profiter

If I had to identify the verb I've heard most often in France, I would have to say "profiter" (most commonly to profit or to take advantage of, but also used to for any sort of living to the fullest, enjoying a situation, getting all that you can from a person or thing, traveling, etc.). Here is a list of things that I have most recently been told to profit from:

• the sun
• the lack of exams I have to grade
• my friends scattering around France
• my time in NYC with my best friend when we return to the States
• the low prices on produce at the market
• the cheap summer toys at the super market
• the early hours of the morning

Most commonly, I have been told to "profitez bien" from my remaining time in France (from our landlord, the cashier at the grocery, my students...). I find this most fitting, as it will be the last thing that someone tells me to profit from, and the thing I'm most set to profit from. There is little time left to take advantage of, so I need to get on it. Unfortunately, no profits are to be had from the sun today and we still have not been paid. Profits of all sorts have been put on layaway for the day.

I'm profiting from the time stuck in the apartment–busting out a new roasted potato recipe and making spinach pizza, reading The Fountainhead (which is NOT better than Atlas Shrugged like people told me it would be), creating make-up exams.

Joe and I have reaped so many profits here in France. I've used the down time today to call to mind what we've most taken advantage of here–the bakeries; inexpensive travels; public transportation & bike lanes; language-learning opportunities; wine selections. What has been most valuable for us was the 10 months spent in a one-room apartment, thrown out on our own in the world.

The challenges we faced here, from only having to hotplates or doing laundry in the sink to figuring out banking in a foreign language, made us stronger and have shaped the way we will live our marriage. We've learned what most annoys each other–and that some annoyance when you're in such close proximity for hours a day is inevitable. We've learned how to end arguments.

I've learned that we have so much to continue soaking in, like the skinny girls flocking to the southern beaches here. We have so much to keep shaping–in the next month and in the years in Bloomington afterward.


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ch-ch-ch-changes

I'm sure I've had this blog post title before, but I'll take any reason I can get to wake up & turn on Bowie. It's putting me in a good mood, which is surprising because I'm doing that thing where I think about the future. But there are a couple of important things that have come to my attention that change the way I'm thinking about those summer months when we return to the States.

Important Thing Number One
A friend (whose blog I enjoy & whose current city of residence I envy) recently announce that after arriving in January, she already has her Missouri driver's license. She's been there for almost four months, which is about 120 days, which is less than a semester of college.

Important Thing Number Two
States in the U.S. get really rude about you not living there. For example, graduate tuition at Indiana University for an Indiana resident is $391 per credit hour. (Pause: That's what my French students pay for their ENTIRE education. Resume.) We'll be taking roughly eight per semester, so that's $6256 a year. Non-residents pay $850 per credit hour, or $13,600 a year. And I know these numbers are too low.

Why are these two things important?

I've spent the hour I've been awake so far this morning researching how to become an Indiana resident (and listening to Carla Bruni, I admit it). I need to change my name. I need to change my permanent address. I need to register to vote. I need to get an Indiana I.D...

And I need to do it before the end of my first semester, because I have the WHOLE semester to submit forms to the Bursar's Office to change my residency. That's right: Even my first year at IU could be paid as an Indiana resident! I never thought I'd want to call myself a Hoosier, and now here I am anxiously awaiting the day when my driver's license will save us thousands of dollars!

I'll be spending the rest of the morning adding the instructions for setting up residency & address changes to our Returning Home to-do list. It will be great to finally be Mrs. Betz and feel like Joe & I are establishing a life together after our honeymoon year. This year of living in such a close space has made us sure that we can handle anything, but working through the motions of moving again & learning how to be married when you're working more than part-time, studying & not constantly on vacation will bring up an interesting set of challenges.

Other changes happening at the moment:
(1) The month is about to change, which means my friend is about to arrive for her visit–May 3, here we come!

(2) After weeks of dripping, our faucet is about to change. A kind woman is coming at around noon to fix it. Thank goodness we can now pay her –since our landlord says it may be our responsibility, depending on what's wrong with it. We've still go to investigate that. Then again, she's a friend of the landlord. Maybe we can just call it a big, free favor.

(3) The weather is changing. Rain has followed us back from Montpellier. It looks more like spring now, and the clouds are so heavy with precipitation that they've dropped down to form a rather heavy, gray fog. We'll be staying inside & reading for the day.

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wanderlust and lusting for a home

Since our "manif", there hasn't been much excitement. I've been listening to students' oral exams & running errands. Monday was eight hours in the office; Tuesday was four hours of trotting between groceries, banks, the train station & the office. It's like we're real members of the Work Force this week.

I don't like it.

Yesterday, I got a statistics book from the American library. I have a few that I found online via Open Courseware, but it's difficult for me to read at a computer for an extended period of time. Plus, if I want to study in the park, I can't do it with my computer. Thank God the author has a sense of humor. He wrote this book just for me–dedicated "To those who open this book with dismay."

So I have my official, daily to-do list for the weeks when I have no work at the university, and now I have all of the supplies to go with it (a statistics book and, well, that's it really). It has me thinking a lot about graduate school. About putting the table cloth my mom cross-stitched for us and napkins my sister cross-stitched to match on our first kitchen table. About getting an album for our wedding photos and putting them all together. About buying a full-sized bed.

I keep running through the whole process of moving and decorating our apartment. I keep looking at a map of France, deciding what we should definitely do before we have to leave. I keep feeling myself torn slowly in half like a used subway ticket–part of me blowing away and settling on a pigeon-covered sidewalk here in France; part of me getting packed up and coming home.

While flipping through friends' blogs yesterday, I came across the word "wanderlust" and wondered how much it applied to me. I live for travel now, the next chance to see something, eat something, feel something new. I wonder what that part of me will do when we try to settle into some semblance of a settled couple. I don't think we'll feel settled for a long time.

And this thought in turn frustrates the other part of me–the part that still swells when I think of my childhood and how good it feels to get back to Ohio, to bike to my grandparents' houses, to have a backyard perfect for wiffle ball. I want a home, and we're at least three years from considering it. I want a backyard and a garden and a space that any kids we'd have would know is permanent, can be where they will always belong.

I spend more days frustrated than excited that our married life is torn between four locations–families in Ohio and Indiana, a life in France, memories of and hopes for a life in St. Louis–but then I get excited about the places we haven't been yet. It will be interesting to see how the pieces begin to grow together in Bloomington. I imagine it like the croissants lining so many shop windows–Layers and layers of fond memories and great expectations, but when you try to devour them, to enjoy them all at once, they fall apart and leave you feeling like an absolute mess. I've got to take this slowly, to peel a few layers of and enjoy them before dipping the next buttery bit off and dipping it in some strong coffee.

This will all take a lot of time, and I have to be okay with that. I keep telling myself this; I keep telling you this. It's just beginning to sink in.

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Il ne doit pas compter pour du beurre.

When I called home yesterday, I spent some time crying on the phone with her. I think this is the only time I've done this, with the exception of Christmas, when I had to talk to my sister through my G-mail account instead of lay awake in our room with her & wait for an acceptable hour to go open presents.

Some days, you're just overly emotional, & you can't put the fact that two of your dresses tore open (even if it was all at seams) into perspective. Some days, you just want to call your mom & listen to her as she makes you feel better, but you have to wait six hours because she's not even starting the day yet.

Some days, you just throw open the windows & pass the afternoon drinking gin & tonics with your husband, commenting on how all the green has come back. How now the people with the long backyard are almost completely hidden from view because of all the trees. How it wasn't even this green when you arrived here, in the gray fall rain.

They say the weather isn't usually this warm already–a second week of 60s and 70s. We have today before the temperatures drop back down to a more average temperature range. And before the spring rain kicks in. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for one nice day this week. The month-long fair/carnival is in town, & I want to take advantage of 1/2-priced Wednesdays.

At universities, semesters don't end well–or easily. I spent a lot of time yesterday answering questions for how an exam I have to give will work, how the timing got confused, how I can't cover classes that I was asked to because they gave me the wrong time. I'm just starting to see the light at the end. Two weeks, then two months of vacation. Time to soak myself in parks & sunshine & gin-based cocktails & café crême.

Today, to make up for the horrible mood I've been in the last two days, I'm taking Joe on a surprise picnic. Nice sandwiches. Chocolate-covered strawberries, since they were on sale big time at the market on Sunday. A blanket. Kids screaming on slides. Bees.

We've just realized how truly lucky we are. I tell him I miss him most on Fridays–the one day of the week when we don't get to have lunch and dinner together. We spent most of our evenings nestled up, reading & writing. We wake earlier than necessary & have an hour together in the mornings. Our work, when we're honest, is part-time.

Il ne doit pas compter pour du beurre. 

I know I'll come to miss these days. So, as the French say (quite appropriately), "It shouldn't count for butter," since it goes so quickly here. We've got to make them count. As our year anniversary draws closer & as our suspended honeymoon comes to an end, I want to realize how precious these days are & make a point to enjoy it each day.

I want to preserve them, keep them stored away like a good bottle of wine, so that in the years to come, when passing days together feels normal or seems forgotten in all the other parts of the quotidian, we can look back on the time when our four hours apart for work were spent missing each other.

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big decisions

Tuesday was a day of finalizing a lot of things about our life. I was exhausted by 8:30, & I don't feel like I've quite recovered. Every step of the finalizing opened up a new list of questions–How will I register for classes? How will we afford graduate school without merit-based aid? Where will we find work?

The answer? We don't have a choice. We've never accepted things NOT working. We dig & dig & grind our teeth & sacrifice until we've got it. On a limited budget, we've survived in France, coming home with less debt & more savings than we left the States with. We've seen more of the world than we expected. We've learned how to eat well & locally on a limited budget. We've learned how to do laundry by hand without getting blisters. We've taken on extra tutoring. We've relaxed enough to enjoy beers out on a sunny afternoon.

We've survived, & more than that we've really lived. We'll keep doing it–growing our marriage like the seeds we want to plant when we get to Bloomington, Indiana.

That's right. It is now official. I have rejected my offer to the creative nonfiction program of my dreams in the location of my dreams to spend three years earning a degree that scares me & return to Indiana, something I never imagined I would do.

What's more is that, though it hurts the childhood dreams still holding onto the right side of my brain, the decision feels right. We're putting ourselves in a situation that allows us maximum impact on the kinds of things we want to change about our lives & the lives of those we come into contact with. It's easy to be liberal, vegetarian, Earth-crazy & artsy in Washington state. It's less easy in Indiana (though we're living in the most liberal, artsy piece of it).

I still need to sign the papers & send the check. I need to figure out how I will get into chemistry & calculus (& have a job, perhaps) on top of the traditional course load they give you in your first semester. I need to get back to studying statistics.

This is how my mind goes. After sending the official notification e-mails, I made a calendar. I'll gradually be filling in each day: look for apartments; spend night in Bloomington researching apartments; clean out storage lockers in Evansville; figure out how to move furniture from both of our hometowns; find cell phones; change my last name. I don't think I made the calendar boxes big enough.

The pieces that have been filled in so far are our return flights: Paris to NYC on July 7. NYC to Evansville on July 11. Goal date: Moving to Bloomington on August 1.

I know that last week I was trying to go without to-do lists. That lasted a week, & now that things are becoming more concrete it's even more difficult for me to take things one at a time. Waves of requirements are crashing against me at once. Thank God I have Joe to serve as my life preserver & lots of family time to look forward to. I've been compiling a list of the things I want to share in the first days back (including lots of cream, bacon & dessert). It's the bright spot in this terrifying re-entry to real adult life. I forgot how protected I could let myself feel here at times.

More on the return adventure to come. One piece we're semi-sure of: We'll be hitting up Credo Mobile, a cell phone company with a positive mission. There's a change! Check them out to see if they work for you.

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an evening in the kitchen

Yesterday was an eventful day. After a rainy morning, the sun cleared things up by early afternoon. There was lots of running, taking care of university business & picking up some groceries to make sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. We're going away with friends for today & Sunday, into the Vosges for a colleague's birthday celebration.

She managed to get together nearly everyone we work with & usually run around with–PLUS their significant others. This is an immense success, so it should be a wonderful weekend walking around the woods & eating cheese-based, fattening foods.

To get ready for this, I spent the evening working. Joe was out of the apartment, which means I had a chance to revert to my normal cleaning practices: destroy everything, get it all out there & then start over with organization. I have a lot of dishes to do...

It felt like I made the first dinner I'd made in ages. On the way back from an afternoon date with a friend, I stopped by the market to grab some produce, stopped by the bakery to get some bread & stopped by the butcher to get some chicken breasts.

It was my first time in a French butcher shop, since I don't usually buy meat. I'd long been admiring this traditional-looking shop, & I'd had several people recommend it to me. No wonder. Their prices were low; their meat was all French & all top quality. I had the best customer service I've experienced in France.

"Service" isn't exactly an industry in France. The custom, when approaching a member of the "service industry" is to first say, "Excusez-moi de vous dérangez, mais...." Excuse me for disturbing you, but could I ask you to do your job for a moment? No? Okay, I'll try again later.

But in this shop, I couldn't stop smiling. The three young workers behind the counter were eager to answer any questions, helpful finding just what you were looking for & quick to round down on the scale's price. I felt like I'd been shopping with them for years.

So I got my fillets, two for dinner & one for sandwiches tomorrow, & made my way home. I set the chicken to soaking in an orange marmalade-barbecue sauce. I then tried to made caramel mousse... which was a disaster.

It all started out well. I spent 20 minutes of my life breaking my arm trying to whip light cream into firm, mousse-ish cream. I then tried to make caramel using course, natural sugar. Warning: This. does. not. work. At all. The second you remove it from heat to add the other ingredients & fold it into your mousse base, it turns into a Health bar. This isn't all bad, but it does not equal mousse & it destroys your dinner plans & it makes you realize how bad your arms hurt/how hungry you are & you melt the whole things on the stove again before throwing in the freezer.

The mess that comes out of the freezer isn't all bad... a bit like a melted Health blizzard. Eat with moderation or you'll spend the next two hours wanting to die. (I know from experience.)

At least Joe hugged me when I started throwing cream around & screaming in the "kitchen." I put the chicken in & tossed around the roasting carrots & potatoes. Dinner was a success, even though dessert wasn't the traditional French masterpiece I wanted it to be. Plus, our table was even brighter thanks to the flowers Joe got me.

He'd been sick all day, so the gesture to brighten my day when he was down counted for double thank-you points. Plus, he helped out a seemingly homeless person. She was selling them outside of our usual bread & pastry shop, which he had stopped by for an afternoon treat. (Guess what it was?) They were less expensive from us & meant more to her than it would to a florist. So one bouquet of daffodils served to make at least three people happy.

Hope your April is starting out happy! How are you welcoming spring?

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slowing down in san remo

To start, let me tell you a funny story. I Google image-searched for a picture of La Pigna, hoping to find the cute map that we used during our visit. No maps, but I scrolling through their first page of offerings I saw a picture of David Bowie. "What?" I thought, "How do these two things fit together? What awesome person did this?" When I clicked on the image, it took me to my blog post from two days ago (my link near the labyrinths).

I realize that this makes it less awesome & more sad that I would be drawn to the same Bowie picture twice...

So what this all means is that I failed at finding a picture of the map. In normal circumstances, I would scan the picture in & have nothing to whine about. As it is, I'm whining. I can't show you how La Pigna was set up, & I'm struggling to explain how we spent our vacation in Italy.

Joe called it early on. "I think this will be mostly a food adventure," he said. And it was. Oh, it was, and it was glorious–pizzas, pasta with pesto & nuts, more olives than any one person should consume, mussels dyed red from their sharp tomato sauce. But I worry talking about this, because I've reread the image I've painted so far. And it's true: Most of our time was spent (1) reading in the hotel, by the sea or at a café (2) sitting at a restaurant or café consuming something. For the first time in Europe, on this visit or my trip in 2008, I felt like I was really on vacation. I thanked God for having my first vacation with my husband be in Italy.

There is a feeling of obligation, when you come to Europe with a group of other foreigners, that you will see all of the countries, all of their biggest cities. You will take pictures of each big thing & prove that you were there. You stop traveling for yourself & start traveling for others–to say you've done it. I admit it: I was starting to feel this, too.

Joe & I are on a limited, limited travel budget to keep ourselves ahead in other parts of our lives. We see our friends taking trips to ten countries at a time, from Rome to Barcelona to Zurich to Prague... & it starts to feel like we haven't done anything, like we're not doing what we're supposed to. When we told people we were going to San Remo–not Rome or Florence or Venice–they were surprised. What will you do there?

This can be a legitimate question. If you're on a tight schedule, you're better off having four days in Rome & two in San Remo. You don't need the time to see the city in the way you need five days just to hop between popular attractions in the big guys like Paris. When we were there, we were bustling, & we had to force ourselves to slow down & take time to just be in the city. We didn't want that again, didn't want to be surrounded by tourists & attractions for four days.

We also had a very special reason for going to San Remo. As I've mentioned, Joe's favorite author was from there. For us, this trip was about stepping into that way of life, letting it wash over us like the warmth after drinking half a bottle of wine–or, at times, like the chill of dropping your feet into the braking sea.

On our way to our hotel, an Italian woman stopped to ask us a question. As she crossed the street, she was shouting farewells & funny bits of broken English to continue our conversation. This doesn't happen in France. People don't talk on the sidewalk unless they really know you, & when you part you don't continue the conversation in a crowd of other people. I quickly understood that this was how San Remo worked. There were tourists, but the town showed no real difference in their treatment of them. I felt like I could easily belong to San Remo.

The town, to an extent, relies on its tourism. The casino & the old part of town are its biggest draws, but you don't see the casino-goers out in the town much. The visitors to the old part of town often come in tour buses & travel as units. This means that when you're out, you're more likely to be surrounded by Italians at home than fellow travelers. This, to me, is perfect.

We felt truly immersed in Italian culture & got to know the history of San Remo & the present face of it rather well. I know that I could never have felt this was in Rome after four days; I would never have let myself spend an afternoon at a café instead of in the next museum. I wouldn't have had as many awkward moments where we weren't sure if English would work. I wouldn't have felt that, if we moved here, it would feel like home in no time.

So with this post, I say goodbye & give thanks to San Remo. I keep clicking through the pictures, holding onto the weightless happy we had there. We have four more months of adventure, & our next one is in the making...

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our first hotel!

Joe & I have been doing a lot to save money while we're hear: savings account for coming home, extra tutoring for extra cash, hand-washing laundry, not using public transit... staying in hostels when we go on vacation. Don't get me wrong. The hostel in Paris was great, since we were out in the city & never spending time there except to shower, sleep & scarf down baguettes at breakfast.

In Frankfurt, we shared a hostel with something like ten other people. The floor was squeaky. We were afraid to move. I couldn't even roll around on my bed for fear of waking people up. I also started snoring. In a room with ten other people. Mortifying. 

When we decided to go to Italy, we looked at hotels & discovered that some were not much cheaper than the price for both of our beds at a hostel. So we did it: Mr. & Mrs. Betz reserved their first hotel room. We took advantage of the sunny room, good heating & nice shower–so much so that I think the hotel staff was a little concerned. After a morning out, we would come back for a picnic lunch of sorts in our room (fresh bread, olives, cheese, bell pepper, wine, too many pistachio-flavored cookies). We'd eat until the bread was gone, then settle in for a few hours of reading & looking out the window.

There were only three rooms occupied at the hotel, so for most of the afternoon we were the only guests around. It felt a bit like being in your grandparents' bedroom while the rest of the family is having Thanksgiving (or in this case, hanging out at the huge bar down the hall, watching old Italian movies). We didn't have them make our beds; we didn't say much, since communication was a challenge; we sat at breakfast longer than any other guests.

The owner of the hotel was a sweet old man with a voice like a commercial for Italian cigarettes. He sat us at our table covered in pastries, breakfast crackers, jams, honey, juice in a pitcher and yogurts. He pointed at each of us. "Cappuccino?" Si. Grazie. And we sat there, grazing for an hour on the first morning, enjoying a dining room that was set just for us & the bits of conversation we had with our host.

"Americano," he said, pointing to his jacket. "Kentuck." He smoothed the leather, explaining again that it was an orginal, American coat–from Kentuck. We explained, with hand motions and crumbs around our mouths, that Kentucky is close to where we grew up. Small world. Piccolo mondo.

The man behind the bar, an older, skinnier & more suave Italian–father, brother, best friend of our host–said nothing. He waved us to breakfast tables, opened doors when we buzzed & waved us toward our room. No words, just his hand directing us in these smooth motions like a gull on the waves near shore. As the week progressed, I progressed from murmuring "Grazie" as he showed me the way to simple smiling and giving a small bob of my head. "Well, what if he can't speak?" I was asking myself.

When we checked out of the hotel, the two men where standing together. The shorter man with the Kentucky-made coat pointed to his ring finger. He asked us a question in Italian and assumed it meant when. We looked at each other and began saying all forms of August that we could think of–août, August, after July, summer. "Augusto," he suggested. Si, & he shook our hands, congratulating us. He gave Joe a thump on the shoulder with a laugh, something he'd done with each question we didn't seem to understand during our stay.

"Bambino maschio," he asked. He was cradling an invisible baby in his arms, rocking it. This, I understood, was not really a question. I laughed while we shook our heads. Not for a while. He waved his finger in the air, nodding his head. Si. One. Small. Piccolo. We smiled, and we were on our way–out into the first truly sunny day of our trip. We walked toward the sea, taking all morning to get to the train station.

Remember: If you want to see what we saw, check out the picture on Flickr. Don't forget to play the Italian version of Where's Joe's Head?

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back to the world

Exciting news at the start: We're back from vacation. You know what that means! Yes, a day of laundry and bathroom cleaning... but that's not what I meant. New Where's Joe's Head pictures! Enjoy.

It was a long night, and it was a cold, cold morning. I realize that I have no right to complain. Getting on the train home meant coming back to our northern corner of France. I don't take that for granted...

But lordy, did being near the Ligurian Sea feel outstanding. The air was chilly, and it wasn't until our last day in San Remo that the sun really came out in full force–meaning we were gorging ourselves on red wine, pizza, salty meats & sunshine all at the same time, all while sitting near the sea.

This felt like our first real vacation together, the first trip we took where we let ourselves relax. We woke for a nine o'clock breakfast in the hotel's dining room before heading out on walking tours of the La Pigna ("pinecone") district. The district was built into labyrinths* of stairs, hills & arches that wind toward the top of the city.

Why all the stairs? Funny you should ask. The city is on the sea, so in its beginning pirates were a serious issue. The system of walls, stairs & doors were designed to make the city confusing & cumbersome, protecting it from potential invaders. It was like walking through the set of a movie, but it was real & it was filled with beautiful Italians people. What I found most shocking was that many of these people, the true San Remo residents, were more than ready for retirement. Yet they were cruising the streets & cobblestone steps like it was nothing.

From the moment we stepped on the train, we found ourselves planning a retirement to this region of Italy or France. We were making plans to learn Italian. We were admiring properties & looking at postings in reality offices. We'll put that in our box of dreams for later; we'll start practicing more conversational Italian soon.

When people ask me about marriage or why I'm really married; when they cautioned against getting married so young and "settling"; when my friends tell me that they're worried we're giving up on dreams to find somewhere in the middle, I try to find the words to explain my love to them. I never feel the need to justify; they'll figure out one day or they won't. But I want to give it words, to define it somehow to share my happiness with people.

My trip to Italy with Joe is everything that I expected from marriage–not because it's travel or Italy or exotic, but because it was a moment of our hard work & passion coming to fruition. On top of his job, Joe has dedicated himself to multiple students for private tutoring sessions. The money, along with my small addition for tutoring, has gone to our travel fund. It fed us for most of our trip.

What I first loved about Joe was his passion for reading & writing. It's the passion I've had longest, the one that has only grown, only become a larger part of my personality. I needed someone to share that with, and I got lucky–more than lucky–when I found him. His favorite author, Italo Calvino, spent a large part of his life in San Remo. When I knew we were coming to Europe for a year, I was excited about seeing Joe in San Remo, seeing that dream & that passion become something real.

When Joe stood in front of Calvino's school, walked along the street named after him & looked at the Calvino books in San Remo shops, I could only think that this is what I meant when I said that I loved him, that I wanted my life to be his as well. I wanted to be there in these moments, remind them that it was really happening & that it was our work that got us here. I wanted to see him get excited & anxious & eager to write; I wanted to push him past it–You've seen it now; you've felt it. Use it.

I'll dig into these emotions & the scenes that surrounded us throughout the week. For now, our adventure has been uploaded to Flickr; feel free to explore the photos. Feels good to be home. Thanks for coming back!

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a year with(out), part two

To procrastinate the more important things I have to do today (laundry, groceries, studying math...), I've been fixing things on the blog: mapping out how the blog will function when we're no longer in France, editing our "about" page, & adding a new page.

In a year with(out), part one, I addressed the things Joe & I have been doing without. I'm really proud of the way we've been saving. No, we haven't traveled as much as our friends have. No, we don't go to fancy restaurants. Yes, we have a great time out at pubs & getting to know our region. The places we visit are important to us, are extra special because of the effort it takes to get there (2 weeks until Italy!). Yes, we've been saving money: rebuilding our bank account for life in the States, cutting our college debt by more than $700 every month.

We stress about money. We talk about budgets & extra ways to gain cash. We take on tutoring jobs. We don't often say how well we're doing–but we're getting it. We're leaving France with less debt that we came with. We're having fun & exploring new things, all while living on basically one average salary. To keep myself on track, I'm made a page to prevent impulse purchases to give myself something to look forward to. Instead of jumping toward the first book sale I see, I'm going to stick to this list, save up & reward myself with useful things.

I'm proud of us, & we are excited to do even better in the States. Here are a few small things we've gotten started on here that hopefully will carry to the States.

A Year without Washing Machines
Joe & I have gotten very, very good at washing things by hand. We've gotten even better at wringing them out without getting blisters on our shriveled fingers (a problem for me in the beginning). The laundry mat is a long walk & a room full of inefficient dryers. The laundry is heavy; we don't feel like paying; we don't want to walk back with loads of semi-damp clothing. This means we wash small loads in cold water in the sink, using hot water only to treat things that really need it. We save trips to the Lavomatique (the cool French for "laundry mat") for towels, sheets & shirts that really need the hot water.

This cuts down on soap use (small loads get by on small amounts of soap). It's better for the color of clothes. Less things are being damaged in washers or dryers. We use less water. PLUS we save money. When our change jar fills up, we do a load of laundry & still have enough to get two pints out at a nice pub.

We'll definitely keep doing SOME laundry by hand at home, mostly our delicate things or pieces I would never want to have ruined. We'll definitely put our drying rack to use & avoid using a dryer as much as possible. I used to get annoyed with the drying rack sitting in the middle of my bedroom in college. After having laundry draped literally over every surface of our studio, I'll never complain about it again.

A Year (almost) without Processed Foods
We eat a lot of dairy. I eat more pastries than I've ever let myself. We'll stop for fries or kebabs on ocassion. We buy these cracker things for breakfast; usually I smother them with Nutella. We eat tons of baguettes, which are basically classy white bread.

But here's the difference. The ingredients in our bread are wheat, yeast & water. This year, our natural food intake has increased & our processed food intake has drastically decreased. We eat fast food once a month. The only thing we buy in a can is ratatouille, a vegetable stew of sorts. The cheeses and butters come from farmers, & the packaging says so. While this SOUNDS logical, you'd be surprised.

This will be the hardest adjustment in the States. Cheese, fresh bread & butter–even produce, since it's grown in the country (which is like buying things grown only in your tri-state area, when you think about size)–is much more affordable here. To continue eating the fresh foods we've been eating here will be a challenge, & it will require a lot more reading of labels.

But we're determined. We have ourselves on a regular rotation of meals, with new things added or tossed out each week, & none of the prep time is too cumbersome. Even when we both have real jobs, we should have time to make our own food. When it's something important to you, you find ways to make the time.

I think this series will continue, as a way to keep reflecting on our experiences here & think about the ways to get even better when we head home. Joe mentioned last night that we're really only about half way through. We still have more than four months. This was a relief to me, since as you have read I've been thinking too much about what our return will look like. I tend to do this, & I want to focus on enjoying the next four months.

For now, I'll leave you. I'm off to do some laundry in the bathroom sink.

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day 23, to the last one you kissed

Day 23. The last person you kissed

Joe,

If the "last one I kissed" should include all of those I've give a "bisous" while we've been here, then I've cheated. A lot.

I kissed you before you went to work this morning. Your starter-beard scratched my lips, & you were lucky. For once, I wasn't wearing chapstick.

Today, I'll go do laundry. I'll surprise you by taking all of your boxers & that blanket I spilled jelly on. The bag will be heavy when I carry it home, because nothing really dries at the laundry mat. I'll feel like I'm doing something really nice for us, like it's something that will make us really happy.

I've gotten really bad at doing laundry lately–finding all sorts of excuses to pay for it (like the jelly mess) instead of loading up the bathroom sink. It's been cold in the apartment, & I can't bring myself to keeping my hands in that water long enough to rinse, wash, rinse & twist until all that water drips back into the sink. Maybe in March I'll be better.

Thanks for being nice to me these last few days. I haven't made it easy. I'm feeling better, though. Getting there. Not well enough to scrub the mold from the wallpaper or clean out the mess under the bed like I wanted to, but I'm learning to worry less about what I didn't get done–thanks to you. We'll get there, & in the mean time I'll be happy about the laundry.

I can't wait to go to Italy with you & stay in a room that we're not sharing with eight other people (like in Frankfurt). I can't wait to see you walking on the same streets as Italo Calvino & know that we're working on making all of our dreams like that possible.

I'm going to make you take a bunch of pictures with me (since we've sucked at doing that lately but have TONS of pictures of buildings & food). I especially want the ones where we're kissing in the picture, because I know you hate that, but then I can come back & post them all on this post & you will be embarrassed & it will be funny. For me.

Tomorrow is our sixth month anniversary. You have less than 24 hours to buy me something really nice & expensive. Go.

Love,
Meg

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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crumbs

Growing up, our house was very clean. So clean that if I dropped a sandwich on the floor, I wouldn't hesitate to then just use the floor as a plate (obviously mopping the floor afterwards). So clean that once, when my dad pulled out the oven to clean behind it, he found an M&M. He ate it. (Maybe this says more about Dad than the cleanliness kitchen?)

I see this as a good thing. I expect this.

It made college roommates a bit difficult to handle. It makes living with a boy (who could have easily gone for months without cleaning the floor of his "bachelor day's" studio apartment) a bit tricky, but we've gotten on a good cleaning routine. We clean this floor daily. When you live in 17 meters, that's not difficult to do.

One of the things I had to adjust myself to here were baguettes. Not the eating them part–I'm a master. If you're eating French bread, you have to come to terms with a fact: Bread crumbs are a part of your life. That's all there is to it. They will fall on the floor when you look at it.

When you walk into the apartment, flour will leave a trail from the door to the table. When you break of a chunk, you leave a small pile on your chair or place mat–even if you try carefully to cut the bread first or tear it over your plate. Bread crumbs gradually accumulate on your table over the course of a meal. Your sponge gets filled with them.

It's a fact. And it's worth it, because the bread is outstanding. I've come to terms with the sweeping, the smearing of crumbs across the table.

More impressive than this are the bends Joe and I are making on our living habits to accommodate the other person–like putting your clothes away when you're not wearing them or allowing a cup that looks dirty and empty to stay on the bookshelf so that you can use it again for the next cup of tea.

But this mold issue. This has got to go.

The man below us, who believes that our shower is somehow dripping into their apartment and causing a mildew spot (thank God we're renting and don't truly have to deal with this), came up to visit and evaluate the situation. We said we were also having a mold problem. We showed him our wall, cleverly (on the mold's part, not ours) hidden along the wall under the table and spreading upward.

No, he explained. This is not a water issue. It's the North side of the building. It's cold; we're on the end of the building. The moisture from the heater on the cold wall of the building gives the mold a perfect dwelling place. That's why it's worse in the bathroom.

His solution: open the window when the oven or heater are running. Every part of my soul is against that solution. He saw this response in my eyes, in the way my face fell. He shrugged as if to say, "It is what it is."

But this is not what it is. I am not living in symbiosis with this mold, though at the moment it is beating me. (Does sweeping it off with the broom do something to it that could be dangerous? I'm afraid this may be the case, but I can never resist the urge to give it a good brushing and at least stop the spread.) We are going to kill it.

This year, I'm resolving (more on resolutions to come–to make sure I haven't already broken them) to be more patient and easy going when it comes to factors that are out of my control. Like bread crumbs. They're annoying, but what are they hurting? In exchange for delicious ending to your meal, you have some extra sweeping to do. Lately, I shed like a golden retriever and would be sweeping anyway. Cool. However, this is one truly out-of-control situation that I can't come to grips with.

Cheers to a new year and a visit from your landlord to sort out all your problems. Have a drink for me.

Have you dealt with mold? Any advice or similar assaults you've experienced?

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merry christmas

Happy holidays to those that don't celebrate Christmas. I hope you have a safe & happy holiday season with your family & friends.

Merry Christmas to my friends, family & followers (& everyone that reads but doesn't follow).  We've made it through advent & are now only hours away from Christmas.

It's unbelievably hard to be away from my family at Christmas, & I'm never doing it again if I can help it. That said, Joe & I are doing our best to make the holiday our own. We'll be dog-sitting, heading to midnight mass, making some French goodies, drinking wine & enjoying our first Christmas as a married couple.

Surprise, surprise. I left our first Christmas ornament at home. It will have to be our "first Christmas in the U.S." ornament. Our humble tree has served us well & kept our spirits afloat, with the help of the Christmas music they pump into the streets around town. 

I'll be listening to Bing Crosby & Perry Como, thinking of Ohio & wishing for some buckeyes. I'll be thinking of all of you, praying for your safety & sending you warm wishes. Here's a Christmas prayer from Robert Louis Stevenson to warm you up today.

The Christmas Prayer

Loving Father,
Help us remember the birth of Jesus,
that we may share in the song of the angels,
the gladness of the shepherds, and worship of the wise men.

A few years ago, I made my family a mixed CD of Perry Como Christmas. It was a bit of a disaster. "Frosty" (a song my family doesn't particularly enjoy) got on their twice. One of the files turned out to be Bing Crosby. One was, well, I don't even know. We still listen to it while opening Christmas gifts, & I'm always embarrassed.

Here's some Perry Como that I got right for you guys:

Merry Christmas! I'll be back to blogging on Dec. 26.

when you realize you're where you want to be

I didn't get much done yesterday in terms of a conventional to-do list, but I went to sleep feeling the most accomplished I have in a long time.

The day's main event started at 2 p.m. & ended at around 9 p.m, when Joe & I put our dinner dishes in the sink. The sink was crowded & completely surrounded by clean dishes. Our sponge had been destroyed earlier in the day, when I scrubbed out four bowls of melted chocolate, chocolate ganache & cocoa powder.

Our friend Lauren had come over, & we'd set ourselves to baking. All day. Perfect. We each have a huge heart for everything that happens in the kitchen, & we were excited to share the goodies we were each making.

Much of our work involved melting, letting things set & waiting. This means that, while eating chocolate ganache with a spoon, we were able to watch multiple episodes of MXC (just watch). Joe was happy: he got to lick spoons, drink lots of tea with condensed milk (DELICIOUS) & watch amazing Japanese television with American voice-overs.

Yesterday, I made a promise: I will never take my kitchen equipment for granted again.

We don't have a mixer. Actually, I don't even have mixing bowls–or a spatula. I don't know how I missed these facts when I invited Lauren over, but at least she was able to bring a spatula. I mixed my cookies by hand, first taking ten minutes to "whip" the butter with a fork. While mixing it in a brownie pan.

But it felt really great–like I was really starting to understand the ingredients & what it takes to work with them or change their properties. It was like a chemistry experiment, & it was really fun.

More importantly (for those reading that know me or will see me any time soon), it all turned out well & I'm ready to share. I ate too much ganache yesterday that I don't want to see it again for a loooong time.

So here's what we made:

From top left, clockwise:
Punitions, a traditional sablé French cookie (simple recipe & five ingredients)
Mom's fudge recipe (sharing: fudge–yes, recipe–no)
Lauren's cappuccino cookies
Lauren's cracker toffee

This cracker toffee is genius. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Then like it with crackers–like saltines or rectangular butter crackers. Make a caramel sauce (butter & brown sugar). Pour over crackers. Bake. Dump chocolate chunks on top. Bake until the chocolate melts & covers it. (Obviously, I'm missing the specifics that make this recipe work well. I don't have it yet, & I don't know if she'd want me to share it.)

This was all easy enough. I've made a fair amount of cookies in my day, & the fudge was doing all the work on its own in the fridge. Most of the day was dedicated to truffles.

I don't have pictures of them, because they look so much better on Smitten Kitchen's web site, where I found the recipe.

Then, it was time to make dinner. Joe went off on a beer-buying adventure (as we've found a place close to us that will match your beer choice to any food you're making). He came home with two organic beers in huge bottles, & we set to drinking them–until one exploded on the uncorking & poured all over. I let Joe drink most of that one.

What Joe loves most with beer–well, what Joe loves most in his belly–is pizza. Now that I've found yest & an oven, we're going to be making a lot of them. First one last night: broccoli, peppers, goat cheese & garlic. Today for lunch (to use the other half of the dough): crème fraiche (a popular topping here & thicker than our sour cream), avocado, tomato.

We also need to figure out what we'll be eating for the holidays, because tonight we pack for our day of dogsitting!

While eating pizza last night, I was exhausted. I was starting to stress about the other things that I didn't get accomplished yesterday. Then I realized–I didn't care. Not really. I'd had a day with a friend, with a great husband, with lots of chocolate. I'd gotten my hands going on four different recipes. I was starting new family traditions. I successfully made two French recipes. I was completely contented.

I need to take note of that feeling more often.

Off to conquer the world again, in the French style.

canard à l'orange

Sabrina, a girl I've gotten to know a bit here in Nancy, goes hunting with her dad. There is a large woods behind our apartment, stretching off into the hills. I look at this woods now & wonder if this is where they go. We hear shots from time to time, & now I have a face that I like to put with them.

One day on campus, Sabrina came up to me. She explained that she & her father had gotten several ducks. They couldn't eat them all. Would I like one?

When in France, do as the French do.

Without a second's hesitation, I said yes–I would LOVE to try our hand at preparing duck, & it would be wonderful to know that it came from our region of France & someone we know instead of some nasty, polluting mega-farm. These are the conditions under which I allow myself to eat meat.

Hold the phone. This means that I have to touch a bloody duck & mess with it until its skin turns golden? I have to watch its blood thaw in a cold water bath all day? Yes, on both counts.

And I did it. We'd had the duck in the freezer for about a week, & I finally had time to dedicate myself to preparing it. Sabrina was kind enough to include her recipe for canard à l'orange (the traditional duck with orange sauce). Like most French recipes, it is a labor of love–one that connects you rather intimately to your meal over the several hours of preparing it.

Joe & I cleaned mushrooms, sliced onions, peeled carrots & prepared sauces while our duck's skin got to goldening in the oven. I did the duck myself: the draining, the slicing of its skin, the removing of fat. Thankfully, it came to us cleaned & ready for cooking. I just had to deal with looking at the neck. I'm not used to meat yet, having never really cooked it for myself (other than the few steaks Joe & I ate or the sausage I cooked for gravy).

The apartment was smelling great. We were getting hungry. The duck was sizzling & soaking up sauces. We took turns pouring spoons of the sauce back over the duck. The buzzer went. We set the duck on the table.

Then, we realized that we had not looked up how to cut the duck apart. We also have no knives, except for our "office knife" (a post about this little miracle man coming soon). It's sharp, trusty & ready for action, so we attacked the duck with it. The pieces weren't the prettiest. We had duck grease up to our eyeballs, but that golden skin & dark meat were so delicious I was about ready to pick up the carcass & chow on it for a while.

We also had loads of extra sauce with the vegetables, since there were only the two of us, which means the meal pulled double cooking duty: nice dinner to celebrate the official start of Christmas vacation & the base of a soup.

I ate slowly, mopped the soup up with our baguette, followed it with a warm cup of tea & felt remarkably accomplished for the night. We're set to try more French recipes over break, so I really needed this one to go well. My French food-cooking confidence is up 3 points. I'm ready for adventure...

...though I admittedly need to continue with prepared, rather bloodless pieces of meat. I stopped by the butcher to get some bacon for the sauce. Next to the lines of pork sausages & chunks of lamb were skinned rabbits with their eyeballs staring back at me. I needed a second to let the tears drain from my eyes before I could order the "cent grams de lardons." 

All I could picture was my poor little Baby, who is happily running around my parents' living room. What will I do without her? (So far without her in France, I've just been crying every few days & looking at the too numerous pictures I took of her.) But now I have this skinless image that has become what I see of when I think of her dying. 

Maybe I'll look up some meatless French recipes first?

P.S. I've started our Christmas album on my flickr. See the pictures here.

homesick for the holidays

Our friends are often asking us what American food is. We explain that it's not fast food, not just hamburgers or McDonald's. We try to explain what our family eats on regular basis... but neither Joe nor I have a "traditional" American diet when we're feeding ourselves, & our families eat a wide range of foods. We eat a lot of ethnic foods in the States, so what is it that's distinctly American?

We still haven't decided, but a list of foods that I miss (particularly those associated with Christmas & New Year's Day in my family) has been growing in my mind. I'm homesick.

I've had a craving for macaroni & cheese like I've never had in my life. I wanted it homemade, heavy & covered with cheese that has been baked to crispiness. I wanted the leftovers cold, eaten out of a plastic container in the fridge.

My family didn't make homemade macaroni & cheese. We didn't even eat much boxed mac & cheese. But when I was younger, when my grandpa ran the show at family Christmas on my dad's side of the family, there was always a large–LARGE–crock pot of his baked mac & cheese, with onions & so much cheese that even the leftovers were a bit greasy.

I loved the stuff. I wasn't so hot on the Christmas ham, so I'd pile my plate with Grandpa's pasta & baked beans. I'd nibble on it all night, going back for seconds & thirds, then nibbling more while we were packing leftovers to take home.

There aren't many of us on Dad's side of the family, & there are even fewer of us that turn up for the holidays. This meant there were loads of leftovers. Grandpa joked about how much I ate, but he always gave me more than my fair share of mac & cheese to take home. On Christmas day, in place of lunch I'd have a fork at the ready, for nibbling noodles from the fridge throughout the afternoon.

So I made mac & cheese for the first time, using this recipe (from a blog that I really enjoy). It turned out great, even with the random French cheeses we picked for the topping; I think the extra paprika & spoon of cumin I added helped. We paired them with veggie fritters, since I don't know how to make corn fritters & wasn't feeling like corn. (I mashed chickpeas and tossed it with a few slices of yellow bell pepper, an egg, two grated carrots & half of a grated zucchini before frying them in olive oil–& I mean really frying them with some serious oil & heat.)

Yesterday was Thursday, which means it was our night to share dinner with our American friend, Lauren. We've been having themed dinners lately, so we decided to make this week America.

It was the first time I really understood what comfort food was. I bit into the mac & cheese (then warm, gooey brownies washed down with blond beer) & thought of home, of holidays with family & late nights at church, looking at the large nativity scene.

I'll be making a lot more of my family recipes now that I have this oven, & I think that eating food from home & letting the memories come back will help me get through the holidays.

The snow is gorgeous & is also helping my mood–mostly because I have warm socks & boots to walk through it in. I don't know how I would have done it without my new snow(ish) boots...

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holiday giving

If you haven't started your holiday shopping, you will be soon. I hope I can catch many of you before you head to the malls. There are some great companies & organizations that help you practice what you (or at least I) preach.

And that doesn't mean you have to get everyone in your family an itchy, unrefined hemp sweater to show you're in touch with Mother Earth.

There are lots of companies doing great things for the common good, & I wanted to take a post to talk about the commercial side of the holidays. We're all buying gifts. We're all looking forward to giving them.

Here it is, my first annual Green-saving, Green-living Christmas List:

 1. Nothing says love like handcrafted gifts. They're more personal, more unique & more romantic. But let's face it. Some of us were not meant to be crafty. For those of us left gifted, there's Etsy, a site dedicated to the small producer. You can find everything on your shopping list at Etsy. Handmade or vintage, the one-of-a-kind items are sure to please.

2. Raise your hand if you give or receive bath & beauty products for Christmas. Yeah. That's what I thought. Now, there are a lot more (& more affordable) natural options. One of my favorites, as it's maintained the same mission while becoming easily accessible to all of us, is Burt's Bees. So if you're giving hygiene products, why not make it a bit more of a luxury with some all-natural products?

3. I <3 books. More than any present. More than any other hobby. Even more than baking some days. But I really appreciate used books as well–& have even begun to see them as full of character, someone else's affection for the novel & a longer history than new books. For a wide selection, check out Powell's Books or even Amazon (just click "used" instead of "new").

4. Joe discovered the Yellow Bird Project late in November, & we've fallen in love. Our favorite artists, their favorite causes & really awesome designs for t-shirts. We're getting them for each other for Christmas. (I called dibs on Andrew Bird!) 

5. Who doesn't need a new planner for the new year? One of my favorite styles is the Moleskine, but now I'm in love with this eco-friendly, less expensive option (with very similar quality & colors). Check out Ecosystem, & you'll never go back.

6. I don't know about you, but I guzzle coffee & eat my weight in chocolate around the holidays (today for example, when the Betz family polished off a box). Snack guilt-free–& even find HEALTHIER options–with fair trade products. The prices are comparable to quality coffee or fancy chocolates that don't have the goal of helping small farmers earn fair wages. So why not feel like you're really treating yourself & others at the same time? Equal Exchange is great, & you can even order their products on Amazon, if you're hunting for free shipping. Bonus!

7. I know that it may be hard for family & friends to understand, but some gifts are great when they give more to others–like Heifer International or Oxfam's Christmas Collection. You get a card, explaining your gift (like giving a family of ducks to a family in Thailand, to start their farm), & then you get to think about how the gift helped them keep their family together ALL YEAR. I'm a huge fan of these, & you'd love it to. Not comfortable "giving" it? Add it to your own list!

8. If you'd rather focus on feeding your own family well, why not check out buying your family a membership to a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program? You get fresh, local, sustainably-grown groceries each week & get to know the farmers in your community.

So, I hope you enjoy your holiday gift hunts & consider adding a bit of sustainability to it all. While you're driving around to the stores, listen to Target's free Christmas Gig. You can download the whole thing on this site. What more unique list? Snag this Indie Christmas mix tape.

christmas craftiness

As I mentioned in my previous post, I failed at blogging yesterday. It was my last official day of teaching for the semester, with just one day to make up on Monday–three classes & one exam to give. It's strange to be on the other side of the university experience, so I wanted to celebrate not having exams to take.

I had gone Christmas shopping for Joe on Tuesday. While he took a nap, I wrapped his presents using recycled tissue paper & wrappings that have accumulated from my birthday & various care packages. In the mess of papers & scraps, I found an Anthropologie catalog.

I love their pictures–high quality catalog. More high quality than the clothing that is way, way over priced. This does not change the fact that I have, for years now, been buying their home supplies from the super-clearance-small-price section of the store. I love their kitchen supplies & table settings. Now, I finally found a way to put their magazine to work.

I started tearing the thing apart & sorting them into colorful piles... Then I spent the rest of the afternoon making this:

Joe helped me hang the snowflakes, since even on a chair I can't reach the ceiling, & we got to celebrate our coming First Christmas for an extra night while listening to Democracy Now's amazing coverage of COP 16 (the UN climate change summit).

I continued my resourceful holiday spirit this morning, making a large pot of vegetable soup with our newly purchased produce (another errand finally accomplished yesterday). It was my first time making vegetable stock on my own, & I wanted to just reduce the waste we'd been creating. I opted for just boiling all of the celery that was too flimsy to eat with the celery greens & outer onion layers. I filtered it through our juicer. It looks normal.

I sauted the vegetables, & the finished soup is currently simmering on the stove. I have to say, this is one of my favorite feelings: a morning of peeling, chopping, slicing, tossing & the buttery, spicy, fresh smell that fills the apartment. I even did the dishes (mostly so I could stand next to the onion as it cooked in butter).

Here's to a resourceful, productive & home-filled holiday! Mine starts today, & I'm loving it already. Not looking forward to an afternoon of sending e-mails, but it must be done. How about you–how are you spending your holiday? What are you doing to save some green & be green this holiday?

For even more Christmas spirit, head back over to Where's Joe's Head? for two more submissions: my mom & Chloe, my sister sent their hidden Joes yesterday afternoon.

starting the season

This weekend was full of Christmas festivities. Now that my feet are tucked into dry boots, I'm ready for even more! Before I get ahead of myself, here's what last weekend looked like:

 

more pictures here

On Saturday, we followed a crowd of families & children toward Place Stanislas. After a bit of a wait– which was filled with Christmas carols, mulled wine sipped from thermoses & listening to an announcer tell us to PLEASE step closer to the right side of the square.

Kids were propped on parents' shoulders when the show started, & after a few minutes I was worried about how they'd be sleeping that night. The story goes something like this: A butcher kidnaps three small children, butchers them & puts them in a tub of salt to pickle for seven years. St. Nicolas shows up & brings the children back to life. There is much rejoicing...

And there were tons of fireworks for the celebration, & they matched the tone of the story perfectly–moving from red fireworks, flames & explosions when the butcher is around to a light music & cascading fireworks when St. Nicolas walks through the snowy woods to the butcher's house. The victory of St. Nicolas (& the finale of fireworks, which included St. Nicolas being lifted above the crowd) closed the night on a positive note, but I know some kids that would still have some serious nightmares.

On Sunday, we headed to Metz for a lighter, more general celebration of St. Nicolas's big weekend. Metz has a huge Christmas market, & our friend has an apartment overlooking the route of the parade. After coffee & parade watching, we set out for an afternoon in the market. Most of the market's booths included free samples (gingerbread, dried strawberries & I think 10 different kinds of ham), so it was hard not to get full before heading back for dinner with our two friends.

With all the excitement, walking & anticipation in the crowd–only 17 days until Christmas!–we were able to forget that we're away from family this Christmas. We soaked in the new traditions, appreciated that this may be the only time we're in Europe for the holidays, & ate our fill of cheese. 

One of our best gifts is that we both have jobs this year, something we weren't expecting to happen for another three or four years. It's enabled us to enjoy this experience, learn more about French culture by immersing ourselves in it & travel with friends.

Our relationships with the people we've met here have grown faster than we'd imagined, & we've been blessed with lots of really wonderful people that make Nancy seem more home-away-from-home than far away from home. Thanks to them we're making it through the holidays (at times with too many obligations, something Joe & I are not at all used to) without too much time to sit around & miss home.

That said, I can't help but dream about holidays back home, with my family nestled into our new apartment or home with just the lights of the Christmas tree & our hands around warm mugs of hot chocolate. I think to console myself, I'll make some of my mom's fudge before the weekend.

To start the seasonal celebrations here on Francofile, my dad has created a Where's Joe's Head? Be sure to check out his craftiness on the WJH page.