will WE play in Peoria?

I don’t know who scheduled it… there was a meeting with Kaitlyn’s teacher tonight at 6:00. Not a one-on-one meeting, but one open to all the parents in her class. Sort of a “now that school’s been going on for nearly a month, let’s chat about it” meeting. I realized I would not stand a chance of following most of it, but thought it was important to go so she’d know how interested I am in Kaitlyn’s education. So I went. The meeting started at 6, we had dinner reservations at 8:15. Seemed like it would work out.

First, the principal spoke. She went so fast, I really have no clear idea what she said. The only part I sort of followed was when she said not to bring the kids before 8:30 in the morning. And I understood when the teacher said when you do bring the kids in, make sure that she knows they’re there… because one time she didn’t and the little girl wandered off to try to find her way home and was found by sheer luck. Or something to that effect.

Finally, it was the teacher’s turn. She had a slide show presentation. I was hoping she’d have words up there, because I stand a better chance of understanding French when I can read it. No such luck. It was pictures taken during class to show what a day is like. I guess because she was the one taking the pictures, there weren’t any of her pulling her hair out. She spends her day in a room filled with 3, 4 and 5 year olds; I don’t know how she has any hair at all left on her head. Anyway, it was good to get a glimpse into Kaitlyn’s day. It includes story time, gym, pre-math, snack, recess, lunch, nap, writing, music. No wonder she’s so tired at the end of the day. She’s far busier than I am!

I started trying to slyly look at my watch. The babysitter was coming to the house at 7:30. She beat me there. Finally, another American and I stood up and said we needed to leave. That meeting was still going on. Those people were going to sit in those chairs made for little kids until they became physically unable to get out of them. They may still all be sitting there Monday morning when I drop Kaitlyn off.

When I got up this morning, Don was already up watching the Survivor show we’d TiVo’d for him. It was already his second time through the show. (He’s in charge of some Survivor game they play at work which means knowing when each contestant is shown naked, or puking or other lovely things) Kaitlyn got up and went downstairs for breakfast and was thrilled at the idea of the tv being on in the morning. That’s normally way off limits. I was afraid she’d seriously resist going to school, but since it wasn’t the Disney princess edition of Survivor, she left without a fuss.

Debbie was up much earlier, which meant we could do something more exciting. Shopping. Real shopping… not shopping where they chop the heads off little bunnies headed to the stew pot. That meant going downtown.

I managed to find my way downtown without needing the GPS. We wandered the streets of the pedestrian district. Right away, some guy asked me where the post office is. When I told him I didn’t know, he asked me if I have an accent. Yes, I’m American. Then he burst into perfect American English. “Me too! Oregon!” Then he proceeded to tell us he’s lived here for 11 years because he fell in love with a French woman but now he’s getting a divorce… which he’s happy about because she is controlling. People will really tell you anything. At least, American people will. I was glad to get away from him and hoped not to cross his path again; I was really afraid he’d latch onto us. Then some guy in a delivery truck hung out his window to holler something (friendly like) at us. I had no idea what he was saying. I held out my arms and shrugged. So he said it again… and again. Finally, I just said “non.” That seemed to satisfy him or at least convince him to give up and he drove away. But we did choose to take a path that wouldn’t lead us past his truck again!

We shopped and shopped and shopped… but bought nothing. I saw a couple of pairs of shoes I liked, I need to go back and look again. I didn’t stop to buy anything because it seemed like this was Debbie’s shopping trip. She didn’t even want to go inside any of the chocolate shops we passed. The jet lag must not have worn off yet.

For lunch we walked across the river to eat at pizza row. Never disappointing. And unlike lunch yesterday, the waitress spoke to us the whole time in French. Finally toward the end of our meal, she realized I was the only one at the table doing any talking. She asked if we speak English. Yes. She only speaks French and Italian. So even if she’d wanted to give up on me, she couldn’t. Ha! Well, we did fine.

Then I dragged Debbie through the Grenoble History museum, to show her the piece of the ancient Roman wall you can still see in the basement. I’ve only gone once before and Kaitlyn was along, so it was hard to go slow enough to learn anything. We didn’t go super slow, but I did get more out of the trip.

After a full day of shopping, I ended up the only one who bought something. I got two boxes of Shredded Wheat at the Irish store.

20 september 2007

I know that jet lag can be a horrible thing. But, really, it is just as frustrating for the hostess as it is for the guest. I canceled my French lesson for this morning… cleared my calendar to be able to go out and enjoy the day… but Debbie did not get up until 11:45. And at that she did not get up on her own.

By the time we left the house I was afraid to go too far away and potentially somehow not manage to pick Kaitlyn up from school on time. Plus, Kaitlyn had cried when she found out she wasn’t getting to spend the day with her customers. I asked her what she really wanted to do with them. Ride the bubbles. I promised we wouldn’t do that without her.

That didn’t leave a lot of options. So when in doubt… go to Carrefour.

First, we went to lunch at a place right across the street. Debbie wanted chicken. I wasn’t sure if they had it, but thought there was a decent chance. My first chance to show off my new ability to speak (or at least order in ) French. Foiled. Right after we sat down, the waitress sent over a waiter who can speak English. And it took me three tries to get someone to bring us a bottle of plain water. I am sure I was asking correctly; somehow the girl was concerned that interaction with the English speakers would spread cooties or something. I don’t know. Oh, and they didn’t have any chicken.

At the grocery store we just needed to pick up a couple of things to make dinner. (yes, chicken) I still made sure that the shopping trip included a stop at the meat counter so that I could point out the whole bunnies and the chickens with their heads on next to the pigeons. I’m sorry, but that is all still just nasty.

Debbie wanted to check out the candy aisle. I avoid buying it so that was new to me, too. She was a little disappointed that there wasn’t anything too odd… no brands of chocolate that were unique. Then she wanted to know if there are chocolate covered doughnuts here. No. Chocolate chip cookies? No. Moments later, she found boxes of ’em. It’s another thing I avoid so I’d just assumed they didn’t have any. Someone must have told me once they don’t have any.

After school Kaitlyn wanted to show off the park where she likes to play. Make that the park where she likes to ride the carousel. After one whirl around, Kaitlyn said she wanted to go on one of the surrey bikes that looks like you’re riding in a carriage behind a horse. Except she didn’t feel like pedaling. She wanted to go on the big one that Debbie and I would have to pedal while Kaitlyn sat on the horse. I could barely reach the pedals. She saw the place where we’d tried to play putt putt and told Aunt Debbie how difficult golf is.

Since Debbie slept so long because she woke up in the middle of the night with a sore throat, we went to the pharmacy to buy a remedy. When I’d told her that they use a lot of homeopathic medicine she said she’d like to try that. Even though she doesn’t trust that stuff at home. Somehow, that made sense. I’d looked up how to say “sore throat” before we left the house and managed to explain that and the desire for something homeopathic to the pharmacist. She asked if Debbie wanted something you suck on, which I understood because it was the same word that Kaitlyn’s teacher uses for her giant pacifier. Back at home, Debbie logged on the computer to look up what all the stuff is in her throat medicine. It includes mercury. Then she spent hours looking up whether or not it was safe to keep taking the stuff. (She’d already sucked down two lozenges) Finally she decided she felt better enough to just not worry about it and not take anymore anyway.

Kaitlyn has been bugging me all day asking when her customers are getting here. She means company. Today Bill’s sister and her husband are arriving for a visit. “What are they doing now? What about now? What are they doing now?” Considering how far away we live from everyone and how little we really got to see family even before we moved, it’s good to see Kaitlyn so excited about their visit.

Kaitlyn went to her first ballet lesson this morning. She was fully equipped with her pink tutu, pink tights, pink shoes. I was not so sure she’d be fully equipped to listen and go along with what the teacher said. I hoped so, though, since the lessons are supposed to last until June.

When we walked in, she rushed right to her little friend from school. The two of them hugged and pranced around the room together. Then two more little girls from their class arrived. Both are French. Both knew Kaitlyn by name. One acted like she recognized me… waving and saying “kookoo!” (That’s a very informal way of saying hello, and the way most French people will address children.) So I said “uh, kookoo.” It felt weird saying it. They all sat together, excited and nervous in any language. I was glad to see Kaitlyn at least interacts with some of the French students in her class. Even if she doesn’t know their names, and I bet she doesn’t.

Once class started, all the parents were shooed outside. Most of us stood and watched through big windows. I don’t know how long the teacher will let that continue. Although the weather may take care of that problem for her. I tried to stand so that Kaitlyn couldn’t see me, but she spotted me. She waved, but kept on dancing. She actually followed the directions, which was nice.

Outside, I stood with one of her classmate’s Moms… who also happens to be a teacher for older kids at Kaitlyn’s school. Luckily, she speaks English. She asked me how my French is coming along. I told her “slowly.” Then she said something that really surprised me. She said that Kaitlyn’s has really come a long way since last year. Huh? Kaitlyn doesn’t speak a word of French, other than to count. Or say “merci.” This teacher says that she can hear Kaitlyn speaking French on the playground. Not entire sentences, but she knows enough to get her point across about what she does… or doesn’t… want. Who knew?

I always enjoy French lessons… that I understand. Today’s was just that. Of course, with company coming it hardly matters because it will be two weeks (15 days as they say in French) before I crack those books open again. Oh, maybe I’ll do my homework tomorrow during Kaitlyn’s lesson.

All pumped up after mastering some basic French grammar, I decided to give understanding the radio another whirl. There is one station that mixes music (mostly bad French songs) with phone interviews… mostly with people giving recipes. I assume those people are chefs of some sort, not just random Pierres who think they’ve got the best way to make crepes.

This morning the overly-cheery DJ said she’d be talking to the guy from some chocolate shop about one of my favorite subjects: chocolate. If I’m going to understand anything, this will be it. And I did.

No, I’m not going to go home and whip up the chocolate-orange tart he gave the recipe for. But, hey, I know it was a chocolate-orange tart! And I understood that he said good chocolate is at least 70% cocoa. Pretty fuckin’ cool!

I don’t know how he does it, but Bill drives his car without the radio on. I can’t stand the silence, although French radio sometimes is not a great deal better. Still, it’s supposed to be good practice to try to understand it.

This morning on my way to French class, I was dialing around and stopped on the station that has studio guests every morning at 9. Normally, I would not have chosen to listen. But this morning’s guests were British… so the DJ would ask his question in French, then English, and he would translate the guests’ answers.

There was one word he did not need to translate. It’s one that the French have apparently adopted with gusto.

This is what I heard:

You can say fuck on French radio. Go ahead. Say it! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

And they continued to use the word for the duration of the interview.

Turns out, the French think that this is a perfectly acceptable word in our culture… thanks to the American movies.

Even for me it seemed a little much. Although, it did take me back to my days in the newsroom…

When Kaitlyn woke up this morning and asked to watch TV, our new plan to help her speak French went into action. Bill turned on the same movie she just watched last night with her friends… but this time in French.

I don’t know that Kaitlyn is a fan of this new plan, although she didn’t complain.

I tried watching for a while. The movie was Nos Voisins Sont Les Hommes … Over the Hedge. (the literal translation is “Our Neighbors are Men”) They talk fast. Really fast. You don’t realize when you watch a movie in English just how fast they are talking. I caught a word here and there, but I only understood one sentence. Qu’est-ce que tu fais? What are you doing? It’s a handy sentence to know with a small child. Or husband.

I think we’re going to have to find something slower that we can watch to help our French.

We invited friends over to have une petite degustation du vin (a little wine tasting). And dinner.

The first bottle was the one our guests brought. He bought it because of the label: it says it’s a Les Crapons. He thought it would be funny to drink something called crap. We all agreed, the label didn’t lie. Bill and I poured ours out. (that’s the appropriate way to dispose of unwanted wine at a tasting)

Then we opened each of Bill’s randomly selected bottles. (none had labels indicating crap) It turns out, Bill is a pretty good guesser. They were all good. Now I have to go back to Carrefour and try to find them again and buy more. In just a matter of a couple of weeks, we’ve managed to build a decent little cave. We bought a 72 bottle wine rack, which Bill put together in the basement. Now we can wander down there to pick out what wine to serve with dinner.

Speaking of dinner, making ours was quite a task. It wasn’t hard. It’s just that our kitchen is so dang small that really only one person at a time can be working in there. I ran out of room on the counters just for bowls I was using. Very frustrating. I am counting the days until I can once again have a big kitchen. I have Bill convinced that we either have to build a house that I can design the kitchen for, or we have to buy a house that we want to just renovate the kitchen. He’s gonna be sorry!

Today the Foire du Vin started at Carrefour. Every fall, the grocery stores have this wine “sale” (they cannot call it a “sale”…. the state regulates sales and they are only permitted twice a year, in July and in February). The point of the fair (foire) is to get rid of the stock to make room for the new wines. Similar to the way car dealers try to rid their lots of last year’s models this time of year.

After living here nearly a year and joining a wine tasting group I still know squat about wine. Ok, I know it is made from grapes and I know that the wines here are named by the region in which those grapes are grown, rather than by grape type like in the U.S. That ends my vast wine knowledge.

I jotted down the name of a wine we like and figured I’d buy a case of that then a couple bottles of other kinds of wine to try.

Then, I went to my least favorite place: Carrefour on Saturday afternoon. The Foire du Vin was set up right at the entrance. Stockers were busy trying to replenish the shelves. One man was reading his big thick wine guide to help decide. Others had their Foire du Vin fliers and were flipping through the pages of those. I wandered up and down the rows searching for the one wine scribbled on the piece of paper stuffed in my pocket. Not there. Somehow, I thought that the Foire du Vin would cover all the wines in the store. No.

Bill and I found the section with the Cotes du Rhone wines. We know we like those. Then Bill pretty much randomly chose three to try. Four… but the fourth he went ahead and bought a case. It wasn’t expensive, there were only three left (we figured if so many other people bought it, it had to be decent) and if we hate it, we’ll make it the wine we take to other people’s houses. Hey, maybe they’ll like it.

Now the real test… the taste test.