Time to Change

While the U.S.A flew forward a few weeks ago - here in France we decide to jump ahead and join you this weekend.

Tonight while lying in bed I looked up at 8:45 and saw it was just begining to seem dark.

I am so excited for the long never ending days. Cool summer evenings of sitting on cafe terraces, strolling through parks, or relaxing by the seine.



Hip Hip Horray! It's time for a time and season change!

Living and Loving in the City of Lovin

Living in the city of loooooove- you see it all around (l-o-v-e that is), and as spring comes jumping into action you see all the “lovely” couples just eager to flock back out into the gardens and parks of Paris to savor their love in the warm sunshine. Not to mention the influx of tourists that will appear to take a kissing headshot in every monument around the city. Yes I will stop and take a picture for you. No you will not be in it, if you start making out.

So as the flowers begin to bloom, birds start to sing in the air, what makes people go crazy after one eye gazing stare. What can take a usually normal sane being and after a brief chat, smile across a crowded room, or first date- make people totally lose their minds and wonder what the heck is going to happen next? And while you feel completely bizerk (yes I made this word up) people tell you it’s completely normal. I am pretty sure over analyzing ever single moment, several times, is not “completely” normal. But while you maybe going internally insane between first encounters and first phone calls, you are completely elated once you hear the voice of the anticipated pursuer actually DOES call. And filled with hope of where it will go from here…

Whenever I talk to anyone from home who I haven’t talked to since I pretty much left, one of the first questions they ask is, “So… have you met anyone yet?” (Which to be fair is a fully understandable question, it’s more of the expectation of romance due to Paris I am emphasizing on.) Prior to moving, pretty much every person (minus two people who refuse to let me live here forever) claimed my future as the typical Hollywood blockbuster love story to happen. I am so sorry to disappoint each person thus far on my venture. Cause really, I am pretty sure no one would be more excited than ME ME ME ME ME for that to actually be true.

One friend of mine has gone so far as to take bets with me. I love betting on my love life. It’s quite comical. Anyways… she is 100% certain it’s going to happen. The whole love story: Meet cute , fall in love, married, babies, “Katie a Married Parisian for life.” I am totally not against it. But I do live my reality here – and she lives the hope of the dream for me. I am thankful for that. So, whenever I comment on how I have met a cute guy, passed one on the street, or something to that degree, her quick response, “I knew it! I am going to win this bet!” Whoa… hold on Charlie… Let’s get an actual first date before we set the wedding date.

The funniest part is, this isn’t even just a foretelling from friends from home thing. It’s like in your mid-twenties if it’s not on your mind constantly; then others will put it there with a fresh dose of false hope as a free tote to go with your singleness. Whenever I travel and visit our staff in the Middle East, they tell me of all the people who have gotten married after visiting them. “Stephanie came to visit us, and she got married after wards, this always happens when people stay with us, you will see (wink wink).” “Jeni was great she came, and now she’s married, it’s cause she came to see us.” “Oh Alice, she was with us, and then she went home and quickly married, we are good luck.” Well, I cannot refute these stories are true, Stephanie, Jeni, and Alice are all married. I’ll be sure to take some of your love soil back with me in my carry on and sprinkle it around for good luck each night before I go to bed, or out with friends at night. I will be sure to send you the results once I marry.

I cannot deny. I am a sucker for love and boys. I am happy to be single at this moment. And, I love seeing happy couples all around the city. It reminds me that there is hope for all of us singles out there. Most see couples as annoying or a reminder of their singleness, and at times I will admit to having those thoughts and feelings too. But somehow here in Paris, minus the metro make out scenes, I appreciate people being in love and the reminder that no matter where you are in the world, there is love everywhere.

And hey… if people want to dream the dream for me, I mine as well let them, I’ll take all the wishful thinking people can give me. But – I am not just looking for good wishful thinking; I’ve got to keep a look out for the real deal here. And I mean, who’s to say, maybe someday after the first look, and the first encounter, I’ll have my first set of anxiety before receiving, the first phone call, and even… the first date.

The Striking Game

The common joke you hear is that Striking is the French National Sport. Like American’s national sport is Baseball, Striking is something perfected by the French. They all rally together and support one another through this bonding experience.

And when I say perfected- I mean… they have learned to work the system amazingly. See when I first arrived, there weren’t too many strikes and then suddenly there were strikes all of the time. Then they stopped. Well this week there is a strike once again on the metro lines. And I figured out the genius-ness of the Frenchies striking system. They may have fooled me the first year, but I figured out the catalyst for their striking season.

Now while, most would say that they are striking over bad pay, change in political leadership, you know… common reasons to strike. I would argue the Frenchies are really striking subconsciously to get out into the sunshine.

You see we have recently had a change in weather making lots of nice “no need to wear a coat,” sunny days; after a very long and cold winter. In the winter, I never heard of strikes taking place. Because seriously who wants to stand outside when is raining, snowing, or just gosh darn cold. No one. Exactly. They would rather stay contently inside, suffering whatever it is they will strike once the sun comes out.

So yes, I would now agree that like Baseball is to Americans, Striking is too the French. Because when the warm weather comes around, they all meet together outside to enjoy the warm sunshine, play some games, and enjoy the beautiful day. So to help the Frenchies up a notch making their striking a bit more like the American sport I have made them their very own rendition to “Take me out to the Ball Game”
You know… for when they take their 7th hour Kir, Stretch.

Take me out to the sunshine
Take me out to the signs
Buy me some cheese and some good baguettes
I don’t care if I ever go back
Cause it’s root root root for the sunshine
If the clouds come back it’s a shame
Cause it’s Une, Deux, Trois STRIKES till your tan
At the Old Striking Game!

Battle of the Dishes

Last night after dinner, Madamoiselle Facebook did her job of taking our two bowls and placing them in the dishwasher. Bravo! I was quite impressed by her initiative training of chores even while her parents are away.

However... In the sink were three coffee mugs. Her three coffee mugs that had been left in my car the last few days. I did her the favor of carrying them into the house, but then placed them in the sink knowing she would be loading the dishwasher later. (yes as a test- shame. on. me.)

After the tough work or loading the two bowls into the automated cleaner, I saw the cups in three cups still sitting perched standing in the sink- calling out to be cleaned. Here is what went down...

Nagging Adult (me)- So! Do you think those cups can go in the dishwasher?

Madamoiselle Facebook- (very puzzled look on her face) ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ummm ummmmmm.

Nagging Adult- I think it will be okay...

Madamoiselle Facebook: ummmm ummmm ummmmmm

Nagging Adult- Try it. I promise all the things left in the sink at the end of the day will be okay to put in the dishwasher. Let's see what happens when we try.

Madamoiselle Facebook: Uh... shruggs. Okay.

I think we are making progress! What do you think ?

The Facebook Generation

I have a 14 year old girl staying with me for the next two weeks. This should be interesting. I have always known she had a particular love for being on Facebook, but today's conversation gave me a whole new insight.

Setting: Leaving a Saint Patrick's Gouter (Cookies, cake, coffee)

Me (aka- an offical Adult now): Are you sure you want to leave, we can stay a bit longer so you can hangout with Jenny and Annie?

Mademoiselle Facebook: (shruggs her shoulders) Nah, I need to get back to my social life.

Offical Adult: (Puzzled) But... that's why I was offering for you to stay and hangout with them.

Mademoiselle Facebook: I mean facebook.

Official Adult: Oh... gotcha.

Mademoiselle Facebook: They are real people on there. I don't get why my parents, I mean adults (looks at me) don't understand that Facebook is full of real people.

Official Adult: No... I know their real, just not live.

Mademoiselle Facebook: Sure they are- we instant chat.

And the winner is:

Baby Boom!

I love my life right now. So why is it, that everytime I open my facebook the panic of the ticking clock begins to set in. Tic Tic Toc goes the clock. Like the rabbit from Alice and Wonderland I am left running in a panicking hurry looking at my watch and not at my beautiful scenery screaming “I’m late! I’m late! I’m Late!” Well… I am not as late as some… which just might be the problem.

Everyone is pregnant! And those who aren’t - probably just had a baby, or don’t yet know that they really are prego. I am overjoyed at each announcement I receive from a friend that they are getting married or having a baby. Individually I think they are absolutely fantastic, the best thing to happen for my friends, and ecstatic for their blessings in life.

But… when I open my facebook and each picture staring back at me is a photo of a new born baby, wedding gown pictures, or a status update of cute baby Jill- the panic button is pressed. How is it, that I can be so easily manipulated into forgetting all the great things I have going on in my life at this moment; and obnoxiously believe that I am fully missing out- and running out of time to ever have, what they already do?

I logically fully know and acutely aware that I am no where prepared or wanting to have a bun in this oven. I am happy that it’s my friends having the babies and me who gets to celebrate with them, and not be in the room pushing. But what makes me feel pushed to be headed towards mommyville?

I think part of it, is because I am so far away from that even being an option in my life. I mean heck- I am a missionary living in France. It’s not like I am going out of fabulous dates every Friday and Saturday night. The closest I ever get to a boy here- is the boy who sells me my produce on Sundays. But my how I do look forward to my weekly Market Boy.

It’s funny- being in the most romantic city in the world all alone. I don’t actually every feel it- the city itself inspires all the love one can feel in life. It’s the Page Six of my Facebook that tells me I am behind in the life schedule of all my other friends that makes the uneasiness settle in.

So… when the panic arrives, I just have to take a look at my surroundings and remember how unbelievably blessed I am. And the fortunate life that I get to live. That just because love and family is not happening for me at this moment, doesn’t mean it won’t ever be. And to enjoy this moment, cause it’s the one I’ve been given, and who’s to say what else will come in the road up ahead. This time isn’t forever- it’s a special time, a time for me. And one day someday sooner than I probably realize- I will have a slobbering baby profile pic too.

McDonaldization

The common plea around the American’s I work with is there is a KFC and a Pizzahut the two sister companies of Taco Bell- but why No TACO BELL in France??? Nous Voulons taco bell. It is a mystery to us all and one that leaves are stomachs always longing for those gooey Chessey Gordia Crunches. After writing that- maybe it’s the fake cheese the Frenchies are against, but oh how I love that cheese piled on my Nachos bell grande- with a fountain Pepsi. Ahhh there’s really nothing else like it.



As much as I would love a Taco Bell here in France, I have to admit- though delicious, I applaud France for not taking on Taco Bell (but really it’s their loss). I came to this conclusion after my last travel in the Middle East. Neither Lebanon nor Jordan had a Taco Bell but their selection of “American” restaurants was far far far greater than what you would find here in France.



There were the common exported restaurants such as McDonalds, KFC, Dominos, and my personal favorite, Starbucks!



But then there were many more that I felt oddly strange to see in the Middle East: Apple Bee’s? TGIFridays? And most eye popping was Fudruckers! What the Fudruckers? Are you kidding me? This is my Dad’s favorite restaurant, and Fudruckers isn’t even all too common where I live, and here it sits- in Amman Jordan.



The tragedy of this, is there is such great food to be found in the Middle East. And LOTS of it. Every meal our hosts stuffed us to the brim. At one point there were 35 plates of food on the table. Our first night as appetizers were being served, I thought, “this sure does put the appetizer platter at AppleBee’s and TGIFridays to shame!”



While in the Middle East I greatly enjoyed the idea I could just go and grab a Crispy Crème, or any other American fave of mine- I just couldn’t make it fit in my mind that it was okay to go for a Whopper rather than a Schwarma.

Me in front of Reem the rated #1 Schwarma stand in the Middle East via the NY Times.

Oh wait! This is actually Reem. The Red Stand, two stands down from the Blue one. I Can't believe I did read the sign.

I greatly appreciate that France is an advocate for fighting against the McDonaldization of their food preferences. While I may miss my Taco Bell- I know that when I return my Taco’s will still be waiting but that while I am in France, Jordan, or Lebanon- I want to enjoy the food of that place and what fresh seasonings and ingredients have to offer. Though many would disagree and would like their American options- I am happy I don’t have them- but have the fun of exploring what the Frenchies have to provide. For now, I am perfectly content with thinking within the Baguette!