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.