Maybe it's the busyness of life, the fact that Jean is working fulltime with little flexibility, or that the day is actually shorter (being both winter and Zoe's school finishes at 3:15), but I am continuously talking to myself that it is okay to take time out to enjoy the small pleasures I so loved in France. Everyday I vacillate if I have time to go to yoga, time to sip a cup of coffee with a friend, time to walk the dog. This morning I woke up a bit earlier and lay in bed reading for a few minutes. With a remembrance of France, Jean brought me a cup of coffee and a few minutes later Zoe slipped into bed with her book and a piping hot mug of tea. For fifteen whole minutes we lay in bed, reading and sipping together before we felt the rush to get moving on the day. So what's the difference I asked myself? In St. Quentin, Zoe started school at 9 and it was a 2 minute walk. Today it is 8:15 and a 15 minute drive in the car (which is actually pretty quick). But that extra hour means we could get up a bit more leisurely without waking up at the crack of dawn. In either situation it was 9am before I was ready to start the day. Yoga, a walk, a cafe in the cafe or to the office to write; this was the big decisions each morning. Today, the decisions are the same, but feel different. I kept asking myself why? Why does it feel so different.
First I do believe that Jean not working from home (or even nearby), but on the road and gone all day has forced both of us to realize we don't like it. A luxury we have had, but something we can create again. There is no reason that he should be working where he is commuting 3-4 hours a day. It just doesn't make sense, except for now with the economy, it is what it is. Not for long--- our souls just can't tolerate it. I however, have more freedom to my day; albeit a shorter day. Instead of going to yoga from 9:30-11:00 as I also did in Uzes and having until 5pm to focus on my work. I now have only unti 3pm. A two hour shorter day. Now granted I have the extra time on Wednesday (before Zoe had no school) but even if I count working 3-4 hours more on Wednesday, I'm still missing 4 hours a week of time to work. Maybe I have just discovered how the French are more creative and more productive as the studies show???
In our transition to streamline, simplify and get rid of unnecessary clutter I sat staring at two boxes too big for one person to carry alone. Tucked behind was my duffel bag of shoes I brought back from France. Granted I threw away a few pair before we left, but all in all I bet I was fashionable with 3 pair of boots (brown, black and red), one pair of running shoes, a pair of hiking boots and trail shoes, a comfy black leather mule, a green cole haan walking shoe, green and orange flipflops, black sandals, a pair of black professional shoes for work, and a two pair of higher heels for summer evenings. Seeing that on paper it seems like alot but at least I know each pair were worn throughout the year. Now however, I am faced with at least 4-5 dozen more shoes that I haven't seen in three years.
"A system." I say to myself. "I need to a system." Pile #1; ugly, old, done. Pile #2, old comfort shoes - think about. Pile #3, useful - think about. Pile #4 Wow, I forgot about these. Pile #4 Absolutely, I missed them.
An hour later I sorted, sifted, tried on and whiddled my shoe collection down to about 2 dozen- a major feat. Still too many I'm thinking looking at my colorful collection of fun tennis shoes in six different colors and sandals of every shape and form and three pairs of comfy velvet and patent leather hush puppies in black, navy , and red. What is a girl to do?
It’s only funny after the Fact.
For the past six months we have been dreaming, planning, praying, cleaning closets, and trying to make something happen. Anything. We had hoped our book would be sold and ready to go to publication. We had planned on Jean's dissertation being done in the early spring. We had planned that our house would be sold by early April. And we definitely counted on the springtime in Provence to be sunny.
Jean's Dissertation
If there is anything we have learned here this past 6 months, it is the fact that you have no control over timing and you do indeed have to be very careful what you wish for.
The Good and the Bad of being fluent in a language came to me this morning after a rough evening at an English book club. Living in a country where I only speak a “functional French” and that is still limited to mostly face to face conversations versus the telephone, I’ve actually been secluded from having to deal with conflict, anger, other people’s “pain body” as Eckhart Tolle calls it or ordinary frustrations. I smile on greeting, say “Bonjour,” and at times enter into a conversation about scheduling a play date, a pickup or asking a question. My comfort level with deep, fluent conversations in French is still limited to my hour with my French teacher who tolerates anything and talks with me about everything, a five minute conversation here or there with a patient person I’ve gotten to know or with friends and neighbors when Jean is there to help fill in the gaps later of what I missed. As a result I never realized how protective being only “functionally French” is. I don’t have the capacity, the language, the speed of speech, or the tenacity to engage in conflict in French. As a result I am quite a peace in the language!
Maybe this is my answer to a more peaceful existence while living here!
April, usually a beautiful month full of sunshine and spring flowers has been turned on it's head and spilling rain everyday, but a few. Nothing worse than a gray rainy April. Another lesson in living in the now as that is all we have. 
Living in the present is something that Jean and I have been pursuing for awhile now, but every once in awhile it seems to become even more important. The more we get ahead of ourselves, the more we persist, the more something resists.
Coming down the homestretch of Jean's dissertation he ran into a HUGE - BIG _ GRAND - snafu, in which some data was later submitted by a lab resulting in Jean having to redo all his data analysis. This is the time when emotions have to be put aside and the work just has to be done. Being present in the moment is required. April rain didn't help either!
On April 11, 2008, the Ecole Primare put on some marvelous plays in which the kids worked hard and long to prepare. The costumes, lighting, memorization, and acting were fantastic and much applause goes to the Theatre teacher who taught theatre once a week for 6 months. Zoe was in two plays. The first one about some princesses, one of whom she wanted to be, but wasn't and the second play was a takeoff of Jules Verne Around the world in 80 days.
Getting your hair cut, colored, highlighted and coiffured into an elegant hairdo, at least until you wash it again, is a right of passage for all woman at least every two months. Going to the hairdresser is an event qualifying as a fantastic day’s outing. It starts with coffee before, a scrumptious light lunch after and maybe a little shopping added for extra esprit.
Lately I wasn’t as happy with my hairdresser and the highlighting weave I received. It just was getting a little dull and was not quite up-to-par. I ran into a woman I met at a country lunch, well coiffurred and she told me in whispers, to keep the beauty a close secret close between us, that she was in the village to get her hair colored by a hairdresser who came to your home. “Imagine”, she said, “getting beautiful in the comfort of your own home.” Whether it was the old fashioned way sitting in the coiffuse’s chair, or a more personal way and to save on taxes and overhead, my ears perked up immediately. “Oh, she’s marvelous at color weaves and less expensive as she doesn’t have the cost of a big salon.”
I liked the idea of reducing the excessive costs of my hair appointments that kept escalating and trying the marvelous traveling stylist a-la-domicile. The next thing I knew I was on the phone, stumbling through my California accented French to leave my new best friend, styling guru, Letticia, a message for a rendez-vous.
The next day I received a return phone call and in French we confirmed an appointment for Thursday at 14:30 (2:30 pm) at my house. I repeated the time, fourteen hours thirty, as it is said in French, just to make sure I had the time correct. At promptly 2:30 on-the-dot in she walks with two large cases full of supplies, brushes, hair products, and a brown silk cape. Moving a chair into the bathroom we set up a mini salon and began to discuss once again the color of my highlights. “Blonde et Miel.” (Blonde and Honey). “Oui.” She then went on to explain to me (all in French) that you shouldn’t highlight all the hair but just the top as it gets to blonde and dry at the bottom.
Lyon, a Gallo-Roman settlement situated a few hours from Paris, Avignon and Geneve is often a city one waves to as they pass by the on the train. This time we decided to take a direct line and spend a day and night in the city on the way to Geneva.
The old ville has been renovated as a pedestrian area with fantastic shops and gastronomic restaurants every ten yards. Spending a week there and you still would have more places to eat than time. The Gallo-Roman remains to modern architecture, not forgetting Romanesque and Gothic buildings - Lyon has preserved its ancient districts echoing with memories of its 2000 years of history.are as good as those seen in Paris and the vibrancy of the city is felt throughout.