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.

                                                        

Fair Lay Vah Lees

I'm doing the last minute mad dash to get ready to go the United States for the holidays. I was hoping to be starting another home refurbishing project while there, but it looks like it's not to be. No worries.  I'll just enjoy the holidays with my family and friends and try not to be too conspicious as I park myself at the home of this person or that during the 2 months. Most of my time is spent at my sister and brother-in-law's home. My poor brother-in-law. I am quite sure he didn't sign on to have a sister-in-law who visits twice a year and seems to stay…and stay….and stay!

As I was packing and cleaning yesterday, I found a little post-it note in the suitcase that I used for this same journey a year ago. I'm not sure why I saved it but it cracked me up when I found it.

At the time, while staying with my sis, I was expecting a call from France. From somebody who did not speak English. I needed to go out and knew I wouldn't be there to take the call. The idea of answering a phone call in French raises panic around those parts so I posted a note by the telephone to help out whomever should answer the phone.

Here's the note.

No this is not Hungarian, Sundanese or even Pig Latin. This is apparently my version of phonetic spelling.

In real French it would go like this: 

Elle n'est pas ici en ce moment. Elle fait le shopping avec ses enfants. Elle va revenir vers cinque heure.

Translated this simply means:

 "She isn't here at the moment. She's shopping with her kids. She'll be back around 5 o'clock".

It seemed so simple. In reality it was not and no usable information was passed between the two parties. I guess I need to work on my phonetic spelling.

This year, Jennie, I promise no phone calls and no home improvement projects. And Dan, I'll try to not hang my drying underwear all over the bathroom. And I will cook Thanksgiving dinner in its entirety (my first Thanksgiving home since 2008!).

Your sister ay tray um-pah-see-ahnt duh reh-veh-neer shay voo.

P.S. Provence Rugs will be offering free shipping from November 23rd until Christmas Day. Our new Brocante items will be on the site starting tomorrow. Yippee!

hint

Cuisine Americaine??

I've been asked to cook an American meal for French friends. I'm terrified. I mean, I've lived alone for the past 5 years and practically alone for the 5 years before that. I'm not sure I even remember how to cook! And I don't have all my wonderful, top-of-the-line cooking equipment surrounding me and ....and....and...

Okay, I can do this. I know I can. So then comes the problem of what to cook that is all-American. This poses some serious dilemmas. I actually asked this question on facebook last night and got all sorts of suggestions ranging from hot dogs and hamburgers and fries to meat loaf and pot roast and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. The problem is, I am having a difficult time finding something that would be truly American.


We're all immigrants...mutts (save the native American population) and our traditional foods all seem to come from somewhere else.  Pot roast is basically French Pot au Feu. Hot dogs are originally German. French fries are Belgian.  Beef stroganoff was a suggestion but that is Russian. I thought meatloaf might be a nice idea but it comes from Germany and Belgium. A grilled ribeye steak could work, but I think our meat here in no way compares to steak back home and besides, I have yet to master barbecuing any type of meat (see more about that here). Tater tot hot dish came up as well but if I remember correctly, that's made with creme of something soup and we don't have that here in France. And I just CAN'T do that. Nor can I subject the French to the world's greatest hangover food, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese...even though I have 3 boxes stashed just in case!


For dessert I thought of my old staple, carrot cake. This is Swedish.  Perhaps Apple Crisp...but this is more or less British Apple Crumble. I could try apple pie but I know it would be too sweet for them. Bread pudding maybe? Nope, seems every country has that! Jello? Oh god, no! And besides, I can't get that here either.


You see my problem?


So this is what I've come up with:

                                                 

Grilled Barbecue pork ribs with a nice, slightly piquant BBQ sauce (the French have very sensitive taste buds). Barbecue and BBQ sauce seems to be  genuinely red, white and blue.

Potato Salad and/ or coleslaw (neither are really American but we've put our own, unique spin on them)

Garlic bread with lots of butter. Nobody puts butter on their bread here except if it's for breakfast.

Chocolate chip/peanut butter cookies, although I reserve the right to sic 'em with apple pie and ice cream.

My last problem is an entrée (appetizer). Anybody have any suggestions? I'm thinking nacho chips and guacamole. Did you know the avocado originates in the Americas?


I will take photos of the grand event and comments from my French guinea pigs. Even if I and my meal fall flat on our respective faces, this has got to be worth a laugh. Doesn't it???????

Happy Tahnkzgeeveen

Today is Thanksgiving... in the United States. It's not like Christmas, or Easter, or even Armistice Day because it's a celebration unique to North Americans. Because of that, it's a lonely day in these parts. And I couldn't scare up a soul last night on email, skype or facebook; everybody was busy with their preparations. At times like these, I have to continually remind myself that it was my choice. 

When I was a child, I hated Thanksgiving. It was a boring holiday where friends disappeared from view and the ONLY thing to do was watch a parade on TV in the morning and then EAT. To make it worse we were usually relegated to the "children's table" which never pleased me. Especially when we were with relatives whose children were as boring as a boiled turkey.  We always got the card table, a rickety affair that threatened to buckle under the weight of the food and the benign conversation. Oh, how I hated the "kid's table"; adult conversation was far more interesting. Afterwards, the women would clean up, the men would sit around in a half-stupor, and I'd have to find something to do with those same, boring kids. Yawn. And just when I thought it was all going to come to a thankful end, the women would start reheating food and it was time to eat again. 


Fast forward to adulthood as a mom with children. I LOVED Thanksgiving. It became a holiday that we shared with not only family, but neighbors, friends and anyone else that just had nowhere to go. It always did my heart good to have the people that I cared about around my table (or tables as the case often was). As an adult, I came to understand what "thankful" really meant. 

We began the tradition of playing the "Turkey Bowl" in the neighborhood, a football game that involved each and every person and some we imported from other neighborhoods. Those that didn't want to play, took their places on the sidelines with a glass of wine or a cosmo and took up the serious job of cheering. Whenever the suggestion was made that this year we might possibly go elsewhere for Thanksgiving, my kids and all the neighbor kids dug in their heals. "We can't miss the Turkey Bowl!"   


When I left my old life, leaving my Thanksgiving tradition was probably the most difficult thing. But it doesn't mean I'm not thankful. And as I imagine my family and friends around their tables this year...


I'm thankful for my health and my still-imagined youth.


I'm thankful for the 2 creatures born of me that have become such interesting and wonderful men.


I'm thankful for the opportunity to make choices in my life. Even if they sometimes make me feel sad.


I'm thankful for the blue sky in Provence and the brilliant, crispness of Minnesota winters.


I'm thankful for the gift of observation and the realization that it's a gift.


I'm thankful for peanut butter, fois gras and good red wine.


I'm thankful for a lifetime of the best memories ever. And the continued ability to remember them!


I'm thankful for a peaceful, exceptional childhood.


I'm thankful to have sweet memories of my gentle father, a mom who still kicks my ass from time to time, and a sister who is my best friend.


I'm thankful for the internet which allows me to remain close to those I love.


I'm thankful for those who have been my family whenever I've had to be away from my family of birth.


I'm thankful for lifelong friends who are always there in spite of distance and change of circumstance.


And I'm thankful for the promise of the future. Whatever it may bring.


Thanksgiving is a moment to push away those things that threaten to consume us...the negative things...and take a moment to thank whomever it is we choose to thank for all that has made our lives good. Past, present and future.


Today, as I was getting an insurance estimate for my new car, I was told I need an attestation that I've been previously insured in my country. I replied that I might not be able to get it until next week because today is a big celebration in my country and nobody is working.  The insurance agent smile and said, "Yes, that's true. Today is the Tahnkz-gee-veen".  At that moment, just having somebody here know that it's Thanksgiving, gave me a little turkey buzz!


So, Happy Tahnkz-gee-veen to all, wherever you may be.  We all need a day to count our blessings and I, for one, am thankful for you all.

Desperately Seeking Solutions

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am an expatriate American living in the south of France. I have been meaning to write to you for the past 2 years but this morning I used up my last roll of Glad Press-n-Seal and this loss has moved me forward.

It is astounding to me that a country like France continues to struggle with unusable, antiquated plastic wrap. I am continually watching people fight, contort, cajole, and often finally give up when trying to cover their leftovers .  Their defeat often leaves refrigerators smelling like cheese. The cheese here is divine…..it tastes like a dream but it smells like a nightmare! What is so amazing to me is that a superior product has been invented. Why do the French people continue to suffer?

Those of us Americans who live here always make sure to return with several roles of this magic. I have given it as gifts to my French friends and have found that demonstrating its efficacy is a great party game!

I may sound light-hearted but, in fact, I’m dead serious. I propose that you begin marketing your Press-n-Seal products here in France. This is your opportunity to open a new market as well as save a nation.

Of course, I would like to be the person to help you. With my background in marketing and my passable French, together we could bring this country out of the depths of despair. A mercy mission with monetary rewards. A “Keep It Fresh” D-Day if you will.

I look forward to hearing your response. We are suffering.

Deepest Respect,

Yes, I really did send this. Perhaps I have too much time on my hands!

An Autonomist...With Good Intentions

Now it could have been previously mentioned whacked-out hormonal issues, but nonetheless, my mom's words cut me deeply. We were having a conversation on skype and I mentioned that I may take the opportunity to move into a really kick-ass apartment. An apartment that I could live in for a great price in exchange for overseeing it's remodeling, designing the kitchen, painting and sewing. I also mentioned that I was thinking of having the rest of my things (those that I just couldn't part with and didn't sell at my giant, pre-moving garage sale) shipped over here because they would work so perfectly in my new palace.


Apparently these remarks were like the last crank of a can opener before the lid is finally freed. Mom popped her lid.

Now please understand, this is not a rant against my mom. I'm a mother too and I know where she is coming from. But I've decided to write about this (it's been a month since our conversation and we're both calmer) because these types of things are a very real part of what may sometimes seem like the "fairytale" life of someone who has chosen to become an ex-patriot and leave their country of birth.


My mother, as she was ironing her clothes in preparation for a trip with my sister (the only child she now has left), proceeded to let go on me. So, when am I planning on coming back? It was only supposed to be for one year. Am I ever planning on coming back? My boys need me. Oh YES, they do!  I'm close to becoming a persona non grata and am not such a hot daughter, etc...etc. (please keep in mind that this is what I heard...it may not have been actually what she said. I suffer from more than a little guilt). The worst part was, as she was furiously pressing her pants, she told me that she had a whole lot more to say but was holding it back for fear of burning bridges. She did finish by saying "Delana will do what Delana wants to do".


I was stunned. I tried to defend myself. I protested that the boys were grown up and didn't need me all that much. I pointed out that she had moved away from her family. In the end, I excused myself and said I had to go. And as soon as I pushed the little red button that ended the call, I cried.


Not a few tears. Not a gentle, princess weeping. It was the can't-get-air-gasping-face-all-blotchy-eye-swelling-gross-bawling kind of crying.


I called my sister immediately, not seeking redemption (or tattling on my mom) but  asking for her honest opinion on the choices that I've made. And she told me what she thought as well. In a gentler fashion.


This weighed on me heavily for days. I vacillated between feeling like a horrible villain to naughty little girl;  a selfish, uncaring mother to a teenager just plain pissed off at how completely unfair parents can be and how they never let us do what we want!


But mostly, I was worried about my boys. The way my mom had talked, I felt she knew something about them and their lives that I didn't know.  Were they alright? Was something happening in their lives that they weren't telling me about because I'm just too far away? Had I really abandoned them, leaving them motherless and cast adrift? Was I just being a selfish wench who doesn't even deserve the wonderful family I've been so lucky to be blessed with?


I finally got a chance to talk to the boys over the next couple of days. I spoke with the youngest  on facebook and briefly explained the situation and asked him if he thought I was behaving like a bad mom. His lightening fast, initial response had me on my knees in laughter.


Colin:  I think a bad daughter is someone who pawns their mother's precious moments dolls for a couple of weeks stay in a motel in Massachusets with a guy named Ray whom she met at a bowling ally.

I'm 23. Ryan's 25. That's a three with a twenty before it.


Delana: I know. Do you think it's more her missing me and trying to come up with a reason to get me home?


Colin:  Like...chhhyeah! Of course. I miss you too. I'm not going to call you a bad mother because I don't think you are. 
You're an autonomist....with good intentions.


He then told me he was going to be completely honest with me...and I waited for a tongue lashing. But instead he proceeded to tell me that he misses me but would miss me if I still lived 3 hours away. Because he doesn't have the time or money to do any visiting and besides, he said, how much did you see your mom when you were our ages?


Colin: I want you to be doing what you want to be doing. I'm proud of you for taking the leap. Although it's not unlike you...as I've heard.


Delana: Are you being completely honest here?


Colin: Honest. So don't let Grandma get you all butthurt over what she thinks Ryan and I feel. Cause it's not true. And don't let anyone make you feel like you're a bad mother because I know, I really know how much you sacrificed for us. And don't get mad a Grandma either. She misses you.


This brings us to one question and two points. The question...what the hell is "butthurt"? The points...I never sacrificed anything. Being a mother isn't about sacrifice, it's about love and I told him so. Point number two...I'm not mad at mom.


I spoke with son number one on the telephone a few days later and he iterated what his brother had already said.  This brings up one more point. I have cool sons. And I was relieved.....sort of.


But this still leaves the issue (guilt) of my mom and my sister. We are 3. That's all. As my sister told me "We miss you. We love you. We want you to come home....when you're ready....but that will be soon, won't it? Mom doesn't want to wait to spend time with you when she's old or sick. She wants you now. And so do I".


There is no nice, neat finish to this story. There is no answer to these questions. These are things that I imagine all expatriates struggle with. The truth is, everything my mom said to me are things that I continually ask myself. And I return to...probably selfishly... Delana will do what Delana wants to do. But she will feel a little guilty about it. Because she knows that in spite of her mother letting it all go on her (on an off moment, probably related to all that ironing she had to do), it's only because her mother loves her....and misses her. And her mother is loved and missed in return.