May and June have been busy with visitors here in Paris. Business colleagues as well as my daughter and her friends have stayed with us and I have enjoyed the company. I love to entertain, but our recent visitors weren’t necessarily here to see me.
A few weeks back, my friend, GDAY co-member and fellow mom, sent me a Facebook message asking if she could pop over to Paris during a 2 week mission to London...Bien sur!
After coordinating schedules and travel arrangements, Ardie was on her way. We met up with her at the airport and like any good girl friend, she told me I looked great and noticed that I’ve lost about 20 lbs since leaving the States. And instead of the cheeky kissing, one cheek and then the other, I got a hug...an honest to goodness Groton-Dunstable black bear hug! Plus...she brought me maple syrup. Yum.
We hopped onto the RER and talked mom talk for nearly 45 minute...its a good thing my husband has a crackberry addiction as he had nothing nor the desire to contribute to our conversation.
After checking in with her chums back in London and chatting over foie gras du canard avec canard fume and Cremant du Loire Sparkling Rose’, we dined on my creation of veal smothered in a wine and onion reduction, roasted carrots and potatoes and enjoyed a really good red wine. Next, we headed off into the dusk to enjoy a cool evening stroll. We walked through the Latin Quarter, over to Notre Dame, down onto the Quai and through the back streets of Paris. We admired the architecture in the twilight and we continued to talk about the really important things; graduations, teenaged growing pains, hearth and home.
We continued our promenade late into the cool-ish evening, touring our “neighborhood” around the Pantheon, Sorbonne and Luxembourg. We talked of other sights worth seeing, but Ardie continued to say, “I’m not here to see Paris. I am here to see you.” Insert Smiley Face here!
Returning back to the flat, we settled in for more discussion about our kids and then after and hour or so, we turned in. Morning plan was to get up, take Reilly for a walk and hit the Café Luxembourg for le petit dejeuner. Despite our best intentions of an early rising, we all slept in. It was great...no disaster...no disappointment that we didn’t make use of every available moment to SEE something...it was just fine to BE with someone special.
We dressed and strolled up the street to the gardens, window shopping along the way. We strolled among the Saturday morning crowds; tourists, dog walkers and kids playing soccer, pretending to be their World Cup heroes. We admired the statues and beautiful beds of flowers...things I had been looking at for months looked fresh again as I shared them with my friend.
Ardie often found time to ask me how I was and how this aspect of life or that in Paris was affecting me...I appreciated the chance to say out loud to someone who has known me for a few years now how I was feeling and I never needed to qualify my words...she gets it.
After our morning in the garden, we went to the café. We explained the various preparations of coffee and ordered café crème...my family and I ordered the petit dejeuner Français and Ardie ordered just coffee. I ordered a croissant for her...we had a full afternoon of walking and souvenir shopping planned and if Napoleon taught us anything, it is an army marches on a full stomach! Besides, how can you come to Paris and NOT have a croissant for breakfast. She was pretty happy despite the carbs.
We headed back to the apartment for a bit so Ardie could finish up a few details on a presentation and this gave us a chance to regroup and plan out our afternoon sight-seeing routes. We decided to head over to the Louvre and Tulleries and then stroll down Rue de Rivoli. We passed the sidewalk vendors with their stalls filled with trinkets, posters, and books. There were artists, cranking out watercolor paintings of the local sights. And there were the tourists. I decided then and there we were not tourists...we are resident travelers, indoctrinating a fellow traveler. Ardie truly enjoyed looking at the structure of Paris...noting the passage of time on the buildings and artifices. She was struck by the enormity of the Musee de Louvre and took time to have me read any and all signs/placards/inscriptions, enlightening us to some great fact.
We took a turn through the Tulleries, the sculpted gardens across from the Louvre. I explained what Tullerie-toe is...the beige dust coating on one’s shoes from the sandy pathways created by years of people walking on and crushing pebbles and shells. We walked down to Place de la Concorde and then over to the head of Rue de Rivoli. We peeked into designer shops, elegant hotels and restaurants. We gawked at the kitschy gee-gaws in the souvenirs shops. After a time, we popped into a sidewalk café for a mid-afternoon snack...Quiche Lorraine for Ardie and me, a ham and cheese crepe with a side of frites for Emily and Bill. We watched some World Cup on the big screen TV...a unique phenomenon during Coupe de Mondial...all the cafes have mounted a TV on some wall or propped them up on tables so patrons/fans can keep tabs of their favorite teams...makes Super Bowl Sunday seem so small!
After lunch, we found some sweatshirts for her kids and headed back to the flat to rest and freshen up for the piece de resistance of our day...dinner at Le Timbre...our favorite restaurant in Paris.
We dressed for dinner and headed out the door. Arm in arm, Ardie and I talked about home and what I missed. But most of all we just enjoyed walking through the gardens and looking at this amazing oasis in the center of Paris. It started to rain just as we turned the corner toward the restaurant...thus saving Ardie’s pretty silk blouse from spotting. We entered the humble little store front that houses one of the best culinary experiences of my lifetime.
Le Timbre is a diamond in the rough. Chef Chris Wright does amazing things with quality ingredients...in my estimation, his success lies in the fact that her respects the ingredients...the duck tastes like duck should. What he does with les pruneaux is almost too good to be true. This charming little spot seats 24 people at each of the evening’s two seatings...reservations are a must. We settled into to our places, elbow to elbow with fellow diners...but one doesn’t feel cramped, just comfortably intimate with strangers brought together but the common desire to enjoy creative and delicious cuisine.
We started our dinner with some champagne and toasted our good fortune to be visiting with our dear friend. We perused the daily menu as written on the chalkboard...brought to us and the folks next to us...by our very cute (said affectionately) and hard working waitress. She and Chef Chris are solely responsible for the food service from soup to nuts! We chatted a little with the folks next to us about wine selection and amongst ourselves about the French culinary delights. I ordered a 2007 Crozes Hermitage, a lovely, well balanced red that made each of our selections sing. Entrees included such delectable choices as my terrine du maison...an upscale meatloaf with a confit of onions, Ardie’s white asparagus with a sublime butter sauce and I forget what Bill got! Emily had an extraordinary terrine of pork, prunes, bread and apples prepared with a wine reduction...oh, the prunes!
For the “plats” we stuck with the duck...Bill and I had perfectly cooked duck breast and Ardie and Emily enjoyed the duck confit...extraordinary...there was plenty of yummy noises and eye-rolling over the choice fare.
Dessert was included in the fixed price menu and I had the evening’s winner...prunes steeped in a white wine reduction spiced with star anise and cinnamon stick...so simple but so sumptuous...quite sensual actually...the texture and taste brought a tear (or two) to my eye. It was great. And it was equally great to see a fellow foodie I care about enjoy this outstanding meal. She complimented the chef who came out to the tables to say thanks to the patrons. The walk home was leisurely and we basked in the afterglow of great food, wine and company. Twilight...at 10:40pm!!
Sunday morning/Father’s day came quickly and we noshed on local patisseries with our morning coffee. We had a few hours before Ardie had to head to CDG for the return flight to London. We hopped on the #69 bus and headed over to the Eiffel Tower...snapped some photos and finished our whirlwind morning in the Latin Quarter in search of an elusive size 58 driving cap for Ardie’s husband...but we prevailed.
With minutes to spare, we rounded up Ardie’s things and took her down to the RER station that would bring her to the airport...she graciously let us off the hook for the 45 minute train ride each way to and from CDG...but it wasn’t the ride or time involved...it was the saying good-bye. I knew if I got on that train and took her to the airport, I would cry. But racing down to the B line, just as the next train arrived gave us just enough time to smile, say good bye and bear hug one last time; and then she was on board with the warning signal blaring and the train pulling away...it was kinda like ripping a band-aid off...it hurt for a minute but was over....quick...until the blog anyway...smiles and tears as I recount a wonderful visit...and my excellent adventure too.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
We got Trouble my friends in the City by the River
Trouble, starts with “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for ....well, pee.
The warm weather has arrived in glorious fashion in Paris. With the warm weather come the happy groups of tourists snapping photos of the churches and monuments. The locals who pack picnic bags filled with bread and wine and cheese perch on the granite berms, steps and benches along the quai, drinking in the view along with their wine ...quite the picture, oui? Well, turn around and there along the stone wall along the Quai Montebello one sees another summer phenomenon, the other “side” of the picture...rather you smell it first...pee. In all my days, I have never been so accosted by Peeing Toms...and as the day warms, the offense grows... human urine reeks. This appears to be a uniquely male aberration and violation of social code. I am not saying that women have never peed in public, but it is a highly unlikely occurrence...modesty, practicality, and the good sense to find a toilet drive women to behave.
This “oh, la wee, I gotta pee” assault began about a month ago. My youngest daughter Emily and her friend Olivia arrived from Boston in mid-May. To help them tackle jet lag, we thought a nice morning stroll over to Notre Dame and the quai along the Seine might be beneficial...and it started out that way. As we passed the lovely little garden next to the rue Galande, we saw a bum...or more precisely a bum’s bum poking our way as the person in question “watered” the roses through the wrought iron fence. I no longer stop and smell flowers in public gardens...ew. Not five feet down the sidewalk, we saw something rustling a huge shrub in same said garden...think Donna Reed in It’s A Wonderful Life...oh, that it were...but no, another homeless guy with a need to irrigate sprinkled away...and the combination BO and PO was gross.
Bill and I hurried the girls along, hoping that being bleary-eyed, they might have missed that little episode and we crossed over to the quai. Down the massive granite steps, the sun warming us and the summer breeze brushing loose hairs across our faces, we pointed out the sights and spoke of the history of the storied, lively Latin Quarter. We passed a couple of houseboats and floating restaurants. As we approached one of the 30 (or so) bridges spanning the Seine, there in the shadows loomed an ominous sight...facing the wall. Yup...Peeing Tom. We hustled on by...what else were we to do, watch? As we exited the arch of the bridge, we walked into a wall of stink...Urinetown!! To our right was an enclosure for the riverboat restaurants’ dumpsters...but the smell was not of garbage; it was gut wrenching, stinging, stinky, urine. Apparently we had walked by the surrogate public toilet for the late night party crowd that descends upon the Seine around 11pm when the weather entices. This was the first time though that we had encountered such a stench. Normally, we would walk Reilly along the quai in the mid to late afternoon...well after the Sanitation crews had power washed the walls and walks. As we continued our march along the river, we saw the Green Clean Team (as I call them cuz they wear Kelly green jumpers topped with lime green crossing guard vests) blasting the stench and debris from the previous night’s partiers and denizens of the riverside, through openings in the river wall...and into the murky, churning waters below.
I had had enough and we were about to be super-soaked by the green guys, so I suggested we head up to street level and find a café. Caffeine and a pastry might give the girls the pick-me-up they needed. Rather than head back toward Notre Dame and the growing crowds of tourists, we headed down the smaller rues and alleys in the neighborhood. It is fun exploring these passages, finding secret gardens, quaint shops and interesting architectural details. Along the rue des Bernadins, we passed one of Paris’ SDF (sans domicile fixe) sitting in a lovely, little ivy-covered alcove, on a white marble bench and in a personally provided puddle. I just shivered at the recollection. I know the girls missed the details of that episode as they were dodging a huge pile of dog crap on the sidewalk...ah little blessings.
I can say with certainty and chagrin that since that day, I have been exposed to the exposed at least once daily. Every night the girls wanted to head over to the Latin Quarter for crepes and we usually have success with Reilly’s own “bathroom needs” down by the river. We bring a plastic bag for poop and we cover her pee spots with sand. But with exceptional weather, the nighttime crowds on the Seine were large, loud and drinking heavily. One night it got so ridiculous, as we waited for the dog to do her business, watching and counting the men lined up along a wall that was a part of the stone stairs going up to street level...hundreds of people passing above and below and there they were all lined up, sprinkling and tinkling like no one could see. At one point, there were seven guys peeing in the somewhat dark...street lights and sunset at 10pm cast them in a weird light...I think the human pong turned Reilly off the quai...she won’t do her business down there anymore.
From the little boy urged by his mom to pee on the statue of Charlemagne to the not so little boy with his extra large can of 1664 beer in tow, peeing on the shuttered door of my formerly favorite cheese shop, this past Monday night, it is obvious to me that either Paris or I have a problem. My suggestion to the pee-pertrators is take a hint from the Green Clean Team’s solution...pee directly in the river. It will save them some extra work, spare your shoes from splashing, save my nose and delicate constitution and heck, give the tourists on the Bateau-bus something else to post on YouTube.
If the Paris police ticketed everyone who pees in public (which is against the law here), I think they could solve the economic crisis in the Eurozone! And it could certainly help the public image of Paris...the first thing a friend said to me when I told him I was moving to Paris was...oh, Paris is a dirty place...it stinks. And ask any Parisian what Paris is like in the summer and to a word they all say, it stinks. Well, stop using this grand old city as your public toilet! Gee Whiz.
The warm weather has arrived in glorious fashion in Paris. With the warm weather come the happy groups of tourists snapping photos of the churches and monuments. The locals who pack picnic bags filled with bread and wine and cheese perch on the granite berms, steps and benches along the quai, drinking in the view along with their wine ...quite the picture, oui? Well, turn around and there along the stone wall along the Quai Montebello one sees another summer phenomenon, the other “side” of the picture...rather you smell it first...pee. In all my days, I have never been so accosted by Peeing Toms...and as the day warms, the offense grows... human urine reeks. This appears to be a uniquely male aberration and violation of social code. I am not saying that women have never peed in public, but it is a highly unlikely occurrence...modesty, practicality, and the good sense to find a toilet drive women to behave.
This “oh, la wee, I gotta pee” assault began about a month ago. My youngest daughter Emily and her friend Olivia arrived from Boston in mid-May. To help them tackle jet lag, we thought a nice morning stroll over to Notre Dame and the quai along the Seine might be beneficial...and it started out that way. As we passed the lovely little garden next to the rue Galande, we saw a bum...or more precisely a bum’s bum poking our way as the person in question “watered” the roses through the wrought iron fence. I no longer stop and smell flowers in public gardens...ew. Not five feet down the sidewalk, we saw something rustling a huge shrub in same said garden...think Donna Reed in It’s A Wonderful Life...oh, that it were...but no, another homeless guy with a need to irrigate sprinkled away...and the combination BO and PO was gross.
Bill and I hurried the girls along, hoping that being bleary-eyed, they might have missed that little episode and we crossed over to the quai. Down the massive granite steps, the sun warming us and the summer breeze brushing loose hairs across our faces, we pointed out the sights and spoke of the history of the storied, lively Latin Quarter. We passed a couple of houseboats and floating restaurants. As we approached one of the 30 (or so) bridges spanning the Seine, there in the shadows loomed an ominous sight...facing the wall. Yup...Peeing Tom. We hustled on by...what else were we to do, watch? As we exited the arch of the bridge, we walked into a wall of stink...Urinetown!! To our right was an enclosure for the riverboat restaurants’ dumpsters...but the smell was not of garbage; it was gut wrenching, stinging, stinky, urine. Apparently we had walked by the surrogate public toilet for the late night party crowd that descends upon the Seine around 11pm when the weather entices. This was the first time though that we had encountered such a stench. Normally, we would walk Reilly along the quai in the mid to late afternoon...well after the Sanitation crews had power washed the walls and walks. As we continued our march along the river, we saw the Green Clean Team (as I call them cuz they wear Kelly green jumpers topped with lime green crossing guard vests) blasting the stench and debris from the previous night’s partiers and denizens of the riverside, through openings in the river wall...and into the murky, churning waters below.
I had had enough and we were about to be super-soaked by the green guys, so I suggested we head up to street level and find a café. Caffeine and a pastry might give the girls the pick-me-up they needed. Rather than head back toward Notre Dame and the growing crowds of tourists, we headed down the smaller rues and alleys in the neighborhood. It is fun exploring these passages, finding secret gardens, quaint shops and interesting architectural details. Along the rue des Bernadins, we passed one of Paris’ SDF (sans domicile fixe) sitting in a lovely, little ivy-covered alcove, on a white marble bench and in a personally provided puddle. I just shivered at the recollection. I know the girls missed the details of that episode as they were dodging a huge pile of dog crap on the sidewalk...ah little blessings.
I can say with certainty and chagrin that since that day, I have been exposed to the exposed at least once daily. Every night the girls wanted to head over to the Latin Quarter for crepes and we usually have success with Reilly’s own “bathroom needs” down by the river. We bring a plastic bag for poop and we cover her pee spots with sand. But with exceptional weather, the nighttime crowds on the Seine were large, loud and drinking heavily. One night it got so ridiculous, as we waited for the dog to do her business, watching and counting the men lined up along a wall that was a part of the stone stairs going up to street level...hundreds of people passing above and below and there they were all lined up, sprinkling and tinkling like no one could see. At one point, there were seven guys peeing in the somewhat dark...street lights and sunset at 10pm cast them in a weird light...I think the human pong turned Reilly off the quai...she won’t do her business down there anymore.
From the little boy urged by his mom to pee on the statue of Charlemagne to the not so little boy with his extra large can of 1664 beer in tow, peeing on the shuttered door of my formerly favorite cheese shop, this past Monday night, it is obvious to me that either Paris or I have a problem. My suggestion to the pee-pertrators is take a hint from the Green Clean Team’s solution...pee directly in the river. It will save them some extra work, spare your shoes from splashing, save my nose and delicate constitution and heck, give the tourists on the Bateau-bus something else to post on YouTube.
If the Paris police ticketed everyone who pees in public (which is against the law here), I think they could solve the economic crisis in the Eurozone! And it could certainly help the public image of Paris...the first thing a friend said to me when I told him I was moving to Paris was...oh, Paris is a dirty place...it stinks. And ask any Parisian what Paris is like in the summer and to a word they all say, it stinks. Well, stop using this grand old city as your public toilet! Gee Whiz.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
It IS a small world after all
Recently, Reilly and I were walking back from the Jardin du Luxembourg as is our routine when Bill travels. But, we deviated from our routine just slightly and I decided to window shop at the little parasol boutique on Blvd St. Michel. As I admired all the frills and flourishes that adorn Parisian parapluies, Reilly was being her cute self...so much so that a lovely couple stopped to gush over her. They asked en Francais if they could pet the dog and I replied en Francais, bien sur/of course. Reilly very excitedly started to prance and paw so I encouraged her en Anglais, to be gentle and not to jump. Lo and behold, her admirers spoke English...and not just English...American.
Quickly and cordially, we switched to our native language and the puppy gushing and small talk ensued!! I learned that Roger and Christine lived in the building that housed the cute little umbrella shop. We talked about how cute the Rei-ster is and that she really is quite an effective ambassador for the USA. Roger is from DC and my eldest daughter now lives and works in DC (Please start humming Disney's Its a Small World After All). Christine is Swiss and works for the Swiss Embassy...and she is delightful, pretty, kind and loves to read! More about Roger later as our world gets smaller..,ooh... foreshadowing!
Roger and Christine have returned to Paris after several soujourns about the world including but not limited to Switzerland, the Ivory Coast...and they find themselves 12 years and ten months later living in an apartment directly across the boulevard from their first Paris apartment! Hmm...it's a small world.
Roger is quite amiable and gregarious. As we ended our howdy-do outside the little shop, he offered me his card and e-mail...and their kind friendship, which I took, quite readily. We talked about their work, my newness to Paris, this blog and a few other niceties. Those of you who've known me for a long time and know me well know must realize that this quite outside my norm. I am a very cautious person....friendly yes, but I am not a huge risk taker. Taking that card, exchanging names and handshakes was oddly empowering and a wee bit nerve wracking all at the same time!
When Reilly and I got home, I wrote a self-serving blog entry and waited an appropriate amount of time before I sent off a quick message to our new acquaintances and smiled, proudly at myself for being so courageous.
Before long a very cordial reply was recieved and Bill and I were invited to Roger and Christine's apartment the following Monday for a housewarming/birthday party for Roger. All this in just a matter of hours and Bill was out of the country...I was on my game!
When Bill came home on Saturday, I shared with him my adventure and the news of an invitation. Surprisingly, he was up for it and we sent our rsvp in the affirmative. Please dear reader, I cannot stress enough how big this is in the scheme of our Parisian things...for me this was a major breakthrough.
Monday, 18:30, arrived and we set on up the boulevard St. Michel and to our first non-work/Bill's connection related soiree. We were there because I opened up. I took a risk. I got really lucky to find such kind and gracious people during a really stressful period (see blog about my pity party). With a fine bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers in tow, we entered a new place and phase in Paris...new friends. We stayed for a couple of hours, talking with people from Paris, Switzerland and Germany...aside from Roger, we were the only Americans there...and with the exception of Roger and Christine's Parisian neighbor...everyone spoke English among their other languages. Americans are spoiled and we really should make greater efforts to teach our students a second and third language...to the point of conversational comfort at least. All in all it was a lovely time.
As the month progressed, Emily and her friend arrived for a visit and we were off on a whirlwind of sightseeing and stuff. I realized that I had not properly thanked our hosts for a grand time and I dashed off an e-mail with thanks and a request that we get together soon to continue getting to know each other better...and no this is not stalker-ish...just polite.
After an few e-mail exchanges and setting Olivia back on her way to the US, we agreed to have lunch and catch up. Christine would not be able to join us, but Roger was available and we had lunch yesterday. Roger brought a yummy dessert and I practiced my vegetarian cooking...with success; so much so that I now have a new entry in my on-going oeuvre of recipes for my cookbook.
So over tartines, salad and a lovely Rose, we talked about living in Paris and work and changes. Roger is starting up a new art consulting business and I have made some inquiries for him among my artist friends in Groton. We talked about agendas and social networking. We talked about using Facebook for business and I related that my brother-in-law, a chef in Newport News has a fb page for his restaurant. Come to find out, Roger grew up in the Port Warwick neighborhood of Newport News and he is quite familiar with Hilton Village, Chad and Karen's stomping ground...it's a small, small world. Roger was a military brat like me...and like me spent part of our respective childhoods in the Tidewater area at various miltiary bases. I mentioned the Sand Pool (you should be hearing a crescendo of the Small World chorus now!) at Fort Eustis in Newport News and don't you know, we were both sunbathing on its sandy shores in the 1970's! Heck, it is entirely possible that we stood in line next to each other waiting to go up the ladder for the high dive! I mean really...35 years and roughly 3000 miles later, we were sharing lunch and memories.
Lunch went by far too quickly, but the good news is they live right up the street. Small world huh?
Quickly and cordially, we switched to our native language and the puppy gushing and small talk ensued!! I learned that Roger and Christine lived in the building that housed the cute little umbrella shop. We talked about how cute the Rei-ster is and that she really is quite an effective ambassador for the USA. Roger is from DC and my eldest daughter now lives and works in DC (Please start humming Disney's Its a Small World After All). Christine is Swiss and works for the Swiss Embassy...and she is delightful, pretty, kind and loves to read! More about Roger later as our world gets smaller..,ooh... foreshadowing!
Roger and Christine have returned to Paris after several soujourns about the world including but not limited to Switzerland, the Ivory Coast...and they find themselves 12 years and ten months later living in an apartment directly across the boulevard from their first Paris apartment! Hmm...it's a small world.
Roger is quite amiable and gregarious. As we ended our howdy-do outside the little shop, he offered me his card and e-mail...and their kind friendship, which I took, quite readily. We talked about their work, my newness to Paris, this blog and a few other niceties. Those of you who've known me for a long time and know me well know must realize that this quite outside my norm. I am a very cautious person....friendly yes, but I am not a huge risk taker. Taking that card, exchanging names and handshakes was oddly empowering and a wee bit nerve wracking all at the same time!
When Reilly and I got home, I wrote a self-serving blog entry and waited an appropriate amount of time before I sent off a quick message to our new acquaintances and smiled, proudly at myself for being so courageous.
Before long a very cordial reply was recieved and Bill and I were invited to Roger and Christine's apartment the following Monday for a housewarming/birthday party for Roger. All this in just a matter of hours and Bill was out of the country...I was on my game!
When Bill came home on Saturday, I shared with him my adventure and the news of an invitation. Surprisingly, he was up for it and we sent our rsvp in the affirmative. Please dear reader, I cannot stress enough how big this is in the scheme of our Parisian things...for me this was a major breakthrough.
Monday, 18:30, arrived and we set on up the boulevard St. Michel and to our first non-work/Bill's connection related soiree. We were there because I opened up. I took a risk. I got really lucky to find such kind and gracious people during a really stressful period (see blog about my pity party). With a fine bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers in tow, we entered a new place and phase in Paris...new friends. We stayed for a couple of hours, talking with people from Paris, Switzerland and Germany...aside from Roger, we were the only Americans there...and with the exception of Roger and Christine's Parisian neighbor...everyone spoke English among their other languages. Americans are spoiled and we really should make greater efforts to teach our students a second and third language...to the point of conversational comfort at least. All in all it was a lovely time.
As the month progressed, Emily and her friend arrived for a visit and we were off on a whirlwind of sightseeing and stuff. I realized that I had not properly thanked our hosts for a grand time and I dashed off an e-mail with thanks and a request that we get together soon to continue getting to know each other better...and no this is not stalker-ish...just polite.
After an few e-mail exchanges and setting Olivia back on her way to the US, we agreed to have lunch and catch up. Christine would not be able to join us, but Roger was available and we had lunch yesterday. Roger brought a yummy dessert and I practiced my vegetarian cooking...with success; so much so that I now have a new entry in my on-going oeuvre of recipes for my cookbook.
So over tartines, salad and a lovely Rose, we talked about living in Paris and work and changes. Roger is starting up a new art consulting business and I have made some inquiries for him among my artist friends in Groton. We talked about agendas and social networking. We talked about using Facebook for business and I related that my brother-in-law, a chef in Newport News has a fb page for his restaurant. Come to find out, Roger grew up in the Port Warwick neighborhood of Newport News and he is quite familiar with Hilton Village, Chad and Karen's stomping ground...it's a small, small world. Roger was a military brat like me...and like me spent part of our respective childhoods in the Tidewater area at various miltiary bases. I mentioned the Sand Pool (you should be hearing a crescendo of the Small World chorus now!) at Fort Eustis in Newport News and don't you know, we were both sunbathing on its sandy shores in the 1970's! Heck, it is entirely possible that we stood in line next to each other waiting to go up the ladder for the high dive! I mean really...35 years and roughly 3000 miles later, we were sharing lunch and memories.
Lunch went by far too quickly, but the good news is they live right up the street. Small world huh?
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