Les sots l'y laisse

Yesterday was a big adventure. This week feels like it has lasted for a year, and it's been about quadruple the usual number of social engagements that I usually have. It was great to stay in last night. After two months of trying to schedule something, we finally had dinner with the friends who had taken us to the Metz Christmas market.

I warned Laura & Chris ahead of time: I had never cooked a chicken. I had, on occasion, ruined a chicken breast. I don't eat much meat; I don't often cook meat. We'll see how it goes... I wanted to do a "poulet roti" (rotisserie chicken), because they're a classic piece of French cuisine–basic family food. I found an adapted recipe in a French magazine (and by "adapted" I mean "roasted instead of rotisserie"), and it's shocking how simple this is.

This was my first time buying meat to feed other people, and I was nervous. I wanted to go to a nice butcher, but a chicken that had had a good life & wasn't going to be full of hormones & corn. Turns out that the local grocery's brand sells rather happy chickens–for double the price of the other, fatter, unhappier chickens. It was still less expensive than a butcher, was raised in the open air (which French food labels MUST specify), was from a French farm & was raised without GMOs or hormones. Yay!

With the exception of a really nice Spanish wine they brought, the entire meal was from France. That means that from the food to our table, the food traveled a maximum of 500 miles. We so excited. It was doubly exciting because the meal was full of French tradition foods: tarte tatin (that turned out more like a crumble, but it works); salad with beets, blue cheese and Dijon dressing; chicken with roasted root vegetables.

When we decided to get a chicken, I wanted to get as much out of it as possible. Luckily, Chris & Laura have experience cooking chicken, so they helped us make sure it was done. I was nervous to cut it apart, but it turns out that once you get started it's all rather intuitive: follow the bones, and the pieces come off in their proper shapes. Even after eating our fill, the bird had enough left for chicken sandwiches today.

I remember watching my grandma, after Thanksgiving dinners, go to town on the turkey: pulling apart bones & peeling back fat to reveal hidden pieces of meat. To me, the turkey was finished. Just a carcass. But when Grandma was done, two containers would be full of meat. I spent some time with the chicken after our friends left.

Two of the most exciting discoveries were the wishbone (I broke off the big piece) and the two oysters, "les sots l'y laisse". The French name for these two pieces is wonderful, translating to "The idiots leave it there." Those that don't the chicken can't find them and leave them stuck to the carcass.

I'd been curious about these since falling in love with Amelie Poulin. One of the characters, Dominique Bretodeau, buys a chicken each week. When it's cooked, he slips out the oysters before eating the rest of the chicken. I was amazed when I came across the two dark pieces and felt them slip along the bone and slip right off into my hand. (Here's the video–HORRIBLE quality, but you'll see what I mean.)

As I type this, the carcass is floating with some herbs and carrots, making a stock. I found alphabet noodles at the grocery, and I want to use them for some noodle soup like mom would make for me when I was in college.

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it's the end of the world as we know it...

When I was in eighth grade, I was still taking religion classes. Our teacher that year decided to focus (exclusively) on the book of Revelation–the one in which John uses his dream to tell us how the world ends. After a lot of lessons, I came home crying. I didn't feel bad about this; I wasn't embarrassed or alone in it. Sometimes, even the cool guys–the football players or the ones mocking religion–cried during class.

"I know it will happen in my lifetime," our teacher would say. He would show us newspaper clipping of events that correlated to the passages we read. He would warn us not to get microchips put under our skin–the sign of the Beast.

I have a tendency to look for signs of the Apocalypse anyway. I spend a lot of my time convinced that the world is a horrible place to bring children. I imagine what I'll do when our way of life crumbles and we're forced to survive in a scene like "The Road". I tell Joe that I want to get out of the U.S. as soon as possible; I mean this. Sincerely.

Writing this is making my heart race; I get to the verge of tears & begin to panic.

When I saw what had happened in Japan, I felt that–after Australia, after Haiti–is a continuing sign that we're on the wrong path. Is God warning us? Is this it? With each disaster, I get more afraid. With each disaster, I blame God less–because we're still not listening.

We still haven't adjusted our energy consumption, haven't started looking at seriously limiting our use of finite energy sources. We still haven't re-evaluated our use of nuclear energy, though there are 23 reactors in the U.S. that match the models melting down in Japan.

I've stopped at this point. I've started typing the other arguments I always give–the war o women; the attacks on the middle class; the U.S.'s unbelievable resistance to the idea of global warming (or science in general). But I can't go into them again...because it will bore you; because it is breaking me down. And I'll be honest, I don't know where to go from here.

In all aspects of my life, I have a tendency to feel obligated. My decisions are made less for myself and more for how I predict people will respond to them. So now I'm left wondering, can I make a difference? Can I stick with public affairs and speak to the U.S. as they give our country to corporations and remove our elected officials? (Forgive the very liberal slant to that piece; it's the shortest, most comprehensible article I could find.) Can I make them listen–can I reach those middle class folks who feel that the Democrats are not trying to help them? Can I convince them? What could I possibly say that could be any different?

How can we finally start making a difference? I'm only 23. And then I look at Wisconsin, where even after a law was passed (though the legality of the passage is being contested) 80,000 citizens continue to protest*. I look at Egypt, where people my age organized a peaceful protest that changed ended the government of their nation. I look at Tunisia, at Yemen. I look at Indiana and Ohio, where people are trying (though in smaller numbers).

So, it is the end of the world as we know it... and while I wouldn't say I feel fine, there are signs that things might, just might, start to look up. Will my generation, we radical hippies, get to the government in time? Or will states follow Michigan's lead? Will we rely even more on the banks and businesses that we bailed out when they robbed us?

It's up to us. But if Wisconsin can speak out, if Egypt can have a nonviolent revolution for their entire country, then we can begin making changes. We can change what we buy; we can change the way we speak to our government (or START speaking to our government); we can change where we shop. We can change what we're willing to tolerate from our country.

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brunch

I had brunch with three friends today, British girls at various stages of the "living in France" experience. The girls usually meet at a café for pastries and coffee, but one of them suggested meeting at her place for pancakes.

Who can argue with pancakes?

Note: only Americans imagine this when we say "pancakes." I started out confused when the girls started suggesting toppings: jam, nutella, lemon & sugar. No maple syrup? I quickly realized that "pancakes" were more like crêpes. It turns out this this thin style is more common in the UK, and the lemon sugar combination is quite popular. Try it yourself.

Now, this is not complaining. I gorged myself on fig- and honey-topped crêpes, swallowed down with mimosas and four hours of good conversation. The room was sunny; our attitudes are thawing after a the winter. There were fresh flowers on the table. I learned how to flip a crêpe like this guy. It was relaxing.

This isn't a word I use much. I'm not exactly a "relaxed" person. I'm certainly not someone who friends would say is "relaxing" or "calming" to be around. I take on too many projects. I give myself too much homework. While the champagne calmed me, there was still a part of my head that was saying, "Work's waiting on you at home. You need to get going."

But we'll be going soon enough–back to the States with no idea when we'll return to France. While Joe & I have already decided that European travel is a part of our lives, & that we'll find ways to make that possible, the next trip feels light years away. I wanted to slow down, take a break & enjoy the friends I'm making during our adventure here.

I'm getting better at this whole relaxation thing, & it's definitely helping my spirits. While with the girls, we started talking about Lent. Who's giving up what & why. I'll be honest: I haven't started yet. I've been evaluating & adapting. I'm making up my days after Easter & am sticking to this Lent calendar. For years, my mom has picked up instead of giving up–picked up praying the rosary each day. I've frequently followed her lead, & will again this year.

I'm trying desperately not to use Lent, like so many, as a diet plan. I need to cut back on sugars again & start getting more of the balanced, fresh diet I had when I was in college (& less worried, out of naivety, about my grocery bills). I don't want to focus on my exterior this Lent. I want to focus on fasting, on putting good things–both food & messages–into my body so that when spring starts in full, I'm in good form to greet it.

Winter & hormones hit me hard this year. It's rare that there isn't a pastry or cake on the table, that there isn't beer or wine with dinner & little water throughout the day. It's time to shift my thinking, & my friends & husband are helping with that. They're giving my support in unexpected ways, whether it's reminding me that a brownie isn't the end of the world or inviting me out for a few hours of time to enjoy the blessing we've been given in our time here.

What are your plans for Lent, or if you don't practice it, how are you preparing yourself for the coming warm weather?

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the deal with French deodorant

You know the stereotype. The French simply don't wear deodorant. I'm saying that, simply, this is not true. In a blog I stumbled upon called "Ask a Frenchman!" the man made this good point:

...[Most] stereotypes about France that one can find in the US (and exported later to the rest of the English speaking world) come from right after WWII when GIs were stationed in France. And as previously mentioned, it was a time right after France had been occupied by Nazi Germany for four years, when everything was rationed and everybody was deprived of many things...

There have been moments in class where I was like, "LORD! Is that me?" only to turn around and see a middle-aged man standing behind me, wanting to ask a question. So, there are a few trouble cases in every class, but I can say that I had the same experience in college in the States. We just smell. It happens.


What seems to bother us even more than smell–that is to say the thing that drive me insane even when I smell like cucumbers–is the cloud of damp that starts to spread down your sleeve when you're, say writing on the board or holding up something to show your students. Teaching scares the crap out of me. And me makes me sweat like a sumo wrestler*. 

Since arriving in France, I've been walking around with armpits that smell like cucumbers. I'm not complaining. I mean, I don't usually seek out the scented deodorants–on the contrary, I look for the most basic thing I can find. But when Suave has a multi-pack of extra-strength on sale in "Garden Fresh" scent, it's hard to say no.

I've finally run out and purchased my first thingy of French deodorant... which is applied with this awkward rolling ball that leaves your pits smelling like fingernail polish remover. Okay, I bought it because it was cheap, but I'm getting worried about what's seeping into my body.

I've also gotten really worry about this whole sweating thing. I've stopped using antiperspirants, since I'm worried about the aluminum in them. While it's not necessarily enough aluminum to lead to the effects of aluminum exposure, it's still unknown. Research is stacking up to show a connection between antiperspirants and breast cancer as well–due to both aluminum & the toxins that your body isn't able to remove.

Look at it this way:

[Antiperspirants] blocks the naturally produced sweat and prevents those toxins from being released. After weeks of application of antiperspirant, there is a lot of toxin built up under the armpit. and as soon as you forget to apply deodorant- all those nasty toxins that had been building up for however long you applied AP deodorant- are suddenly free to be released... and it comes out smelling so awful...

Tru dat. So if anyone has a great suggestion for the elimination of pit stains while maintaining a healthy, toxin-eliminating underarm, I think that could be a great money-maker, because what I will say is this: The French are wearing their deodorant, but they're wearing their pit stains proud.

And I have to say, good on ya France, for being healthy & realizing that there isn't a thing we can do about the (mostly odor-free) wet blankets we become over a day's work.

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food rules: what's a CSA?

Tell me what you eat, & I will tell you what you are.

Leave it to a French epicure (one with a "refined palate") to give us this famous food quote. Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) was a busy man–defending capital punishment as an active citizen, defending people as a lawyer, fleeing the revolution when they wanted his head, defending food & refined taste. In fact, he spend so much time defending good diets (especially diets low in sugar & white flour, which is fascinating), that he has a cheese & a cake named after him.*

The "gâteau Savarin" matters because it is the same style as the "rhum baba"–& both cakes were "introduced to France" via Stanislas, right here in Lorraine.*  Since our friends who passed their oven on to us also passed on a mold for this cake, it's the next cake I'll be baking.

The quote above matters because we all say it. We've all heard it, but many of us don't take the time ot think about it. If we are what we eat, then most Americans would be an ear of corn in a cardboard box. We would be heavy on fat & light on lean (which is true, really*).

Organizations like Slow Food & countless community-supported agriculture groups are working to bring food back to the center of the community. It's what human life has always centered around. Look at classic examples from Christianity–the sermon on the mount, the weekly sharing of "communion" or the Eucharist. Humans have always broken bread together, have always spent these intimate moments in their communities.

So then what is community-support agriculture (CSA)? The program is all over Europe, as it started in Germany & Switzerland before reaching us in the States. The focus is on local agriculture & sustainable farming practices. It means we're relying on local farmers (of all sizes), the seasons, the weather & each other. The CSA Wikipedia page gives us three key points to the program:

1. a transparent, whole season budget for producing a specified wide array of products for a set number of weeks a year

2. a common-pricing system where producers and consumers discuss and democratically agree to pricing based on the acceptance of the budget;

3. a ‘shared risk and reward’ agreement, i.e. that the consumers receive what the farmers grow even with the vagaries of seasonal growing.

Communities all over the United States (search for yours here). They're subscribing to a monthly fee that gives them access to local produce, seasonal surprises, a sense of community, a better understanding of farming & largely organic produce at lower prices. A huge help: you go pick up your box of produce (or in some cases delivered), which really cuts down on your grocery shopping.

We were lucky enough to sample a CSA while staying in St. Louis when one of our good friends was out of town. She & her family gave us their CSA allotment for the week. We came home with two sacks of produce, fresh honey, & some things that were a bit of an adventure to cook with–lemongrass & fish. (We were broke & not branching out much.) We're excited to join one when we get to Bloomington, but I'll be honest. The initial payment is a little frightening, ranging from $150 to $500.

But remember–you're buying weeks of groceries with that payment, & you're getting all fresh, safe produce. I encourage you to at least look at the options in your area. If nothing else, it's fun to see what local farmers are up to.

I've really enjoyed sharing my passion for sustainable food with you this week, & I hope you've all gotten something out of it. Next week, I'll get back to telling you about life in Nancy. I look forward to hearing about your food adventures!

Have you considered or participated in a CSA? What have you liked/disliked most about this week's posts?

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food rules: why organic is expensive

"You're charging me four dollars for lettuce that you didn't even DO anything to? It sat in the sun for a few months. You picked it, put it in a truck & now I pay FOUR DOLLARS?!"

I know. I've had those thoughts, too. I get made that all-natural shampoo is more than twice the price of the others that smell equally pleasant. I know it seems contrary to do less to a product & charge more for it... but it turns out organic isn't "hands off" farming. The absence of chemicals & genetic modification (mostly the case with organics, but not always) means the farmer has less of an output in supplies, but he has a much harder time getting the produce to market.

Obtaining organic status is an arduous process, which you can start here or read more about here. Part of the process is annual investigations & testing. Not only does farmers have to use organic farming methods–relying only on nature & the heartiness of plants–but they must make sure the soil remains uncontaminated by chemicals. Do their neighbors have chemicals sprayed? Do the chemicals drift on the wind? Unlike most farmers, it's more than their crops they're forced to worry about.

So let's break it down, according to the USDA's requirements:
1. Products labeled "organic" have at least 95 percent of their ingredients coming from organic farms; the remainder must be from the approved (& vaguely titled) National List of other things. The USDA explains that "organic products cannot be produced using excluded methods, sewage sludge, or ionizing radiation." This makes me wonder about other products...

2. If processed foods say "Made with Organic Ingredients," you're looking at ingredients that are at least 70 percent organic. If they have less than 70 percent organics, they can't list the product as organic in on the "principal display," meaning it won't say Organic Soup but the ingredients will list organic carrots.

3. The USDA has no restrictions on "truthful labeling claims" like “no drugs or growth hormones used,” “free range,” or “sustainably harvested.”

Looking past the extra care this takes, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations gives us a great list of reasons for higher prices of organic foods:

1. Organic food supply is limited as compared to demand.
2. Production costs for organic foods are typically higher because of greater labour inputs per unit of output and because greater diversity of enterprises means economies of scale cannot be achieved.
3. Post-harvest handling of relatively small quantities of organic foods results in higher costs because of the mandatory segregation of organic and conventional produce, especially for processing and transportation.
4. Marketing and the distribution chain for organic products is relatively inefficient and costs are higher because of relatively small volumes.

This doesn't make us feel any better about buying that organic label or increase our grocery budget, but it does put the work that goes into organic food in a little better context. If you want "organic" but can't afford it, don't feel discouraged! There are loads of unofficial, uncertified organic options. Many of them can be found in co-ops or farmers' markets. Do you grow your own food? Do your neighbors have a garden?

And don't forget–I mentioned in Monday's post that some produce is less necessary to buy as organic (those foods you can peel, where the pesticides can't get to the flesh inside) while others should be your first-priority organics (things like berries, where there is virtually no difference between skin and flesh).

How do you feel about organics? Are there products you always/never buy in the organic section? What got you buying them?

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food rules: animals RULE!

On January 1, 2009 I decided to be a vegetarian. There were several occasions where I broke down & ate meat: times people made me dinner or times when I had a craving & went to the local butcher. Since moving to France, I've had the chance to eat more meat. The packaging is required to tell me where it came from and, in some cases, how it was raised–in a cage or in open air.

Before I begin this post, it's important that we establish something. While I love animals & can't stand to see them in pain, I did not become a vegetarian because I wanted to save some chickens. I didn't stop eating meat so that I could be friends with cows. Stop thinking that right now. I stopped eating meat because industrialized farming stopped providing me with healthy options. Just because it's white meat or lean meat or not fried meat does not mean it's healthy. To begin making this point, let me ask you a question...

If you spend a few days eating a bunch of processed sugars–bread, pasta, cake, cookies, candy bars, soda–what happens to your body? Do you feel more energetic or less? Do you feel lighter or heavier?

If this diet becomes your lifestyle, do you become more athletic or less? Could you more easily run a marathon or even bicycle to work instead of drive? Could you play basketball with your kids more easily? Could you lose weight & have lean muscles?

Then it is illogical that we take animals from their natural diet (grass) to a diet that a diet far higher in sugary starches–a diet that is almost only corn. The argument is that corn "beefs" up animals faster. They get market-size in around six weeks, which is convenient; after six weeks the diet will start to deteriorate their digestive system*. So while we're searching for the leanest, most skinless meat, the industry is producing heavier, fatter animals that rely on antibiotics to support the changes in their body. Here are two quick facts from two quality articles:

Switching a cow from grass to grain is so disturbing to the animal’s digestive system that it can kill the animal if not done gradually and if the animal is not continually fed antibiotics.*

Corn has been criticized as being unsustainable based on the unusual amount of fertilizer, water and machinery required to bring it to harvest...*

So let's summarize: While America tries to break itself from an epidemic of obesity, our farmers are forced (based on subsidies & increased demand) to rely on unsustainable practices. They're forced to sell us lower quality meat–meat that has less meat per pound & more corn/soy than ever before.* We're feeding animals corn, a crop that has become dependent on a constant supply of chemicals (WOW–is that a post for another day!). Conclusion: Bad news bears...

This sort of farming produces 16.6 billion tons of excrement a year*, making it the leading the leading cause of air AND runoff pollution. (Read: The excrement is tainting water supplies & increasing E. coli outbreaks in food.)

I haven't even touched on the industrial processing yet... And I'm not going to in this post. I want to leave this on a positive note: There is a butcher in your town. A real one. I know it. No one is asking you to be fully vegetarian (though in some countries its rather easy, & you can find pieces of those diets everywhere). "Well what can I do to fight 16.6 billion tons of excrement?" you're asking yourself.

Go to the butcher. Ask him where the meat comes from. Ask him what sort of farms they are. Avoid CAFO meat. Yes, it's a bit more expensive. Grass-fed is even more expensive. Bison is a bitchy meat. Free-range eggs feel like they should come dipped in gold. But don't feel guilty splurging on it.

Spending extra means you'll buy less–you'll consume less meat, which we know is good for our hearts. You'll enjoy the flavor more, since it's hidden under less corn additive. You'll be supporting your local economy. Animals on their natural diets never ravel as far. That means you're ALSO saving CO2 emissions. Look at you! You're dominating environmentalism & sustainable eating!

Millions of people around the world are also participating in Meatless Mondays, a sacrifice that started during WWII to help with rations & show solidarity. Show solidarity to the farmers & to the health of our species by participating now. Then, look! You're only buying healthy meat for, at most, SIX days a week. It's all about baby steps, but you've got to start walking at some point.

P.S. If this got you interested, continue reading here for facts that you can use to share the idea of sustainable farming & eating with others.

Are you eating meat? Where are you getting it? How do you feel about industrialized farming? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

*Facts from Food, Inc.

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what a feminist looks like

I'm very excited about Feminist Coming Out Day, an event to raise awareness & help us realize that all of us–single, married, all genders, all races, all political parties–are feminists. (Learn more here.) We support the rights of women to choose their career, their role in the home, their interests. We support, with that, the rights of men to do the same. We need to break the dichotomy. We need to learn to live together & respect each other. 

Feminist Coming Out Day is featuring pictures & snip-its by self-proclaimed feminists, showing us that we are feminists in our own way, by our own definition. I finally worked up the courage to submit my tiny two-cents, & they posted it! They're incredibly kind, & I encourage you to do the same. They make it very easy when you click here.
Their work couldn't come at a better time.

There's a lot going on for women's rights in the States right now, & I can't get my mind off of it. I've been concerned about women's issues since I realized that I would not grow up to be a member of New Kid's on the Block, that I would grow up to be a woman. I knew words like Glass Ceiling and Second Wave, but I never could have imagined, after we saw ourselves as so past these things–though admittedly still struggling–that I would learn words like Stupak Amendment or Justified Murder of abortion doctors.

I never thought my country could take actions to stop women's rights to an abortion in cases of rape or dangerous pregnancies. I never thought the country would seek to redefine rape & say the victim didn't try hard enough. I never thought we would try to stop Planned Parenthood, a program that provides not only abortion, but exams for cervical & breast cancer; stopping Planned Parenthood is stopping the health care of three million women. (For more information, watch or read about this Democracy Now interview with PP's president.)

I never thought I would be truly & deeply afraid to live in the United States. To have a daughter born there. To ask for birth control when it is for my mental & physical health and NOT FOR preventing pregnancy. I never thought we could try to move back so far while saying, so often, that the fight is for God.

Change.org, a site Joe introduced me to, collects petitions for various causes. They have several successful petitions going to work to stop this legislation on their Women's Rights page. It costs nothing, takes almost no time & helps us speak to our government.

If you're even ballsier, contact your representatives (whom their page still refers to as "Congressmen") or e-mail your Senator. If you don't, who will?

Keep yourself informed with two easy articles:
What stopping Planned Parenthood means for low-income women
And on a tangent... we pick NOW to argue about breast feeding?

carrefour

In Joe's most recent blog post, he talks about a poet that he checked out via the American Library. I was reading the post & clicking on the poems he suggested (which I suggest that you do as well) by Amy Lowell. One of the link poems is titled "Carrefour" & I laughed, because this is a loaded word for me lately. I'll save you a click & post it here.

O You,
Who came upon me once
Stretched under apple-trees just after bathing,
Why did you not strangle me before speaking
Rather than fill me with the wild white honey of your words
And then leave me to the mercy
Of the forest bees.

"Carrefour" is the grocery down the round, nearly halfway between our house & Lauren's, our American friends. I stop there nearly four times a week–on my way to her place for dinner for a few beers, or on our way to friends to snag wine; after class to grab supplies for lunch; in the morning when Joe is gone to surprise him with restocked coffee supplies.

It was nearing daily last semester, & it got to the point of pure embarrassment. I would forget one thing–yogurt or cheese, sausage or another brick of butter–& hang my head as I walked back through the automatic doors. One of my students worked there. I would avoid using his "caisse" (cash register) for fear of continuing the ongoing joke. Who's here more–you or me? "Moi," we both reply.

I've slowed down on the grocery shopping & make sure we stick closer to our weekly budget. Unfortunately, this does not mean more grocery shopping WITH Joe, a pastime I thought would be a part of each week. Our schedules, though we're both only–on paper–working part-time (plus the tutoring gigs), are harder to coordinate than I'd expected.

* * *

"Carrefour" is, more importantly, a French word translated to an intersection or, more perfectly full of symbolism, a crossroads. I feel like I'm standing in the middle of one, with tiny French cars whipping by on each side. I've entered a stage where my mind is increasingly in the United States.

I'm still organizing & listing & mentally shopping for our lives back in the States. I'm studying statistics in my free time & trying to figure out what my future looks like. People asking me, "But what do you do with a public affairs degree?" is even more difficult than, "What do you do with a public relations degree?"

I always had the generic "I related to the public" response. That doesn't work, & I don't know what I want to say instead. I want to work on legislation. I want to force the country toward social reform. I want to get my hands dirty behind the scenes of politics & change the key messages–see? Public relations still applies in the end...

I want to do this without becoming the obligatory Career Woman. I want this system to stop being a dichotomy. I want to be fully invested in my career, in my volunteer work, in the passions that matter most to my life–fusing writing & public action. I want to foster strong family values in children. I want to have time for children before I'm 30, & I want to have a job before I'm 30. I want a job where I know a pregnancy won't result in my being let go. Yes, that still happens. Don't kid yourself.

I want to write a list & re-write it until all of these things fit, but they don't. So instead, I write grocery lists & go to Carrefour. I study statistics & tell myself I enjoy it. I remind myself that we've promised not to have children until we have health care & jobs. I remind myself that I'm only 23. That I'm going to school again. That I have Joe. That I'll be back to my family.

I try to finish crossing the street.

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le deuxième semestre: la vie sociale

I'm taking a break from the letters series for a few days. If you're still craving some serious chronology, you can flip to tumblr for my other 30-day challenge.

Joe & I went to a club last night. It wasn't planned; we to a friend's for drinks. The plan was to head home when they went to the club. Then we started listening to LCD Soundsystem and Lady Gaga. Then I really needed to dance. Then I found out that there was no cover charge. Then we were off, walking to the Love Boat in our nearly-matching cardigans (since mine was one that I actually bought for Joe but turned out to be too small–darn).

But let's be honest. Raise your hand if you would be genuinely surprised by Joe & I turning up at a club in some cardigans. That's what I figured. I'm not good at clubs. I make a fool of myself at dance parties, because that's the point.

The real point here is that this semester, I'm making an effort. I'm not good at being social. I'm good at getting overwhelmed by things, staying in & reading for the evening. I'm not good at groups. I've never had a serious group of friends, other than the group of boys since elementary that were more brothers than anything else. My girl friends come and go, strong relationships for a year or two then fizzling–that is, until I got to college & met seriously outstanding women–but that's one-on-one or a group of three. I can handle it. My social-awkwardness shackles don't rise until we get to a group of five.

The group of girls that has formed is somewhere around eight–plus Joe & two other guys. They're lovely, mostly British (& would less awkwardly use words like "lovely"); they're down-to-earth, sincere & loads of fun. They're together frequently, Saturday nights at Love Boat & Sunday mornings a Pinocchio's, a café in the Medieval part of town. I appreciate how kind they all are & how much fun they can make just about anything. I swear if we had a party to watch the mold on our apartment wall grow, they'd have a blast.

I'm going to Pinocchio's today. I'm excited. I'm allowing myself to be myself & to form a stronger circle of friends when I know that–gasp–I'll leave them in a few months. This has been the hardest hurdle for me–really opening up to people when we all seem to be floating in this French sort of Purgatory between college & adult life.

Luckily, the girl I've gotten closest to here, Lauren (the fellow American), understands where I'm coming from with the need to often be alone with myself.* We're tucking ourselves (& Joe) away for the rest of the day to plan the classes we both teach–knocking out lots of work for the semester–while simultaneously eating my homemade pop tarts & watching Bourne.

And no I will not shut up about these pop tarts until you make them for yourself.

So I' doing better already this semester. I'm letting go of the things that I put on my to-do list. You know, those things like reading & yoga that are supposed to be FUN but I've made obligations? Those things like laundry & grocery shopping that won't kill you if you don't get to them RIGHT now?

The first thing you learn in swimming lessons is that if you don't relax your body, you can't float. I'm learning to float, going with the flow & letting myself get out of the apartment.

*I justify this by quoting Montaigne quoting Tibullus. "In solitude, be company to thyself." It's hard for me to argue with Montaigne, largely seen as the father of memoir.

To be continued tomorrow with equally exciting news. Le deuxième semestre: les cours. I'm teaching even more entertaining classes, & I can't wait to get them going.

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dear diary

My husband & I are feeling a bit lame. We'd just gotten comfortable in pajamas, ready to settle in for a night of work, when our friends sent us a message. Could we meet them at a wine bar for drinks? I thought of the lesson plans looming over me. I couldn't tear myself away from them. I was honest when I refused: Sorry, guys. I'm 85 years old and must plan my lessons daaaays in advance. Text me tomorrow?

I stayed up until midnight, getting a lesson in order: literary terms, their phonetic spelling, their French counterparts, questions we can ask about them. I'm teaching three sessions of oral comprehension to third years this semester, which is basically teaching them how to talk about literature–how to analyze and defend it. I couldn't be happier. I am throwing myself into this class head first and diving way, way into the murky stuff.

I stayed up after that to finish "Sunshine", a book I'd been hesitant to start (as it involves vampires & I'm always skeptical about the writing quality). I had to finish it. I couldn't stop myself. It's the best written vampire novel I've ever opened (since I suck–haha–at finishing them). This may have more to do with the fact that the girl loves to tie her hair up in a scarf, spend entire days reading and spend the rest of her time baking her heart out in a family-owned café. Let's say I could relate to the character.

I woke in a strange whirl of emotions that only whirled faster as the day went on. I'd had a dream about vampires attacking an amusement park I worked at, an Epcot sort of place designed to look like Luxembourg. (Believe me, this is even less bizarre than the David Bowie amusement park I dreamed about the other night.) The dream switched to one where our apartment was burning. I woke up in an apartment that smelled like an ashtray: neighbors had another party & smoked in the corridor again.

I got some surprising news from another graduate school–the response was looking for most. I spent time staring out the window, wondering what it all meant. When I'd hear from IU, I'd felt so sure that it was what I was meant to do. Now it seemed like my soul was torn in half, like I'd used some sort of bad magic. (These are thoughts you have when you stay up into the sunrise hours reading vampire novels.) I couldn't stop swimming in my thoughts, eyes glazed over with exaggerated pauses between blinks. I needed to get out of the apartment to let it all settle.

I stepped onto the sidewalk. There was no one. The only sound was, well, less sound and more the pressure of the air's stillness against my cold ears. The cold was good; for once, it was what I needed. For ten seconds, I had France to myself. I had time to thank it for everything, something we usually miss our chance to do. In those ten seconds, I felt myself settle.

For now, maybe, it is enough to know that the professors would write the letters or that the program had enough faith in me to give me a shot. Maybe I didn't need the program in the way I thought I did–to foster the true writer in me. Maybe I just needed a real (and really expensive–ouch, application fees) way to throw myself into the world and see what stuck. I began to feel as if, instead of pulling me in two directions, the second letter was saying, "See? It's in you. Somewhere. And if you go to another program, you'll still have it. It's already there."

So now I wait for financial assistance to fall into my lap. In the mean time, I'm still planning our next few years in Indiana–and which coast we'll fly to after that for the next stage of life, because we both feel that we need a new piece of country to play in.

We've ordered our tickets for our spring break adventure. I've worked my hands into the pastry for the dessert I'm making with Lauren tomorrow, while we plan classes and watch the entire Bourne saga (mmmm–yes, attractive, but ARE there actors more all-around talented these days?). I've learned how to properly use our wine opener, and I've poured myself a heavy glass red wine, to continue the afternoon mellow. I've even turned on the coffee to pick me back up and carry me through today's reading (and yesterday's, since I was distracted by vampires) of War & Peace. Joe is way better at staying on top of our shared reading than I am...

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day 14, drifting

Day 14. Someone you’ve drifted away from

I've been doing a lot of thinking & not a lot of writing lately. This usually plops me in the middle of a ball pit of emotions. I'm terrified of ball pits–was thoroughly convinced that I would die in them. (Plus, they're stupid. How is it fun? You end up with this crap all over your house. No thanks.) This is to say, being in a ball pit of emotion, with loads of different emotions smacking me in the face like hard plastic, is not at all where I like to be. For the first time in my life, I can't write it out. I can't even bring myself to put pen to paper or, more commonly, letters to keys.

Instead of a letter to someone else today, since it's my blog & my rules, I'm writing some notes to myself. I'm addressing a few fears and concerns that have neared the point of being paralyzing over the past two weeks.

I got into graduate school, a dual Masters in Public Affairs & Environmental Science. I'll be heading to Indiana University in the fall, to the one hippie chunk of Indiana (and thank God for it). I'll be heading there early, so that I can register myself for Math Camp, which I've already begun preparing myself for.

I am not a math person. This may be an understatement. I have not done math in four years. I took Calculus my senior year of high school, which I don't even think should be registered as part of my education. The one thing that  I remember from that class is how each Friday, we would take turns bringing in snacks. I didn't do much of my homework.

I'm afraid of having an epic fail. I'm trying to be open minded. I'm trying to balance my fear of math with the idea of the jobs I could get post-graduate studies, the jobs that could push our country toward the kind of change we've needed to be making for decades (#environment #GlobalWarming #SocialJustice #AidToAfrica). I'm trying to balance it with the idea of snagging a coffee house job for a few hours a week or volunteering at an owl recovery center half an hour away.

I'm trying to balance it with the idea that no, it's not a creative writing program, but I can still be writing. I can still be using that side of myself. But I don't know if I can. Since I found out I got in, I've been distracted, throwing myself into books about vampires or French affairs (not business affairs) to forget everything else that's become very tiresome in our thoughts of the States.

I'm drifting away from the parts of myself I like most–writing & baking. I tried to make cupcakes, but was so distracted that I didn't check the oven setting. I nearly cried, just to have a way to get it out. Instead, I sat on the floor and ate the rest of the chocolate filling.

So if I can't write now, when I'm feeling too much & should be storing it all outside of myself–if I'm drifting now, how do I pull myself back together and not get drown in the rapids of graduate school? How do you pull the two sides of your head together?

So I'm feeling tangled, and I'm trying to get myself back. I was a morning person, loved waking up at or before 6 a.m. just to be drinking coffee and plugging along on homework as the sun rose. I crawl out of bed angry at 8 a.m. now (still up an hour before sunrise, which I think is the problem). So today, it's time to snap back. I've found my next 30-day challenge for the blog, gotten ahead on a tumblr 30-day challenge, rolled out of bed before 7 a.m. and have yet to get upset with myself for the day.

Today, we stop drifting. We tie the pieces of the raft back together and start adjusting. Math can be a part of me. It just takes some time to find the room, like a sofa you purchased that turned out to be too large. This master's program is going to be like fitting a leather sectional into a studio apartment, but there will still be room to stretch out.

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resolve

I'm typing on AZERTY keyboard in my office, as opposed to the QWERTY used back in the States. If you see commas where letters should be, plug in an M. I'm working on it.

Our Internet is out. France (as I blame the whole country for anything that happens to me) has told us that it will possibly be 72 hours before someone looks at it. It may be five days before the problem is truly fixed. Patientez-vous, they tell me.

These words are everywhere--plastered onto or typed into anything that keeps you waiting. Be patient. Please wait. Calmez-vous. Just hang out, and we'll get to your problem.

We were warned. I can't say that this should really be a surprise. Countless friends have talked about their problems with Internet service here. "That's strange," we would reply. "We haven't had any problems with Bouygues."

On the way to campus today (to search for my key, still MIA, and use the Internet), I passed a Bouygues poster. I cursed them in my head, which I was shaking angrily. Joe and I stopped at the recycling post to throw our glass in the bin and hear it break. It takes the edge off.

This all brings me to a topic that I have been scared to touch for the past nine ten days. Every year, I resolve not to make a resolution. Every year, I make and fail at a resolution. This is how I see my days, weeks, years--in the black and white (rather French style) terms of the things I accomplished and the things I failed at getting accomplished.
This year, I am seeking to kick "fail" from my vocabulary. I'm trying to accept the fluctuations and unexpected occurances that make up our days. This requires more patience, something I've been in search of for a long time. Unfortunately, I can't just buy it at the store...

Which brings me to lifestyle goal number two for 2011: Start being more frugal. Joe and I are dedicated to the environment, and I fully intend to keep our conservation efforts as a main part of the blog. Lately, I've been thinking about how our life will be when we come back to the States. Making our own cleaning supplies and baking most of the food we would by processed will not only conserve resources, it will conserve money.

We've always been reasonable with savings, but we want to drastically increase the amount of traveling we do. Both of us have taken on extra private tutoring to fund it, and I have vowed to stop shopping for a while. It's impossible with the national sales going on, but we need to think about the lifestyle we want, the packing we'll have to do with our few suitcases and the train tickets we want to buy.

I'm willing to sacrifice on a lot, and I plan to live out of thrift stores when we return. I am not willing to sacrifice my goals for our eco-friendly marriage, so this starts now. I look forward to keeping you posted on our conservation efforts. I mean, look at me. I've already started: computing in my office instead of with my laptop at a café.

What are you resolving to do this year? Remember that if it doesn't work out the way you expected, it was still a start and a push in some new direction for your life. Maybe it just means the resolution was meant to lead you to another, tangential element that could completely rock your world.


P.S. Resolve also happens to be the name of a wonderful nonprofit, working for the change of social conditions in Uganda. Give them a bit of your time today. Check out their web site. In fact, why not resolve to think about Africa a bit more this year? They could use it, and you'd be surprised at the ways you can find to help.

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the state that i am in

And I've been there and back again
The state that I am in
-Belle & Sebastian, "The State that I am in" (lyrics taken somewhat drastically out of context)

Over my last two years of college, my life was spread between three states. I'm a true product of the Midwest. Lately, my mind has been settling back home–not necessarily in the Midwest that I spent hours and days driving across, but in the U.S. I'm missing the States and the bouncing between them. I even miss missing Joe & the excitement that came with a weekend visit to him. I miss calling my family & asking them to come see me for a day.

I miss home. Some days, home is a country whose culture I understand. Most days, that country terrifies me, with its benefits-for-the-rich mentality that means I won't be able to buy insurance/a car/a house for at least a decade. When I think of "home" in terms of the United States, I have more than mixed emotions. I have intense fears.

Today, "home" is Ohio, or somewhere tucked between Ohio and St. Louis. Home is the smell of my parents house, a scent that can still be found inside the stocking I've folded & packed away. Home is my sister & I smearing on facial masks & painting our toes.

I've been thinking about home a lot lately–the one I'm missing & the one I'm longing to create. I have a tendency to look at the next step, always preparing instead of enjoying the experiences that surround me. I've been better at this in France, but after four months I increasingly think of how I want to decorate our apartment (when we have more than three rooms). I create a list of priority purchases. (Do we both need cell phones? How long can we go without a TV? When will we be able to get a tent and start camping? When can I replace my camisoles that are falling apart at the seams after six years of use?)

I imagine what the holidays will be like when we again drive between family visits–how great it will feel to invite the family to our hours for get-togethers & Christmases. I plan DIY projects & figure out what questions I need to ask my dad.

Maybe this urge to start nesting is because the apartment is feeling smaller lately, or because I have no work to distract me. Most likely it's because of this pain in my chest that happens when I think about my family going through difficult times when I'm not there to help.

I've been baking cookies and planning cupcakes and chocolate babka baking. This is how I cope. Under normal circumstances, I would give them to my hurting family members. I started showing my emotions this way when I was in college, but you can't send baked goods back to the Midwest. The cookies sit in a plastic-wrapped bowl, reminding me that for now, there is nothing I can do.

My oven & heart are full of thoughts of Ohio, but they're keeping me warm while a cold rain falls outside. I'll keep myself busy this weekend–between finishing "Natural History of the Senses," a writing assignment I've given myself & assignment grading (pooooop). Then when that's done, I'll make my babka, sit down with a coffee & refuse to let myself be painfully nostalgic.

One of my goals for this year is to enjoy the present more. Not long ago when I was moping around and being depressing, Joe told me exactly that–that I'm depressing. Naturally, this made me cry (as I was already whimpering & thinking about not getting into graduate school). I realized it was true. I focus on a negative future. I refuse to do this anymore.

 I'll think about the visits to our apartment, the joy of having our kitchen appliances back, the adventure of our next year of marriage & the many adventures yet to be had in the six months we still have here. I don't want to miss a moment of looking out this window or stepping out our door & embracing the fact that we're in France. For now, which is all that one can control, hope for & be truly optimistic about.


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how we're saving

 Joe & I have high expectations for ourselves. While we can't act on all of our environmental urges at the moment, we're definitely keeping our priorities in check: looking at food labels & shopping for things that don't come wrapped in plastic an preservatives, using our feet more than our bus system, using more cold than warm water.

In some ways, being in our small apartment in our small French city has made many of these things easier. No, we don't have a garden, but we do have a fresh fruit & vegetable store that focuses on French products–and French farms are just inherently smaller than American (industrialized) farms. All of the vegetables are in bins, so  you use their paper bags to take what you want of each thing. We're limiting our waste by bringing home less plastic & bringing home the perfect amount of food for two people.

We're also drinking a lot more water. Instead of buying the bottles, we keep a jug out on the table. Nancy doesn't have the greatest water quality. (A friend told us that for some pregnant women, the amount of nitrates in the water has been a problem.) Keeping it open in the air actually allows the chlorine to evaporate, and a few other chemicals in some water treatments as well. This means that after an afternoon at work, the water on our table is better tasting & better for us than most bottle water. (No BPAs from plastics.)

While we've focused more on saving money than saving resources with our cleaning supplies from the dollar store, we've made sure that the daily products are as low-impact as possible. These are easy thing to look for and easy switches to make like...
1. buying matches (not lighters) made from sustainable farming to prevent deforestation.
2. buying eco-friendly laundry detergent, which is the same price as your fancy name brand (& better for me, since I'm allergic to a LOT of laundry detergent).
3. buying all natural dish soap or making your own!
4. keeping our organic waste (food trash) in a separate bin than the trash can.

Separating the trash means we can use small bags, like our plastic bags from shopping, for organic waste and save the large black bags until their really, really full since there is nothing to stink up the apartment in them. It's a bit of a tight fit at times, since the apartment is small, but it's a huge help and even fun to see how long we can make it last. If one couple can have no trash for a year by simply watching what comes into their home, we can make a trash bag last a month. (Big money saver too–those bags are pricey!)

The other big thing we're doing to save is not something that I honestly expect a lot of readers to start doing for themselves, though you'd be surprised how much it saves. In France, laundry is a very expensive service: 4 euros to wash a SMALL load, and most times the same amount to dry. Some places are nice & let you dry for free... but they're few & far between. The laundry mats tend to be a bit, um, rougher than a gentle cycle as well. We don't want to buy a new wardrobe, so we're doing as much as we can to save our clothing & our budget. Eight euros for one load of laundry or for two pints at the bar? Come on.

So we've started washing our laundry in the bathroom sink. If we do a small load each day–rinse, wash, rinse & really squeeze them dry–we stay pretty much on top of it. We alternate days, so I haven't even gotten blisters or calluses like I did when I studied in France last time & washed my laundry by hand. So far, we've spent 4 euros on laundry detergent & 4 euros on a drying rack. We can hook the drying rack to the end of our bed (since it was designed to hang in an RV window), and from their the clothes hang in front of the heater to dry. We're already paying the electricity for the heater to be on, so voilà. Low energy, low water & low effort for clothes that are clean & dry by the next morning.

While we don't particularly love doing laundry, we didn't look forward to going to the laundry mat back home either. It's a fair trade for the savings, and we're much more confident in our "gentle cycle" than any washing machine. When we get back to the states, I expect that we'll continue washing the more delicate pieces & our "unmentionables" by hand to continue the savings.

So now your turn. Look around your house. What can you nix? What can you trade out without really noticing? What can you turn that savings into? A date with your loved ones? More money for fresh produce? The movie you been dying to see?

The environment is a big focus for me–as are efforts to bring more "domestic" tasks home to reduce our impact & really see what we're consuming. I'd love to hear what you what kinds of projects you're up to, what kinds of things you do to save. If you have a fun story, send me an e-mail or draft a post. I'd love to share your stories, too. meganveit @ gmail . com (Remove the spaces.)

a good, good day

Today is the greatest day that I have ever known.
-Smashing Pumpkins, Today

Well, yesterday was. It started with the mail. Joe and I have been checking the mailbox an average of three times a day for the last three weeks, and we still hadn’t seen any sign of our bankcards. But on Tuesday, there were two cards in the mailbox—birthday cards! My family has an insane ability to find cards that are perfect for people, and they’re now hanging on my wall.

When I read the birthday messages, I knew that things were going to sort themselves out. I set myself to chopping up zucchini for lunch, a dish I’d been craving as I started to get more homesick. If you dip the zucchini slices in flour, then dip them into egg before dropping them into the hot oil or butter, they fry up with a taste that reminds me so much of my grandma’s fried pumpkin blossoms. I miss Ohio.

While I was dropping zucchini slices into the pan, Joe arrived with the bread for our lunch and a special surprise, our favorite pastry. I don’t want to give too much away, because we’re still trying to figure out what all is inside this guy. All I know for now is we’re eating for too many of them, and the green sprinkles on top make me feel like I’m five years old.

And it just kept going! After filling ourselves with pastries, we walked to the bank and found out that our cards were ready, had been ready for an unknown number of days. We activated them, walked out the bank doors and right into the discount stores: cleaning supplies, slippers (to stay off of the dusty hardwood floor finally), a clothes drying rack, a winter coat, ideas of cell phone plans. It felt glorious!

On the walk home (walking quickly so that the pizza we snagged wouldn’t get too cold in the surprisingly chilled evening air), I felt like we were finally living here. We’d tried it the American way: go to the bank everyday until you get what you want. Ask and keep asking. We tried it the French way: wait, then ask, then wait for something to happen. Now we just need to figure out what questions we should have been asking, what to ask next and how to keep our electricity on.

I led a discussion group for students that want English practice yesterday. The assigned topic was “stereotypes.” They told me that I should be obese, that I love fast food, that I make horrible movies that they love to watch, that I can’t find any other country on a map. They told me that they are smelly, rude and distant. I disagreed on all accounts. I’m learning how to find the warmth in French people. It’s all in the asking.

You are required to ask for help. They work on the assumption you know what you’re doing. But you also have to ask in the right way—in the end, what is it that you really need to happen? How can the person you’re talking to give it to you? Then you have to really listen—not just because it’s another language, but because there are tons of details in the way they say things that help you figure out (1) what you should absolutely do and (2) what you can get around and do your own way.

So we’re really living now. We’re learning the system, which I admit would take more than the year we have here to really understand. We’re getting reconnected to the world outside our apartment and the library room where we steal Internet. We’re navigating, floating now with more than just our chins above the water.

marriage, day 11

The goodbyes have started. It was slow at first, not realizing that we were saying them. It was just, "Good night, and thanks for coming to the wedding." It took days to realize that many of those would last at least a year. Now, they're having a much harder, final thump to them when they jump up and smack us in the face--like dinner at Joe's sister's last night, like watching television with his parents when we got home.

"Take care of each other," his dad repeated when our goodbyes moved from the family room to the kitchen before we all turned in for the night.

The goodbye process has been a slow escalation of emotions, traveling and stress. This is having more than a few physical manifestations.

I realized over the past few days that each time I eat, a rock forms in my stomach. My chest hurts. I need to go to bed after every meal. I get a pulsing pain in my side. The congratulations & farewell celebrations & travels between families have included too, too many restaurants, cheeses, cupcakes & coffees.

My body is rebelling. It's longing to get back to the clean diet it got used to. This mixed with the stress that tends to boil in my stomach have me constantly on edge.

Joe realized yesterday that his stress has started building up to a point higher than his body can handle. He isn't one to talk about stress or where his mind is drifting off to, which can mean even more physical symptoms. When his schedule got too heavy during his last year of graduate school, his heart jumped on him, caused a small panic attack & warned him to calm down. This is something I'm now always afraid of.

So last night, we made a few promises to each other for the sake of our longevity (individually & as a couple):

1. We need to talk about our stress: when, why & how it's manifesting itself. This isn't bitching. This is reducing our stress & stopping us from internalizing everything.
2. We need to make more time each day to sit & pray. During our marriage preparation classes, the priest said the hardest thing for many couples to do is pray together. We agree. So we're baby-stepping: We won't pray aloud. We'll start by carving out a time of day when we each sit & pray.
3. We will do yoga. I've been warming him up to this idea, & he's taken a pretty solid interest in it. I'm excited to find an inexpensive class to really start understanding what the videos talk about & why I can't get my body into a standing forward bend.
4. We will get on more balanced diets. We will focus on eating for energy. We will monitor our health, adjust our diets to fit our bodies needs.

Today starts a firmer focus on our mental health, which truly feels like a stronger focus on each other. Cheers to that. Cheers with perhaps a light summer ale instead of two smoked porters and some pretzels... See? We can do it!