Eureka!!!!!!!

The Times they have a changed..... my sister has high speed internet with a dedicated line!!!!
An uneventful and easy flight to Montreal finds Estelle and I enjoying ourselves in Vermont. A few snapsnots to document: Our camp on Shadow Lake:

My uncle Ricky puttered over for a visit...on his tractor. We climbed up and had ourselves a little party!:
Aunt Martha takes Estelle out to pick asparagus!
Estelle eats Cheerios for the first time and has a blast! This high chair was my sister's in 1959:

Balcony Bounty

Two months ago Thomas' mom bought us a tomato plant, and some kind of tree-plant thing that suddenly sprounted pretty flowers yesterday.
Proof:


Also off our balcony you can see "Chez Pipo", which makes the best socca in Nice. Socca (pronounced So-Kah) is a speciality of Nice and the surrounds, I have never seen it anywhere else. It is something cooked on huge extra-wide diameter pizza-style pans on wood fires. A liquid batter is ladled on the pans and cooked for 10 minutes or so. The batter is from a base of oil, chick pea flour, and probably milk or something. When they pull the huge pan out of the fire, they slice it up in strips and you eat it with your fingers, putting pepper on top first.
This is something that allegedly the fisherman thought up and would have in the mornings when they would come in from the morning fish. It is commonly consumed with rose wine. Technically it's not a meal, but it is.
Tonight I had my first socca of the season (photo below), on the eve of my departure to a land of hot dogs, rootbeer, bagels, and creemees. Hallelujah. Bring it on.

Fete de la Musique

"Faites de la musique, Fête de la Musique" Which means "Make music, celebrate Music".
Today is France's national celebration called the "Fete de la Musique". It happens every year on June 21st, the longest day of the year - summer solstice. And this is no "Memorial Day" that gets shifted to the convenient Monday for the long wkend in America - whatever day of the week is June 21st, be it Friday night or Monday, let the festivities be!
The story is such: In 1982, the Minister of Art and Culture (or something like that), a man named Jack Lang who is still alive, and a bit of an icon, decided that to celebrate music on the solstice would be appropriate. He said something like there should be "music everywhere, and concerts no where to be found" - or something profound like that. As a result, the whole dang country goes wild today.
My first year in France I left before June 21st and thus was oblivious to the whole thing. But Year #2, watch out. It was one long night, full of a sort of Greek Chorus Bacchae feeling. One huge outdoor party with music everywhere. I mean everywhere. There are massive stages set up, and just random people with guitars or drums scattered around. The old town of Nice become a maze of sounds, sort of like bouncing around from one speaker to another. The police look the other way on pretty much everything as long as no one is getting hurt. Probably what Woodstock was in '69. On some level what Bread and Puppet in Vermont used to be before it shut down.
But here in Europe, things are still loosey goosey, and this one day of the year to just let your hair down in public is a rite of passage.
Estelle and I walked the port today and watched the police barracading all the piers to stop any waywards from jumping into the water. I said to one "but you don't barricade the beaches? What's the difference?" I was told people could walk out of the water on the beach. And besides, there are private boats here (I'm sure THAT's the real reason).
Here are photos of Estelle having her own Fete de la Musique in our apt at dinner time, listening to an old American fave, Woody Guthrie's songs for children.

Bonne Fete de Pères!

Yesterday was Father's Day in France, just like in the States.
Here is Papa Thomas doing yogurt duty in the park.

Here is what he had coming at him all day to remind him that he is most definitely a papa.

Surprise!

After 2 yrs of marriage and almost 5 of togetherness, I mostly think I have my husband figured out. But no.
Yesterday afternoon, I heard a key in the lock at 1 p.m., and naturally panicked that Estelle and I were under attack. (watching too many episodes of "24" lately). None other than my husband. "I've been fired". He said. Then laughed. "I'm sick of working today". He said. I just stared at him. He's on a project in Monaco with a big deadline. He couldn't even get an extra day off at Easter, so I'm finding it hard to believe he's just decided to let slide the afternoon.
In fact, he had taken the afternoon off to allow me to go off to this place:
This is the ultra-modern "Hi Hotel" in Nice - pronounced "EEEEE OH-Tell". Monsieur had pre-arranged for a hamman and full hour massage in the spa at the swanky location at 2:30. I stood in my kitchen, clothespins in one hand and teething ring in the other and just looked at him.
Off I went on my bicycle, and stepped into another world for a few hours. People dressed all in black served me organic this and that, sent me off into my private steambath. A woman all in white massaged for an hour, and by the end I was dead asleep on the table. She gently woke with with some kind of herbal tea something and cooled such and such water. In the end, I was a new 36-yr-old-for-a-few-more-hours woman. All I kept thinking was "No wonder the Ice Pick character on Magnum P.I. lives to be 100 years old." Every time you see him, he meets up with Tom Selleck in a steam bath and Ice Pick doles out mafia information while they are getting simultaneously massaged. It is the way to eternal youth and tranquility. No doubt.
Back on the bike along the sea and a pit stop at the gay beach to meet up with a friend (what better place to be than the gay beach, no one is looking at YOU). Said friend, upon hearing where I had just been, said "Oh POOOOOOOOOOOOOR you." Then said husband and daughter joined us for a bit on the beach. They left, and I said "see you back at the apt in a while".
I meandered home, did bath time, got the purees ready for her dinner, and then Thomas said suddenly with a grin "We have to be ready to leave in an hour." I stood in my kitchen, bib in one hand and mushy teething biscuit in the other and just looked at him.
The babysitter soon arrived - I got out of my bikini and threw on a sundress and off we went into the old town, for a drink on a sunlit terrace, people watching and then to a restaurant for indian food.
Moral of this story: The best birthday presents are ones that come a day early, are a complete shock, and just keep coming throughout the day.
Today (the 13th here in France) is the real deal, and this afternoon two of my favorite English friends Simon and Amy are stepping off a plane to spend what I know will be 4 1/2 hilarious days with us. Doesn't get any better than that! There are cards & gifts here from the States to open, already some phone calls - what a great birthday and it hasn't even officially started yet!

Estelle's Italian BF

His name is Alessandro. You've seen him before, in a Christmas suit.
They had a tryst recently and I saw a lot of flirting on my daughter's part. Bit alarming to tell the truth.

Le Bac

Today begins the Bac, or Baccalaureat, which is the deadly end of high school test that all French kids across the country take this wk. As an American, and trained to be a teacher in America, I can say that I categorically have many many issues with the whole Bac process. It is tracking at its finest, narrow-minded, totally arbitrary, non-cumulative, tests only one kind of learning style/intelligence (aka Howard Gardner), and is a make or break for life.
Of course the kids that I give lessons to will all pass, because any parent who goes the extra mile to get private lessons for their kids in general have kids who will not fail the Bac.
Here is Thomas, my student. He'll be 18 in the fall. When I started with him he was 11 years old. He is the dream student. He is my surrogate nephew in France. He goes to the best (public) high school in Nice (because his parents lie about their address to get him in), and is in the best "track", which is Science/Math. Even if it isn't what you want to do with your life, that is the track to be in in high school, because that, according to public opinion (and every teacher I know) is where the "smart" kids are. Which is not true as I know many lovely individuals in the "L" track - literature.
Anyways, good luck Thomas. As I said to him last week at our last lesson, the question isn't will he pass or fail, the question is how high will he score. I am sorry to say that there are thousands of French kids out there who are not in such a comfortable position today as they enter into this barbarian testing system, which I hope to god my daughter will never have to be subject to.

Corpus Christi

Who knows what it really is all about, Corpus Christi? Whatever it is, it's a national holiday in Monaco - which means that it is Thomas' 5th day off since May 1st.

Not bad.

No more as this is being posted from the Wifi at McDonald's since I am, once again, without the internet for 48 hours. Sigh.

Bonne Fete de Mères!

Or, Happy Mother's Day.
Back in the States, this was 3 wks ago, but here in France it's today, and yours truly is experiencing her first Mother's Day from the other side of the coin. It's a little freaky to be honest. I keep thinking "Where's the mother?" Then realize it's me.
Unfortunately, Thomas was not quite on the 8-ball, so yesterday I said "buy me some new rechargable batteries for my camera", and that, sad as it may seem, was my mother's day gift. This morning I made breakfast for myself!
But we had a great day with our adorable daughter, all took a nice nap after lunch, and then went into the old town for some gelatto. The dad here might not have been up to speed, but Estelle clearly must have sensed it was mother's day, because she slept 12 1/2 hours last night without making a sound.
And that is the best Mother's Day gift anyone could give - a night of uninterrupted sleep!

First Cousins

This is what Estelle's cousins are up to in Vermont:
(We are sad that there are no dandelions where we live!)Any family resemblances here between Estelle and Heather, the Dandelion Princess?

Oh, She's Cute Alright

Until she throws up her lunch.
Little missy is back to her old tricks.
Quite simply cannot be on her tummy after her big nap that follows lunch. It's getting to be a tricky one!
Note these photos were in the morning, prior to said incident.
I'm getting to be a pro at it all though. I have a whole system down for the cleaning-uppage.

Calgon, Take Me Away

Yesterday was holiday #4 in the month of May in France - Pentecost. In fact, just 2 years ago the gov't passed a law making Pentecost "optional" for companies, and in fact people are encouraged to work, but donate their pay to social security as a gesture of solidarity. I'm sure Sarkosy will have something to say about that in the future.....
In any event, Thomas, who works for a French company but is currently stationed in Monaco, couldn't have worked if he wanted to because Monaco, unlike France, has no solidarity and thus everybody had the day off.
To celebrate, we spent the long wkend near Avignon (not on the bridge!) at an estate which was being inhabited for 10 days by everybody's favorite old boss of mine, Michael. He and his wife had invited 3 other USA couples, plus us and Estelle. The 11 of us ran around together all wkend in the area. WHAT FUN! Made that much more fun by the estate's full staff of maids, a chef, a site manager...well, you get it.
Sort of like living a fairy tale for 3 days in Provence. Breakfast served to you every morning, your paper (possibly ironed?), clothes washed and pressed, fresh flowers in your room, poolhouse service, a bewitching cocktail hour, and more Chateneuf de Pape wine than I care to remember.
Back to reality now in Nice, but what fabulous memories! And good times with old friends. Photos:The staircase: The "lights" suspended down the center of this stone stairwell are in fact Paris lampposts bought at auction, hung on iron chains.
The front entrance of the mansion.
The back veranda, where we spent most of our time. Lots of backgammon! This mansion has no televisions.
A view across one side of the "garden" to the pool and poolhouse behind the hedge. Estelle enjoyed being carried around in the heated water. To the right of the purple-flowered tree, with the ropes just barely visible, was the piece-de-resistance for me - a wooden board swing, hung on a centuries old tree. I stayed on it until my hands were raw from the rope. Complete exhiliration.
Our 5 course meals, served out on the veranda.Estelle enjoying her bath in an antique tub! She was the real attraction of the weekend, behaving like a perfect baby and sleeping 12 hours soundly each night in a strange crib. We were, and are, very very proud! As the rest of the guests said, "What does she sound like when she cries?" You'd never know it's the same baby as 3 wks ago!
Baby is in bed, enjoying the evening sun.
Main hallway, the wooden door you see is not the broom closet - but rather, a toilet nestled in the curve underneath the staircase. So quaint!
Different parc view on the property. What you can't see is the "treehouse", which I never got a photo of - what you would find in an adventure park. Complete with a zip cord that crossed many many meters to the back of the property, many different ladders and modes of access. I had vertigo up there.
Day trip to nearby Isle sur la Sorgue, a darling town with the river Sorgue running thru it, and lots of waterwheels still turning!Taking pause in Isle-sur-la-Sorgue
Another water wheel in the river canalThe wkend topped off with a stopoff in Salon-de-Provence at Thomas' aunt and uncle's for a lovely lunch. Here is Estelle with TonTon DéDé, having a grand old time.

Appendix A

A certain southern lawyer I know, who shall remain nameless, has forwarded this hilarious link in reponse to yesterday's blog. Fortunately THIS the cradle-robbed husband can appreciate:
Click Here!

The Six Million Euro Man, and other sordid tales

There are moments when you just feel like your humor and your entire range of references goes unsavored by your spouse. For example, yesterday Thomas came home and stripped down to reveal a heart monitor which he had to wear for 24 hours as part of some exams he's had done. I immediately burst out in a rousing rendition of Styx's massive 80's hit "Mr. Roboto", and was rewarded with just a blank stare.
Tragic, but true. That's when you wince to yourself and say "Dang, I almost forgot for a minute there...." and then you think sheepishly "Not only does this reconfirm that I married out of my culture, but I also cradle-robbed, if this guy doesn't even recognize Mr. Roboto, or the name Styx even. Dang."

In other news, Her Highness seems to be possibly (knock on French wood) on the upswing? Had a perfect day at the nanny's yesterday where she went down for naps with no fussing and slept well, and last night hit the pillow for 12 hours without a peep. Mr. Roboto and I (yes, he had to sleep with that thing strapped on last night - which incidentally felt a little like I was in the 1970's thriller film "Coma", which p.s. I didn't even both asking him if he had heard of.....) woke up and looked at each other and said "C'est pas possible!".
To celebrate, here are photos of her today, playing in her crib, and, to my surprise, the last shot: I plopped her on the floor in her room while I picked up toys in the living room and when I came back, she was babbling away to herself and seemed to be intently reading a book. In French. Yikes.

A Day at the Beach

The auction is off. After 3 days/nights of life restored slightly to normal following a few weeks of comparative of chaos, we're keeping her. 12 hour nights and good naps is making everybody a little saner.
That doesn't diminish yesterday's vomit episode, including Papa sliding across the floor after hitting a puddle of it. (We laughed about it later). An hour and a half of clean-up, baths, laundry, and scrubbing later, we went out.

Ascension-Day Auction

Today is Ascension, yet another national holiday in the month of May in France. This makes this month's Day Off #3 for the lucky French.
To honor this holiday (something religious, obviously, not that you can tell by the non-church-going French), I'm considering auctioning off Estelle, or perhaps myself, if it means I can leave my present day-to-day and night-to-night existence and "ascend" immediately into heaven - or hell, which can't be any worse than the deal I've got now, so I'll take either.
Here are some recent shots to get the bidding going.

6 years

This scrawny, gangly little boy with a twisted elbow after falling out of an ice house, and ears to speak of, is my Dad. Gone 6 years ago on this day. Hard to believe when you look at that little guy born and bred in the Depression that he would grow up to fly to Japan during the height of the cold war and teach about engineering, cultivate a mean blackberry patch, be forever chagrined that none of his children were basketball stars, write various geneaology books, master computers, belt out a church hymn, hunt moose with fervor, found a historical society, fix anything - I mean ANYTHING, stoke a wood fire to within an inch of its life, design and construct his own homes and camps, sire 11 children and 24 grandchildren and running, build a proper darkroom in his basement, dance elegantly to the big bands, never tire of enjoying a piece of pie, and give cancer a decade-long run for its money.
Amidst teething drool and diaper changes, translation deadlines, private lessons, and a in-law visit, I take pause over here on the French Riviera to remember the little Vermont boy who left so much and so many who loved him behind.