In loving memory

It's what every expat fears the most.  The call. That's how my friends Caroline and Crystal both ominously refer to that call we don't want to get.  In my case it was an email that, just like Deidre said a while back, was titled simply with the person in question.  And I knew that probably meant things hadn't gone well over the night of Sunday to Monday for my grandma.

When a loved one passes away we feel helpless as expats.  We aren't there to help friends and family, and we feel guilty that we didn't see the person as much these past years because we've been away.   In this case my mom said to wait and come back at Christmas, which will also be a tough time this year.  And I agree and understand.  My being there now wouldn't make my grandma come back and she knows I loved her.  Of course I tell myself I could have called a bit more often, or emailed more.  We saw each other on Skype and spoke on holidays and she got to see her great-granddaughter Juliette three times in these last five years (check out this video from when they were together in 2009). 

So I've been calling daily to see how my family is holding up and somehow it makes things a little better.  But being far from the events makes it harder for me to truly realize she's gone.  I don't have the same closure as the others. 

Instead I lit a candle in the church near my apartment and Juliette and I sat in a little chapel where I quietly read her a book we'd found at the library about a girl who misses her grandma.  It's been hard for a five-year old to process all this and why her mom is weepy.  She goes from asking me where grandma is and then telling me she wants to go to heaven and see her or saying she never wants to die.  It's heavy stuff at that age and I try my best to explain without scaring her.  Her little arms around my neck are a comfort.

So today I'll think about what a spunky, cute little grandma she was.  And how I hugged her tight the last time I left the US, thinking a little too pragmatically that it might well be the last time.  Unfortunately that came true but I know we made some great memories together. 

With Juliette in the summer of 2009.

Heat and Miss

The heat.  I'm from Alabama so I know heat.  But once again I am surprised how hot and muggy Northern France can actually get.  Especially when there's no air conditioning.  We've had a hot spell for the last three weeks and though I'm really not complaining about the brilliant sun, the stickiness is not so pleasant.  My routine after waking up has been cracking the windows but keeping the blinds mostly closed.  Wearing light clothes is a given since my car only blows a bit of air on me and some companies I visit don't have a/c either.  We even put an umbrella up on the balcony to block some of the sun and some nights it's been too hot to eat out there! 

Luckily the hot sun has been useful for drying clothes while my dryer is OUT OF ORDER!  As I write this I'm waiting for the repairman and hoping there is nothing major wrong with it.  For all my recent railing about life without a dryer, I just can't go back to a no-dryer existence.  And I don't particularly want to fork out money on a new one considering the one we have is only three years old!

The miss is because a week ago my mom and sister left.  Two weeks went by too quickly, as I knew they would.  I feel they really connected with Juliette and it warms my heart to see her keeping a strong bond with her American family. I am also glad we were able to squeeze in so much fun with side trips and home projects and even a little kid birthday party for Juliette.  In the end I opted for a home party and judging by the kids' squeals, I think they enjoyed it.

And on her real birthday I made her a chocolate box cake that was so very moist!  And put her name on top, of course.

Five-year old Juliette is proving to be quite the spitfire.  As if she weren't already!  I've noticed she's been calling me "mom" or "mama" more instead of "mommy".  I figure it's from hearing my sister Jessy call my mom these names.

So for the time being we're just hanging out here, working (lightly), going to summer day care (in Juliette's case).  Summer languors on, punctuated by thunderstorms and trips to the park.   I'll try to finish some home projects (the perpetual "organize the house" goal that mom and Jess helped immensely with) and enjoy some down time. 

What are your summer plans?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder... for countries, too

My country 'tis of thee...

There are times I get more nostaligic for my homeland than others.  The last few months the French press has been star-spangling their news programs to let the average French viewer get to know the US in light of the presidential elections.  Nearly every night I got to see what Americans were dealing with in terms of the financial crisis, and it was eye-opening for me, even though I do get news updates from my family (and my home county has even gone bankrupt). 

Or other nights they'd interview Frenchies who'd gone over to the US to live their "American dream."  Yep, even in France, where you'd think they'd snub their noses at what the US has to offer, you'd be surprised to know how many young French people salivate over life in the states.  The US represents opportunity and making it on your own- things that are frankly not so easy in France, sometimes.   

Then there was the coverage of the superstorm Sandy which also put images of the northeast on my screen.  

With all these little news reports, I felt quite at home, even if sometimes they didn't show the whole picture.  Ten years being away from home changes you.  And your country can't help but change during that time, too.  Sometimes I feel I don't know my country as well as I used to.  But it's always my country. 

Then I also had the pleasure of meeing another American girl via my Canadian friend in my town.  And we had a girls' night out (no dancing on tables, mind you) where we mostly chatted about how we sometimes don't get France and how French people don't always get us.  Especially from a mom point of view as both ladies have small childeren, too.  And just talking with folks who knew about Panera Bread and Krispy Kreme and, yeah, Starbucks, made me feel so very at home.  And missing home.

Then, this week Thanksgiving came around and I felt an insane need to eat turkey and find sweet potatoes.  I actually didn't cook the latter but we had our little token T-day meal here at home on Thursday night and said what we were thankful for.  Juliette may not quite understand this holiday yet, but I'm glad I'm passing it on to her all the same.

(Turkey baked in French's fried onions, green beans, a cous cous-like wheat dish, and cool rolls that I wish I'd made myself but so did not.) 


I recently saw a documentary on Italian-Americans living in some small bay town in New England and how they fervently celebrated some Sicilian saint day every year.  They were already about the fourth generation there but wanted to remember their origins.  It's important to us expats to honor our traditions (at least the ones we like) and remember where we're from.  And who we are!

Italian food and Swedish dreams

Typical. As I try to get over my post-vacation hump, I find myself baking (to recreate flavors from home) and wanting to decorate (to "cozify" my place to remind me of the comfy décors of my family's places).

On the baking front, I made a recipe I'd tried in the US for calzones. We saw the recipe on a cooking show, Kelsey's Essentials, and as I love Italian food, I wanted to try it out. I simplify the filling recipe though, and you can add other things according to your tastes, like Italian sausage you've sauteed, mushrooms, spinach... In the US I used ready-made pizza dough, two packages. Here I tried an easy pizza dough recipe and rolled it out. Worked out pretty well.

Here you see the calzones ready to go in the oven. I just scooped the ricotta-cheese mixture in the dough and folded it over to get a half-moon shape. Don't forget to put slits in the calzone to let steam escape (Kelsey says so).




And here's the end result, served with some chunky tomato and basil sauce that I bought (chair de tomates). You can also just sautee chopped tomato and onion, etc.


In other baking adventures, I've made zucchini fritters (thanks Crystal), zucchini muffins and another charlotte aux framboises (raspberry and lady fingers dessert with whipped cream ). I guess when you like eating, you like cooking...

As for the decorating part, that's where the Swedish dreams come in. Nothing kinky, I swear. Though in a given day I sometimes think more about Ikea and decorating than my own husband. I've become a bit obsessed with thumbing through the catalog (last year's, haven't yet received next year's) and projecting myself into the cozy interior scenes. And thinking how I can make my place a bit comfier.

When I was in America I realized (again) that we like carpet and rugs. And with good reason. They are soft on your feet. And as we are more often than not on the floor playing with Juliette's toys, it's only logical for us to get a rug. So we did that and are now basking in post-rug-purchase glory. Saying things like, isn't it nice to walk on a rug?! To think I waited nearly four years to get a rug for our living room. Shameful.

Here's Juliette enjoying it with all (and I do mean ALL) her stuffed animals.


Even Catki seems to like it. Maybe he'll start exercising again...


The past two weeks have been a bit odd, with not so much work (and two days free this week since the summer day care was not open and I watched Juliette). But I've been trying to master the transition and remember to enjoy myself in no matter which country I'm in. Thanks for your comments and advice from my last post. Maybe the key to living abroad is not to forget the living part, even the daily living, the little things. They are what grounds us.

My British friend used to say, when you pick a flower, it wilts, as we bemoaned our situations in France and missing our own culture. Artist Mary Engelbreit says, "bloom where you're planted." To do that, you've got to set down roots, which is the hard part.

So I suppose I can love my home country but try to establish a good support system here and a home I consider just that. I'm coming up on ten years here this month, and there are some things I'm glad I never have to go through again in terms of adapting. But it's still an ongoing process. That changes as I change and grow myself.

So to all my friends and family, hope you're doing something you love today.

Jet-lagged- body and soul

Modern air travel does a number on us humans.  Transporting you from Atlanta to Paris in 8 and 1/2 hours messes with your mind. You arrive in what is the middle of the night in US time but in the blinding bright light of mid-morning in France.  Your body should be sleeping, your mind is just trying to process everything.  Add a big dose of homesickness, having just left your family, and the fact that your vacation is now over, and it's like being in the spin cycle.

We left the US last Thursday morning, saying our goodbyes, hoping to see US family sometime in the near future.  Maybe I'm getting a little better at leaving, but it will never be easy;  My eyes smarted on the plane from tears now and then.  Hearing the hushed slightly nasal accents of French passengers and crew just annoyed me more than anything.  The Air France flight crew, by the way, all looked like they could double for Abercrombie and Fitch models, looking dashing in their uniforms designed by Christian Lacroix.

I was still in English mode and wanted to stay there.  Juliette was a little pill for the first few hours of the flight, whining "papa, papa", since we'd told her we were going home to see him.  The perfectly coiffed and probably childless French stewardess asked me if there was anything she could do for us since she saw Juliette crying.  Perhaps this is code for, what can we do to make your child shut up?!  But she said it nicely enough, at least.  "She just misses her papa," I said.

But she finally got to sleep, wherease I don't think I slept at all.  Still I had to be awake to haul my luggage off the carousel and then Remi was there to meet us at the arrivals lounge.  Poor guy has had to put up with us in our sleepy/homesick mode though he had been waiting three weeks to see us.  He had kindly bought us some of our favorite foods including some things to remind us of the US, like cranberry juice, doughnuts and oreo ice cream.

The first night I still had that mind shift going on where I didn't know what bedroom I was in, my mom's back at home or mine.  I still haven't gotten back into a good sleep pattern yet but that could also be 'cause my mind sometimes doesn't shut off.  Work's been slow as France and our students wake up from their own post-vacation bummed out torpor.  I had two full days with no classes so I'm trying to catch up on some things here at home.  That last suitcase will get unpacked soon!

As for me I'm starting to focus on the lab job search again and hoping for the best.  And trying to hold on to some of the peace and optimism that my vacation brought me.  That's what vacations are for.

Soggy summer

Greetings from very wet/misty, grey France. July has been a dud in terms of weather. The weather ladies and men keep promising us sun but there is very little of it. Luckily I know I'll be getting plenty of sun and hot (even stifling) temperatures when I go back HOME in a week and a half! Can't wait and I intend to enjoy every minute of my vacation and spending time with family and friends. Sometimes I think I can only truly be myself when I'm back home, though I think I've made progress letting my real personality come out in France (family-in-law aside where I sometimes have to bite my tongue...). Yes, three glorious weeks in the good old US of A. I so need it!

Despite the grey weather, I really have been enjoying myself already these past two weeks since I'm no longer in school. I started back at work and it's going ok. It's weird to speak English all day again as I'd really gotten used to cutting up with my classmates in French. I was a bit hesitant about being a teacher again but I think it's come back to me and I do like the contact with the students. So we could say being back at work is practically like being on vacation already as it's great to chill with my English-speaking coworkers and rediscover my American accent (if you can believe it!). Sure, I do speak English with Juju every day, but not necessarily the way I would with an adult.

As I mentioned in my last post, I've been taking advantage of my freer time to do things like baking and some house cleaning and finishing books I started a year ago. Banana chocolate cake, sugar cookies...I may even try my hand at some cake pops this Saturday for a little birthday bash for Juliette. Thanks to aunt Sunny for sending me the scrumptious recipe book. Anybody out there tried those yet?

And as every time I go back home, I start reflecting a bit on how things will have changed back there and how long I've been away. There are days I feel downright Frenchie in my habits (drinking morning milk out of a bowl and often eating dinner at 8), but don't be fooled, I'm still American in my roots and my general way of thinking.

How about a little list of the American things about me I'll never lose...

1. My love for relaxed sleepwear. Crystal knows what I mean! I don't know if this is strictly American, but while watching 500 Days of Summer the other day, I noticed how the girl was wearing striped pajama bottoms and it just seemed so American. Especially since Remi sometimes doesn't get how cozy this is.

(source: ex.com)

2. The need to say "Dude!" at any time. I don't know if real (current) Americans still say this, but sometimes the need is overwhelming. And I just feel quite myself when I say it.

3. A love of customer service. I may be getting used to frowning or just blasé French customer service. But I just melt when I call a US number and hear a cheery midwestern voice ask me how she can help me.

4. Sarcastic American humor. Even though it gets to me when the teens on Disney shows use it all the time, I think it really is part of our culture to come back with one-liners and jibes. Strangely, this aspect of humor is really hard to translate and most times Remi still isn't sure when I'm joking or really angry.

5. I love me a good burger. Not just McDonald's, but a nice homemade one. I've started a burger night that we observe at least every month. Along with breakfast dinner.

6. An unabashed love of convenience! This is why I love my dryer and wonder how I lived without it for so long in France. I barely ever iron now. Two years now and I still sometimes marvel at my Whirlpool.

Don't know if I've convinced you that I really still am American. Perhaps I'm more of a hybrid now, whether I want to be or not. Expats are probably confronted with this duality all their lives, even if they go back to their home country. Maybe home is just a state of mind anyway.

What makes you typical of your nationality?

Sister time

What is rare is precious. And family visits are a bit too rare for my taste, but that makes them all the sweeter. Jess arrived last Saturday and we got her at the airport. We whisked her off to walk about in Compiègne on a gray and nippy morning. Had some nice photo ops, as you can see. It's a lovely town with quite a history (Joan of Arc connection and also the home to Napoleon and his second wife).

In the gardens of the Imperial Palace of Compiègne.

The cuter than cute historical district.

Since then we've mostly been chilling, and I've still been at my internship in the day (luckily I've been able to finish at 3 and a bit earlier today). Juliette has been enjoying time with her auntie and has been entertaining her with her knowledge of Disney songs and nursery rhymes. We certainly appreciate Jessy taking care of her this week during the school holidays.

She's only here for a week so we're trying to make the most of our time. Unfortunately I am a rather disorganized goober and I had to get my car maintenance check done today but I made the most of it by checking out the cheap-o grocery store nearby. And it was American week so I got some familiar products (albeit made in Germany and with American style packaging). Check it out:

Click to enlarge. Just so you know, apparently American fine cuisine includes: dry pancake mix, microwave popcorn, marshmallows, something they call Hamburger Sauce, and peanut butter. I got the dried cranberries (not bad), Ranch salad dressing and blueberry muffin mix. Sometimes I just wanna feel like I'm at home! At least we've got a taste of it during Jessy's visit.

Until next time, indulge in some good muffins yourself!

Homebody vacation

First things first, a little holiday video for the Juju fans.

So it's Thursday and I've been dutifully ticking off things on my to-do list. Napping, check (though not every day). Baking, check, some sugar cookies with a super easy recipe from the Net. Light cleaning/organizing, check. A bit of the bookshelf and throwing out old magazines. Still not that energetic about complete apartment overhaul. Sleeping past six, er, not working out so well. Juliette seems to be an early bird, and has been for the past few months. We can't seem to sleep past six thirty around here. Is she conditioned to wake up knowing cartoons are on? Remind me to send hate mail to the TV channels. But, on the other hand, it does force me to get going. And generally I laze around eating breakfast, drinking tea and watching a bit of TV with Juju or checking my email. It's nice to look at the clock and realize I don't have anywhere to rush off to.

Remi's been working all week though getting some heating problems worked out at the greenhouse and taking advantage of the relatively mild weather to get ahead on things. Kind of a shame since this is my only week off till June. But to be honest it does give me time to get ahead on some home stuff and studying. And though I'm loving my time with Juju, who, incidentally, seems to be speaking more English this week, too much alone time makes me introspective. Only seeing the odd cashier or administrative person is not social enough for me. I've seen my Facebook checking increase sickeningly and my worries about school and life in general go up too. I guess it's normal that I'm taking stock of things half way into my studies. Luckily I'm doing ok grade-wise, but I find myself worrying about the future and finances, of course. And I think knowing my family is all together over in the US does kind of pull on me this time of year. Even though I've been able to vicariously live through their holiday plans via email and Skype, it's just not quite the same. Little sigh of homesickness!

Anyhoo, I'm sure I'll be wishing I could get back even the greyer moments of this week once I'm back in school and complaining of the workload! This break was needed, and I'm enjoying it.

Brave or crazy? You be the judge.

Ah, travelling with a nearly three-year old. No one said it would be easy. And it wasn't. Though there were moments things went swimmingly (potty-training is doing much better, thank you), there were others where we wanted to sink into the earth (tantrum in the otherwise peaceful water lily gardens at Giverny). Well, we survived."We" being Remi and I and my mom, who has been here visiting for the past two weeks. And, let's face it, it's not so easy on Juliette either. Being confined to a car for a road trip, having nap times shortened or skipped, sleeping in hotel rooms. Or more like not sleeping because she was really disoriented by the new environment.

But we saw some beautiful things and I think it's always important to see how much you can adapt with a child. Maybe we should have been doing more travelling with her from the start, but money and time limited us on that.

Anyway, here are some pictures to wet your appetite!

Totally copying Crystal here, we went to Giverny, to see the charming country house and lovely gardens of Monet. I loved seeing the view he had from his bedroom.

My mom and Juliette in the gardens. Before the tantrum.

Giverny is only about an hour from the city of Rouen. It's got a lovely downtown, including this gorgeous old clock (le gros horloge), a cathedral and charming architecture reminiscent of Alsace with the half-timbered houses. It's also the city where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake, for you history buffs.

Then we spent an evening in Mers-les-Bains and the next day took some windy walks in Fort Mahon beach before heading back to our home base. Wouldn't you know it, the day after it was hot and sunny at the beach. Oh, well.


As usual, it's been great having family around. I tell mom I feel like I have a clone- another person who thinks quite like me and has the same instincts as me (as in prepping for dinner and doing the dishes, a godsend). When my dad was here it was quite the same. My mom's been a tremendous help around the house and has also helped me out on some home projects.

But as I speak she's flying back home. Two weeks went by quickly, as we knew they would. I find myself dreaming, as she does, too, that we only lived down the road. Or even just five hours by car would be better than our current situation. It's tougher this time because with my back-to-school situation (that would be in two days, people, yikes!), I'm not 100% sure when I'll see my family next. I guess I'll do my best to hold on to all the great memories we made on this trip and know that we're simply on the long waiting side of "see you next time."

This is the hard part

I'm an expat who happens to have a blog. But I feel I should be relatively honest about what an expat's life is. Sometimes I'll come across a student who'll tell me they used to live in the south of France (a twelve-hour drive from where they live now) and how it was just too far from their family. I know what you mean, I say. And then some.

No more is that true than when family members fall ill. That was our case last week when my grandma fell and had to go to the hospital for a little less than a week. I wished I could just hop in the car or take a short plane ride to see her. But for me, seeing my family involves a minimum of about a 16 or 17-hour day when you count the train ride before and the car ride after. So I feel a bit helpless whenever anything happens way over there. I can call and hear my grandma's cheery voice and assure myself she's doing a little better. I can send emails and, more importantly, receive them to get updates. But not much more.

Luckily she's home from the hospital now but still recovering from her fall. Now my family is taking turns taking care of her, and again I'm a bit left out in that aspect. I know they don't resent me for it, but I just wish things were easier.

The best I can do from way over here is send out a big get well to her and a big hug to all the family over there!

The buzz is gone, sort of

I thought this time would be different. That I could hold on to the positive attitude I'd come back with after three warm and cozy weeks with my family. And for a few days it seemed to be working. I didn't let things get to me like I used to, pre-vacation. I brushed off the snarky comments from so and so and didn't get peeved at that jerky driver. But the post-vacation buzz went away fast. Those five straight days of grey, rainy weather (so like this region) didn't help matters. I started wondering how I'd ever survived these winter mornings when the sun didn't peak out till 8:15. And those totally inconsiderate drivers. And the messy people in my apartment complex who are too lazy to just take their bulky trash to the recycling center instead of dirtying up our complex. Oh, well, I guess my attitude adjustment wasn't permament but my need for optimism (yes, it is in my vocabulary), has made me try to keep looking on the bright side.

Just as expat-pal Crystal mentioned, this is the period when vacation nostalgia starts kicking in. I put on a shirt we washed in the US and bury my face in the fabric because it smells like US dryer sheets! Or I look at my new Almay eye shadow kit and remember how I picked it out at Target. I proudly tell Juliette that such and such family member gave her that sweater. She's really gotten into it, to the point that she keeps saying "Janie (or other relative) gave you that" even if it's not true at all. Way to go for the big sentence structure though!

Her first day back at the sitter's she apparently jabbered away in English when Tata gave her a new babydoll (her Christmas present). Remi had to translate for the sitter as Juliette went on about "baby bib, baby bottle, baby diaper..." The second or third day I could see her adjusting back into her French mode. So it must be for her to interact with her little French friends and at school. But at home she's been speaking a lot of English.

And so the routine of work and grocery shopping and telling the cat not to eat the raw ground beef from the frying pan (wish that weren't a true story...) is starting again. But why don't we indulge in a little more nostalgia (I'm still in the two-week grace period, right?!) just one more time with a few videos from when we were on the other side...

Here she is singing and talking as we ride around my sister's town:


Did you catch her talking about the green light and that it means "go"?

And here she is sort of dancing (when she's not too self-conscious about the camera) to that so baby-friendly Akon song...

I promise the next post will be non-vacation related!

End of trip round-up: various topics

And so we have to say goodbye...
As I said in my previous trip posts, we were just so lucky on our trip, including the fact that we got to spend three weeks stateside. It was enough time to catch up with old friends and renew family bonds. Enough to remember what it means to live in America (something I can almost forget living so far away in France). Bizarrely, I sometimes have a hard time believing I'm American when I've been in France for a long period of uninterrupted time (in this case a year and a half). But now I can proudly say where I'm from when students ask and it doesn't feel like a lie! And I can say with more authority, yes, that's the way they do it in the US. Though some things are still unfamiliar for me, believe it or not, like how much things cost or some administrative procedures.

Juliette's English improved a lot even just over the first few days. I think the fact that she was hearing English from so many sources reinforced what she'd learned from me. She started making longer phrases and picking up new words. I was pleased that she could interact easily with her American family. And of course she got to know them better and will remember them through future Skype sessions.

Travelling with a toddler
All the train and plane trips we took this time made me inevitably think about my travelling pre-baby. For you international moms who've not yet taken big trips, please enjoy the peace of an eight or nine-hour flight solo while you can. I, too, remember those flights when I had nothing to do but find good movies on the "on demand" video system, or read my book or make sure I had enough snacks to keep my tummy happy. Those days are so over. Now I don't even bring a book because Juliette is my "entertainment". I mean, keeping her whimpering or screaming down to a minimum is a full-time job and sometimes the hubby is a bit slow to react. Though I've gotten better at delegating. Like a doctor in the operating room I give him commands to get stuff out of the carry-ons. Bottle! Wipe! Toy bag! Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

There were some periods of calm where she was content to just enjoy the ride, like when she held her precious bunny up and said "Up, up!" as we took off. Or when there was light turbulence she'd look over and say "wee" gleefully. Oh, the joy of not knowing how dangerous flying can be. And she did sleep a little, too, allowing me time to watch a movie (Easy A, funny) and some sitcoms. Thank God the A330 we flew back on had the personal entertainment systems. We put Toy Story 3 on Juliette's screen to distract her a bit.

We had hoped to get the CARES system delivered to us for this flight but there was a glitch with the French supplier before we left. It's a harness system that you can easily transport with you and keeps the toddler very secured in her seat. It's true that Juliette quickly discovered she could just open the airplane's safety belt. In the end she was ok "just" with the seat belt but in future flights if she's still in the weight category for it we might opt for it. Just to let you moms know, there's also a system for younger kids called Baby B'air. However it's for lap babies and is not allowed during take-off and landing (crucial times, I'd think). The literature is going towards buying babies seats for the utmost protection anyway and they recommend putting the baby in a car seat.


Somewhere between Birmingham and Atlanta, way up high!


Black suitcases and high drama
Though we escaped snow on the way out of France, our trip back was less uneventful. The flights themselves were great. Remi got our suitcases off the carousels and marveled at how they were all together. All three of them. Though we came over with two, Christmas time meant that our possessions multiplied. So we took one of our family's spare suitcases back in addition to our two others. We had plenty of time to go to the train station (connected to the airport), buy an Orangina and walk Juliette around while waiting for our train. Once the platform number appeared we started the process of taking our stuff down the escalators to wait by the tracks. And as I stood at the bottom of the escalator waiting for Remi to come with another load, I discovered in horror that the black one he'd picked up was not ours. Just like in every cheesy spy movie, he'd picked up the wrong one. As he got within earshot I yelled in what seemed a terrified whisper, "It's not our bag!" His shocked face mimicked what mine must have looked like a minute before.

Now the train would be coming in minutes and I told him we'd have to return the suitcase. Go up to the station and just explain it to them and then we'll get ours sent to us later, I suggested. In the huge underground hall of the platform it was noisy and we couldn't hear each other well. He said something about "must" and "train" and then went up with the stranger's suitcase. Meanwhile the high speed train pulled in and passengers started getting on. There I was with two suitcases, two carry-ons and a stroller that had just somehow gotten damaged and would no longer open. So I had to keep Juliette in my arms and she was crying having sensed her parents' stress. I asked a train agent if there was another train to our town as I knew this one was about to leave. He didn't know and as the alarm bell rang on the platform to signal imminent departure I just panicked. I didn't know what to do and kept turning my head from side to side hoping for an answer.

In the end we didn't take the train and I immediately second-guessed myself. Maybe Remi had wanted me to take it without him? But he had very little money on him. How could he have gotten back himself? I sat on the concrete floor with Juliette in my arms and started saying chokily "Mommy made a mistake." This made Juliette cry too and she repeated "Mommy 'take, Mommy mistake." After a few minutes I started thinking again and asked some passengers waiting for a train to watch my slew of suitcases while I went up with baby to the information desk. We modified our tickets to get on the next train at little charge. But Remi was still nowhere to be found. He finally called (using a stranger's iPhone) to tell me he needed the baggage claim number to get our suitcase. But I couldn't find any papers for it. At least I told him about the new train and that he could get his ticket at the information desk if he were too late.

I was relieved and happy to finally see his face coming down the escalator with our real suitcase. Phew! We got on the later train and made it to our town where his friend was waiting to pick us up. Now we can laugh about it (luckily), but it was stressful at the time. And we'll certainly pay more attention next time!

Mixed emotions

We spent Thursday at Remi’s granddad’s place. Since his parents are on holiday and his granddad no longer drives, we try to make sure we have a meal with his him every week (salmon, rice and green beans this time). Plus Remi had some garden clean-up he wanted to do for him. So we made a day of it and brought Juliette along, too.



"Je suis au jardin." (I'm in the garden. Dédé's message to any who might come by while he's not inside.)

The weather was really lovely, except for a bit of a nip in the air in the morning. All the better to enjoy some of that country life. I do like letting Juliette get to move about more freely in her great-granddad’s courtyard and discover the joys of lady bugs crawling over her hand and saying “bye bye, chicken” to the errant hen that was in his garden. I get to enjoy the more simple pleasures of picking a few flowers to fill a glass for Dédé’s (that’s what Remi called him when he was little) table and collecting some windfall apples and plums from the trees on his property.



But these days in the country always lead to a bit of tension between Remi and me. He’d love for us to live out in the country, maybe even in the village where his granddad lives. I’m not totally against country living, but I just don’t want to have to drive an enormous amount to get to a decent job. And considering I’m only part-time at two jobs which sometimes equals full-time even in the bigger city where we live now, I don’t have very high hopes for the far out country. I’m not an adamant city mouse, but I did grow up in the very well-equipped suburbs of the biggest city in my state (Birmingham, Alabama), with over a million people in the metro area. Which has one of the finest medical centers in the country, I’d like to add. And now in my current city in France, I live within a five- to fifteen-minute walk from pharmacies, doctors and fairly well-stocked grocery stores. I adore not having to take my car to do some of these errands. But I know that the country can be peaceful on a fine summer’s day. I too would love a little garden patch to let my little one run around in.

This day with Dédé scratched at another little situation, too. Though I enjoy spending time with his family, I often get a pinch of regret that I can’t spend as much time with my own. There I was making a meal for Remi’s granddad, listening to his old stories (the ones he’s repeated already, but I listen to politely anyway). And I was wishing I could spend as much time with my grandma back home, turning 79 this Wednesday (early birthday shout-out!). When I told this to Remi the next day, he said “sorry” in such a sincere way that it made me feel even sadder.

Is this what an expat’s life must be? To be thousands of miles away from the people you grew up with and only see them once a year, maybe twice if you’re lucky and finances permit? I knew it would be tough when I made the decision to come here eight years ago. But it’s still tough, sometimes bearable, sometimes not so much. And until I win the lottery and can travel back at my leisure, I don’t see how I can make it much better. Though I made the choice to be here, I am forever divided. On sunny summer days when we’re exploring lovely seaside towns or historic villages, I can be distracted; I can say I’m having fun. But I’m always thinking about writing the folks back home about it. It might seem silly to say I’m homesick after so long in France, but so it is. And no amount of medical research has found a cure for this “sickness” yet.

If any other expats, or those a bit far-out from their families in their own country, have some insight on this, I’m all ears.

Because expats need other expats

I’ve always been the type of person who likes to see what other folks are doing. I need the reassurance they’re doing some of the same things as me. It’s even truer now that I live abroad. Judging by the amount of time I can spend reading other expat blogs and web sites, I definitely need that confirmation that others have been there, done that. It can make me feel less alone. So here’s a shout-out at the Expat Women’s site, which helps you do just that. They’re now three years old and they put out a lot of upbeat material on women living abroad. I especially liked the article about dealing with your perfectionist personality, written by an Australian expat. She said that being too perfectionist about cleaning, for example, can lead to “an immaculate mediocrity”. That is, spending all that time to have a super clean house leaves you no time to stand out in other areas. This is advice I can take.

So excuse me while I don’t mop and instead read a few more blogs…

A bit of bluster and down-home goodies

Another week of contrasts here. It’s been quite windy (hence the bluster). At first I kind of enjoyed it. Trekking to my car in the wind and planting my pansies on my covered balcony while the light rain came down. The low clouds in the sky and the occasional colorful wintery sunrise that reminds me of the Charley Brown Christmas show. Coming home to warm up with a hot chocolate that baby nearly never let me finish with her constant demands to be picked up. No, she’s not spoiled, not at all. But the novelty wore off quickly. And the days were just gray with occasional sunny spots. And when you’re already a bit down, gray is not a good color.

As Thursday (US Thanksgiving) rolled around, I was a bit out of sorts. Knowing my country was not working at all and preparing all manner of good food. Whereas I was out teaching my whopping one class smack in the middle of the day. I’d hesitated all week about whether to invite my American co-worker for a little meal. My apartment wasn’t clean enough, my cooking’s not stellar. There will always be excuses. But at the last minute I said, who cares, let’s celebrate this thing.

And so like in those hokey holiday episodes that all TV shows seem to feel obligated to produce, we had a meal and laughed and smiled (no sappy holiday music was played, however). Remi and Nicky (my over six foot tall ex-basketball player coworker) had some good-natured bantering about French and US food. So my imported Stovetop Stuffing was more lukewarm than hot but all in all it was a good imitation of Thanksgiving. Mom’s import-export business is still going strong and besides the stuffing we enjoyed a quick-mix gravy, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie (although the pumpkin part I’d already cooked from a pumpkin from Remi’s garden). And of course turkey breasts. And to top it off, some Hershey Kisses (again, thanks to mom). Those Mint Truffle ones are addictive. Remi can’t understand the Anglo-Saxon obsession with mint chocolate, so there were more for Nicky and me!

Although Remi is very open to celebrating this decidedly North American holiday, I have to say the presence of another American who likes to reminisce about all those foods we miss and our traditions, made it feel more like a real Thanksgiving. Now if I could just convince the French to give me this day off in the future…

My week

This was a week of ups and downs. Fall is still treating us with its last brilliant delights. I can get mesmerized by a golden puddle of leaves around a nearly bare tree. Or the piercingly orange-red leaves that are still clinging to a few branches. But soon we’ll only have the skeletons of those trees (poetic in their own way) to comfort us for the next few months.

Work has been a bit disappointing with cancelled classes that I’m not always paid for. It can be a rewarding job but the instability of it is always frustrating. And after seven years in this country I still find myself doubting my career decisions and remembering what I used to be capable of doing. Maybe the trick is just being satisfied with where I am. But I’ve been trying that approach for a while and it doesn’t seem to work.

So I try to focus on what’s right in my life, like my little girl. Who’s fast becoming a little temper tantrum monster. Refusing to wear her bib during meal times or rolling on the floor when she doesn’t get her way. A few months ago she didn’t do that. We’re wondering where the more docile one-year-old went. The current sixteen-month-old is very vocal.

Just last week she decided she needed her stuffed bunny all the time. In France the kids call their favorite stuffed animal a “dou-dou”. I’d never called her bunny this but one evening she kept asking for her dou-dou and then snuggling it next to her face while she drank her bottle. No doubt she’s imitating the kids at Tata’s who are addicted to their dou-dous. Peer pressure at sixteen months. She’s been taking steps with a bit more confidence this week but will sometimes fall when we try to congratulate her. I guess her week’s been full of ups and downs, too!

Next week’s Thanksgiving in the US, a holiday I always miss. I’m thinking of doing my modified menu this Thursday. Some turkey breasts and green bean casserole using imported French-fried onions (as my sister pointed out, it’s ironic that she brought French-fried onions with her from the US when she visited me) and maybe a pumpkin pie made from that pumpkin I cooked up and froze a while back. It’s never quite the same celebrating it over here. It always seems to be a holiday that reminds me I am American (correction, North American, since Crystal will be glad to tell us about the Canadian version in October).

Let’s hope next week has more ups than downs. But I guess that depends on my attitude, too.

Jet-lagged

I didn’t change time zones at all last week. I didn’t take an international flight. But as I had predicted, my sister’s visit gave me a taste of having family around and that always makes me feel out of sorts the days after.

We dropped her off at the airport Saturday afternoon a week ago. Modern tunnels and highways led us to the terminal. We waited with her in the incredibly high-ceilinged check-in area. It was strange to be there and not actually be departing myself. Memories of our trip in July and Juliette’s first transatlantic flight came back. But for all the “glamor” of international travel, the airport is still soulless. Especially when it’s the place where you say goodbye to family and aren’t quite sure when you’ll see them again. And so I was left Saturday afternoon with the reality that I was here in France while my US family was still a nine to ten-hour flight away.

But slowly but surely I’ve gotten back to my work and home routine. And as I always do after a visit, I mentally march through what I was doing the week before. And I have to say her short visit was great. Despite my residual cold crud and a throat ulcer getting in the way a few days, it was perfectly lovely to have some sister time. The concert was electric, as she reported in the last post, and worth every over-priced centime. It was certainly worth it to have her there to chat with and interact with Juliette. My darn responsibility gene got in the way as I had maintained a few of my classes, so I worked a few half days during her visit. But we took a quick trip at the end in the cities of Pierrefonds and Chantilly seeing the castles there. And then she took that plane back to her life and routine.


So, as mom said, now I must keep those goals and fun future events in mind to latch on to. Christmas, and maybe a visit from ex-colleague, still-friend Crystal (but don’t worry if your plans change, girl!), more relatives in the spring and summer? If only plane fare weren’t so high!

Post-vacation life

It’s now been a week since we returned from our lovely three weeks in America. They went by fast, of course, but it was a good amount of time to catch up on friends and family and remember why we love those folks so much. Which makes it all the harder to leave them. Those first few days back we experienced the old familiar symptoms of TBT and GH. The Total Body Tiredness (TBT) was normal considering the jet lag. But you have to add the Baby Factor this time. Juliette slept quite well on the plane (in this Apollo 11-era bassinet contraption; the stewardess told us to take her out if there was too much turbulence, as babies become “missiles” and just “pop out”; there was also this netting to keep her in… ).


She slept so well in fact that she was still on Alabama time and felt as if she’d just had a fairly normal night. She even slept just shy of two hours as we waited what seemed an eternity in the train station at the airport for our direct train back. So as we were exhausted by 9 pm French time, she was just ready for an afternoon nap and wouldn’t officially sleep her “night” until 3 am. This continued for the next three days; each night we succeeded in getting her to bed two hours earlier until she reached her French schedule.

The GH, or General Heaviness, is a natural return symptom, too. The suitcases were heavier, considering all the souvenirs we bought and gifts we received. Going back we’re never as light in spirit as when we start our trip. There’s no giddiness of seeing smiling faces to greet us at the airport and we know our big vacation time is over. Then for me there’s just the heaviness of heart from knowing how much I’ll be missing everyone. Three weeks is long enough to feel very much at home again and appreciate all those little things. To feel American again. Now I’m back and holding on to the experiences as if they were precious treasures. The dollars I’ve still got in my wallet, the receipts, food wrappers or simply a Wal-Mart bag, all remind me where I was and where I’m from and that I’m not there now. The first week back or so I feel my eyes smart with tears if I think of those faces back home. I love you guys! We’ll just have to think of the next trip and hope it’s not too far away…

We expatriates will always have mixed feelings. At the Atlanta airport we saw this American lady and her baby who live in Chile. She was on the internal tram as we went to our terminal. Someone asked her if she was happy to be going back to Chile, and I heard her reply, yes and no. I can definitely relate. I’ve been trying to make a mental inventory of what’s not so bad about my life here: a spacious apartment in walking distance to a beautiful town center, generally low humidity days, some great friends who love to commiserate with me, a husband who tries to understand how hard it is for me to be living here, and of course, my little crawling monster baby. France is not some poverty-stricken flea-infested ghetto, I know. But there are so many days I’d trade cobbled streets and old abbeys for an “ordinary” trip to Publix with the fam for a few avocados. Until I find a better solution, I guess I’ll have to live with these contradictions.

English People!*

The setting: a big French supermarket that’s the equivalent of a Wal-Mart. A man is selling compilation discs and playing old 70s and 80s tunes at nearly deafening volumes to entice buyers. Mrs. Jones, that old soul classic, blares away. I hear a customer crooning perfectly with the end of the chorus: “we’ve got a th-iiiieeennggg, goin’ on….”. I whirl my head around, amazed that a French person would know the end of the line and pronounce it so well. And then I hear the crooner chatting with this son in a perfectly chipper British accent. I guess I felt brave that day, ‘cause I said “English people!” the way a child would shout out “ice cream” and I smile shyly at the two guys (or should I say chaps). But they mutter something like, yeah, just visiting, and go along there way. Leaving me feeling like a (major) goober and wondering if they thought I was (just) a little French gal trying out my English. I want to catch up with them and say, wait, I’m American! But what would they really care. It’s only me who’s entranced to hear my own language again and feel some sort of instant connection with these tourists.

Throughout the rest of the shopping experience I’m like a teenager who’s spotted her crush and both dreads and anticipates seeing him at every aisle. I rehearse other things to say but think better of it. Don’t want them to think I’m stalking them.

Why is it that the mere sound of a native speaker would make me all star-struck? Maybe I see these brief encounters as ways to feel like me again. And to remember who I am. To not feel like the odd one out, the girl with the accent when she speaks French. Instead I take charge of the situation again and am the girl conversing with other natives as French folks go by.

This was the case the other weekend when one of Remi’s British clients dropped by. There are a few of them who have summer or permanent places in the villages near his. He’s proud to use his English with them and tell them he has an American wife. So a recent Sunday when I was at his greenhouse, I got to meet this famous British client and her son and daughter-in-law who were visiting. Instantly we started chatting away, not worrying about non-English speakers being able to understand us or not. They had that easy-going way of talking and cheeky sense of humor that I associate with British folks, and which I find so refreshing. The son and his wife talked about how there was just nothing in the mom’s French village, not even a shop or two (my main complaint of small French villages, too). They even “talked” with Juliette, in English, of course. As we talked the French customers passed us by with their carts full of plants. And for a moment they must have felt like they were the outsiders in a world where there language wasn’t being spoken. It made me smile, because just for a moment, I felt more like home.

*Disclaimer: before I get hate mail from any Scottish/Welsh/Irish readers, I do know that English only refers to those who live in England. The more correct term is British if I’m not sure of the origin of that lilting accent.

Misery loves company

We had a three-day weekend last week (the second of many this month), but two of those days were spent at the in-laws’. Not working but being present as otherwise Juliette and I wouldn’t see Remi at all this month of May. Spring is the “saison noire”, or black season, for us as Remi’s business is all-consuming. But I stood my ground to stay home Saturday for a bit of housecleaning (what fun!) and to go and visit my Latvian friend.

There are a series of coincidences that connect this girl and me together. We were born just a few days apart (albeit on different continents). We met in 2002 while both doing our training programs in France. I stayed on because of Remi. She went back to Latvia. But then she met a Frenchman who was in her country on business and voilà, she’s back in France living about an hour away from me.

So armed with her basic directions and my GPS, I strapped baby into her car seat and off we went under a hazy blue sky. At first I tried to follow my friend’s directions but the GPS kept telling me otherwise. Finally doubt overcame me and I caved into the GPS’s commands. And as baby nodded off to sleep I drove through little villages with white-stone houses, places that would be perfectly lovely if not so far from jobs and shops. I maneuvered winding roads lined by those brilliant yellow-green oilseed rape plants and cows grazing on steep farmland. That new Franz Ferdinand song was cackling on the radio (Murphy’s Law: when a good song finally comes on, the station is too faint). I was enjoying my little adventure and realizing a solo ride in the French countryside would have been unthinkable three years ago (sans French driving license).

After about 50 minutes of non-stop driving, I arrived at my friend’s house. She made us lunch and we caught up with each other while half-watching a make-over show on TV. Anyway, she’s about in the same situation as me, unstable job-wise and far from her family and old friends. It all started making me wonder (again) if I’ll ever consider France as a home in the cozy, warm sense of the word. Dealing with limited job prospects and homesickness is really getting to me. If I don’t stop frowning my face is gonna stick this way (your parents weren’t making that up).

I think I’m at a turning point where I could become the unhappy foreigner or I could try and make the best of things. But how? I’ve vowed so many times to turn things around that I should be dizzy by now.

But back to the title of this post. Reaching out to others in the same situation could help a bit. Maybe some kind of virtual or real Expat Wives’ and Girlfriends’ Club. I came across this website once, perhaps it’s a start. They even talk about expat writing. The truth of the matter is, living in a foreign country is not always the daydream it might have seemed during high school French class (or in my case, German). But maybe with a little help from my friends, I can carve out my own little world.