Life - a year later...

Last week marked the one year anniversary of our arrival in France. Quite ironically, I spent the day in Boston of all places!! While it makes the anniversary seem a bit less real as we are not spending it in France, it's still a super cool way of remembering the wonderful people and city we said goodbye to. Perhaps it even speaks to the fact that still feel very connected to our former home. Ironically, I have an American friend in France who sadly misses the days of drinking a cold coffee beverage while watching the kids at the playground. Laura (yes, she is named Laura as well!) - this picture taken on the one year anniversary of our move to France is for you!

We spent our week in Boston planning play dates and scheduling meet ups with friends. It's been an incredible visit and I have to admit that the first couple days had me ready to throw in the towel on the whole French adventure. I was bombarded with the wonderful memories of our Boston experience - the beginning of Jean and my life together as well as the birth and early life of the kids.  It took some real reflection to remember how thankful I am for our new start in France.  Its sort of that whole "grass is always greener" notion.  

I did find that by the end of our stay in Boston, I realized that we were now technically tourists and it was nice to start looking for opportunities actually sight-see!  Our last day in Boston, I tried to think of a quintessential tourist activity before we said goodbye again.  So off the the Boston Common and the Public Garden we went!  It was a gorgeous Sunday summer morning and the Swan Boats were calling our name.  For those of you that have been reading this blog from its inception, the Swan Boats were on our "bucket list" of things to do before leaving Boston.  It never got crossed off so it was really meaningful for us to tackle this.  It makes me think that this "bucket list" has morphed into more of "to be continued list" knowing that although Boston is no longer our home, its a place where we will undoubtedly spend much more time.  A nice feeling really.  Okay - not as magical as I had thought since I did it alone with the kids (Jean left after just 5 days in Boston to head back to work).  Thomas screamed most of the supposedly tranquil ride and Audrey found that it was a good time to get really close to the edge of the boat to keep me freaked out the whole time.  Nevertheless, it was a fantastic way to end our stay in New England! An overpriced trip across the street on the Carousel at the Common seemed like a happy ending for all three of us...

Now we are enjoying our last week in the US visiting the family in Cleveland. Sadly, I have taken much fewer photos on this portion of the trip.  Nevertheless, its nice being surrounded by family especially given that we now live so far away.  We are relishing our last couple days here before I head back with the kids back to France.  Strangely I am actually looking forward to the plane trip by myself with the two kiddos.  Even more so since I decided to make it the topic for the next blog post!  So if anyone is interested in seeing the chronicled stages of meltdown of a toddler and preschooler through 15+ hours of travel, stay tuned...

Our "currant" state...

It is now red currant season in France and I have to admit that these little guys are not in my repertoire. These tiny tart berries are native to western Europe and grow in grape-like clusters on small bushes. Turns out the place we are renting has a couple bushes out back which, despite their modest size, gave us quite a harvest.  At first the kiddos would just snack on the berries while playing in the yard.  Then one evening Jean and Audrey quickly filled a couple mixing bowls with the these tiny guys - about 3 kilos worth.  Challenge accepted!

There were also a handful of what are called "albino currants", somewhat sweeter than their crimson cousins (and from a mom's perspective, much less stain power!)

I started with an easy introduction to these unfamiliar fruits.  I found a super quick recipe for a tarte aux groseille (red currant tart) - http://www.marmiton.org/recettes/recette_tarte-aux-groseilles_17551.aspx. Couldn't be much simpler - place washed berries on a premade crust and cover with a custard like filling. Easy as pie, as we say back home.

Audrey seeming to question why I stopped cutting the tarte to take a picture of it...

Okay - these berries are now growing on me and I'm ready to up the ante.  Let's try some jam making!  No, I have never made jam before but I feel like the berries are calling me to do so.  It seems that red currants are naturally high in pectin so they are naturals in the whole jelly making business.  Jean and I spent an entire evening meticulously separating 2 kilos worth of berries from their stems. And so it begins...

cooking of berries (a handful of cherries and strawberries added since they were sitting around)

Processing the concoction through a hand grinder

A quick boil of the liquid and the addition of enough sugar to make a dietitian gasp - and voilà! We are in red currant heaven!! I couldn't help but feel a bit like my namesake from Little House on the Prairie knowing that we now have provisions to last us though a long winter.

Turns out I still have some 500g of currants left, even after our jam making extravaganza.  At this point I feel like currants and I are old buddies.  Red currant and orange muffins finish off our harvest as we end on my turf.

Currants have been tackled - now onto packing those suitcases.  Tomorrow we are heading to the other side of the Atlantic for our first (of many!) summer trips home.  Hope to see some of you all soon!!

A shot in the dark

We are now just a few weeks shy of our one year anniversary in France.  It's hard to believe how fast it has gone by!  It also means that we are at the end of many "firsts" (at least calendar wise).  One last one though - my first July 14th in France.  Even though Jean and I would frequently come in the summer on vacation, I had never been here for "Bastille Day".  Given its proximity to the Forth of July, I wonder if many Americans living in France appreciate the dates being so close together to sort of replace what they are missing from home.

So...my impression of this "first"?  A bit quieter than its US counterpart.  No complaints here though.  I decided to treat Audrey to her first fireworks display (despite the fact that it didn't start until 11pm!).  Cotton candy ("barbe à papa" in French) gave her a nice sugar rush that literally had her running in circles for a good half hour before the fireworks began.  And then the show started...she was enamored!  The most incredible thing she has seen in her three and a half years.  Okay, that's what I thought her reaction would be.  What really happened?  She sat on my lap with her hands over her ears for the entire 20 minutes, paralyzed with fear.  Half way through, on the verge of tears, she says she's done and wants to go home. I was able to get her to stay through the rest but it was hard to enjoy it knowing that she was scared.  Maybe firsts aren't all they're cracked up to be.  I guess we'll stick around for another year to give it a second shot...

 

Flamenco with a French touch

Not long after I arrived, I decided that it would be a good idea to find some sort of ongoing activity to help make France feel more like home.  I have always wanted to learn Flamenco dancing so I signed up for a weekly class that started last September.  I mean what better place to learn Flamenco than here in France where it all originated!  (Okay - I might be one country off but at least I'm on the right continent!)  Anyway, it turns out that its a little harder than I was thinking.  I thought that my dancing skills acquired during my Latin American travels would work in my favor. Unfortunately, a decent merengue and passing salsa moves wouldn't help me much after all.

Then, a couple months in, I hear about the big show in June where we will be dancing - on a stage, in front of people.  As it is, I am having trouble getting the moves down and with the class conducted all in French (I mean who would have thought) I feel like I've gotten myself in over my head.  There were a more than a couple nights when I arrived home and on the verge of tears told Jean I was done.  I just wasn't getting it.  But I stuck in there.  I practiced for hours on end at home (which served the dual purpose of getting the moves down as well as making Audrey and Thomas chuckle).

The day of the show arrived and I actually felt ready.  While I cannot brag about being the most graceful of dancers, I had the steps down.  Walking off that stage I felt so incredibly proud of what I had achieved. I remember thinking that this experience mirrors the greater overall challenge of adapting to life in France.  With hard work and perseverance, I can pull this off too.

Now if someone can just explain to me why I keep getting strange looks running errands in my flamenco skirt and shoes...

A different type of history lesson

A couple weeks ago we celebrated May 8th - the date that WWII ended.  It's a national holiday in France although I have to admit it's not one of the dates I remember from history class.  The Alsace region was under German control a number of times in fairly recent history and many of the actual battles took place in neighboring towns.  I remember years ago my father-in-law taking me a farm the next town over that was used as an infirmary during the war. It's hard to believe that the areas I drive through each day were battlegrounds not too long ago.  

On May 8th, Audrey and I attended a memorial service at a national cemetery in the town of Sigolsheim, the site of some intense fighting during WWII.  Alongside, the French troops, a number of American infantries helped to liberate the town and eventually lead to the end of the war.  Because of this, an American memorial was created to honor these fallen soldiers.  The ceremony was incredibly touching and it was hard to not feel a bit emotional when the military band played the Star Spangled Banner in front of the American flag. I found myself standing in a spot where fellow Americans gave their lives and couldn't help but feel moved.  After the ceremony was over, I went back and forth on whether or not to tell Audrey about why we were there.  I finally decided that she has plenty of time to learn about war as she grows up - that will be a discussion for another day.  One person did come up to me afterwards to tell me how they noted that Audrey seemed incredibly observant at the ceremony and she couldn't help but notice how she looked intently at the field of crosses with a sort of understanding and respect.

Audrey and I were some of the last people to walk down the hill after the ceremony was over.  Audrey was taking her time making her way down and I was trying to nudge her a bit by telling her to stay closer to me.  An older French man also on his way down, overheard me speaking to her in English, asked if I was American. I responded yes. "Thank goodness you guys were here", he said to me in French, and then walked the other way wishing me a good day.  I cannot take credit for any of the sacrifices made although I watched him walk away with a much deeper understanding of a war that was taught to me from a textbook.  I have to imagine that my own children will learn about the war in a very different way.  I held Audrey's hand down the rest of the hill, letting her walk down as slowly as she wanted knowing that she was taking in one pretty important history lesson.

Thoughts of Boston

Watching the events unfold in Boston over the last week have been surreal.  It's strange feeling so connected to the situation yet so removed physically from everything that has been going on.  Along with many others, we have tried to follow the events but unlike those in Boston, we have been able to carry on with our normal lives which has me feeling a little guilty.  I am assuming that there are many individuals who feel the same way.

Last Monday, we had friends visiting from Boston and I had taken them to downtown Strasbourg to sightsee and grab a late dinner.  On our way home, I happened to see that I had a Facebook message from someone I knew in Paraguay 15 years ago.  She wanted to know if I was okay since she heard there was an explosion in Boston.  I didn't think much of it considering how far she was and that small stories can often be exaggerated when reported internationally.  I did a quick Google search just to make sure.  The results were hard to believe.  I sat there with our friends from Boston in complete disbelief.

Living abroad, we have the unique opportunity to choose how much information we seek out about these unfolding events.  While I was curious as to the status of all of it, I also found myself holding back from reading too much.  I can only imagine the intensity of the coverage in the US, especially for friends in Boston.  It was surreal to watch the live scenes from our living room with coverage from very familiar spots.  In fact, Jean was able to see our car (black Acura in front of the police cruiser) that we sold right before we left Boston while watching the news (he sold it to someone in Watertown, MA and remembered the street name of where he lived - Jean later emailed the guy confirming his hunch).    

It's funny - people here ask me all the time if I ever get homesick.  I usually tell them that I haven't really yet.  This week changed things for me.  The events this week have made me realize that my connection to Boston is still incredibly strong and I longed to be "home".

Jean and I made a home in Boston and while neither of us were born and raised there, it is a place that we cherish.  It is the place where we married, bought our first place and gave birth to two beautiful children.  Boston was our home for almost a decade and it remains a city very close to our hearts.  The events of the past week have made me cherish the city even more.  There is an incredible strength and pride in Boston than is undeniable. Though our home is in France for now, I anxiously await the time when we will call Boston home again.  Now if I could just come up with some sort mantra...

...Big Papi, any thoughts?

Shedding the Security Blanket

Although some people might think that I've embarked on a huge adventure, truth be told it doesn't always feel that way.  Life for the moment is pretty safe and in some ways it feels like not a lot has changed.  I realized recently that although I am living in France, I am not living in French.  With Jean still looking for work, I find that most of my day is spent speaking English with him and the kids. While I know this will change soon, for now I seem to have opted for the security of sticking with familiarity.  Well up until last week...

A while back I heard about a childbirth conference taking place in Brussels.  It was a small intimate 3 day event featuring Michel Odent, a well know physician, researcher, author and proponent of natural childbirth.  I struggled with whether or not to go but eventually decided that this was an opportunity I could not pass up.  So last week I packed up and left Jean and the kids for 4 days.  It meant me driving to Belgium alone which had be a little nervous.  Being alone in a car driving to a place I had never been was a strange feeling.  Though it was pretty darn cool to drive right through Luxembourg (and stopping there for a fill up and snack!).  I got to Brussels close to 9pm and checked into the B & B, anxious to Skype Jean to see how the kids were.  It may sound silly but I felt so adventurous even though compared to my backpacking around South America when I was in my late teens/early 20's, this "adventure" was much more tame.  Perhaps it's now the fact that I have others to whom I am responsible that made this seemingly small trip feel like I was living on the edge (or I am just mature enough now to know the difference!).  Needless to say, falling asleep without in a room alone hundreds of miles from the security of my husband and kids was hard.

Overall, the conference was great.  I met some incredible people and really felt immersed in French for the first time since I arrived.  The last day of the conference  I mustered up the confidence to talk to Michel Odent during one of our breaks.  What a highlight!  Not only did the conversation last for 20 minutes but he thought it was super cool that I was from Cleveland (how often does that happen?) since that was the first place he was ever invited to speak.  Oh, plus he complimented me on my French.  It was the perfect way to have ended this adventure and I left feeling incredibly proud of myself for taking the risk.  That 4 hours driving home flew by.  Sorry Luxembourg, no time to stop this time - I've got my babies waiting for me...