know Google is never wrong.)
  Mark has driven in Paris before and drove around the Arc Triomphe just for the fun of it.  I'd never drive in Paris and have no desire to, as it's so congested and the streets are narrow.  Even if I did drive there, I'd never be able to park unless I could drive straight into a spot.  I never got the geometry of parallel parking.  Judging from the looks of cars in Paris, "bump and rub x however many times" is the method you pry your car into a parking space.
  I would not want to bump and rub this Lamborghini.
 

For Whatever Ails You

   Mark was out exploring Paris when he saw these bottles in a window of a prestigious wine shop.  Forget that wimpy worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle! These bottles have real King Cobra snakes with large scorpions in their jaws, suspended in a clear liquor.
  Apparently these are bottles of wine from China and Vietnam.  The Chinese have been infusing wine with snakes for thousands of years.  The cobras' and scorpions' poison is cancelled out by the high potency of the alcohol they are suspended in.
  Snake wine is used as a natural medicine to treat back pain, rheumatism and other ills.  It is also supposed to be a very potent aphrodisiac.
  Reptile dysfunction anyone?

Getting Around in Paris

  My husband's bought a Metro pass that he can use to go all over the city.  He's been exploring different districts and neighborhoods, to try to get a feel for where he would like to find an apartment.
  I love the Metro.  It's easy to use, even if you don't speak French.  If you look especially lost or confused, sometimes there are attendants around to help you out.
  One of the comments I've often heard is that Parisians aren't friendly.  I've never had an unpleasant encounter with a person from Paris and I've been to the City of Light at least six times.  My advice is to learn the simple phrases of "Hello, please and thank you."  When I entered a bakery or shop, I always greeted the clerks or owners with "Bon jour" or "Bon soir" (depending if it's morning or evening.)
  On one of our trips to Paris, we had dinner at a small restaurant not far from Notre Dame.  After our wonderful meal was served, the chef, dressed in white, white apron and chef's toque, actually came out of the kitchen and sat down with us.  We enjoyed talking with him.  (We aren't fluent in French but we TRY.)
  That's another thing--I TRY to speak French, and am especially fluent at saying "So sorry, I don't speak French" in French.  ("Je suis désolé je ne parle pas français.")
You rattle that phrase off and I guarantee that you'll get a big smile, and in perfect English "But of course, you speak French!"

Gone Native

•   Wine and cheese at a co-worker's apartment
•  Fashionably late dinner that lasts 3 hours long
•  stroll around Paris late at night
•  stop in for drinks at a bar
•  get back to your hotel room at 2 a.m.

I think SOMEONE is having a GREAT time and is adjusting well to life in Paris!!!

A beautiful old restaurant in the 5th Arrondissement, Paris.  

From the City of Love, With Love

This couple were having their pictures taken by a professional photographer by the Tour Eiffel.  Mark sent me this with the caption "Thinking of You", and a smiley.  I think it must be hard to be in the City of Love without your partner.

Vignettes de Paris

  I love the iconic photographs of Paris-the Tour Eiffel, the Seine and  the Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris, etc.  What I really enjoy are the vignettes of life in Paris.  What is it really like to get away from the tourist spots and venture into the neighborhoods?   What is it like to wake up there, stroll out to get your newspaper and maybe read it over a fresh cup of coffee and a delicious pastry, while sitting outdoors at your favorite cafe?
  I asked Mark to take photos of scenes like that.  Little things are artistic things too.  Those scenes and experiences make the most impact on me.

(1 euro+$1.30.  These are totally worth it.)

Getting Around

A very cool BMW motorcycle in Paris.  I don't think they're available yet here in the States.

Midnight in Paris

Some statistics:

1 euro=$1.30

Temperatures Today:
Tucson:  95 degrees
 Paris:     59 degrees  (Hmm, funny reversal there.  Guess where I'd rather be.)

Paris is 9 hours ahead of Tucson.  (Insert joke here______.)
3 p.m. Tucson=Midnight in Paris...  (Hey!  That's a movie!)

First Photo in Paris

I asked my husband to take a photo a day, with his iPhone.  It doesn't have to be anything fancy either.  Little vignettes that make me feel as if I'm there too is what I'd like.  My husband sent me this photo just now.  The view is from the lounge of Mark's hotel in Paris.  He was told Spring has been slow in coming to Paris.  It's light outside, yet it's 8:30 p.m. there.

Bienvenue à Paris!

  Mark's flight to Paris Charles De Gaulle Airport was uneventful.  He took a taxi, a Mercedes SUV, to his hotel.  Mark attempted to speak to the driver entirely in French and was rewarded with a smile.
  The Mercedes taxi cruised along smoothly until it reached the Boulevard Périphérique.  The Périphérique is one of the busiest roads in Europe and is considered the boundary of Paris and its suburbs.  There four lanes of traffic came to a complete stop.  Mark said “Bienvenue à Paris!” and the taxi driver laughed.
  Mark's hotel is in the 14th Arrondissement of Paris, where many businesses are located.  There are 20 arrondissements, or districts, in Paris. The lower the number of arrondissement, the more desirable it is.  The 1st arrondissement is where the Louvre is.

  When I spoke with him this morning, he was calling from his hotel.  Once again, Mark spoke French to the hotel staff and was rewarded with smiles. Though he was in the executive lounge, I could hear very loud, obnoxious female laughter in the background.  I could barely hear my husband speaking.  Mark said it was Happy Hour in the hotel (7 p.m. Paris time) and there was a large party of well dressed, elderly Americans enjoying the freely flowing wine.
 (*Cringe*.  All the times I've been to Paris, I've never heard such a racket.  And I've never seen a drunk French woman either.  It's just not the French way.)

  Mark is amused that he just arrived in Paris and he already has a day off coming.  May 1st is a French holiday, Fete du Travail, or Labor Day.   He's going to take the day to look for an apartment.  His company is putting him up in a hotel until May 13th.  Mark's thinking of getting a place in a B&B after the 13th, until he finds an apartment he's satisfied with.
  Mark's hotel costs 160 euros, or about $211.00 a night.  In Paris, that is an absolute bargain for a hotel that caters to the needs of international business travelers.  When the Paris Air Show begins in June, that very room will almost triple in price to about 430 euros-about $550.00 a night.  And they'll be booked solid too.

 Nothing like getting off a transatlantic flight and going straight to the office, which is what Mark did.  He is trying to get over jet lag and adjust to the local time, not an easy thing to do.
 His hotel is a ten minute walk to the Metro and a twenty minute Metro trip to his office. I don't think he'll put up with that long.  My husband's driven in LA, Boston,  and Rome.  He was the only American working at his company in London who  actually drove in London.  Knowing my husband, he's looking into getting a French driver's license and buying a car.  This should be interesting.

I'll be perfectly fine using the Metro.  Once you get the hang of it, it is so easy and convenient.  And if even if I get lost, I won't panic.  I'm in PARIS, after all.

The lines at the Louvre.  Go early and during the week if you can.

Au Revoir

  I gave my husband a ride to the airport this morning.  From Tucson he flies to Dallas-Fort Worth.  Then it's a long flight to Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris.  I thought of the times and the places we flew together and couldn't help but wish I was going too.
  As I drove away, I saw him in the rearview mirror.  Suit coat over his arm, wrestling with his luggage, he was off to his life in Paris.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

  Mark just made his plane reservations.  He'll fly into Charles De Gaulle Airport.
  It's hard for me not to be envious...

Oh the Places You'll Go!

• Got married in Colorado Springs.  3 different apartments
• moved to Tucson, AZ.  as newlyweds.  Mark's Air Force assignment-get his MIS at the the University of Arizona.  We lived in a small 2 bed room apartment.
• moved to Nashua, NH.  Cold climate, cold people.  
• moved to Hanscom AFB, Bedford, Massachusetts.  First time living on a base.  20+ years later, we're still in touch with the friends we made there.  Tore my ACL.  Kenny and Barb took me to a Celtics basketball game in Connecticut.  Drove back to base in a blinding snow storm.
• left Massachusetts in our rear view mirror. Headed for southern California.  In such a hurry to leave, Mark got a ticket from a Massachusetts State Trooper.  Fitting farewell.
• Hello San Bernardino, California and Norton AFB.  First week there, 3 girls joked about taking my red Miata from me.  I was ready to give them the keys.  Also:  an earthquake while Mark was gone.  A hostage situation in the area, complete with a SWAT team and a helicopter behind our apartment.  Rodney King and the LA riots.  One week before we were to leave Mark's car caught fire on the freeway.  He was ok, the car a total loss.  Flat tire in godforsaken Gila Bend, Arizona.  
• Albuquerque, New Mexico.  Mark told me we could afford to buy our first house there.  I didn't believe him.  We lived in a nice apartment on Central Avenue while our house was built.  (I picked everything for that house and loved it.)  Apartment was across the street from the State Fair Grounds, so we'd have dinner there after Mark got home.  Our house was on a big corner lot and had a great view of the Sandia Mountains.  I had a good job working for Albertsons.  We were really happy there.
• "Hallo" Brunssum the Netherlands.  So much happened there during the 3 years we were stationed there, I could write a book alone.  #1 thing to remember:  The Bicycle Rules.  3 hour drive to Paris.  
• Ft. Belvoir, VA. and Yorktown,VA.  More school for Mark, then retirement after 20 years in the Air Force.  We bought a house  there-it was my favorite, despite being haunted.
• Moved to Tucson, AZ. because that's where the job was.  Right in time for a tight housing market.  Bought a house and sold it.  Moved into this house.  Mark worked in London for 18 months.  Bought a house in Albuquerque, NM and in Aurora, Colorado.  Bought a second home in Colorado Springs.
• Mark leaves for Paris Monday.  I'm moving to our house in Colorado Springs.  Selling this house.  I'll be going back and forth to Paris-WHEEEEEEE!!!!
• 27 years of marriage.  How many states and 2 foreign countries?  
• I'D * DO* IT* ALL* AGAIN* and wouldn't change a thing.

Personal Post Its

Note to Self:  "Never underestimate how emotional a move can be. Even if you're looking forward to it."

In Need of a Security Blanket

  The Move--
  I'm having one of those days when it seems like so much is coming at me at once.  And...all of it needed to be done yesterday.
  I need Linus' Security Blanket-something to hold onto tightly. Even better than that, I'd throw it over my head.
  Instead of hiding away, I decided to go into my husband's home office and give him a big hug.  No explanation, just hug him tightly.
  He leaves for Paris on Monday.  This deal is really happening.

Be Positive!

  I made this little sign as a reminder to myself.  It applies to so many things.

Brain Food

  I have one brain and one hand that can write.  (I can print with the other hand.  Maybe I should try writing with both at the same time.)
  I have THREE separate TO DO lists.
  When I start to panic, I remember the question:  "How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time."
  Dear Lord, give me a small elephant.
  And a larger fork.

Eat it or Delete it

  An important thing to do before we move is to do what we call "Eat Down the Refrigerator".  Obviously things that are in the frig can't be packed or moved unless we put them in a large cooler and take them with us.  This also depends on where we're moving.  TSA, being so unaccommodating,  frowns on frozen food going through their airport x-ray machines.
  So we tell ourselves "Eat those things and drink those drinks!  Throw caution to the wind and make eclectic meals!  Who cares if things don't actually 'go together'?  We're being frugal and not wasting food!"
  It adds an additional frisson of excitement to start a new adventure with a potential trip to the hospital for a stomach pumping.

Our Moving Rule

  Note to Self:  Remember our Moving Rule.  "What is said two weeks before a move and two weeks after cannot be held against us."

The Road to Where We are Now

  Colorado Springs:  Our first apartment we couldn't open the living room closet once the new sofa got delivered.  So we moved, and it was a good thing because that apartment was haunted.
  Colorado Springs #2:  Cute apartment upstairs in another old house.  Our living room was above the bed room of the tenant below.  We knew the man's name even before we met him because his girl friend was a screamer.  "Bob, ohhh Bob!  Bobbbbb!"
  Then Bob got a doberman and a rottweiler that hated uniforms.  When Mark tried to enter the yard to get to our apartment, the dogs would try to eat him.  So we moved to a nice townhouse not far from that apartment.
  Colorado Springs #3:  If you rent a place from someone who works for the sheriff, it's probably going to be very safe.  That would be because you've been subjected to a back ground check that includes everything but a colonoscopy.

  First Move to Tucson:  M's a grad student at the University of Arizona, a nice assignment since he's a full time student and never has to wear a uniform.  Used to the mountains, trees and green grass of Colorado, I'm shocked as to how brown the desert is. One day M takes me for a drive "to get to know our new town."  He drives down Speedway Boulevard, not knowing that LIFE magazine recently declared Speedway "The Ugliest Street in America".  We pass pawn shops and strip joints.  I look at Mark and croak (I've stopped speaking to him for two weeks) "NICE town."  We burst out laughing and prepare to make Tucson our home.
  We choose an apartment complex just because it has a patch of green grass out front-the only grass in the complex and I'm thinking-all of Tucson.  The night we're supposed to move into our apartment, a pipe bursts and floods it.  Management offers to put us up free in their "Show Apartment".  The towels are tied prettily so we can't use them.  The "bed" is a large cardboard fake, covered with a flimsy blanket.  It is the hottest day of that year.

  MASSACHUSETTS by way of NEW HAMPSHIRE:  Mark gets his MIS and it's time to move.  So we move to Massachusetts on the coldest day of the winter.  We've celebrated New Years Day on the road.  That sets a pattern of holidays spent not in a home.  We spend a few days in the temporary lodging at Hanscom AFB in Bedford, MA.  We rent a home in Nashua, New Hampshire because we're told the commute is not long.  It's a big lie and the liars should be punished.  Get on the road just a little late and it takes M almost 2 hours to get home.  If it snows, which it always seems to do, M can be 4 hours getting home.
  We like our rental house in Nashua, but a neighbor says to us "Houses never come up for rent in this neighborhood".  Well, howdy yourself.  Our other neighbors are retired Air Force-a real blessing.  I can't wait until we get base housing and leave Nashua.
  I have to supervise the move down to base housing on Hanscom because M is at a school in Mississippi for 6 WEEKS.  Our movers, Larry, Darryl and Darryl, lose my dog, not long after I tell them to not open the basement door.  Max, my schnauzer, runs away, apparently back to Tucson.  I make the movers find him after I've told them "I've put up with a lot during this move.  DO NOT lose my dog!"  Max is found and we drive to the base.
  While the movers are sitting on the curb, taking a break, I hear one of them say "This move is taking a long time."  At the end of my rope, I open the window and yell at them "It wouldn't have taken so long if you HADN'T LOST MY DOG."  Embarrassed looks all around.
  Note to Self:  Even if they deserve it, DON'T YELL AT YOUR MOVING MEN.  They are responsible for hooking things up.  The first time I used our washer, the water hose blew up, spewing dirty water all over me, the basement and Max who still wants to go back to Arizona.
  Not knowing what to do, I go across the street, and introduce myself to the neighbor. Dale looks very scared, opening his door to this woman who apparently looks wild eyed and crazy.  Dale helps me with the washer, goes back to his house and locks all the doors behind him.
  Meanwhile, the phone company is on strike and I can't get a home phone hooked up.  Mark is in school hundreds of miles away and the only way I can talk to him is by using the one and only phone booth on base. I want to kick out glass in the phone booth.
  By now, I've met my neighbors on base and they are no longer afraid of me.  My friend, Jan, takes me shopping one morning.  That's the morning Mark is finally back from school.  He's locked out of his home-the one I had to move into by myself.  Our dog, Max, still nursing a grudge that he had to leave Arizona, won't let Mark in.  I finally arrive and we start our life in Massachusetts.
 
Good things about Massachusetts:
  1. we made wonderful friends there
  2. Boston and all its attractions was a short drive away.
  3. I discovered "coffee regulah": coffee with lots of cream and sugar at Dunkin' Donuts.  (Apparently you couldn't be trusted to add your own condiments to your coffee)
  4. Autumn in New England
  5. Lobstah, scallops, clams, etc.

  Bad things that happened in Massachusetts:
  1. I found a lump on my breast.  Good: it was benign.  Bad:  Mark was gone during this time. I felt so alone, I can still remember that ugly green hospital room.
  2. I slipped on the stairs in our housing and tore my ACL.  Surgery, then 6 months of twice a week rehabilitation.  Mark was gone when this happened.  My friend, Barb, drove me to Boston for my physical therapy sessions.  I've never forgotten her kindness.

  This is just the beginning of many moves and adventures.  Every place we lived has its good and bad things.  One thing they have in common is the friendships we made.  I'm still in touch with those friends we made at Hanscom, over 20 years ago.
 

Miles and Miles and Miles

  My husband is on his way to Colorado Springs again, driving his prized BMW Z-1.  Our move would be much simpler if someone didn't own so many cars.  But then someone has a lot of pets, so we're calling it even.
  My husband has a lot of traveling to do this weekend.  Tucson to Colorado Springs, to California, back to Colorado Springs and then to Tucson.  Then he packs and flies to Paris.  He racked up the miles when he was working in London so that when I came to visit him there, I got to fly First Class or Business.  (What an experience.  I'm spoiled forever for Coach.)  So once again he'll collect some more miles.
  Me-I'm already starting the process of deciding what's going into storage, what's getting sold or donated and what I'll take to Colorado Springs.  I'm getting very brutal about it too.  If it hasn't been used in a year, it's gone.
  When M was in the Air Force, we were always aware of what we had when it came to leaving.  We were allotted so many pounds of household goods.  If you went over that amount you had to pay for the difference.  Moving is expensive no way around it-even if you're doing it yourself.  (Do it Yourself moves lead to divorce, if you ask me.)
  This move is trigging all kinds of memories.  Things always happen, despite the best planning.  I have learned to roll with it.  Barring that, there's liquor that needs drinking because the movers won't pack it.

My husband's beloved BMW Z-1 he bought in England and had shipped to Tucson.  I've never driven it.  

A Love Letter to Bean Town

   A perfect, 50 degree day to run the historic Boston Marathon.  Those being honored are from Newtown, Connecticut.
  Towards the end of the race, two bombs went off.  Three are dead, including an 8 year old boy.  Over a hundred are hurt, some with devastating injuries.  On a beautiful spring day in Bean Town, in a race dedicated to raising money for charitable causes.
  I'm not a city dweller but I could live in Boston.  When we were stationed at Hanscom AFB in Bedford, Massachusetts we weren't far from Boston's busy center.  Lots to do, great food, and fun, hard working people who love their sports teams, professional and collegiate.  We had so much fun there.
  I remember attending a military retirement ceremony aboard the USS Constitution.  Being escorted and piped aboard Old Ironsides, surrounded by men and women in their Dress Whites, on a perfect day in Boston.  I held onto my hat and smoothed down my dress as I walked across the plank with my husband, so handsome in his Mess Dress.
  I remember one St. Patrick's Day, standing outside the Purple Shamrock, being offered a shoe box by a pretty, laughing Irish girl.  Inside the box-a bottle of whiskey.  Why not?  It was St. Patty's Day in Boston!  
  I remember buying a Red Sox sweatshirt because it was cold, and I was in Fenway Park on Opening Day in April.  I ate a sausage on a bun, slathered in grilled vegetables.  I remember still how good it was!  And we beat the despised Yankees that day!
  I remember being in a wheel chair, after I had my torn ACL operated on.  I knew I was in very good hands though.  On my doctor's wall was a photo of the Boston Celtics.  My doctor was standing to the left of Celtic great Kevin McHale.
  I remember the anniversary after I'd had my surgery.  My recovery was going far slower than expected, I was in physical therapy twice a week for months.  To lift my spirits, my husband booked a weekend to celebrate our anniversary.  It was at the Boston Copley Square Hotel.
  How surreal it was to watch the television coverage today and to recognize the places we loved. Instead of a day filled with accomplishment, fun and excitement...well, I won't forget the scenes I saw today.
  Boston, you are one amazing city and your people are wicked tough.  My thoughts and prayers are with you today and always.

Plan of Action Part I

 Some of our friends have wondered what I was going to do with all my pets while M works in Paris?  Of course I want to live in Paris the entire time my husband is there.  But that's not going to be possible for me and I'm fine with it.  I have several "Fids"--furred, feathered and finned "kids", who are my family and there is no way I am willing to part with them.  So we're going to do what we did when M went to work in London a few years ago.  I'll stay back in the States and travel to Paris as much as possible and stay as long as possible.  M's company will pay for me to fly to Paris once a year every year he's there.  M has thousands of  Frequent Flier Miles that need to be used.
  We do have some major differences this time-I have more pets than a few years ago.  I have my 2 cockatoos and a Meyers parrot.  I've been lucky to have someone take care of them who has experience with exotic birds.  My turtles don't require any special care but my pet chameleon does.  It's VERY expensive to have to board my dogs for any length of time, and now I have six of them.
   We also know we aren't coming back here to Tucson to after our time in Paris.  Jobs in my husband's field are getting harder to find here.  After all this time he wants to do something different, and we don't want to do it here.  So we've made some major decisions.  We've decided to sell this house.
  Since we've been married, we've bought and sold more than half a dozen houses. Realtors are not my favorite people.  I have experiences with them that still make my hair stand on end.  Like the realtor who called us from OUR DRIVEWAY to say "We were just driving by and saw the For Sale sign and wonder if we can look at your house?"  And the realtor in Colorado Springs who assured us she'd called a seller to see her house only to find one very annoyed seller who was adamant she hadn't.  Then there was the realtor who seemed to ignore our desires and showed us exactly what we didn't want....Anyway, you get the idea.  Realtors give me a headache.
  So what did I discover today?  That M had hired a realtor and insisted he'd sent me an email telling me so.  A check of my spam and my email showed "Oh no you didn't".  Cue the beginnings of a headache.  Then the realtor called this afternoon and wanted to know if he could send a photographer out this Friday to our house?  WHAT?!  M doesn't even know when he's supposed to be in Paris to start work.  He doesn't even know when he'll be back here to help with the household move. I could still be here in July.  And the realtor is hot to start the FOR SALE process now?  What part of "We don't want to still be living here when the house is for sale" did he not get?
   My first impulse was to panic.  Get the house cleaned, keep the bird room neat (ha!) and as for my studio... I know the realtor loves our house but did he really see my studio when he walked through?  I KNOW a house should be de-cluttered before it gets shown.  Again--did the realtor really SEE my studio when he walked through?
  Guess what?  This time around I'm doing things my way.  No one, not even M,  is going to rush me.  I will not be at a realtor's beck and call.  I am the seller.  And I'm in no big hurry.
  Our things here will go into storage.  I'm moving with my menagerie, to Colorado Springs while my husband is in Paris.
 No move is ever simple,many things can happen or go wrong.  I have lots of experience from all the moves we've made over the years.  And I have the headaches to prove it.