will WE play in Peoria?

Every time I think I’m starting to get the hang of speaking French… I have a day like today.

                        I had to drive downtown to the train station to buy tickets for an upcoming long weekend in Paris. (and the fetching of some house guests from the airport) I’d been told that they have a window for English speakers. The ticket counter has maybe a dozen agents (well, spots for that many. Not that many were at work at lunchtime. Honestly, I feared the whole thing would shut down for the two hour French lunch break) Anyway, over each agent is a digital sign that says something like “Bienvenue a la gare sncf” then, for some, it changes to say “English spoken.” Pretty handy. I’ve studied how to buy a train ticket in French. And if it was one single simple trip, I could have muddled through it (I think). But this just had too many pitfalls to even attempt it. I was relieved not to have to.

                        So while I’m waiting in line, minding my own English-speaking business, the kind old lady behind me asks me a question. I think she said something about billets (tickets), but I have no idea what. I asked her to repeat herself and when I still had no clue what she was asking, I just fell back on “je ne parles pas bien francais.” She just smiled at me and gave up. Whatever she needed to know wasn’t THAT important, because she didn’t speak to anyone else. It’s like the French government sends in spies to try to hold conversations with non-French speakers… just to remind you that you don’t really fit in.

                        I didn’t let that bug me too much.

                        But then this afternoon my confidence took another blow at Carrefour. Earlier this week when I went (yes, I had to go twice in one week… ) I managed to sign up for the cart fidelite … their version of the frequent shopper card. But this afternoon, that accomplishment was wiped out with one little question.

                        I was at the meat counter to buy some steak to grill. I didn’t even really want to go through the ordeal of ordering from the butcher, but Kaitlyn was fascinated by all the dead birds in the case and while we were standing there identifying them (chicken, duck, pigeon) someone shoved one of those little tickets with a number on it in my hand and I couldn’t find anyone else to pass it off to, so I figured I’d just order some steak. I managed that, sort of. The guy corrected my pronunciation of “griller,” so he knew I’m not real good at this whole French thing. Then after we established what I wanted, he started messing around putting away some turkey (which I did not order or mention) then he looked right at me and said “avez vous le temps?” I was completely stumped. Normally, I understand the question. But I didn’t really expect a butcher to ask me the time. I was trying to figure out what the hell le temps was in relation to beef or a cow. Or maybe a grill. He repeated himself and another woman standing there tapped at her wrist. I didn’t have on my watch; if I did I think I was too flustered to give the time in French. (It’s hard enough without having to also convert to military time, which they use in excess.) Even if I’d wanted to order something else… pigeon perhaps… I was too embarrassed to.

                        I want to be able to speak French. Really I do. And Bill tells me that I know far more than I realize. But all I ever realize is that I know enough to skate by… as long as whoever I’m talking to stays on topic… and even then there are no guarantees. Ce n’est pas facile!

                I spent the day getting an up close look at four private chateaux in the Grenoble area. We didn’t get to go inside all of them. And inside or out, the owners each were reluctant to allow a group to go traipsing through their grounds (or home). In the interest of respecting the privacy concerns each has, I will not go into excruciating detail about each chateau, its location, its owner, etc. Not that I can remember all those details already as it is. So, you’ll just have to be content (as always) with my vague (yet entertaining) recollections.

                    The one overall impression I’m left with is that owning a chateau must be a real pain. Because most seemed to be most horribly in need of repair. Especially those we got to see the inside of. These places are hundreds of years old. And I’d have to assume pretty expensive to maintain. Just heating one to a reasonable level in winter seems like a bank-busting task. So the peeling paint, the exposed bulbs for lights, the faded wallpaper all must be the trade off… you live in a castle but you can’t afford to do anything to it. You can have it declared a landmark, but that apparently comes with a lot of strings attached (like having to open your home to the public so many times a year, using special contractors and that sort of thing)

                    The first one we went into was originally built as a fort… and the tower was used to watch for soldiers. It’s on a hill with a perfect view to check for anyone coming from the Savoy region or leaving Grenoble. We got to see the old kitchen. It did not look like a place I’d really want to cook. It looked sort of like where Cinderella makes the tea for her evil step mother and sisters while they ring the bell and holler her name. The odd thing was… there was some sausage hanging to dry. Honestly, I wouldn’t eat a thing to come out of that musty old kitchen. But someone must. We also saw the room that had originally been the chapel. I didn’t realize until today that chateaux all have (or had) chapels. This one had a secret passageway into a tunnel that leads off the grounds. It was used to hide a family one time during World War Two when some German soldiers came knocking at the door.

                    Our next stop was a chateau in much less need of fresh paint. (I guess you cannot just slap on fresh paint… it’s like just slapping paint on an antique chair… it ruins any value) From the outside… which is all we got to see… this one looked like the one I’d want to live in. There were houses on the grounds where the grounds keepers used to live. Even those looked like excellent places to call home. There was a big fountain… a couple of towers… huge windows. This one is open in August and like one day in September… but the guide said you don’t get to see much so unless you are a history buff with questions for the family it probably isn’t worth it.

                    After lunch, we saw the outside of another well kept castle. Again, the out buildings looked like charming choices for living spaces… covered in vines. This castle wasn’t built as a fort or lookout, although there are towers.

                    The final stop was to the inside of a chateau we’d seen while we were house hunting. No, we didn’t see it as a potential home. We drove by it and our relocation expert pointed it out. Bill took a couple pictures of it from the road below and we slipped it in while showing pictures of our trip and tried to say it was our new house. But I’m a horrible liar. Let me just say this: if we HAD seen the inside of it (and it had been in our budget… which would have made it different than any of the houses we did see) I still would have turned it down. The floors are stone and uneven. It was cool inside like the whole place was a cave. After going down into the cave, everyone had white dust all over themselves from the wall you had to scrape by because the door doesn’t open all the way. The stairs leading to the second level are hundreds of years old and made of cement (I think) and all uneven and scary. We did see the chapel with walls done in frescoes by some Italian painter. The dining room reeked of cigarette smoke. And the antenna on the 14” (probably black and white) television looked about as old as the staircase. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

                    I guess the bottom line is, I’m glad I don’t live in a chateau after all.

All I can think about today is Kaitlyn. Every few minutes I stop what I’m doing and think “I wonder what she’s doing now.”

                        Today, Kaitlyn is on her first field trip. Her class went to the zoo. I could have gone, but I didn’t. Kaitlyn told me the trip is just for the kids and teachers. I didn’t let the whim of a four year old dictate my decision to check the “non, je ne peux pas aller” box on the form. I hope I didn’t. But I did let her lack of support let me off the hook. As much as I wanted to go, I was just plain afraid that some 4 year old would have something important to communicate and I wouldn’t be able to help because I can’t understand enough French.

                    Still, this morning when the kids were all gathering at the school waiting for the bus to arrive, I kind of regretted my hesitation. They all had their little backpacks filled with snacks and lunches, they had on their hats to keep from getting sunburned, and the threat of rain had jackets stuffed into the sacks.

                    When the bus arrived, the kids walked outside in pairs to get on board. They’ll apparently spend the day in those pairs. Two kids per each adult. Kaitlyn and her buddy sat right up front. But then Kaitlyn was moved, because someone whose Mom fears carsickness (it’s been an issue in the past) got to sit in the prime seat. Kaitlyn didn’t seem bothered. But then I couldn’t see where she was, to wave bye.

                        It’s starting to thunder here. I hope she’s ok. She’s never been afraid of storms. I hope this isn’t the day she lets it get to her. I hope she remembers her jacket is in her backpack.

                        I hope she ate the lunch I packed (a jelly sandwich cut out in the shape of a K, a hard boiled egg – already peeled, carrot slices and red pepper slices. Her snack was strawberries.)

                    I hope she will tell me all about her trip to the zoo.

                    I hope next time there’s a field trip I’m not too chicken to go along.

            After a few peaceful lovely fresh-air filled bug-free days, I’m going around the house shutting all the windows and shutters again.

                Two wasps have gotten into the house today. One I managed, after quite a while, to get to fly outside. The second is in our bathroom, climbing around the window in the ceiling. I shut the door and hope he stays in there until Bill comes home.

                Suddenly, I miss the United States. Sure, there are wasps there. But they never seemed so determined to get into my house there.

                    While trying to figure out where to move the bbq grill so that the mountain breeze stops blowing through it and blowing out the flame, Bill found where at least some of the oh-too-close-for-comfort wasps have built their home. When he moved Kaitlyn’s playhouse he discovered they’ve set up shop, so to speak, inside it.

His first reaction was to grab the can of wasp killer so he could spray the nest. I told him to wait till night.. when they’re all home. I read that on the internet. I used to think it was so they’d be asleep. Apparently not. He didn’t believe me. I told him to read the can… then realized the can is in French. Still, he figured out enough of it to realized I had a point.

                    Last night after dark, when we were climbing into bed I said “hey, don’t forget to kill the wasps.” I was too tired to see if he went outside in his pajamas to do the job, but he sprayed the nest. This morning the house is still tipped on its side and if I stand just so on my tippy toes and crane my neck at the sliding glass door, I can see the nest in there. But today there’s no buzzing around it.

                    Maybe Bill needs to put screens on the windows of Kaitlyn’s little house!

                    When we moved here – make that AFTER we moved here – we found out that houses here don’t have screens. And buying them is nearly impossible. Now there’s a lot of things I didn’t realize until we got here we wouldn’t have. Like a garbage disposal. But given that there isn’t any air conditioning, well, the lack of screens is something it would have been nice to have been warned of.

                    Fortunately, either there are enough ex-pats moving here or the French have finally figured out that screens work better than curtains to keep bugs out. Either way, the result is screens are starting to pop up in hardware stores. Bill found some kits and assembled a few of them this weekend. We now have screens on two windows – the one in the kitchen and the one in the office. He also put together a screen for the French door next to the kitchen. None are perfect. He had to hold them in place with tape. And the one for the door is too small, so the top has a piece of styrofoam filling the gap.

                    Still, they’re screens. And we can have the windows open and let the cool air in and keep the bugs out. That’s all I wanted. Now, maybe we can find a single room air conditioner for our bedroom…

It is going to get very hot in the house this summer.

                        We don’t have air conditioning. That’s pretty much standard here. The electricity is too expensive. Same reason it seems only ex-pats have clothes dryers. (Our house, which was just built, doesn’t even have an outlet for a dryer by the washer… just in case they decide one day that it’s a good idea after all.)

                        You cool your house by not opening the shutters when the sun will beam through the windows. And you cool your house by opening the windows when the shutters are open. Here’s the thing: they don’t use window screens. Open a window and whatever feels like it can just wander (or fly) right into the house. I don’t partake in many outdoor activities because, well, they’re outdoors. Where bugs are.

                           Since coming home Sunday, there have been 7 stinging insects in the house. Eight if you include the dead one waiting for us in the bathtub that evening. Only two have appeared to be ordinary bees. The others are much, much more menacing. They are the variety that has stripes and flies with their legs hanging down and eew they are so creepy. And they all show up while Bill isn’t here.

                        When I see them, I’m too scared to kill them. What if I miss? Then I have a pissed off stinging insect trapped in the house with me. That’s no good. So I wait until I see them get near a door or window, then I open the portal to the outside and chant words of encouragement. “Go on. Go outside. There it is. So close.” The chanting doesn’t seem to make a difference. Maybe I need to try it in French.

                        Yesterday I got home from taking Kaitlyn to school to face the thing that flew in when she opened the door to the garage to get into the car. (as best I can tell) He went over by the door, I opened it and stepped back and told him to go on. Instead, he flew down into the plastic lid of a Play Doh barrel of fun. And then he apparently couldn’t get out. I stared at him for 30 minutes. You cannot just leave one of these things near the open door. You have to diligently make sure no others come in. And you have to make sure your unwelcome guest leaves, otherwise he could be anywhere. So after 30 minutes of watching him, tossing shoes at the lid to make it move to try to get him to move, and calling him stubborn and stupid (who was really the stubborn and stupid one?) I got up the nerve to grab the lid and toss it out the door. (The lid, by the way, is still just outside the door because it landed on him. Now I’m too afraid to go pick it back up.) Before that, I took a close look at him, so that I could identify him on the internet. Which I did.

                        Our fine friends appear to be the European Paper Wasp. Commonly mistaken for a yellow jacket because of the black and yellow stripes. But it’s the only species with red antennae. This guy definitely had red antennae!

                        I think they’ve set up a home somewhere in the eaves that gives them access to our garage. Because each time I’ve gone through the garage door this week, I’ve found one in the house. And the door is usually open long enough for one to get by undetected. Now Bill has to figure out how to get to them and get rid of them.

                        They’re finding other ways in, though.

                        Two mornings in a row, we’ve awakened to find someone buzzing around the house. We’ve been going to sleep with the upstairs shutters opened just enough for a few cracks to let in fresh, cool night air. The cracks don’t look big enough for anything but a mosquito to fit through. Doesn’t matter. No crack in the shutters tonight. Tonight, we suffer because I need a control night. After I sealed the house today and we simply baked, we were bug free.

                        Still, I constantly think I’m hearing a buzzing sound and am looking around, paranoid. I keep thinking I’m feeling one crawling in my hair, which really REALLY creeps me out. We didn’t leave the house today, because I was so afraid of one coming in when we opened the door. I finally had to go out this evening to take out the trash (can’t let that pile up, then another unwanted pest comes along… the dreaded ant!) and I hope my neighbors didn’t see me. I kept jumping away from nothing and turning my head like a crazy person. Because, apparently, I am.

                        Kaitlyn is handling this in a mixed way. Yesterday she told me to kill the bug. I told her I’m too scared to. So she told me “I have an idea. Open the door and let him out.” Today when one kept buzzing around before he found the window (he seemed to be an especially dumb one), she hid behind me. But when she saw a spider in the house, she grabbed her shoe and went over and pounded the thing into oblivion.

I have spent most of my day watching CNN.. and the coverage of the horriffic shooting at Virginia Tech. (CNN international is mostly showing CNN from the US) It’s awful. Just awful. My heart goes out to everyone with ties to that campus. It feels weird to be so far away watching something so awful.

We came home and emptied our suitcases in the laundry room…. looking at them I estimate I’ve got 7 loads to do to get it all done. I miss my huge American washer.

The last two trips we’ve taken, I’ve missed out on going to a museum I wanted to see. I was not going to miss the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam.

                        After breakfast, the makeshift team of bikers said our goodbyes and each went off their own way. Bill and Kaitlyn put me in a taxi to drop off our suitcases at our hotel then go to the Van Gogh museum without them. They went to the Nemo. It’s a big hands-on science museum aimed at kids. Perfect for the two of them.

                        I got to my museum 20 minutes before it opened. There was already a line. I thought maybe that was because it is Museum Weekend. We assume that Museum Weekend means free admission to the area museums. Maybe to some of them… but not to the Van Gogh Museum. (And Bill said not to the Nemo, either.) Inside was packed with people. But since I didn’t have to worry about a bored 4 year old or a bored 39 year old, I didn’t let it bother me. I bought the audio guide and took my time. I enjoyed watching the progression of Van Gogh’s paintings as I progressed through the museum. But when I reached the ones from when he was so depressed just before he took his own life… I nearly cried. I was so moved by the darkness on those canvases. When I told Bill that, he thought I was just silly. But it’s true.

                        The three of us met back up for lunch. We went to the Hard Rock Cafe. Not really one of the world’s greatest eateries. But the idea of American food was too alluring. Kaitlyn ordered mac and cheese. We ordered burgers. And nachos for an appetizer. Service stunk. We spent as long there as we’d have spent eating at a restaurant here in France. But we were determined not to let that bother us. We did our best.

                    We finished off our stop in Amsterdam at the Heineken Brewery tour. We’re model parents – red light district and a brewery. We got in with just under an hour to do the tour, which we thought would be plenty. We were actually a little rushed. Mostly because we couldn’t manage to down our three beers each in that time… since you aren’t allowed to carry your beer around with you! The “ride” where you “become” a bottle of Heineken in the brewery was silly.. but not as silly as the 3-d movie at the Chartreusse tour!

                        We were too tired to do much more. We went back to the hotel and watched Flushed Away then the Dutch version of Dancing with the Stars. That was at least entertaining; it was fun to try to guess which was the star and which was the real dancer. For dinner we ordered room service. Kaitlyn thought that was pretty neat – order your food and they bring it right to your room!

                        All in all, this has been a good trip. I’m ready to go home and get some sleep.