The Script Ended

Proper French Satuday

This weekend in Paris is another example of the French obsession with what they put in their pretty mouths. The Salon des Vins is taking place 2 metro stops from chez moi so MFM , me and a small gang of his friends descended on this "little" neighborhood get together. The Salon gets together independent winemakers from all over France and gives them the opportunity to showcase their wares - tasting is free and so is the conversation with the winemaker. You can buy one bottle or multiple cases right then and there of anything that strikes your fancy.

So, how many small little independent winemakers carted their pretty bottles of pleasure to Paris this year? 15, 50, 300??? Try over 1000 Chateau This or That. The giant exposition hall at the Porte de Versailles was literally a sea of tasting counters - one for each Chateau - stocked with wine, refrigerators, and pretty pictures of idyllic vineyards. You could get drunk reallllly quickly here if you aren't careful.

Upon entering, everyone receives a nice little wineglass etched with the Salon's emblem (a little French winemaker). MFM being an old hand at this, instructed me how to score multiple wineglasses for my collection at home (where we know how to put them to good use). He had brought along a backpack for our haul. He also brought his official Salon des Vins hand cart to transport our wine to our cave (yes we each have a cave - in the dungeon -like underground of our apartment buildings complete with dirt floors, stone walls and a large wood-planked, double locked door).

He and his friends each had a plan, carefully mapped out in anticipation of the surging maze of tasting counters. This was serious work ahead of us. We took off on our separate searches. There were thousands of people, happily chatting away as they sniffed, swirled, tasted and spat out (if you were smart and intended to be able to walk out of the place under your own power) wines, champagnes, cognacs, armagnacs........you name it, if it came from grapes, it was being tasted here. The French can talk about food and wine ad nauseum - and for good reason. They take this stuff seriously and why not? There is little better than the smell of a fruity bouquet in a glass - it makes me immediately think - yum good food is coming and good friends and good times (argh - I sound like a Gallo commercial!) But it is true, I think the bouquet of a wine is directly linked to our snake brains.

So we made our purchases, some of the wine makers knew MFM by name! He is faithful to his favorites year after year. One booth was particularly charming. It was manned by mom, dad and sons, ages about 11 and 13, who were learning how to pour a proper taste, turn the bottle such that its label is visible to the taster just so, and announce the year and cepage (grapes used) of each wine. They were so cute and earnest - vous goutez 2005 vielles vignes, etc........They start 'em young in this country.

Our cave was being so well stocked that we had to make an intermediary trip to the car - our cart was threatening to collapse under the load of cases.

We met back up with our tasting buddies and trekked back to my place for a nice long proper French lunch. Champagne (just purchased) to restore our energy, followed by a stack of grilled aubergines, red peppers and chevre, rabbit stewed with thyme and prunes, cheeses (of course - we are in France) and des Iles Flottante (puffs of sweetened egg whites floating in creme anglaise and drizzled with caramel) all with some more really good red wine. Lunch took about 5 hours!

Now can you think of a better way to spend a Saturday?

zee tanksgivine

The French seem to be continuously fascinated with our national holiday. It is such a novelty to them which I find kind of strange considering that to Americans, it is an old and traditional holiday that has been around forever. Forever for the US though is only yesterday for the French given the relative ages of each of our countries. Being a newcomer to Paris and probably not the first American the French have encountered makes it weird to me that Thanksgiving is still such a foggy notion on this side of the Atlantic.

One of the pervasive stereotypes arises immediately. Une national holiday all about American cooking??? What do you eat - hamburgers? This is meant as a joke of course because everyone does seem to know that we all eat turkey. The rest of the meal remains shrouded in varying degrees of mystery. Our national menu sounds exotic to the frog and snail eating crowd over here - cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, few have tasted such things. Goes to show you the power of cultural differences.

And the presents, aren't there presents, don't Americans always buy presents?? I admit, I enjoy poking a hole in the obvious reference to our materialistic society and explain that Thanksgiving is all about enjoying a traditional meal with family and there are no presents involved. In fact America devotes 2 work days and the weekend towards this holiday.

What??? Zeez Americans cook le meal et eat a famille a la table? Incroyable! And so Francais!

Exactly.

Some effects

I received a comment on my post about "Sybil" from my cousin's wife and it got me  thinking further about how things have changed, why they did and how I coped (and didn't) with the effects.

You see, when my husband started to change it had begun waaaaayyy before I became conscience of it. The same probably went for him too. When I recount the straight facts about the last few months of our marriage - how my long-haired and bearded formerly clean-cut accountant husband took off for a Buddhist abbey on the northern tip of Nova Scotia to spend 3 months in red robes and exited skinny and sheared only to decide to plant himself in a different monastery for another year while gathering up the ammunition and momentum to divorce me - the story tumbles forward so fast and furiously as to be almost unbelievable. Unfortunately it is all too true. But there is another reality other than the piano dropping from the sky version.

It has lots to do with the human capacity to try and make sense of senseless and scary things. My husband began to meditate in an attempt to wrestle with his demons over 10 years ago. All the while he insisted that there was nothing wrong with me or his life - just with some inner part of himself. Okay, sounds good - we all could do with some inner self-housekeeping - my husband was just ahead of the curve, or so we both thought. Fine, on we went, struggling the daily struggles, managing the long lists, doing the things that we thought we were supposed to do - stuff that was supposed to make us happy.

And all the while his volcano inside continued to build up steam. People constantly evolve and change, we continue to grow. The advice that "the experts" (who are those guys anyway?) always give when it comes to the secret of the lasting marriage is to "grow together". Easier said than done. Especially when half of what is really going on is hidden - from both parties!

For me - I am unfortunately the eternal Pollyanna. Everything is fine or will be okay soon - don't worry, I believe you, blah, blah blah.........and then wham mo - that stupid piano again. I think that they call it denial.

My husband used to get so angry with me when I would remember something that he had told me in the past, some truth that was no longer true. That was so confusing - I would wonder why I was wrong to remember what he had said. Didn't that mean that I had been listening, wasn't that a good thing?

Problem was that he had been in the midst of shedding a "self" that no longer fit. The newly emerging self was not so nice. He was often withdrawn and quick to anger over little things - don't stand behind me, you walk too fast, you flip your pillow too often at night.............This new self didn't want to participate in fun things with friends, he was too tired; he was sick of shaving; he decided that it was time to grow his hair to his shoulders; who needs shoes anymore when flip-flops will do and so on. It was all too weird. But like any experienced mother will tell you - I believed that "this too shall pass". Except it didn't.  Well on second thought, it did sort of pass. All those things were part of the "old him" passing through to some new, unrecognizable person. Even he didn't know who he was anymore.

My husband often used to joke about "running off to Brazil" when he couldn't think of a solution to some problem or other. I never took him seriously - turns out I probably should have. Especially when I was forced to take a hard and realistic look at his past. Turns out he had "run off to Brazil" several times in his past already. Shutting the door on a life he no longer wanted to lead and never looking back, bringing no one and next to nothing forward. Turning into a new person to fit the next new life. He had been proud of his ability to be a chameleon. Now I think his "ability" is dangerous and scary.

I could go on probably too long in this vein but on to the second half of the first sentence in this post. My coping skills or lack thereof throughout my partner's rollercoaster. But let's be fair here, I was changing too. Change was not the exclusive domain of my soon to be officially ex-husband. I was changing enough to inspire a move to another country half way around the world. To Paris, where I knew no one and didn't even speak the language. Now that I am here, I cannot imagine not being here, not knowing who I know here,  not having my life intertwined with the French lives that are now part of my life.

This is not a morale of the story but a thought: Change is difficult and painful and some things are lost forever in the midst of it. That part is sad. But then good things grow out of the bad. Many of these good things would never have been if it hadn't been for all that pain.

So all in all, there is little I would yet regret from my death bed. Just having said that is a small victory for me.

Will I Ever Speak French?

I had this crazy idea that if I lived in France I would be able to speak French. Ummm.....the question is when? I know that I am making progress, but it is awfully slow! I keep on thinking of all of those maids from Mexico that we Southern Californians are privileged to have helping in our households. I think of my own Grandmother from Mexico and her adorable Spanish accented English that I always thought was simply "grandmother-speak". None of those people could speak English when they were plopped into America. They all learned -  but that was English and my problem is French. Did I pick the wrong language?

I am now surrounded by French socializing. Everywhere I go with MFM, I am now the mute in the corner, smiling my American white teeth smile and trying lamely to catch on. I used to be the outgoing one - the extrovert - but it is pretty hard to throw out a witty comment when I speak French at the speed of a slowed down record player. I lose patience with myself. It really does go so much faster in my head. And all those helpful French friends end up finishing my sentences for me - they are probably bored out of their minds too but are too polite to say. Tu parle tres bon francias they constantly tell me----------right------I think that is code for "you speak very good french.....for a 3 year old." And that is probably being generous, I 've heard the 3 year olds in the park across the street.

I am beginning to change my tactics, at least with MFM. Instead of laughing when he laughs, etc, I stop him and want to know what he just said that was so funny. At least I can pick out most of the individual words that I don't recognize from the stream of gobbly-gook - that's progress!

You see, I normally get the gist of what everyone else is saying. If they change topics too fast though it takes me a while to catch up - and by the time I do they are off and running on a totally different subject. Social conversations go sideways. That is one of the things I used to LIKE about conversations. You start in one place and end up in some other part of the stratosphere when you pause for a breath and ask each other -  now how did we end of talking about that??

But when this is happening in another language it really is no fun. It is like fast forwarding through a movie - a dizzy overview without any nuance. I am getting pretty tired of just getting the gist. I am a meat type.

Several people have said that the best place to learn French is in bed - with a Frenchman that is. Though that kind of language learning certainly has its merits, it's still not going fast enough for me.

Sybil's Entry Point

There is a bunch of stuff swirling around in my head that needs letting out - problem is that I can't seem to find an "entry point". I took a writing seminar a while back from a pleasantly "out-there" type person who constantly talked about "entry points". I didn't quite get it then. That somewhat stout, late middle-aged black woman in a turban, spoke soothingly about free floating with our pens until we found (Eureka!!) an entry point that allowed us to tell our story. I remember telling her about one of my childhood (and still appearing) flying dreams. You know the ones.......in mine I start to run and as I pump my legs faster I start to lift off the ground until I am way up in the sky and everyone else below are now ants. Good, good she told me - enter your story from the dream...........huh?

Well, I tried and I did get some writing done in the workshop in spite of my continual search for the elusive entry point. But now, 2 years later, I think that I get it. An entry point allows the rest of the story to unfold. It simply is where you start. You know how when you have too much to do you "don't know where to start" and some wise person tells you to just start somewhere; that is where I am. So here goes:

My husband was a fake. This really shouldn't be news to me but it is. I had heard these exact words two years ago from my sister-in-law in her attempt to help me weather the first shock waves of a "suddenly departing for the monastery" husband of 25 years. But just like the learning curve of the "entry point" point, it has taken me a while to really get it. My husband (ex) has lived several different lives in which he apparently was pretty much different people in each one. I was party to the straight-laced, every mother's dream, suburban success story life. What came before and what has come after bear little resemblance to each other. Multiple Personality Disorder. That is the label thrown out for discussion.

Is there really such a thing in real life? Isn't that some rare, slightly creepy syndrome involving someone named "Sybil"?

Moreover, how did I live quite a happy life with such a person for the better part of 2 decades? Says something about me too doesn't it?

So, this is my entry point to a whole different perspective on the life I have led so far. The one that got me to Paris. The one that now goes forward without a script.

The "Un" French Paradox

I hate to burst anyone's bubble but I have some commentary on the "French Paradox". You know the one - how the French can eat and drink all kinds of decadently caloric food and wine and remain catwalk thin. That type probably exists most often along the leafy streets of certain upscale Parisian arrondissements, but there are loads of examples of those who belong to the more normal human species. Those of you who knew me before the age of 45 could possibly have labeled me abnormal - I admit that up to about then I could consume vast quantities without developing unsightly spare tires around my middle BUT the Michelin man syndrome is creeping up on me too. And living in France is NOT helping. Shock of shocks - I have plenty of French company in the "tire wars".

Not only does France produce too much of a good thing for the gourmand, they also live quite a social lifestyle. We are forever being invited to and also hosting various aperitifs, diners des amies, fetes to herald the arrival of this or that seasonal food (next week it is 50 kilos of oysters arriving exclusively for us, the us fortunately includes various old friends of MFM (my Frenchman) courtesy of his Bretagne connection), lots of vignobles (wine-makers) expositions, etc etc etc. There are simply too many reasons and occasions to eat and drink in the country!

Not such a bad thing is probably what you are thinking about now and on the whole I have to agree with you. It all just takes a shift in self image and new demands on self control. Something I realize I am woefully short of. Damn. So after a week eating pizza, pasta and the kitchen sink in Italy and then a return to Paris parties, followed by the kiss of death visit to MFM's parents' home where his father, a former professional baker, is OBSESSED with cooking (Multi-coursed lunch and dinner everyday beginning with aperitifs, moving through starter, main dish, side dishes, cheeses, wines, 3 desserts, yes 3, I told you he is a baker, and ending with cognacs) I need to eat only gruel for a month.

Problem is..........we are invited to another dinner tomorrow.

Not such a bad birthday

I have received Happy Anniversary wishes for my Blog and I feel very lucky. Thank you to everyone. This is a birthday that I do not mind. The other day I passed the half year mark in my personal birth calendar. Being officially 50 and a half means that I can no longer say that I just turned 50 - I have until October 27th ALWAYS included the just. Childish I know. It's kind of the reverse of when I was a kid and answered any question about my age with a proud - I am 7 AND A HALF. The  and a half was very important and never left out.

Ahhh youth. I miss it. At least some of it.

But now that 6 months have passed since my birthday I am officially 50 in my mind and must face it. No more dodging.

What a year it has been. When I started this blog a year ago I was freshly reeling from my husband's shocking departure from our marriage. I was searching for a new, more affordable apartment. I was beginning Le Cordon Bleu, a fulfillment of what had become a bittersweet dream of attending the most famous cooking school in the world. I had begun dating - a daunting activity when I had been the other half of someone else for 25+ years and still loved that other half too. I had just been accepted to graduate school to learn a new "real" career that would hopefully allow me to support myself and my girls as we pieced our lives back together.

My cousin suggested beginning a blog back then. Told me it would be good therapy and that others would probably benefit from reading my stories and my struggles. I am glad that I listened to her. I only wish that I had been more diligent and more revealing of what all else has transpired this year. Why? Because I would know even more of my unconscious today. Did you know that writing is a way of discovering what is in the big black hole of our unconscious mind? It is true. If you put a pen in your hand (or a keyboard under your fingertips) and begin to just write stuff comes out that you did not know was even there. There are secrets and mysteries waiting to be discovered right within our grasp. The more you write the more you end up knowing about yourself. That is why I probably should have done more blogging.  But as they say in France - tant pis - loosely translated  - oh well, what can you do about it now?

During this last year thanks to my advanced age coupled with the clarity that comes from struggling through a sea of shit, I have bumped into what should have been obvious truths that were hiding right in front of me. I want to find out even more about them and this blog will be one of my best tools.

The Day After

When we left the party last night, full of those choc chip cookies I mentioned and other American dishes like - taco salad and guacamole (yes - I had to explain to more than one French person peering at these dishes that this is indeed American food, especially if one is from Southern California like I am), it was 1:30 am and 2 States had reported results - both for McCain. We went to bed not knowing a thing. It felt really weird.

To pry ourselves out of bed early this morning, my french man (MFM), said, Let's go see President McCain! And that is the moment I knew - I wanted Obama. Yes, I know, my republican mother is now doing flips in her grave and my family will probably disown me, but that is the way it is. Blame it on living overseas perhaps, who knows, but at that instant the thought of waking up to Obama losing was a terrible thought.

But why oh why? I can hear my mom wailing down from above.  Lots of reasons but for me the main one is that the whole country is so energized, the entire world is energized.This is a big deal. I am pretty certain that there would not be this same kind of energy if McCain had won. Sad to say but true. And this energy will turn into action. I think that racism as we have known it will be dead, done, over, with Pres Obama and his family in the White House. The world will look at us differently knowing that we elected a black president by a landslide. We will look at ourselves differently too. Change is a good thing especially when you are struggling and the last few years have seen one disaster after another - probably not all GW's fault,  but I think that it is time to let the other guys take a stab at solving the messes.

Today, Paris was happy for the USA and proud of us too - something that has been in short supply lately. It was nice for a change.

Election Night!!

It is finally here - the night that the world has all been waiting for. Unfortunately we here in Paris will have to wait for tomorrow morning to know how this 2 year saga will end. We're going to an election night party anyway - should be fun. We are going to have an American potluck dinner - I'm bringing BBQ chicken. Its BBQ because of the sauce - very exotic in these parts (what??? You mean you combine ketchup and mustard and honey and slop it over chicken and eat it with your fingers???? - Mon Dieu!) I have to cook it in the oven because it is very hard to grill in a 5th floor apartment. There will probably be other strange delicacies for my very French boyfriend to try like chocolate chip cookies and corn on the cob (good luck to the person assigned this - corn is for cows in this part of the world). I am pretty sure that we will be washing it all down with good french wine though - one can only go so far with the "theme" food thing.

I have to say that for the most part I am enjoying being an "ex-pat" over here watching all the goings on in my country from this distance. France and the rest of Europe for that matter are all solidly behind Obama. In fact, I have not met a single person over here - American or otherwise - that is supporting McCain. Having been raised rabidly republican for my whole life, I have the sense of being from an alien planet. Discussions and conversations every where here land back to the American Election given enough time. It doesn't matter if I am sitting in my French Conversation group, Book Group or in line at the Boucherie waiting for my carre' d'agneau to be prepare' - the conversation turns sooner or later to Obama the savior and that stupid man McCain who is supported by all of those idiots in the republican party. I have to admit that it sticks in my craw. My whole family is republican except for my airline pilot brother who belongs to an union. In the old days (back when I was young - yes that long ago) republicans were not synonymous with the Christian Right, Creationism, Prayer in Schools and Joe the Plumber. But no one today remembers any of that apparently. Strange because I am pretty sure that I am not the oldest living American in Paris. So today, I began to feel sort of lonely. This in spite of the fact that even I am not sure that I am for McCain either. I am sort of afraid for the backlash from everyone in the rest of the world if Obama doesn't in fact win. I hate the idea that it will be assumed that he lost because Americans are fundamentally racist at heart. It is so not true where I come from.

But it bugs the shit out of me that people look at me cross-eyed when I can't lie (I have always been terrible at lying) and admit that I am a republican and am considering BOTH candidates. I don't think that I have lost any friends over it  yet - I even like to think that I am changing the closed opinions of all of the supposedly open minded liberals in the world. Wow - a republican who isn't carrying around a bible replying "you betcha" to every question. Just think - I may be changing the face of the Republican party - one Parisian at a time!