Jennie Goutet's Blog: A Lady in France, page 26

School Art Festival

I think it’s kind of cool that the spring festival for my kids’ school involves each class imitating – and learning about – a different artist.

We’ve got Juliet’s class with Magritte

“Ceci n’est pas une pomme”

Juliet is holding her own surrealist illustration where Paris is drawn as stubble on a guy’s face, and it gets razed to the ground with the double entendre (raser also means to shave).

We’ve got Gabriel’s class with Picasso

William’s class did Singing in the Rain, complete with a little tap dance routine.

But all the pictures had too many faces to blur so I didn’t include them.

And then there was Hokusai

and Munch

and Saint-Phalle (I think)

and Delauney, among others.

As with every festival, there are good things to eat

(provided by the parents)

(and bought by the parents).

We got to read the school rules, illustrated by the class delegates (of which Gabriel is one).

And the most important thing of all is that we got to spend time with our kids and just be there for them

in a sea of other parents doing the same.

I wanted to include a little addendum, though it’s unrelated to Friday’s spring festival. We had a long day yesterday so dinner was a simple affair.

But it was nice enough to eat outdoors.

We had been doing some gardening, and took some fence from one part of the garden and attached it to the top of the cement wall to hold the jasmine, which is growing and is looking for something to hang on to.

We did this, though I’m still unsure whether we will end up tearing down the wall to have an open lawn. It does look pretty though, doesn’t it?

But what I wanted to tell you is that we recently attracted a pair of doves! A few days ago they were on our lawn, and when I came outside they flew up to the swing set. And last night they were perched on the roof of our house.

Doves! Isn’t that amazing?

It’s tiny, but they’re there – do you see the one?

Peace, friends.

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Spring Is Here. I Promise.

Here are some spring flower pictures for my Canadian friends, buried under mounds of snow.

 It’s not long in coming, I promise you!

Baby kiwi leaves

Flowering plum blossoms, right on the bark.

White hyacinth

And then this plant, whatever it’s called.

Even closer up.

Black bamboo (not technically a spring flower, but nice and green)

Geraniums. (Right?)

Tiny cherry blossoms about to pop.

Proud plum flowers already open.

Pink Azaleas in full swing. (see Emily? They’re in the ground!)

Everyone is happy that spring is here.

Seriously. Everyone.

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Amazing Grace

This weekend a very close friend of mine, Danila, celebrated her 50th birthday.

The invitation to attend this elegant fête, that would be held at a small château -

was tucked into their family Christmas card. So we’ve known about the event for four months. And for four months, I anticipated the celebration – not only because I was excited to help Danila welcome such a significant milestone while getting to spend the afternoon surrounded by good friends -

but also because it would be the perfect setting

and the perfect opportunity

to dress up as a family

and take family photos.

Danila’s husband, Fredéric, planned everything to perfection. There was an afternoon tea with cakes, sweets and champagne.

There were games for the big kids and the small.

Danila is half-Italian, and each of us was given a sticker with a different region of Italy. We needed to find six other people with the same region and get to know them through asking and answering a set questionnaire. I was Toscana.

And then he had Danila seated in a chair in the middle of the room while he threw out various questions to the crowd. Each one was to ascertain who was the most similar to Danila, and every time you answered ‘yes’ you had to take a step forward. (i.e. Do you speak Spanish? Yes? Move forward then).

Before long, a smaller and smaller group of people converged upon her until Fred asked the final question, “Do you love Danila?” Needless to say, there were many winners.

The kids couldn’t resist playing outside.

No matter how dreary the weather was.

And that sort of brings me to my point. I prayed for this weekend. I prayed for the weather. I remembered Easters past when the sun was shining and shirt sleeves were enough and the day seemed showered with blessings from above. I so wanted that for this particular day of celebration among friends and families.

I so wanted it for our family photos.

This weekend I took time off from social media. It was not hard to do since I was burnt out. You know that already. You’ve read my “swamped” post and my “shifting focus” post, and some of the other ones where – to a lesser degree – I mentioned the stress I felt.

It was not just the waiting for important documents and the financial frustrations and the taking on of various roles in the church that has stripped me bare.

I finally realised that it was losing sight of what was important that was bothering me. I moderate a largish Christian blogging group when faith is not the central focus of my blog or the books I write (though it’s the central focus of my life). I moderate a smallish Paris author’s group, and trying to honour each member by reviewing every single book is not practical because I’m not just a writer, but also a blogger (and a wife and mom, and a teacher, and church volunteer).

And I teach. If you don’t count Sunday school, I teach in three different places, including Saturday mornings in the home. That means we never get to have a relaxing weekend as a family, and our chance to regroup and put order in the home and build quality relationships is simply not there. Right now, my children are more needy than ever (which is just as it should be) between their activities and homework and general desire to connect and communicate. Hugs and kisses are no longer enough.

Like the crowds of friends converging on Danila as they took steps forward, activities and commitments and bad time management has been converging on me. Except in a much more ominous way. And I. Am. Stretched. Too. Thin.

Why am I telling you this? Well, one of the things I agreed to this weekend, and which I would not have had it otherwise, was to organise the music for Danila’s party, and also (ahem) to sing.

I’m not a trained singer. I’m okay at it – I’m a trained musician, but not a trained singer. And I never volunteer to sing solos because I can’t rely on my voice. Sometimes it sounds great (particularly in the shower). Sometimes it doesn’t. I just never can predict which way it will go. But when Fred asked me, of course I said yes, because there simply wasn’t anyone else who was available. And I wanted to honour my friend.

So not only did I pray for the weather, I also prayed (and even fasted) for the music and for my voice – to provide a musical program worthy of my friend.

To start the venue, Ann and I sang Offenbach’s La Bacarolle. I had been practicing my part in the duet all week, and even though my voice was tired, we sounded really great together.

Next up, Fred put up a slideshow of Danila’s life, set to music. It was from birth to present with all the important events, like her getting married and having babies. It ended on a particularly emotional note with a video of her father, who died a year ago. He was making jokes, blessing his daughter, and talking about grace. And that was the moment when I was supposed to sing the second song, her very favorite:

Amazing Grace.

And you guys, it was awful. It was just awful. I am laughing and crying as I type this, and I know you will say, “oh no, it could not have been that bad!” but I assure you. Half the people came up to console me, or congratulate me on actually finishing the song when it sounded so bad, and the other half furtively avoided eye contact with me for the rest of the afternoon.

I bombed it in front of 200 people.

I don’t know why it was so bad, except that I had worn my voice out. I usually sing Amazing Grace well because it’s low and just in my range, and it’s such a rich, emotionally gripping song. But my voice was tired from practising so much, and I’d never sung it with a mic before, and my voice wobbled and broke off suddenly and couldn’t sustain a note in the right pitch.

My husband laughed and commiserated with me afterwards, saying, “But isn’t that apropos? Isn’t it really what amazing grace is about? Not being perfect and still being loved?”

Huh! That’s true. And I think what’s incredible is that after the burning in my cheeks died down (about an hour later) I didn’t care. I was able to laugh about it. Danila just thought I had messed up because I was emotional about the slideshow. But that was not true! I didn’t even look at people’s faces as they watched it because it made me emotional and I was afraid to sing badly.

And in the end, I did just that – I was bad. But still Danila loved it, and she still she loves me. Grace.

Oh … and those family pictures …

Oh my God, our kids could not have gotten dirtier if they set up an impromptu rugby match on the front lawn. When my husband asked Gabriel if he was ready for the family pictures, he looked down at his pants, looked up again, and said, “Oh … Maman va me tuer!” (Mom’s gonna kill me!) I had to use a half bottle of stain remover on their clothes the minute we got home.

So you see, I had this day all planned out in my head. I had it all worked out with what I wanted to accomplish, and you can bet that absolute perfection was what I was aiming for. That’s what I saw in my mind’s eye. But the day was nothing like what I had hoped or imagined. It was so far from perfect.

And it was just how it should be. I survived it, and Danila was encouraged. I’m figuring out that I can’t do everything, even if I’m capable of it (or even good at it, which is not always the case). This weekend has motivated me to cut down, and I’ve already figured out what to cut down on, and where.

And the world goes on without me. God somehow fills in all the gaps and fault lines and makes everything whole again. He pulls something out of nothing in this world.

Light out of darkness.

Beauty out of disorder.

He brings perfection out of mess.

And isn’t that the very essence of grace?

Amazing, amazing grace.

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Tips for Parisian Dining on the Seine

Matthieu and I were invited by Travel Republic to glide around the Seine on a dinner cruise via Les Bateaux Parisiens, which embark at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

The view from the parking lot

It was a Tuesday night – one of my craziest days – but it was the best day for the friend who was kind enough to watch our kids. So I had about 15 minutes to get ready, and that was when I discovered that the outfit I had planned on wearing was much dowdier than I realised. So in a blizzard of discarded outfits, I finally emerged with something decent. Except then I discovered that my only pair of stockings, which included feet, had a waist that was too loose.

I solved the problem by pinning them up with a girdle, but that led to a more *ahem* pressing need for a bathroom stop at the inauspicious moment of being stuck in traffic around the Arc de Triomphe. My makeup was a rush-job in the car, and the mascara fell between the seat and the door where I couldn’t reach it. And my swollen winter feet were shoved Minnie Mouse-like into my summery heels, which made me hobble on the cobblestones bordering the Seine. To say we don’t get out much is an understatement.

To say “hobble on the cobble” is fun.

But you’re not here to read about how that silly lady in France lacks dignity, are you? You’re here to read about elegant, romantic dinner cruises on the Seine.

I’ll get to the romance in a minute, but let’s start with some of the practicals. (Any words in blue are a link that you can click on).

TIP ONE: ACCESS  The boat is located in the 7th arrondissement, accessible by the  Métro line 6, either Bir Hakeim or Trocadéro. You can also get there via the larger train line RER C, and that stop is Champ de Mars.

If you are driving, take the Port de la Bourdonnais. You’ll be able to pull off on the right side and take the ramp down to the parking lot. On a Tuesday we had no problem getting a spot, and there were still spaces when we came out. But to be on the safe side, get there early.

Mini Tip: I noticed that it was not easy to get a taxi afterwards, and I saw three older ladies standing in very high heels, huddled against the brisk wind that comes from being next to a river. So dress warmer than you think you might need, and maybe choose the two-inch heels over the stilettos.

We paid for the parking. You get two hours free, so we only had to pay 10€, which is good for Paris. Then we drove up the ramp, and once on street level, I saw the same people standing on the corner, still searching for a taxi, poor ladies. Our car was full, or I would have taken them.

We checked in at 7:45 PM, and waited in a sheltered room dock-side. There is no bathroom in this room, but you can check your coats in for free.

TIP TWO: BATHROOMS  Since bathrooms are always a consideration when you’re traveling in a foreign place, let me reassure you by saying that the bathrooms, once on the ship, are very clean. There are four stalls in the women’s room, and I assume it’s the same for the men. There is someone stationed down there to keep things tidy throughout the cruise, and she was very helpful in instructing me how to turn the water on.

A hint – it’s not through motion sensors or through knobs, but rather you have to touch the circle directly on top of the faucet that doesn’t look like a button.

Mini Tip: Regarding the bathrooms, you should also know that they are located down a spiral staircase and are not accessible to those with limited ability.

When we finally boarded, around 8:15, we were taken directly to our table. Now here’s where I want to make a distinction between the dinner packages available. No matter which package you choose, you will have amazing food and an amazing view. The main distinction you need to know is that Etoile and Elegance services are seated on the inner isle the boat, where you will still have a great view, no matter which way you are seated …

TIP THREE: WINDOW SEATS  However, the Premier will get you seated at the window, and Privilège will place you at the head of the boat – the “bow” where you will be facing large, unobstructed bay windows with a pristine view of Paris all around you.

If you are going with friends, the first two services will be just fine. However, if you are about to propose or something, you may way to upgrade, because the tables on the inner island are placed too close together for intimacy, and the lights are too bright for the ultimate romantic experience. You know – if being in Paris and dining on the Seine – are not cutting it for you.

My husband and I, well … our romance burns from within. So we were fine with Etoile.

We were seated next to two fun ladies – Mary, who is a boisterous woman who blogs about (and writes fiction set in) 13th century Sicily. As soon as I hear from her, I’ll include her  blog link. The other lady was as quiet as her friend was chatty, but every word she did speak was a gem. (That one’s for you, Andrea).

This is Mary!

TIP FOUR: KEEPSAKES  You get your menus in either French or English when you check in, and those are for you to keep as souvenirs. There is also a professional photographer that comes around and takes individual, couple and/or group photos of everyone, which are wired down to the mobile photo lab on the ship. When it’s time for dessert, she comes up with a bunch of 8 x 10 glossies for you to peruse and purchase. They are 20€ per photo, but you might get a deal if you buy more than one. (30€ for two).

We’re not big into buying pictures, but we did splurge on the black and white photo of us kissing, with the date and place printed at the bottom. Where else are we going to get a picture of us kissing on the Seine?

Okay let me rephrase that, since I actually do have some of those pictures. Let me say, “When else are we going to get a picture of us kissing on the Seine that’s not a selfie?”

A souvenir!

The waiter brings a Kir and some little muffins, and then comes and takes your order. If you don’t drink alcohol, there are soft drinks and juice available.

As the boat starts moving, you cruise past the Invalides

and the Grand Palais

past the Concorde and the Louvre.

There is live music, with a combination of American solos and duets, and other more traditional songs like La Vie en Rose.

As we drifted past the Notre Dame, she sang – appropriately – Ave Maria. We went all the way to the National Library before turning around and cruising back. That way you get a great view of every national monument, no matter which way you’re facing.

The boat does the same trip in reverse, and goes all the way to the smaller Statue of Liberty – the model that served as the prototype for the larger statue in New York.

TIP FIVE: SPECIAL DIETARY NEEDS  If you have dietary restrictions, the ship can accommodate gluten-free, vegetarian, lactose free, fiber or residue-free? (I don’t know what those last two mean). However, you have to let them know in advance, and you can do this by raising a request with the Travel Republic’s Customer Service under “Manage Your Booking.”

Hmmmmm. What to choose, what to choose …

I needed gluten-free and let them know in advance. For that, I was able to choose straight off the menu; they told me which choices were gluten-free.

A souvenir!

I had scallops –

Mini Tip: The gluten-free menu does not include special bread to sop up all that delicious sauce.

I suspect that’s because elegant people don’t … sop.

My husband had the beef –

and my main course was sea bass with leeks (it was a seafood night for me).

 

You order dessert early on with the rest of the meal so they can bring everything on time. The only choice I could eat had ice cream and blueberry meringue, and it was very good.

This gluten-y delight is not mine.

In fact, everything was absolutely delicious. No second-rate food here!

There’s something so magical about gliding along the Seine, and ducking under one centuries-old stone bridge

after another.

On one of these dinner cruises, you have everything you need for a magical evening in Paris – delicious French food, beautiful French sites, elegant surroundings.

The only thing that is not provided is the company.

But that is entirely up to you.

* * *

For your next trip to Paris, you can book your dinner cruise here, and choose the service that you want (the last four boxes are for the 8:30 cruise that I went on). The prices are in British pounds, but if you use a different currency, you can calculate the conversion rates here.

Travel Republic has been established since 2003, and aims to offer the best price in travel; they will refund the difference if you can find a cheaper deal. They boast a huge choice of hotels, flights, and attractions, and their motto is always to put the customer first. Three million people book with Travel Republic each year, and they have additional sites in Ireland, Spain and Italy.

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Ten Random Things I’ve Learned

One It’s worth it to pay 15 euros extra for the semi-permanent nail polish.

This is a full week later!

Two It’s hard to take a flattering shot of your hands when you’re over forty.

Three You can, and should, replace the cutlery basket for your dishwasher with a generic substitute when you realise that – for more than a year – you’ve been wasting time arranging your silverware like a puzzle, in order to prevent the forks and knives from slipping through the holes in the basket, and blocking the water jets.

Four You will most likely be unable to find a generic substitute for the coffee carafe you broke, and you know why? It’s because the company wants you to buy a new coffee machine. And if you buy the 200 euro massive espresso machine, (a replica of the one in the cafés), instead of the expensive 1000€ one, it will start leaking before the winter is out.

Five These cold wax strips:

do not work as well as the clear cold wax strips, which no longer seem to be available anywhere. How could you Sally Hansen? How could you?

Oh what, these? No, they’re for a friend.

Six If you don’t have a meat tenderiser, a rolling pin will do the trick. And it’s best to attempt this when you’re feeling particularly frustrated.

(For sanitary reasons, think about pouring some boiling water over it and the cutting board before washing them).

Seven Your kids will still not like the chicken parmesan, no matter how enthusiastically you bash the meat because it doesn’t contain any preservatives.

Eight If you invite a florist over for dinner, he’s going to bring you plants.

More lavender!

I don’t know what this is!

Nine Just because you love your story, and think it’s totally the kind of story you would want to read, doesn’t mean any of the agents will love it. Four rejections so far – four queries still out there. And I’ll probably try more than just eight agents.

But this brings to mind where I’ve been remiss in my rush to get ready for the Pitch Madness contest. Does anyone want to be a beta reader for my book? (Some of you have already been beta readers for the first 2/3 of it, but I never published the ending). What does this entail, you ask? Well, reading it and not sharing the file with anyone else for privacy sake. And then:

a) Helpful: Read it like a published story and only highlight any glaring grammatical errors or typos in red, and send me your general impressions (weak parts, holes in the plot, unbelievable dialogue).

b) Very Helpful: Doing all of the above, and also highlighting dialogue or sentences that you think I should consider revising. You can give suggestions or just highlight it and let me figure it out.

c) Not Necessary, but Who Am I to Say No? If you can’t read it without fine-tooth combing the book and catching every errant comma and other mistakes, etc. you will earn my undying gratitude. However, that is only if you have time and inclination, of course.

If you are willing to do a, b, or c, let me know in the comments and I’ll send it to you.

And Ten? Well … lists where you have to have “ten things” in order to call it a list are highly overrated.

***

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Garden Considerations

I have two things to tell you. The first is that I did well on my French test in order to become a citizen. I needed 160 out of 490 for both parts of the exam, and I got 455 on both. So that’s one thing down in French paperwork, a billion others to go.

The second thing is that I’m using our old, inferior lens for the photos in this post since we didn’t receive the shipment with the adjustment yet. Now. On to garden news.

Things are a’ budding!

Hazelnut Tree

Hydrangea – this thing was dead at one point and got resurrected. Never give up! Never surrender!

The tulip tree or magnolia tree – forgot what it’s called.

It’s funny how in another part of the garden it didn’t grow nearly as tall (planted at the same time) but it buds more quickly.

Peach tree. My kids call this tree ‘Alistair’ since we planted it to remember the baby we lost through miscarriage. “Alistair is growing things!” they say. I wish I had known how fragile peach trees were when I chose it as a remembrance tree. You don’t precisely want a tree that barely hangs on year after year to commemorate a baby who was unable to.

The flowering plum tree. This is why I painted a wall in my kitchen pink.

Because the tree flowers pink and then has plum-colored leaves through to autumn.

Each year I tell myself that – come late fall – I’m going to plant other hyacinths in white and pink to fill this space out; and each year I forget.

While we’re at it, each year I tell myself I need to move the daffodils because they get squashed under the shutters. And each year I forget.

Some flowers are just so flamboyant, aren’t they?

So let me stop annoying everyone by writing the entire post in captions with tiny print. That whole area outside the kitchen, with the pink prunus and the purple hyacinths? I am just smitten with it. I think I remember telling you that I got rid of one ugly yellow forsythia to replace it with something more colour-appropriate

(no idea what it’s called). And I got rid of the other one and replaced it with … what I think is spirea? The name comes back to me unbidden from growing up with a mom who is a Master Gardener and knows all things plants. This flowers white.

I realised that this is a view I don’t often show you. Standing in part of the garden, looking at the apricot tree (the only one of two that gives fruit) with the outhouse behind it that is now a tool shed, the garage, and our neighbour’s house behind that. They are Portuguese and often grill fish on their patio and it smells really good.

I also rarely show you this view – standing in the corner of the garden looking at everything. See that wall there?

The owner before us bought the additional property that was beyond the wall, but he never got rid of the wall. In fact, when we bought the house the wall had a chain link fence above it with perfectly trimmed bushes in front of it. We took down the chain link and made a more natural fence (by that, I’m not referring to the one that kept our dog from jumping into the compost pile to the left there, but rather the one shown just below with cut branches woven through posts). We also replaced those bramble bushes with …

Lavender, tulips, irises (and now *new* calalilies – thanks to our wonderful neighbor).

So you know what I’ve been thinking of doing lately? I think I want to take down that wall and make one big open space. I find that I don’t go into the back area as often as I might because the wall is a visual impediment. That means that things get neglected back there, and also that there is a portion of our land not getting used to the full potential.

But if we get rid of the wall (major work, mind you – who knows how deeply they poured the cement?), we will have to equalise the ground, which is on a slope and replant grass. We’ve been meaning to do that anyway because Hunter tore apart our lawn when he ran from one corner to another, barking. (You’ll see that in the photo at the bottom).

So we will also have to find a new home for the lavender, tulips, irises, calalilies, and …

the raspberries on the other side. (These give amazing fruit, but it’s an effort to maintain them because you need to remember where you kept the gloves to ward off all the prickles).

And, perhaps the more pressing problem, we will have to figure out what to do with the kiwi!

We’ve waited nearly five years for fruit (will this be the year)? But they need to grow on something! Right now, they’re growing on this arch and have started along the wall we made. If we remove the wall, and the arch along with it, we’ll have to find another solution for these guys.

So you see what I mean? This is what we are considering in our garden and it will be a lot of work. What would you do in our situation?

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Shifting Focus

My husband bought a new lens. Our old lens is broken and we have another one that is not great quality. And, in addition to using the camera all the time for blogging, we have an upcoming event where we want to take family pictures (we’ll all be dressed up at a château) and we were also asked to photograph the event. So this was the impetus for getting a new lens.

Of course, as soon as my husband brought it home, he played around with it for awhile.

Testing outdoor lighting and indoor lighting.

But do you know what he realised (to his dismay)? The way this particular lens and our particular camera work together ruins the focus. Together, the two apparatus create the problem. Or they cancel each other out.

I forgot the terms – my husband is the tech guy, not me. Something about sensors and forward focus and all that. But the camera focuses on a spot just next to the spot he is aiming for in the viewfinder.

And that makes for fuzzy pictures.

And that is not the result you want to get when you buy an expensive lens. He confirmed his suspicions when he focused on the 15 centimetre mark on the ruler, only to see that when the photo was enlarged on the computer, the 16-17 mark was in focus and the 15 was not. (That was clever of him, wasn’t it)?

So he talked to the guys at the camera shop and decided to order a small thingamabob add-on, which is supposed to solve the problem. And hopefully that is all it takes – a little tweak to bring everything into focus.

I think I’ve been focused on the wrong subject, and the result is depressingly blurry. It’s not my eyes – it’s my heart, which is centring on the spot just next to where it’s supposed to be focused.

For instance, It’s not the roof over our heads and the cozy space we live in that I see; it’s that stupid little paper from the bank, allowing us to refinance and get the work done on our house, which never arrives, week after week.

It’s not the stately country I live in, with its age-old beauty and delicious foods and passionate Latin blood streaming through every vein; it’s the mounds of paperwork that are heaped on us – a requirement for double-taxation and to get citizenship.

It’s not the chance to serve and love and influence young minds through all my teaching jobs, and the children’s ministry that we oversee in our church; it’s the extra running around and planning and taking time away from quiet reading, writing and repose that I focus on.

It’s not the joy of being healthy, active and carefree – with my children at just such an age where I can start to have some independence; what I see is the depressing reality that my body does not snap into shape as quickly as it once did and the lack of motivation I have to try and change that. I see what I don’t have, not what I have.

It’s not the children I focus on – their beauty, energy, intelligence, humour, pure hearts, love of life and of God. No. I see endless needs, demands, requests, noise, mess, world without end, amen and amen.

I could chalk it all up to depression – those who have read me for awhile know that this is a lifelong battle – but I don’t think it’s just that. I think my issue is with the centre of my focus. I’ve simply lost that crystal-clear precision.

And I need a new lens.

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Swamped

It’s been coming on pretty steadily, even from the beginning of the school year when the school days were shorter by a forty-five minutes. That’s forty-five less minutes to have quiet in the house in order to get stuff done.

My teaching hours are different – more early morning and mid-afternoon sessions, less of the long stretches of time at home (to get stuff done). And I’m trying to do more than before: write and find an agent for a fictional novel and create the audio recording of my memoir, moderate an author’s group on Facebook, and co-moderate another Christian blogger’s group. I’m getting more opportunities through my blog and I’m juggling everything because I don’t want to let any of them drop. They’re too good to pass up.

On a personal level, I’m trying to change some eating and exercise habits, but I don’t have time or the attention span to set the boulder in motion. It’s one thing to be in relatively good shape and add some exercise. It’s another thing to have to start completely from scratch with the mental effort equivalent to a full-time job. I just … can’t.

My husband is even busier. This past week he worked non-stop, sometimes getting 2 or 3 hours of sleep a night. He was in London last week and had to go again this morning. There are things that I need him for – administrative stuff that is time-sensitive, such as my naturalisation, our dual taxation, our family’s discount transportation cards for having three kids (ours is about to expire). But he’s just not around to do it.

The house and garden are falling to rack and ruin, the kids are left to fend for themselves, (except for food, clothing, transportation, and hugs), friends are neglected unless they are conveniently located – and even then …

In many ways, our hearts are in the right place. We were asked to oversee the Children’s Ministry in our church, which means organising the classes, screening and training the people who teach the various age-groups every Sunday, and making sure they have a mini communion message on the days they teach. All we’ve done so far to further this worthy cause was to draft an e-mail that didn’t end up getting sent because we were waiting for more details. We continue to have Bible discussions every other Friday (we reduced it to twice a month) and are involved with individual Bible studies. Our hearts are willing, but we can barely catch our breath.

Last night, we were praying, and Matthieu said something that made me laugh. He referenced the storm from the Bible in which the disciples were frightened. They woke Jesus up, and he calmed the wind and the waves. It’s worth sharing the story here:

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” (Mark 4:35-40)

What’s striking about this passage is that these men were veteran fishermen. And they were accustomed to the intense squalls that came up suddenly on the Sea of Galilee, due to shallow water, tall surrounding mountains, and extreme differences in air temperature. But this storm was so bad, it terrified them to the point that they stopped any effort at saving themselves long enough to glare at Jesus, who was sleeping peacefully, and cry out, “Don’t you care if we drown?”

I like how they accused Jesus of not caring about them, expecting him to get a pail and start frantically bailing out water at their side. They had noooo idea who Jesus was.

But at least they invited him into their concerns. As Matthieu prayed, he said that we’re still trying bail out the boat and repair the sails ourselves. We obviously still think we can handle it all. We haven’t bothered to “wake Jesus up” and ask for help because we assume we have it (mostly) under control.

It’s not just the business factor that has me overwhelmed and puzzled. It’s as if all our efforts are being frustrated. We’ve been waiting since the summer to refinance the loans on our house and get a separate loan for raising the roof. This should eventually make a positive difference on our finances, if not in the short-term, most definitely in the long-term. But there is this one paper that our old bank is not sending to our new bank and the only thing we can do it about it is to keep reminding them. And wait. All of our efforts at moving forward are thwarted by something we have no control over.

Things are also getting broken. We bought about 5 coffee machines over the space of 2 years because I kept breaking them. Sometimes the carafe was impossible to replace and so I had to buy an entirely new machine. This last time I bought one of the double machines that makes both espresso and carafe coffee, thinking that it would be a smarter investment long-term. This was only a couple of months ago and the espresso part is already leaking. I’m not sure if I saved the receipt.

I bought a lamp for our living room and it got lost in the mail and I’m having trouble getting a hold of the people to get a reimbursement. We bought a CD for a friend’s birthday after much research (it’s very rare) and it got lost in the mail and they said they don’t have any more in stock. Our semi-new printer stopped printing, and Matthieu had to spend hours last night trying to figure out why. Our pump for the well is broken. Our wifi is on the fritz. The lens for our camera is broken and we need a good one for some upcoming projects. And our bank account is currently in the red (as usual).

I won’t talk about my husband’s job publicly, nor will I say whether he shares my opinion or not, but I will say that I am not entirely content with the certain aspects of it. And the mad rush for a book agent has brought only despair so far. Two rejections without even wanting to see the rest of the manuscript. I’m self-deceived enough to be surprised – this is the precisely the kind of book I like to read, so why wouldn’t you (oh agents) like it too?

You can pity my naiveté. Or laugh at me.  It’s okay – I laugh at myself all the time.

This is what the Lord Almighty says: “These people say, ‘The time has not yet come to rebuild the Lord’s house.’”

Then the word of the Lord came through the prophet Haggai: “Is it a time for you yourselves to be living in your paneled houses, while this house remains a ruin?”

Now this is what the Lord Almighty says: “Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it.” (Haggai 1:2-6)

This is what’s puzzling us. We plant much and harvest little. We eat and drink, but are never satisfied. We buy clothes but there is always something wrong with them (too small, rip easily, kids don’t like it); we earn money, but we put it in a purse with holes in it and the coins fall to the ground for someone else to grasp. And we are so oblivious, we have NO idea.

It’s not even like we’re neglecting God’s house! We’re caring for his ministry and his people. We’re praying and fasting.

But if we are to be honest with ourselves, we’re much more obsessed with our work than with God’s. We’re living in paneled houses while God’s house stands in ruin. And we are going to have to take a serious look at what we’re doing wrong.

The very thought is enough to send me back to bed.

“Teacher. Don’t you care if we drown?” I think we need part-repentence, and part-divine intervention. And we’d better start by asking Jesus for a hand.

Photo Credit

It’s hard to explain the nuances and complexities of our situation, some aspects of which are too private to put on a public forum. And we will be praying for guidance, and seeking it from couples we trust in our church. But have you ever been in this situation? What did you do?

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How to Sew Pointe Shoes

There comes a point in every girl’s life …

when she gets to live vicariously through her daughter.

I think you know my ignominious past with ballet. I started late and was the tall chubby duckling amidst tiny swans. And then I tried again on the Upper East Side in a refined studio, now an adult and at the proper weight. But I was travelling to Asia a lot and was too tired to do it seriously. My final endeavour was in a grunge studio in SoHo where all the “beginners” were professionals and I was wearing pink tights and pink ballet shoes with huge bows (forgot to cut the strings) in a sea of black. And then I got pregnant.

With this girl.

Thankfully, she has the body for dance and started at just the right time so she doesn’t have to suffer such humiliation.

But I have to sew the pointe shoes.

There are better tutorials than mine, but if you’re here, this will do in a pinch. There will be one elastic that you have to cut in two. Fold the end of one like this

and sew it in place, preferably in a square for the maximum amount of strength in the seams. (I didn’t do that because I had no thimble and my fingers began to hurt, but this will hold).

Measure your (daughter’s) foot in the shoe so you know how much to gather on the other side of the elastic. Make sure you sew the elastic outside the shoe or you’ll get blisters. Also, make sure that the elastic is not twisted before you sew it in place.

You should pull the drawstrings (not too tight) and make a double knot. You can snip them so that they fall above the end of the pointe shoe and not on the floor. But don’t cut them too short or you can’t adjust them later.

The ribbons are the easiest. You can fold the heel of the pointe shoe down to see where the sides pucker and pin the ribbon in place there, but an easy method (for beginners) is simply to sew the ribbon to the right (or left, depending on which side) of the seam.

Like so.

Again, the ribbons should be sewn in the form of a square, and you should aim  to sew them to the canvas interior so that the seam is hidden on the outside. While this is not possible for the elastic, which needs to hold securely, it is possibly for the ribbons.

Alas. You live and learn.

And then a girl(s)’ dream comes true.

Plié.

Hop!

Hop!

Look mom – I’m flying!

Aw sweetie – what form!

I suppose I shall have to take them off eventually.

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Ten Disadvantages of Living in France

Oh I was all up in arms yesterday when I was at the height of my stress and had plenty of ammunition for why my life was terribly hard. But that was yesterday.

Today, I can manage no more than a tongue-in-cheek commentary on why it’s so hard to live in France. And I will do so in a minute. But first, can I tell you about two things?

I forgot to mention that my memoir was on sale for only .99 at the beginning of the week. It’s on the Kindle countdown deal, going on until Monday, so it keeps increasing in price until it returns to the original $5.99. If you’ve been meaning to read it, you can click on the link below (actually, the huge book cover) and it will lead you directly to Amazon. And if you think of anybody that might like to read it, would you let them know?

I made the image nice and pinnacle too.

The other thing I have already mentioned, but it was sort of buried in a post. I was chosen as a finalist in the European Blog Category for the weblog awards called The Bloggies. I would so appreciate your vote to win the category. When you click on the (enormous) button I made, it will take you to their site, and you have to scroll down until you see the European Blog category. When you have checked my blog and/or any other blog you wish to vote for, scroll to the very bottom and input your name and e-mail. They won’t spam you. Once you’ve submitted your vote, you’ll have to verify the link in your e-mail (by clicking on it) and then you’re all set! You can only vote once.

Thank you. Alright, now back down to business.

Ten Disadvantages of Living in France

1. One reason it’s so hard (cue the violins) to live in France is because the houses are so tiny! And there are no cupboards. Do you have a hoarder’s tendency? Forget about it! Do you have sons with Legos? Deny them!

2. And don’t think you can afford to pay for a cleaning lady to give you a hand when it all gets to be too much. It’s not just a measly 12€ an hour you’re going to fork out. You will have to pay for her social charges, vacation time, sometimes her travel costs to get to your house – or her lunch. And when you politely end the contract, you will surely be hit with another bill and a mound of paperwork. But it will be when you’ve conveniently filed all the information you need (like her date of birth, social security number and last day worked) in some random place.

3. So when the ironing piles up (as it will), it’s literally going to pile up right in the entranceway, where sit the washing machine and dryer, ironing board, backpacks, trumpets, coats, swimming paraphernalia, shoes and scooters.

4. This makes it hard when you have to climb over everything in the mornings to open the shutters, and then again at night to close the shutters – as one must do. When you live in France.

So there will be no discreet basement laundry room equipped with a television to watch your favourite soap opera, and that brings me to number 5.

5. Everything on TV is in French. Even if you speak French, you don’t really want to hear the dowager in Downton Abbey lamenting about the “relay-shuns” in French. You miss all the humour! So you’re stuck buying DVDs. And these pile up in your bookshelves and on your dresser

6. Paperwork. Right now we’re in the process of refinancing our house loans, getting a new loan for major construction, declaring our taxes in both France and America, and (for me) applying for French citizenship (I have my French test tomorrow). I’m hovering on the brink of insanity, so shall not delve further into the notion of … paperwork.

7. Our (not very) bilingual kids. I was so excited about my children reading my childhood favourites – Chronicles of Narnia, Little House, Anne of Green Gables (and the newer Harry Potter). But they don’t want any of it unless it’s in French! I finally surrendered and started taking them to the library because otherwise they won’t read at all.

And yesterday, our sweet neighbour brought over an entire box of books.

But they’re in French! I guess I should just be glad that they will read anything at all instead of watching TV.

“Maman regardes!” says Juliet. “La Petite Maison dans la Prairie! Je peux le lire, enfin.”

Harrumph.

8. High cost of living. Oh yes. Remember these old couches?

Still there. My iPhone is a 3G and I have to wait a full minute after I press a button for anything to happen. And I have to drive at 15 miles per hour when I go over potholed roads in my 1992 Corolla or I will crash into a lamppost. But the car is not worth the repairs it needs, nor can we buy a new one.

9. There is a dearth of places to exercise. If you can manage to find a gym at all (there are not many), it is sure that it will be a) out of your price range, b) have no parking so you’re stressed about where to put your car, c) open only at 10AM so those who like to exercise early, then take a shower, and then get on with the day are just fools out of luck.

And of course all the pools are only open at lunch time when they are jam-packed with slugs who don’t know how to circle swim. And jogging/biking along the Seine is a sure way to collect mud. I just don’t know how those French people stay so skinny since they don’t seem to do anything. And that brings me to my last point.

10. Food.

Oh yes. Oh yes. You think this is a point in France’s favour, don’t you? Those tasty pastries. Gimme s’more cheese, please. It’s about time for some wine. And don’t fahget the baguette.

But no.

One cannot eat the pastries and bread if one has a gluten intolerance. One cannot touch the wine if one has a … um … past. And nobody wants to eat cheese without bread and wine. So the French food manages to keep you tempted from afar –  unsatiated – while somehow still collecting around your waist. How does that happen? How? I ask you.

I think it’s pretty evident that there are some very real disadvantages to living in France, don’t you agree?

No? Oh just humour me then.

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