July 4th Revisited

I wrote this article on the 4th of July, 2009 during what was to be my first and last year in France and decided it was a good day to reprint it.  It's amazing to me that this is my 5th Independence Day as a resident of France. Apparently the coffee klatch is not over! Today, we watched the 6th leg of the Tour de France depart from Aix en Provence and it's an exciting day. I thanked all the French people around me for organizing such a fun party just for us Americans. And tonight I'm making burgers on the grill for a few of us expats, who, though we've chosen to leave our country for various reasons,  still consider her number one in our hearts. Happy Independence Day Americans. And as my cousin Joe reminded me, the French were instrumental in our victory so long ago. So it's my turn to say, thank you France.

I have spent many important days away from my home base. I have missed family birthdays, I have been absent for the birth of friends’ babies, and the funerals of loved ones. I have spent Christmas in the Caribbean, Easter in England, and Thanksgiving in Canada.  Being away at such times is never easy.

But as I was contemplating what to do on Saturday, I realized that I have never in my entire life spent the 4^th of July outside of my own country. And when you’re not in the U.S. on this particular day, you really celebrate alone.

Generally on the 4^th of July, I spend the weekend with family at my mother’s cabin in Northern Wisconsin, or I spend it camping with close friends. Either way, it involves food, beverage, chatter, camaraderie, fireworks and a day off work.  Not always however, has it involved much reflection. I mean, let’s face it. We all sometimes tend to take for granted what we have and how we came to get it.

So on this day, as I made an arrangement of white flowers in a blue Provencal pitcher and stuck my tiny American flag in it, I thought about my country, which I have chosen to leave for awhile, and what I love about it and what others love (or don’t love) about it.

The French love to TALK about everything and everywhere you go you hear them discussing politics, religion, art, music and philosophy. This is one of the things I find charming about them and also something I find very frustrating at times. However, the subject of my country has come up often and I am always curious to hear their thoughts even if I don’t agree with everything that is said. There is always value in discourse, isn’t there?

Of course there are criticisms of the U.S., some valid and some more a result of the caricature of the United States built on the back of American films, television and media coverage.

The general criticism of my country is its arrogance. The way America and Americans often seem to think that no matter where we are in the world, it belongs to us.

We are sometimes referred to (not kindly) as “les gendarmes du la monde” or policemen of the world.

They think we are a consuming monster much of the time (And we are. I am continually amazed by the way people here manage with tiny cars, smaller homes, less land, fewer belongings and clothes and how they have succeeded in incorporating so many energy saving tricks in their daily lives).

Some think we’re bossy, egotistical, warmongering and secluded and uninformed about the rest of the world.

All of these criticisms hold some grain of truth…some more than others (as do our criticisms of the French) but that’s not what I want to write about. That's another article. Today I want to think about what is loved about where I come from.

So what do they love about us? In fact, they love a lot of things, even if they don’t always admit it (a French friend of mine says they’re just jealous). They love our spirit and our exuberance and attitude that all things are possible. They are thankful for our strength (on D-Day a French friend called me just to say thank you) and they love our inventiveness and our entrepreneurship.

Another French friend of mine likened his country and the rest of Europe to “an elderly person”. I, in turn, compared my country to a teenager. Those of you who have had teenagers (at least teenage boys, which are my only experience) know of what I speak. They eat all the time, they take long, water and heat consuming showers, they sleep too long, stay up too late, they bounce off the walls and trip over their own feet. They are egocentric and not always very cognizant of how their actions affect others and what kind of havoc they can cause in their wake.  They are always right. They have a short history and though on the verge of adulthood, they don’t always have the wisdom of years. 

On the other hand, they are excited about something all the time, they are full of ideas and hope, they are sure they can accomplish all of their grandiose ideas, no matter how off the wall they might seem. No is not a word they seem to understand nor is “you can’t do that” or ” that’s not possible”. They are physically strong and are still not really sure of the best way to use that power. But they have faith that their future is promising and bright. They are both charming and hateful but completely lovable.

I have come from a country that is still experiencing its teens. With all the charms and foibles that accompany those burgeoning years. And right now I’m visiting an elderly neighbor. You know the one…. you love to visit her home and share coffee and a pastry. You chat and listen to the stories of days gone by and look at her collections of old, beautiful things. You love to hear about what she’s learned through the years and you hope to gain wisdom from her mistakes and her triumphs. You listen patiently (but you’re slightly annoyed) as she explains how things used to be and how uncultured today’s generation is. You agree in many ways but you also know that today’s generation has it’s own wonderful and unique qualities that you wouldn’t trade for anything. You nod your head and smile because she is delightful and wise in many ways, in spite of  some of her exasperating opinions.

But sometimes, she just spends a lot of time complaining about almost everything, seems a little resigned to the way things have turned out and she talks a lot but doesn’t seem to get much done.

So I’m still having coffee at the neighbor’s. I’m having a lovely time and enjoying every minute of it and our conversation is not over yet. But the life that I know, back in the good, old US of A, is still the one I will return to…after the coffee klatch is over. And when that time comes, it will be good to be home.

                                                        

Merde Revisited

The most wonderful little thing happened yesterday. I just have to share it. But I'll have to back up a little first, to a remnant of a not-so-wonderful and not-so-little thing. I'll try to be brief so I can get to the good part. Bear with me.


It's been 4 years and 2 months since my ex-pectorant moved out in order to "figure out what was going on in his head". It's been 4 years and 1 month since I figured out he wasn't coming back. It's been a few weeks less than that that since I found out he had been sleeping with his saxophone player (and a friend of mine) for at least 6 months. It's been one week less than that is since I filed for divorce. It's been 4 years since I found most of the bank accounts, the retirement funds, the kids' college funds and my inheritance were gone.


Needless to say. In the months following, I was a train wreck. Really. 

I was despondent. At the same time that I had a legion of great people surrounding me and helping me along, I felt so alone. I truly thought that I might never feel like myself again. But as with all things...time healed. Not only that, I found out that, in fact, I hadn't been myself for 25 years. And the real me came back...with a vengeance. And I had forgotten how much I liked her!

So enough of that story. I just needed to set the stage.  On to the cool thing.

Yesterday, as I was studying my imperfect French verb conjugations,  a reminder popped up on my Blackberry (a workhorse telephone that I've had for at least 3 1/2 years). You know, the kind of message that you put in to remind yourself of a birthday or an appointment.  The message said,

"Meet with Jennie for a laughing session about life's shit four 4 years before"

Apparently, my darling little sister had put this message in my phone  3 years ago, probably right after the divorce, and dated it for yesterday. Because she KNEW I'd be okay. And she KNEW that I was already returning to my former, former self. And because she's my darling little sister.

I began to laugh. I mean REALLY laugh. And I called her right away. And we laughed together. About life's shit 4 years before. About how much better than just "okay" I am now. And what good fertilizer shit really is.

Tuning In

I began blogging (do you suppose that is now an actual verb in the dictionary?) in January of this year. I was scared of the idea, wary of making my life so public, reluctant to make a commitment and worried that no one would care. But as with many things that frighten me, I did it anyway. And as with so many other things, like skydiving, having babies, working on commission, and moving to France (and oh so many more), the THING that scared the wits out of me, in the end presented me with unexpected rewards.

One of the many rewards of writing this blog and one which I never imagined, is the people I have met in the process. People who have somehow stumbled upon my blog or vice versa and have become regular readers and now, people I truly consider friends. I read about their lives, their thoughts, their art, their business, their whatever, and I feel as if we could meet for coffee every Monday morning and have a wee of a time!

 

There are so many of you and I think you know who you are. But one I want to mention today (because...yes....this is sort of a shameless plug) is Michelle Craft who writes Manifesting. Michelle ended up on my blog and I on hers through a mutual friend. She is a teacher...a guide...for the idea of manifesting your life and the things you want in your life. If any of you have ever read the book The Secret, it's basically that idea.

And that idea is, your destiny is in your hands but you must expect it...want it...ask for it...and visualize it. The idea is not new to me. This has always been basically my philosophy but often, and at different periods in my life, I've "fallen off the wagon".  And although I didn't see it during those times, afterwards it was very clear that my mind and my self-talk had directed me down a much darker road than was necessary.

Several years ago,  just after my ex-pectorant took off,  I was really very sick in both mind and body. At the time, I cleaned a small, private gym on Saturdays, for the opportunity to have a private work-out twice each week with a wonderful trainer named Kim. Kim turned out not to be just a trainer of my body but a sort of spiritual teacher for my cloudy mind. One day as she was pushing me to lift a few more pounds and we were talking (okay, I was whining),  I expressed, once again, my fear of the day (there were so many). The ex-pec had made off with all the cash and I was frightened of how I was going to make ends meet.  I lived in the dark with one light on because I was afraid I wouldn't have the money (and I had no job) to pay the light bill. Kim finally said to me "if you live as if you have nothing, you will have nothing. You need to live as if you have everything you need and it will come to you".

I know that sounds so simple...perhaps too simple...but when she said that to me, the switch turned back on. It was something I already knew but I had forgotten to live it. And at that moment, one which I will never forget, my life began to turn around. No, I didn't win a million dollars and go sailing off into the sunset. But a new job fell in my lap. I unexpectedly found renters to live in my extra bedrooms and catch me up on cash. I began the process of dating again (now there's something scary) and discovered that, in fact, I had lost the real me for many years and the old Delana could and would rise up from the ashes (oh my...how dramatic is that?).  And....eventually, the new/old Delana, decided that she wanted to move to France.

All this personal nonsense aside and back to the subject at hand, Michelle has also become a sort of trainer for my mind. I read her posts and she helps me stay on track. I ask her questions and sometimes challenge something she has said. And now I consider her a friend. How great is that?

Michelle hosts a radio show and has asked me, along with the friend that introduced us (an old high school classmate), to be her guests for today's segment. I consider this an honor. So here's the shameless plug:  The show is Tuesday, June 8 (today) at 8 pm French time and 1pm central time. You can follow the link here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/uvisualeyes

If you can't catch the show live, I believe you can listen at a later time by clicking on the link to previous shows. We'll see what happens.  It's scary... but not as scary as dating or having babies, and though it makes me a little nervous, I'm going to do it anyway!  

 

Small

This article was first published in the Wittenberg Enterprise a year ago. I know it's not "good form" to continue publishing old articles but in fact they tell the story of my first year here in Aix en Provence and though there are some who have already read this, many have not. So my apologies...but you're stuck with them...at least on Mondays!

My jeans are resting comfortably on the drying rack after a lovely dip in the warm waters of my teensy, weensy washing machine. They are relaxing their weary seams and positively chuckling at their final good fortune. I fully expect them to jump up and dance as if they had the starring role in a fabric softener commercial. They were so weary and dirty after their very long journey…as was I. And when they’re dry (dryers are practically non-existent here) we will dance and laugh together. Because look at where we are!

I arrived in my new city, Aix en Provence, two days late because of the foot of snow that hit the entire Mediterranean coast. So…. I’ve just left a perfectly nasty Wisconsin winter to arrive in..... a perfectly nasty Mediterranean winter? I’m thinking perhaps I didn’t research my final destination very well!

However, as it turned out, this phenomenon hasn't happened in decades and thus they are ill prepared. The runways were finally cleared after a day and a half…. okay, cleared is the wrong word; they were rendered passable. (They actually looked just like our driveway used to when it was my husband’s turn to shovel. A couple of clean paths from the garage to the street, perfectly spaced the width of the chassis and wide enough for the tires.) This monumental job was accomplished with bucket loaders borrowed from construction sites all over the city and travel commenced, if not in a timely fashion. However, my bags did not arrive, and me, my jeans and my cowboy boots had to learn to live in harmony in spite of our growing mutual aversion to each other…. for another 5 days!  My feet were perpetually wet for 6 full days and this can never be a good thing!

My landlord, Liliane, is a lovely,

Kick Him to the Curb

I couldn’t suppress the giggle as I put the finishing touches on my Thrift Sale advertisement and the giggle erupted into a full-fledged belly laugh as I re-read the copy.

“Threw my husband to the curb and now I’m selling his stuff”.  I do believe I’m a marketing genius! This is not just any advertisement. This is the title page to the next chapter of my life!

It is May 2008 and I have been officially divorced for 8 months… now separated from my ex-husband for almost 2 years. Twenty-five years is a very long time to invest in another person and the life you build together. It's a very long time from the dating/mating dance to birthing and raising babies, from struggles with teenagers and his alcoholism ... to, ultimately, infidelity, abandonment, and divorce.

Anybody who has been through a similar situation understands the excruciating pain, both physical and mental that such a situation causes. It invades your waking moments and saps your strength and your health. It creeps into and hijacks your dreams…a place where you once felt safe. It mugs you, by surprise and in the dark, and you wonder if you’ll ever be yourself again and not the victim of what feels like a violent crime. It causes you to question everything you have always known to be true and to wonder if truth, in fact, really exists at all.

Yes, 25 years is a very long time… on the other hand, 25 years is not all that long. If we live to be a hundred, it's only a quarter of our life… Yikes! A quarter of my life! If you add that to the first quarter, that means half of my life is gone and we’re still working on the premise that I’ll actually get to that 100-year-old mark. I’ve got to get over this nonsense because I’m sure that girl I left 25 years ago is still in there somewhere and she’s got a life to lead!

The Gift

Two years ago, during a telephone conversation with a friend that involved a lot of discussion about the twists and turns both of our lives had taken during the previous year, he said, in frustration, “Screw it…let’s just move to France!” Yeah, wouldn’t that be great? We’ll begin every day with a tiny cup of espresso and a croissant, we’ll finish each glorious day with a bottle of Bordeaux and some fabulous stinky cheese and bask in the absolute beauty of the language that will land on our ears like music. We will spend our days exploring the countryside, learning the history and reveling in our good fortune. We will……we will….we will…..! Don’t you just love a good pipe dream?

Our conversational game was very similar to another familiar sport we all play called “What Would I Do If I Won the Lottery?”. 

This morning I opened my terrace doors to find, once again, the amazing blue of the Mediterranean sky and sat down to a tiny cup of espresso and a baguette (no, not a croissant…too many of those and the terrace won’t hold me). Last night I finished the glorious day with a bottle of Cotes du Rhone (not Bordeaux tonight) and a bit of Camembert as I listened to the passers-by below my window speaking in one of the world’s most delicious languages.

My friend remains in Minnesota, his life still twisting and turning, as lives tend to do. But I am here….YES, I AM HERE!.... in a city in the south of France called Aix en Provence. Living the pipe dream…on a shoestring… but living it nonetheless.  

I have always said that I am the luckiest person alive and always have been. I just keep getting presents; some beautifully wrapped in heavy paper with intricate bows and decorations, some wrapped in the comic section of the Sunday newspaper, and some wrapped in some smelly piece of paper that likely stored fish or liver and has come out of a dumpster that’s been sitting in the sun for at least a week. But all are gifts nonetheless. They just have to be unwrapped with a certain expectation. This is what I’ve learned.  

This dream began with one of those aforementioned gifts wrapped in putrid paper from the dumpster. It smelled of disappointment, broken promises, angst and anger. It was slimy and greasy and it held no promise of being anything good. But I opened it…because, heck, who doesn’t want a present? 

And now we get to continue opening it together.