She Walks!

Lordy, I think I can actually put a video on this dang blog! You should see a little button to click on in the bottom left of the picture to start the video.
Now if only I had made this movie horizontally. Or is that vertically? Oh well.
Amazingly, this evening, all of the sudden, Estelle just starting walking. Just like that. It is the wildest thing. We are beside ourselves. I just kept grinning and cooing "like a damn fool", as my Dad was wont to say. At the moment, however, France is losing in the Rugby World Cup against Argentina, so, as my husband says, "keep the joy relative".

Don't judge a book....

So when we got back from Spain there was a little note in the mailbox, the kind of notes you hate in France, in a love-hate way. "You have a package, you weren't here when we tried to deliver it, so come and get it." This is the kiss of death in France, country of "It's the Post Office - no wait, it's a Bank - no wait, it's a Post Office - no, wait, it's a Bank!".
I'm sure previous posts have ranted on this topic somewhere in the archives.
One of these little "avis de passage" slips means, of course, waiting in line. WIL is such a part of French culture, and so NOT American, unless you are talking entry to a PHISH concert or the latest Harry Potter release. I personally go a little balistic about WIL, known as "faire le queue" (this literally means "make a tail" - evidence to the lines being LONG). I calculate my days around ways NOT to WIL - it is engrained in us, as Americans, to be efficient with our time, which is so precious. No 5 weeks of vacation in America, so don't tell me I gotta WIL everywhere I turn in my day.
Of course the time to do anything is between 12 and 2pm; because no one is doing anything, because, of course, they are EATING. But it doesn't matter because the only thing open during that time is the library, the big grocery stores, and, naturally, restaurants. Bakery, grocer, butcher, bank, post office, (any office, for that matter) is shut up.
At any rate, off we went to get the mystery package, on the slip it said "for E Ouillade".
A lovely box from one of my sisters. We get home, and I see on the customs' slip "baby books". It is from my sister Laura. How nice, I think, books from Laura for Estelle. I open the box, out fall two cute packages, all wrapped up, and a card. I open the card, and it is a baptism card for Estelle. I decide to wait until evening to open the presents as a family. Now, my sister Laura is what you could call a god-fearing woman. So I knew those 2 cute packages were going to be the first books in Estelle's "catechism" book collection.
Here is a photo of Estelle opening one of the presents that evening under the watchful and proud, god-fearing eyes of her parents, prepared to say a blessing over the books....
"How Moses parted the red sea"? "Just how did Noah get all those animals into the arc"? Why no. Rather, pink furry ears and a clip-on tail to dress up like a pig, complete with a snout-shaped board-book for inspiration when the impulse strikes her, along with a mermaid bathtub book, and a ringing velcro phone-book.
Moral of the story - Don't judge a sister by her god-fearingness, and you never know what WIL will bring you!

ESPAGNE

We have recovered from our marathon-driving wkend to southwestern France and then Spain for the wedding of Thomas' cousin, Aster - born in Ethiopia and adopted long ago by Thomas' uncle after he married Aster's mother.
Due to Thomas' job we missed the civil ceremony Friday afternoon, but managed to arrive at midnight before the cheese course of the "casual" wedding reception. This was a couple hundred people, Ethiopian cuisine and music, and some serious African dancing in full force under the biggest tent I've ever seen in my life that didn't entail a circus. This was on their private property in Mirepoix, southwest of Carcassone (this is near Toulouse, relatively).
Around 2 am we ducked out before dessert and crashed at the hotel. Saturday after lunching with the extended family in the darling medieval town of Mirepoix, off we went into the Pyrenees to Seu d'Urgell in Spain. This required skirting around the principality of Andorra.
What happens when my entire extended French in-law family travels to northern Spain and no one speaks Spanish or Catalan, well, it's an adventure.
Saturday night at 7 pm was another reception - essentially another wedding, held at a castle up on a mountain with views of the Pyrenees that made all that car-riding worth it. At 2 we begged off and carried a sleeping Estelle to the car. What a weekend!
From afar, the castle we were in (by day)
The mountains in Spain
This is when we were following my in-laws in Spain, trying to find out hotel...they stopped ahead of us to ask some pedestrians the directions, and the next thing we knew, the couple hopped into the back of the car alongside my sister-in-law. This was hilarious. They spoke no French, so there was just a lot of pointing, we were told afterwards.
The Hall in the castle.
Can you truly appreciate the size of this piece of lamb? I tried to put it in perspective with my hand, but frankly don't think I did it justice.
Estelle, happily asleep under a "voute".
One of the various tapestries surrounding our tables in the Hall.Three generations with Estelle who had just woken up at 2 am, probably wondering where the hell she was.
Here you can barely make out the bride, Aster, in the white and black spanish dress, and the groom, Pierre, on the right in the gray shirt. Aster was, and is, stunning.

Eleatheyna

This is Eleatheyna, or "Ley" (pronounced "lay"), daughter of my friend Charlotte, who is the daughter of my friend Genevieve.
Estelle and Ley had a little impromptu playdate this afternoon, as Ley now lives in Bretagne, in Rennes, but is here visiting relatives in Nice for a bit. At one point, Estelle pulled herself up off the carpet onto Ley, and they walked all around the house together, hand in hand, having a very excited chat which remains locked in the vault of gibbergabber.

Gitan

This is the French word for gypsy. We think Estelle could blend right in with the gypsies if we ever need to hand her over, as the old threat goes.

Dr. Max

Here is the man who told me last summer if I went into labor during the World Cup final, I could just chew on a wooden spoon until the game was over.
Dr. Max, the man who held Estelle before I ever did.
We love him.

Grace

Part of the allure of the French Riviera is Monaco, that oh-so-mythical principality just 25 minutes from us. As Thomas has been working there since last fall, we are getting to know it a little better outside of the realm of tourist.
But today Estelle and I spent 2.5 hours as true tourists. The Grimaldi Forum is home to the hot new international exposition of The Life and Times of Princess Grace, 25 years after her untimely death on the narrow Monegasque hills.
I have found many French people surprised when I told them how excited I, an American, was to go to the exhibit of the Princess of Monaco - then I remind them she was an American film star well before her crowning. You know, "Hitchcock, just for starters! High Noon, High Society!" I blurt out (all these "H" words, possibly they have no idea what I am saying). They all say "Ah, oui, oui, bien sur....". I in turn am surprised that I need to remind them of her life before. A testament to cultural ignorance on both our parts.
The 19 rooms of the exhibit are all that you would expect, glamourous, classy, elegant, interesting, poignant, detailed. And the gowns! The clothes, the shoes, the Hermes bags, the hats and gloves and bathing caps! All what I knew I would find.
What truly was a surprise, however, was that the woman apparently kept EVERYTHING - long before she was ever a star much less a Princess. There are telegrams and notes, even scrapbooks with things crudely taped into them like a little bulb and in her handwriting next to it "Light I took off the Tree at Parker's party". Or a half-empty pack of Wrigley's gum with a caption "Gum I got at the party." She was a sentimental packrat behind all that poise. Who knew.
Cases and cases of personal correspondence from Hitchcock, Sinatra, Princess Diana, Yul Brenner, her mother, her agent, her lawyers, Cary Grant, Greta Garbo, Josephine Baker--- it just goes on and on. But quite touchingly very intimate notes from the Prince as he awaited her in Monaco before their wedding, in his handwriting saying things like "I am counting the days, the minutes. I love you, Rainier." There's even a whole section about her affair with Oleg Cassini, long before she knew Rainier, and how it was discouraged as he was divorced and not Catholic.
In any event, you can't help but come away feeling a bit GLAM.
Thus, we had lunch with Papa on one of the 2 ports of Monaco. In the 2nd photo, you can see the Cathedral up high on the left, where Grace and Ranier were married, and where they are buried.

On the Throne

She has yet to grasp that one must kiss the frog to make him turn back into the Prince, not chew on him. Poor cuss, he's already lost an arm in the battle. And for all you antique buffs out there, that chair she is sitting in is referred to as a "Voltaire". We love it.

Behind Bars

The only way to brush my teeth or hang out the laundry nowadays is to put Estelle into the "parc", which is what the French call these wooden playpen thingys. If left to her own devices, she essentially wreaks havoc at each second in every corner of the apartment.
This morning we narrowly escaped my passport being ripped apart.
When not in lockdown, she does have her glamourous side, however.

Maxence Again

Why unpack and get your life organized after being gone for 8 weeks, when you can spend the day playing? Yesterday, in our befuddled state back in Nice, we went out to lunch and to the park all afternoon to play with Maxence, who will yet again go back to Paris after a nice long visit here on the coast this summer.
Maxence, no longer sporting her wacky mohawk, turned one year, has 11 teeth to Estelle's bare 4 and can tear a path across anything as she walks all by herself! She also nods yes and no when asked a question.
But her parents Emmanuel and Melanie remind us that Estelle will be bi-lingual, so don't get too worried!

Saving the Soul

Wondering where we've been? 2 wks in a villa avec la Famille Ouillade in nearby Grasse.
What's more, mademoiselle Estelle became one with the Lord finally and was baptized. We loved Pere Narcisse from Burkina Faso who did the honors. Godmother is Aunt Agnes and godfather is T's childhood hockey buddy, Francois.
Afterwards, back to our villa for champagne and a poolside BBQ put on by our favorite Riviera chefs, "uncles" Craig and Doug.
Amen!

"Au Revoir Paris, Hello Wolfeboro"

The above was a headline from today's (or perhaps yesterday's?) Boston Globe. It is via this article in the Globe that the country of France discovered their President Nicolas Sarkozy was going to (gasp!) AMERICA on his vacation!

The nation is all abuzz that 'Sarko" is once again going on what is seen as an "extravagant" vacation. Just after his recent triumph in the presidential election against female socialist Segolene Royale, he skipped off on a yacht of some milliondollar crony over in Malta, and les francais had much to grumble about that. Skits of him partying down on the decks of some massive boat abounded in all the political spindrivers in France.
Here's one of the photos - that's President Sarkosy in the white shirt. The only man in modern times to go yachting in Malta wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt and tie. Lordy....

Now his vacation to, of all places, Lake Winnapausaukee (who knows if I spelled that right) in New Hampshire is raising eyebrows and giving many the ammo they want to start hollering "Capitalist Lover!" and "American Wanna-be!" about the new leader of the Republic. The fear of Sarkozy trying to make France more capitalist and less socialist in order to improve the economy and the unemployment crisis has been lingering on the tips of many tongues for 3 or 4 months. Now with Sarkozy (who incidentally is very often compared to JFK - the USA's favorite tragic hero of Camelot) skipping off to trendy New England and renting a reported 21,000 euros per week property on the lake is seen as a sign that he wants to associate himself with the American lifestyle, or at least downplay the drama created after Chirac's heavy criticism of American's plunge into the Iraq war.

Perhaps "Nico" just likes a good hot dog, a rootbeer, whoopies pies, and a creemee, and the man knows where to go to get it. But I must admit to being thrilled he steered clear of the REAL piece of heaven in New England, and went next door to the not bad but slightly lesser neighbor on the other side of the Connecticutt River.

"The Rest of the Story"

Think I'm talking about Paul Harvey? No, rather the rest of our time in Vermont, as seen thru the following photos....
So those who complain that they haven't heard frome me in a while, follow me thru my last 6 days in Vermont:
Monday: Here we are in New Hampshire with an old St. Mike's friend, Erin (Haley) Cashman and her THREE kids!
Tuesday: My freshly baked raspberry pie in front of cousin Michelle and her daughters
Triathalon Man: Wednesday Thomas did three relatively major athletic activities - first, a 4 mile run with my brother Wes at 6:15 am
Second, we take Wayne and Estelle for a hike up Wheeler Mountain (whoops, actually it was Moose Mountain, hence the funny faces at the sign when we realized we weren't on the trail we meant to be on!)
Still Wednesday: Near Willoughby Lake, the athlete and his daughter and sister Joan take a hot dog and creemee break!
Still later on Wednesday - now a different lake - Seymour Lake, at the private beach of some friends Jeri & Cindy


The beauty of Seymour
Their dock - heaven!
Triathalon man out for a waterski - first time ever in his life and he got right up, never fell once!
Triathalon man shows off just how good an athlete he is by going one handed and reaching down to touch the water on his 2nd run of his life
End of the day on Wednesday with the group
Thursday - Lunch at OUR camp on Shadow lake with brother Ed & his wife Sandy - Estelle says get the damn camera out of my face please.....
Thomas & bebe down on the dock with Sandy
Thursday night, yet ANOTHER lake - Lake Parker in West Glover near where our American wedding was, at the camp of my aunt Cecile and uncle Ernest Davignon

Friday: off to Saint Johnsbury for lunch at Aunt Yolande's
Friday afternoon: bake a cake with Cole and Wayne
Saturday: Glover Day, the annual race and festival to celebrate Glover. Thomas ran the 5 1/2 mile race, and I walked it pushing Estelle. This photo is Uncle Paul (or Peter) with Estelle

And this photo is cousin Tyler seated with Uncle Peter (or Paul) pouring through the book sale
An exchange student with a local family is delighted to find a fellow Frenchman to speak to
Saturday afternoon: Barbeque at my dad's cousin camp on Shadow Lake, hosted by sister Mary & husband Danny. Joan showed up with a dish called "Ouillade", just like Thomas' last name. Went over lukewarm with the brothers
Relaxing on the beach at the camp

Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, pick pick pick, pick a lot, talk a little more
Joker Wes hollered out after I took this photo "I'M ON THE BLOG!" so here you go you goofus. Challenge: non-family readers may weigh in, is that Peter or Paul with Mary and Wes and Estelle?
Saturday evening: Sugar-on-Snow party in Barton. My dad's best man Bob and his wife Giselle Champagne (yes, that is her maiden name) were there and gave Estelle a nice gift - crucifix pendant
My sisters continue to help my daughter degenerate by feeding her sweets
Sunday: day of our Departure; Estelle has her last breakfast out on Grammie's porch- later on Joan showed up with some "poutine" - a Quebecois speciality so it wasn't really her last meal
Heather and Aunt Darlene come to say goodbye
Wayne and Joan take Estelle on her last walk around the house
The stragglers who stuck around to wish us well and safe trip
Madamoiselle pretends to be a grownup for a minute in a big person's seat on the plane
Tired from all the photos? Imagine how we feel! But seriously, a wonderful trip, and wonderful time, and a hard last goodbye to that house for us all.......