A taste of home...

You should know that in France corn is generally considered to be pig food. So getting our hands on good sweet corn intended for human consumption... a VERY rare treat. (As in this is only the second time since being in France.)

We were giddy.

Okay. To be completely honest, that's not quite true. I was all excited, blabbering on and on about how many ways to fix it... Jonathan was appreciative in his usual reserved manner. There was no giddiness or blabbering on his part. But on the scale adapted to Jonathan, he was just shy of throwing up jazz hands.


Thank you, Cheryl, for this taste of home!


Jonathan says this is a chewed piece of corn. I say it's art.


Why, yes. Those are, in fact, grandgarden tomatoes and cucumbers!

Summer...

Jonathan mans the grill while talking with Claire and Vincent

As you may have already deduced... we're house-sitting this week! No, these photos were not taken in our little one-bedroom apartment, but rather about an hour north. (That's three buses, or two buses and a métro away.) We were able to have Mark and Kendra out (yay!) and also Vincent and Claire, which was also 'yay!' but also sad because it's the last time we'll see them before they move to the Strasbourg area. But we've been invited to come visit them up in Alsace, so you may see their faces on here again in a few months.


White boy can attaya.

Even though I've been working and Jonathan has been writing his mémoire and working in the clinic, the break from our regular routine has been wonderful. This morning I went for a long run along the river, came back in time to see Jonathan for a bit before he left for the clinic, and then spent the afternoon and evening working. I could get used to this schedule!


Our special attaya glasses

Speaking of working, I just got a call from the studio saying that they want me to come back in to re-do a 30-second laughing bit I did a couple weeks ago in the role of Thunder Girl. Apparently my laugh wasn't evil enough. (Hey - I can think of worse criticisms!)

So I'll be headed back in on Friday morning to 'Mwaha ha ha!' it up in front of the mic. Lucky for me, there's a Wikipedia entry entitled 'evil laugh' with sample audio and also an entry on wiki-How for how to do an evil laugh.

What can I say? All in a day's work at one of my sources of income!


Dinner on the terrace


Noémie and Judy


Trust me - there was plenty of food! I'll pull a Britt here and give you a list: grilled peppers, mushrooms, zucchini and pineapple, grilled sausages, Kendra's tabouleh and hummus, white beans with tomato and garlic, Indian potato salad... and peach pie.


Vincent and Noémie going for a swim and a float, respectively


Mark, Kendra and Evan


Judy's new buddy

What not to wear in France...

I recently had a request for a blog post on how to dress like the French, or at least not like an American in France.



First and foremost, I'd like to express my love for a comfy t-shirt circa Y2K and Chacos flip-flops, à l'américaine. But it's true that wearing these items here in France may make you stand out like Wonderbread in a row of baguettes. Fortunately, the rules have relaxed considerably since we arrived five years ago. You can now wear baseball caps (Louis Vuitton, please) and even Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirts. Très à la mode in 2009.

I won't go so far as to say that dropping the American look is the 'right' thing to do when in France, but if you're looking for an authentic experience with the bonus of not sticking out as an easy target for pickpockets and tourist scammers, it is an idea worth considering.

Hear me yell this loudly:
I am not saying you shouldn't wear these things.
I am not saying that you will never, ever see a French person wearing them.
I am saying that IF you want to avoid looking American, here are 10 tips.

1. Sports sandals get the thumbs down. Although you may occasionally see some men sporting them, in general this is a look reserved for Americans and Germans, verstehen Sie?

2. Just say no to white socks.

3. Shorts are for a) older men playing boules, b) teenage boys making noise in the back of the bus, c) young women who paid a lot for them at high-end fashion boutiques.

4. Grown-ups don't carry backpacks. One exception: middle aged women with leather backpack-style purses.


(c) www.leatherbackpackpurses.net

5. Likewise, grown-ups do not wear tennis shoes unless actively participating in a sport. This applies particularly to the ladies. Low-heeled sandals are pretty much the standard.

6. Dockers, Crocs, denim shorts, Rainbows, braided leather belts, Chacos, insulated coffee mugs and sun-visors are American flags.


I still wear my Chacos. Just call me Madame Patriotic.

7. Man-pris are in. From what I hear, they are not (yet) in style in the US, so wearing them will make you look as if you are from this side of the Atlantic.

8. T-shirts that give information on what you've been up to (Class of 2009, Borders Family Reunion, Hard Rock Café Las Vegas, I ate the 5 lb burger at Joe's Beef Barn...) are to be avoided. However, if you're in highschool or college and want to share your interests in English, that's very popular (Live to party, Glamour flirt, I have hot...)


This is an official shout-out to my Dad

9. Bright colors get trumped by black if you're wanting to blend in.

10. If you want to be accepted and treated well by locals, respect their standards. Don't look at the other visitors to France and assume that if they can wear shorts, you can too. Take a look around to see what are the locals wearing to museums, restaurants and to the market. You'll have much more rewarding experience if you dress appropriately for the setting.


Any other suggestions, Franco-American expat-y folks?

I am pro crastinating...

I am definitely a fan of crastinating today. Of course, I would get this writer's block/lack of motivation/case of the blahs on a day that it is imperative I get lost of work done. Oh well, or as they say in these parts, tant pis.

Since Tuesday I have written 4,963 words towards a 6,000-word project. Which is due today. 'Today' as in technically 151 minutes from now.

I just sent off the last texts and photos to wrap up three magazines - a grand total of 159 pages and three covers put together over the last two months. The graphic designer now has everything needed from me, so I sit and wait until everything is finalized next week... hoping nothing comes crashing down, like a rejected page layout or cover design. Please no. Not this week.

My hair, which I can see reflected in my computer screen, is standing up all kinds of crazy. When I get stressed I run my fingers through it and it gets bigger and bigger...

We are this close to finalizing covers for new products. My contributions: finding the right images and translating the descriptions. Having so much creative responsibility is awesome... until people disagree with you on what the 'right' final product is. (The nerve of some people.)

Case in point: this went on sale in newsstands across France today. But one month ago it was a major tug-of-war. I won, but what I really care about is whether I was right about the fact that it will sell. We'll see when the figures come in... (Maybe they were right and I have a reservation for one at Crow Restaurant. I prefer a booth in the corner, if possible.)

So perhaps it's not that I'm truly pro crastinating. Maybe I'm just maxed out.

Vive le week-end !

(Which is now 132 minutes and 1,037 words away.)

Worlds colliding in the backyard...

Sitting a spell

This past weekend we had an impromptu party in the grandgarden. It started off as a visit with Kendra and Evan, and I invited our neighbor Emilie to join us. I guess it looked like such fun (and it was!) that another neighbor decided to come down and join us, and then also Emilie's father who is here visiting. It was so relaxing - perfect weather, good food straight from the grandgarden, great conversation...


My good friend and gardening buddy, Emilie

And I loved introducing my 'American life' to my 'French life'. (As George Costanza sould say, "My world's are colliding!" But I mean it in a good way. Kendra and Emilie are some of my closest friends here and it was fun to introduce them and listen to them talk about things we all three have in common (eco-habits, political views, travel) and also things only they had in common (babies, feedings, diapers...).


I think you know this little guy!

We're house-sitting for three families this summer so will be away from the grandgarden a bit more than we'd like. (I think it was much harder for me to say goodbye than it was for Jonathan.) But the good news is that Kendra and Evan will be making harvest pilgrimages while we're gone. The zucchini and tomatoes have found a good home!


The star of the afternoon. (You'll see more of him soon!)


Neighbors visiting in the shady spot


Emilie and our neighbor from the second floor

Photos du jour...

Old reflected in the new at the Guillotière in Lyon

I've walked past these buildings many, many times on my way to Jonathan's school. But the other day, I actually looked up as I walked past.


I love the open windows in the modern building.


And I wonder if people in the older building look at their reflections across the street.

The soirée...

What I can hear of Jonathan's phone call Saturday afternoon (in French, of course)...

"Sure, tonight sounds good... 9 or 10 o'clock? Let's say 9 o'clock... The métro at Place Guichard? Yes, I know where it it... And she can come too?... Okay - sounds good... See you later then."

By this point I'm more than a little intrigued.


Jonathan: Well, that was the man we met at the Senegalese Consulate. He's invited us to a soirée tonight.

Me: What kind of soirée?

Jonathan: I don't know. He just said a Senegalese soirée. I think he's going with some friends. What do you think? Do you want to come?


At this point my mind jumped several directions at once as I tried to imagine what this 'Senegalese soirée' might actually mean:

- A room packed with Senegalese men all focused on a soccer match, me being the only woman.

- A dance club featuring a DJ from Dakar and lots of Senegalese women shakin' it as only they can.

- Some kind of formal event put on by the Consulate's office, which is staffed by men only.

- Drinks at a bar. (No idea how devout this man and his friends were, but Islam forbids alcohol so if they were practicing Muslims, this one could have been safely crossed off the list of possibilities.)

- One of these cultural events I've seen advertised on posters: an African meal, Djembe concert and dance lessons for about $50/person.

As you can see, I was somewhat concerned about the whole 'How do I, as a woman, fit into the picture?' question. But I would have eaten my own foot before letting Jonathan go to this soirée alone and me have to get the details second-hand! No way. I was most definitely going to this soirée. Whatever it was.

So that evening we dug into the nicer half of our closets (I skipped the self-tanner. Why bother? I'd glow in comparison anyway) and headed into town. We debated stopping by the ATM, but had no idea what we were doing so no idea how much to withdraw. "Here's hoping the Senegalese soirée takes plastic!" I thought.

We arrived at the meeting point right at 9pm. For those of you who know 'African time', you'll be as surprised as we were that he was already there waiting for us. I know - crazy, right? Even crazier, his friend who was meeting up with us arrived right on time as well!

Greeting, handshake, greetings, handshake, greetings... How's your family? They are fine. How's work? Thanks be to God, it is good. How is your health? My body is at peace. How is your wife? She is fine, thanks be to God.

"The restaurant is this way," he said.


Don't worry - it's normal for Senegalese people not to smile in photos. As for us, well we were just beaming the whole night.

Phew. A restaurant. I was much more comfortable with that setting than a bar or dance club. (Or a roomful of men watching a soccer match, for that matter.) And we had a pretty good idea of which restaurant we were headed to.

Lyon has a small handful of Senegalese restaurants (La Mangue Amère, L'île de Gorée, La Rizière...) but the best-known is Lyon-Dakar. We'd only ever been to Keur Sadibou (before it closed) so this was going to be a very special treat for us.


Due to lack of illlustration for this post, here's a picture of us at Keur Sadibou in 2006.

No reservations had been made, but the owners set us a table in the very last available space. The menus placed in front of us were very comprehensive: mafé (peanut butter sauce with beef), ceebu jen (fish and rice), ceebu yapp (lamb and rice), yassa (chicken and onion sauce), thiou (beef stew), dakhine (lamb stew), soupu kandia (gumbo stew), bissap (hibiscus drink), gingembre (ginger drink), thiakry (couscous pudding)... Mmmm! How to choose?

I'll tell you how. When faced with a full Senegalese menu, go straight for the ceebu jen. This rice and fish dish with roots in paella has always been my favorite.

There was a quick discussion about whether or not to get appetizers, but it ended with a happy look on our new friend's face when we confirmed that real Senegalese meals do not include appetizers. You go straight to the main course. Our table ordered three plates of ceebu jen and one plate of ceebu yapp.


Discreetly taken photo of Jonathan and our host

Jonathan made their jaws drop when he asked if his could be served with extra xon, the burned bits of rice that stick to the bottom of the pot. Only a true Senegalese would know to ask for the xon.

As the men drank their spicy ginger drinks (no alcohol - our host's friend asked twice to be sure), we talked about Senegalese politics, Obama, their wives and children still in Senegal, the friend's trip to NYC in 2003 (he went to the mosque daily to pray), and of course, how much we all appreciated the Senegalese hopsitality, called teranga. As we wrapped up the meal, our host walked over to the bar to pay the check - for all of us. Teranga knows no borders.


Our host

We left the restaurant in Senegalese style - walking right down the middle of the street, oblivious to cars, at a slow pace fit for talking and telling stories. As the only woman, I fell into place behind the men. I thought about how on our way to meet them a few hours earlier Jonathan and I had prayed for this evening - that it would build our relationship with this man from the Consulate and that he would understand our desire and motives for going back to Senegal, but also that it would be a fun, memorable evening for us all.

I'd say God answered that one.

Madame Masson goes to the ostéopathe...

Madame Masson was not usually a stubborn woman - unless, of course, she felt she had a good reason to be.

For example, why should she spend 60 euros ($84) to go see an ostéopathe when she had already spent thousands of euros to have an almost-ostéopathe right in her apartment? So for four years she had dug in her heels and resisted making an appointment with another ostéopathe and insisted that being the almost-ostéopathe's guinea pig was good enough. She would not be manipulated into changing her mind.

But then a new wind blew in. This 'wind' was actually a comment made by a classmate of the almost-ostéopathe. The friend explained that he could treat any patient but his girlfriend. It just didn't work.

This was a problem Madame Masson understood completely. Although the treatments she received from her beloved almost-ostéopathe were good, they often led to tension in their relationship. Maybe she was missing out by not going to an ostéopathe who wasn't her husband? Could it be true that osteopaths (and other doctors and therapists) often aren't able to treat their loved ones as well as other patients?

Madame Masson's stubborness began to fade. And when her lower back started to hurt, the stubborness faded even more. She caved. An appointment was made with a very repsected ostéopathe in her neighborhood.

The morning of the appointment dawned gray and drizzly. Madame Masson carefully chose her under-outfit, knowing that when in France you do as the Français... strip to your skyvvies. Oh joie.

Twenty minutes into her appointment, Madame Masson wondered why she had ever been so stubborn. Although the treatment wasn't like a massage, it did help her relax and loosened areas that had been pulled painfully tight. The goal was not to pop and crack (as she had feared) but rather to bring the body to the point that it could then heal itself.

To be honest, when she stood up after the treatment, Madame Masson didn't really feel any different. But once she started walking, she immediately felt that her lower back was straighter, more relaxed and her movements seemed to flow smoothly. So much better!

Then the ostéopathe said two things that made her very happy:

First, he said she should come back in September, but that second visit would probably be sufficient. Madame Masson was relieved to hear that this treatment wouldn't require frequent return visits.

And then he told her she should avoid any strenuous activity this weekend. No running, lifting heavy things, serious gardening... and just to be safe, no doing laundry or dishes, he said with a wink.

Yes, Madame Masson liked going to the ostéopathe very much.

We've got zucchini...

... coming out of our ears! But it's great. I am loving having enough to share with neighbors and friends and am embracing the challenge of dealing with the rest of it. Today we came back from a weekend of house-sitting and arrived to a garden full of big ol' honkin' Curcubita pepo. This afternoon I grated 21 cups of it, then made a zucchini quiche and froze the rest in 3-cup portions for making Britt's zucchini bread.

But there is more to be done with massive zucchini...



Bicep curls, tricep extensions and kickbacks! Apparently zucchini can be good for your health in many ways. Hmmm... Maybe I should write a book on losing weight with zucchini. I could even tie in some exercises on the phonebook steps and the handy HydraJuice bottle!



Zucchini Recipes on Bon Appétit:

- Spiced carrot zucchini bread
- French toast with zucchini bread
- Pan grilled zucchini and red peppers
- Grandgarden pasta with summer vegetables
- Stuffed zucchini (Jonathan's favorite)
- Zucchini pomodoro
- Fresh spring rolls
- Ceebu jen
- Goat cheese lasagna with zucchini

14 things to know about Bastille Day...

1. Bastille Day is the French National holiday.



2. It is commemorates the storming of the Bastille prison, which took place on 14 July 1789 and marked the beginning of the French Revolution. So the holiday is celebrated annually on July 14th...

3. ...but if the 15th is a business day, many cities set off their fireworks on the eve of the 14th - like the ones going off right now!

4. ...and if the 14th falls near a weekend, many businesses close for an extra day to give employees a nice, long weekend. (And at this point I'd like to thank Isa for suggesting our office follow this wonderful French tradition.) This day-off-to-form-a-long-weekend is called making le pont (literally, 'a bridge').


(c) JP Houel

5. The Bastille prison was a symbol of the absolute and somewhat moody power of King Louis the 16th. By overtaking this symbol, the French people signaled the end of the King's power - power would be based on the Nation and be limited by a separation of powers. (See? It is an independence day as well. Just not the same as ours.)

6. It is not, under any circumstances, to be called 'The French Fourth of July'. Unless, of course, you're okay with us calling July 4th 'The American July Fourteenth'.

7. Calling it 'Bastille Day' is actually more American than French. Here, we just call it le quatorze juillet. You guessed it. That means the 14th of July.

8. The blue, white, and red French flag that we know today actually came into use during the French Revolution. (Note: It is 'blue, white, and red' and not 'red, white and blue'.)

9. The three colors represent the Republic's three ideals: Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.

10. Traditionally the president used to give an interview to members of the press, discussing the situation of the country, recent events and projects for the future. Nicolas Sarkozy, president since 2007, has chosen not to give it. What a rebel.

11. Bastille Day falls during the Tour de France. Of course, on this day French riders try to take a stage victory for France.

12. Contrary to the belief of some, the fireworks are not to celebrate Jesse's birthday. But we still want to wish him a joyeux anniversaire!



13. Three other countries hold official Bastille Day celebrations: the US, South Africa and Hungary. We attended the festivities in Hungary two years ago. What a nagy fél!

14. To wish someone a happy quatorze juillet, you can say, "Bonne fête !"

The weekend forecast...

... looks good.

Four very important words...

Four very important words:
Passe en Année Supérieure

You know what they mean? They mean that my husband is now officially a fifth (and final!) year osteopathic student!

Final, final, final. What beautiful words.

Exam grades were just posted online in the usual French fashion - anyone and everyone can see them. No matching up your Social Security number to your grade here. Nope. Just publish 'em on the internet for all to see. Here's the link if you want to explore the French education system. Good luck deciphering the site :)










Just as a reminder of how wonderful this news is, here is a list of his classes this year:

- Semiology and osteopathic diagnostics
- Applied neurology
- Medical synthesis and clinical routine
- Medical imagery (MRI, scans, sonograms, X-rays, etc...)
- Clinical boards
- Comprehensive central and peripheral nervous systems
- Applied clinic
- Thesis and stats
- Gynecology and obstetrics,
- Pediatrics
- Psychology
- Urology-Nephrology
- Endocrinology
- Infectious diseases
- Hematology



And one final thing I'd like to say on these subjects: Passe en Année Supérieure !

Type A garden...

Today's take

You may be familiar with the Type A and Type B personality theory. I'm not sure if it's the soil, the seeds or the climate, but the grandgarden certainly seems to exhibit some serious Type A-ness lately.

"... impatient, excessively time-conscious, insecure about their status, highly competitive, over-ambitious, business-like, hostile, aggressive, incapable of relaxation in taking the smallest issues too seriously..."

Recycled water

It's true. The grandgarden is very competitive and sometimes even hostile towards other gardens in the neighborhood. Day and night it tries to put out as many leaves, vines, flowers, stems and vegetables as its neighbors. Unfortunately, the grandgarden has a handicap: its inexperienced gardeners (both Type A, by the way).

Rather than patiently waiting for blossoms to turn into the fruit of its labor, the grandgarden keeps an eye on the calendar, noting that it's July and that means it's a little behind schedule. Must get down to business and push out some zucchini!


Zucchini blossoms

About a week ago, the grandgarden went into Type A overdrive in terms of production. Ka-BOOM! Zucchini or tomatoes, anyone? We have beau-coodles! (Recipes very welcome.)


I spy zucchini and mint!


Roma and Cobra tomatoes


We think these may be zucchini trees.


The first tomato...and then many followed.


The grandgarden from another angle


Blossoms


Click on the image to see a larger view of the Grandgarden, labelled for your Type A enjoyment.