Like Comic-Con With Better Food!


Bruxelles is one lively place. Once we parked and settled in to our rooms it wasn't long before we realized we were in a place that was going to be ideal for sights and fun. Our hotel was a lucky find... about a two minute walk from the Grand Place, a UNESCO world heritage site. I know I already mentioned the food, but seriously... good food is not hard to come by in Bruxelles! And laundry day was a huge success too!


We were only there two nights, but our rooms were comfortable and we were more at ease about everyone moving at their own pace. Geoff took a long explore on his own. Alex and I met fellow blogger and new resident of Bruxelles, Dallas... she's keeping a beautiful and travel inspiring blog about her new life living in Belgium. It's a great mix of amazing photography, nature, daily adjustments and sewing... For The Journey is a favorite blog. Today she is posting about the heat wave... it's pretty bad here in the Netherlands too!


Dallas also passed along her comic-mural map of Bruxelles. The city is dotted with comic scene murals painted on walls. We found some of them, and the Tintin store. William and Alex were reading Tintin before we arrived in Europe, so it was fun to visit the gallery-store and to recognize the mural near our hotel. Max and Maria joined their brothers in Tintin appreciation.


My mom was asking to hear from the boys... what are they doing and thinking? The answer is: They are trying new foods, taking long, long walks, exploring sites and people watching. We met Del and Joyce, a couple from Chicago... we shared a long lunch and engaging conversations about Wisconsin, video gaming, traveling, multiculturalism and where to find the best chocolate! They ordered the mussels and even Max gave the local favorite a try. He said they were good and he said he did not need to order a pot of his own. William got to enjoy a chance to share his knowledge of video games and the process of making games... the kinds of games and methods of producing different game styles. Later William took over the camera to capture some images of this beautiful place... we all love the local custom of gathering in a central place, relaxing, conversing, expressing through art, music... I know, this is my point of view, but mom, the boys play so hard and so late that they sleep until we are on the move again! Computer time is brief and I get it only because I wake early to write before we head out the door again! Until they tell you or make time to write, know that they have been engaged and intrigued and good and very, very busy!






Did I mention Alex is talking about going to school in Bruxelles? He is especially taken with the city, including the “pedestrians first” traffic rules, the amazing sandwiches and definitely the jar of Speculoos Dallas gave us. He also loves the many bookstores and all the great comic art.


The time! Gotta go!

We head to Germany today, all the way to the Black Forest. It may be sometime before I can post again... depending on WIFI availability etc. We are making our way from Netherlands to Barcelona in the next 4 days!



One of William's beautiful Bruxelles photograph.


Coming soon! The future is now!
Can you guess where our last stop in Bruxelles was?

Time to Reflect


We are in the Netherlands. I wrote a brief update about how much we love this quiet and comfortable place in the Veluwe... it was brilliant, so naturally it got scrambled and lost when I tried to post it last night. Wish me luck as I compose a second post... this time reflecting on our last day in Paris. You see, it is so calm and relaxing here, that I am beginning to process all of the sights, sounds, impressions and highlights of our days in France.

We got brave our last day in Paris. Since half of us wanted to go back to the sailboat pond in the Tuileries Garden, and the other half wanted to walk under Paris in the Catacombs, we decided to split up, take different Metro lines and meet later at the Louvre. Geoff, William and Alex left first and they took the camera. Max, Maria and I left soon after and our first stop was a last visit to the Marche San Quentin... where we could buy beautiful fruits and fresh baguettes and even chicken... feathered-severed head optional. We bought bread and cheese and fruit, juices, and cured sausage... all for a garden picnic. Maria makes a friend in every shop and marche stall. She collected a small breakfast she could eat as we walked around the small open stall market. She and Max shared cherries and petite croissants, then we made the brisk walk to the Metro Station Gare d l' Est for our ride to Palace Louvre on line 7. Max learned to keep track of which line we needed to catch and which stop was best for our destination.


The walk from the Louvre station to the Pond is fairly long, especially through crowds and with a four year old, who's knee is all better by the way. We took our time. We walked down the Rue Rivoli, then cut across through the Louvre, near the Pyramid. Every language can be heard walking around Paris and we were surrounded by school groups and vendors, a bride and groom posed for portraits, and of course there are cars, buses and bike and motorbikes in the mix too. It's a rush. Either exhilarating or exhausting, sometimes both. Never dull.

We were lucky and grateful to find chairs in the shade. We parked ourselves in view of the ferris wheel, near the statue of Cain... poor Cain stands in utter shame and remorse after slaying his brother. How does an artist carve grief out of marble?

We unpacked small toys for Maria to play with, we talked about how long it might be before William and Alex and Geoff joined us. We looked for the man with the sailboats, and we knew he would not come around as long as there were still storm clouds... the thunder, lightning and rain came heavily in the night, just as the boat man had said it would. We ate berries and shared a croissant, then munched on baguette... is there a better breakfast? We enjoyed bird watching and people watching. I think we were enjoying the last cool day in Paris... all reports since have been about heat and humidity. We were fortunate. Paris may be beautiful, but I can do without heat and humidity while staying in a noisy hotel without AC.

On our way to our shaded chairs we were walking steps behind a vendor. Every where we went there were men carrying rings of Eiffel Tower key chains, souvenirs they sold in every size and color. It cannot be an easy way to make a living, and Paris is an expensive pace to live or visit, so these people must struggle to get by. The man in front of us carried hundred of shiny towers in his hands and a pack on his back with more inventory and... and an open pouch. Thinking and worrying about pickpockets and opportunistic thieves is a constant preoccupation in any city, Paris is certainly no exception, so I got his attention and in my highly qualified French (gestures and sympathetic mutterings) I explained that his bag was wide open. He looked stunned and took immediate action, he was only quietly grateful, but it was plain to see his relief, I even recognized the look of speculation as he considered what he might have lost. He turned his back and took a tower from his large hoop of dangling key chains and he slipped it in to Maria's hand, nodding his head, smiling. Maria loves her small treasure. I love that our souvenir is a memory of making contact... crossing the barrier between sightseeing and being engaged.


When the rest of the family came walking towards us from the direction of the Louvre, we could see they had enjoyed a good adventure. William wanted me to see the pictures they took and he described the images, the dark rooms beneath Paris where bones were amassed to empty the cemeteries that were dangerously overcrowded, beginning in the 1700's. It is a fascinating history... with stories still unfolding to this day. They had walked a long way beneath the city and came to the surface in an all together different part of town, but they made their way to our meeting place safe and sound and full of new impressions.


Now for the Louvre! Just as we packed the remains of our lunch and watched the giant pigeons enjoy our crumbs, we saw the sailboat man arrive with his boats. Geoff took Max and Maria for a last bit of sailing while William, Alex and I went to get museum tickets. The long line moved quickly and it was no problem walking in to the popular Pyramid entrance. The escalator takes you down below the pyramid and into a very modern and sunlit courtyard... as busy as the streets and courtyards above. We waited for the sailors in the book store... what a treasure room the book store is! Every art subject, in every language... surprisingly few nick-knacks, but loads and loads of books. I could have spent as much time in there as the actual museum.






What do you see at the Louvre? What don't you see at the Louvre? We knew we were never going to get the total package. The place is probably miles worth of art... miles and layers and corridors and levels and separate buildings... it goes on forever. Geoff decided we should see Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. I thought he was nuts for choosing two of the most popular pieces, but I was also grateful to have a plan... this place can easily stop you in your tracks just in the planning phase! And his plan turned out to be just fine. Yes, it was crowded, but we saw breathtaking Greek and Roman marble statues and we saw hundreds of Italian Renaissance paintings and we saw Her, "the lady," as Maria called the Mona Lisa.


In a very big room and surrounded by larger works sits a quiet and unassuming portrait of a pretty lady. She sits serenely and completely at ease with the crowds waiting for their turn in her presence. You can tell when someone finally focuses on the Mona Lisa, when they realize that their search is over and they are actually seeing La Gioconda... they gasp or sigh... no matter what language they spoke there were reverent utterances throughout the gallery.


Maria had been getting tired and losing interest, so I made a game. Sitting in a quieter corner, near the Winged Victory of Samothrace, I patted Maria's back, rubbed her little legs and let her tell me all of her woes...
“I'm tired and my feet hurt and this is just so long!
I sympathized on every point and then I sighed. I took a deep breath and said, “I want to go too, but we haven't seen the lady yet...”
She perked and asked “What lady?”
“Mona Lisa. She's here somewhere and we want to find her, because she is so beautiful. It would be sad if we could not see her pretty dress and long hair. She is smiling and she looks like a nice lady, but where can she be?”

Maria saw the print of the La Gioconda on the wall, with the arrow pointing in the direction of the gallery where we would find her. Having a mission and purpose, she led the way. We looked in to a lot of faces, Madonnas and angels, ladies and saints and Maria kept the pace eagerly looking for Mona Lisa. Success. Not only were we seeing art and moving along without dragging Maria, but Maria was completely engrossed in the search, and when at last she found her... Maria was enchanted and pleased.




William helped me get a picture of the crowded gallery, the people amassing in front of the tiny portrait. Alex reminded me that it's painted on a piece of wood, not canvas.


After Mona Lisa, William asked to see the rest of the Italian Renaissance paintings, so Geoff thought of a new theme for Maria's game... find ladies dressed in blue! Ladies in blue, in a gallery of Italian Renaissance paintings... brilliant! She loved this game very much and all of the lovely Madonnas and angels seemed as pleased and willing to play as Maria. Max and I sat together and talked about religious themes in art, about art patrons and expressions of faith. We saw a small painting of St. George slaying a dragon. Max sympathized with the dragon. Alex studied the guide and found an area where we could see Medieval Paris. Maria counted 42 ladies in Blue.





We found Venus de Milo. And Maria made up her own theme...find statues missing limbs. There were many examples of these and we explored more and more of the museum, without complaint.



Next Alex directed us down, below, where original buildings below the Louvre were excavated. Suddenly we were in Medieval Paris. The thick walls and dark recesses... it was a moving and almost chilling view of the hard life in those days. Walking through the rooms I could not help but feel the oppression, the struggle it must have been for most people to get by in Medieval Europe.


We needed air. On our way up and through the gallery of Greek and Roman statues, Maria decided on one more theme: Naked people. Max found this rather embarrassing, but given the art before us, I found it an entirely appropriate and observant theme. We found lots and lots of naked people.


Goodness... I am ready for a break! Just thinking of our last day in Paris has got me ready for a stretch and fresh air. We walked to Place de la Concorde. We rode a Metro to Ecole Militaire and walked to the Eiffel Tower. This time Alex and Geoff climbed the Tower. William, Max and I watched Maria play in her sandbox, in the playground beneath the southern leg of the Tower... this is where she played and made friends when William and Geoff climbed the Eiffel Tower. On that first visit to the playground and after two hours playing with other children, as we were leaving she said, “There are so many people talking French here!” Geoff and Alex joined us and we realized it was already after 9PM... that tricky non-sunset fooled us again. No dinner, exhausted and a very long way from our hotel, we did the only logical thing... we stayed to watch the sun finally set and to see the Eiffel Tower shimmer and sparkle. We sat with hundreds of Parisians and tourists, with rowdy revelers and picnicking families, with sweethearts drinking Champaign, and tour groups on Segways...


and we waited


and then we saw the Eiffel Tower light up the night... our last Paris night.

It Gets Better and Better

Someone asked where our trip began, and it made me pause. It was... uh...we were in... London! It felt like such a long time ago, and I could not even say how long we were there. Very slowly, like peeling back layers of fog, I began to recall certain details, like the British Museum and peas, the big park with geese... oh, yes, Hyde Park. I couldn't be certain that these were genuinely my memories and not just guidebook recall. I concluded that I hope to return someday, because we barely scratched the surface, because I really want to give those peas another try and because the first two or three days were completely zapped by Jet Lag!

Jet Lag hit each of us at different times and with varying degrees of unconsciousness, crankiness, slow thinking, disorientation, thick tongues, heavy feet and a general feeling of uhhh. “Uhhh” is a feeling and it means “Please take care of me, until I am reconnected with my brain.” During the first three days we took turns being either semi-capable, or fully jet lag impacted and therefore mostly useless. It can be insidious, deceptive. You can believe that you are semi-capable, but those around you will confirm that you were babbling incoherently or wearing your shorts inside out. I may have dropped to the floor and pounded it with my fists, while flaying my legs and saying “I want to go home! I want to go home!” I don't know. It was last week after all and we under the influence of time travel and high security check point interrogations and sleep deprivation. Did I mention I got a clothes-on, full body security groping in Calgary? That will throw you, let me tell you.

London was lovely, I am pretty sure. I hope to return someday, when I am actually awake.

I am imagining it helps to be in a tour group, especially for the initial few days of a trip to a new destination. It would have made a tremendous difference to have been met at the airport by a smiling, confident guide, then bussed to a hotel. It would have been a relief to hear someone say “We are taking you to these places and we are feeding you at this hour and all you have to do is either stand or sit.”

We got on a plane in the light of day and we never saw the sun set and then when the flights were over it was 24 hours later and we had not slept and we were supposed to pass through customs, figure out public transportation, find our hotel, carry luggage, safeguard four children... four children who may or may not have bitterly resented us, but who certainly doubted our choices... lol.

I say all of this to remind myself... to make me think carefully... if we ever manage to take a second trip of a lifetime we should seriously consider starting in any destination that we don't mind forgetting or perhaps booking a package tour for the beginning, so that someone else does the heavy lifting. Wouldn't that be a brilliant business? Someone could create a three day guided tour of major airport destinations for tourists that otherwise want to be independent. For three days someone would handle all my major thinking and logistical matters, throw in low key sightseeing and generally ease the client through the fog. Brilliant.

Well, the jet lag is gone. And everything keeps getting better and better. We love Bruxelles, we loved Paris and London too. William is taking photos, Alex is planning to return to study, Max ate mussels in Brussels and Maria thinks Belgie children's television is wonderful and I think she could be fluent in Dutch if we stayed any longer. But we are not staying any longer... in fact we need to get packed and outta here! More soon.

And Now Bruxelles!

We're here. We managed the whole Paris exit fairly well. No major problems. We had great fun in Cambrai, France and Geoff's GPS worked admirably well, getting us into Bruxelles, but now we are wiped out. Our first impression is of a very busy, bustling, narrow streeted, high traffic kind of fun park, and that's just the hotel block... there is more out there waiting for us! Hopefully we will find an Internet cafe and dinner. Hopefully we will be able to fall asleep in broad daylight. It's 20:30 and the light suggests 15:00. PLease attribute spelling errors, bad grammar and brief post to having had lots of fun our last night in Paris. More soon.

Le Quack-Pack du Cambrai

Como se dice "quack" in French?


For us, novice European travelers, barreling along a French highway is interesting, a new experience... but any good road trip calls for a detour. Detours away from the main expressway or freeway or superhighway... those deviations from the GPS sanctioned route will lead to great discoveries.

Our drive from Gare Nord to Bruxelles was going smoothly. We did see the Marche du Puces en Ouen, but unfortunately we kind of got swept up in the traffic. It was Alex that wanted to see the stalls of the rag and bone men, the curiosities and knick knacks, but wedged in to the back of our Renault, he felt the pull of forward momentum stronger than the need to try turning around to battle traffic in the opposite direction. I hope we can make it up to him... somewhere between Bruxelles and Barcelona we hope to find a flea market where an artistic, history loving, robot building, imaginative young man can bargain for Medieval curios, old coins and cool bow ties.

Happily we found ourselves on the A1, completely by chance, and it couldn't have been too much easier to follow the signs out of Paris, on our way to Belgium. Geoff got used to driving a manual transmission again. We fiddled around with the windows, adjusted the AC... the usual little things that occupy your time in a new car. Outside the windows we saw more and more open land, planted fields and forest. Cows. Wisconsin? Is that you? Ever imagine you are seeing a familiar face in an unexpected place? Well, we were seeing a familiar space in the French countryside... rolling fields, steeple topped villages, farm houses... any moment I thought we would come to Cambridge.

OKay. Other than the pleasure of thinking of Wisconsin, the fast drive and steady hum of a straight road, with only occasional cows and steeples to capture the imagination... well, it got a bit hypnotic, kind of droning, sleep-inducingly hypnotic. Maybe it was stayin up to the oui hours in Paris the night before... whatever the reason, Geoff needed a nap. The GPS protested: stay on the A2... do not digress, no. NO! U-turn, u-turn! We made the exit for Cambrai. It looked like a big enough dot on the map for a scenic nap spot. We aimed for the steeple, for the center of the Ville and we all perked up seeing the funny, blue, French pick-up truck, the ivy covered brick building, the very old homes and all the beautiful flowers. Geoff turned the car in the round-about, then we turned right where the sign said "Ville Centre," then we saw the duck pack.

Stop!
What?
Hold on.
Did you see... did you... was that a duck in a pack on the man's back?

Geoff was already stopping, pulling over on the little street, because he had seen it too, and when you see a full grown man, dressed interestingly, surrounded by a laughing crowd,and sporting a wire cage with a live duck, there is no other thing to do but stop.


I grabbed the camera (too obvious?) and set forth. A fair size crowd of young men was gathered around a man dressed as a fowl, duck or chick, whatever... he was actually still in a shell, with felt covered bird feet coming out of the bottom. Actually, I had second thoughts about approaching a rowdy crowd of strange men, and only my searing curiosity about the duck on his back propelled me forward. I had to get the picture!


The rowdy young men, handsome too, were jovial, high spirited, and obviously in league with the hatchling and even though I only wanted a picture of the duck in the wire cage back pack, I was in store for so much more! The man dressed as a newly hatched bird and wearing the duck pack approached me with a binder full of flyers and he began his talk, in French, blushing hard, laughing harder.

"Hables espaniol?" I asked hopefully. He did not, but he called out to his buddies for a Spanish speaker and it became an urgent mission of theirs to communicate their cause to me. A friend stepped forward, eager to help me understand, and in French-Spanglish he explained...

This hatchling is either

1. married to the duck and in need of a home

or

2. a bachelor, enjoying his last days of bachelorhood and in need of a home.

I definitely understood that this was a "gran fiesta!"


The binder was full of real estate flyers for small homes, some with gardens and views, hand painted, lovingly maintained, all for sale. I could buy a home, sign his certificate and support his bid to get a honeymoon cottage of his own, by donating a small fee and putting it in the duck decoy he wore around his neck (next to the noose.) As an added bonus one of the guys brought out a boombox from the decorated wagon they were pulling and I was treated to an embarrassed yet brave version of the chicken dance, with music. His friends called out and howled good naturedly, and he tried to remember all the steps... hatchlings aren't too coordinated and remember he did have a duck on his back!


At last we have a home of our own! He did not realize we share this common ambition, not to mention a shared interest in fowl. We have at long last bought ourselves a place to settle down. I would say it is a fixer, a bit rough around the edges. Only three bedrooms, but there is a garden and I think we can add-on. And why quibble? I got it for five Euro. He is closer to his goal too I hope.


This was the most original, funny, creative thing I have seen in a long time. If it is a tradition, if you understand it better than I do, I would love to learn more, because no matter how much was lost in translation it was still hilarious and wonderful. And yes, I am thinking of making a Betty-Pack and soliciting for a real home of our own!


If we do not return to Garage Mahal, please forward Betty, the cats and Joe the rabbit, to Cambrai, France. We are in the orange roofed house. I will plant blue lobelia in the window boxes.





*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>

I Heart Bruxelles


Our hotel, near the Grand Place is lovely and even with us spread out in three rooms, the arrangement is good. We are in a peaceful corner of a very busy city, in a very busy neighborhood, and though we were a bit overwhelmed initially, we are definitely warming up to everything quickly. The hotel clerk not only checked us in and assured us the Renault Espace would fit in the narrow courtyard, he also gave us maps and directions, suggestions, recommendations, warnings... without any inquiry from us, he kindly offered a guidebook's worth of useful information, including where we should eat.

We went to our three adjacent rooms, dropped our bags and dropped in to our beds. I think we napped or just zoned. Some of us showered. I watched some television... a lot about local culture can be picked up from a little viewing of the flat box. Then we willed ourselves to rise and go out and stretch our legs, find some food.

Gah! It was half past eight. At night! We have become night owls. The boys would have nothing to do with our plans. They needed peace and quiet. Max explained that they were happy with their time alone to think and read. Fair enough.


Maria, Geoff and I took our map and very quickly realized just how close we are to the sights. The sights include Mannequin Pis, and how a peeing statue the size of a large burrito ever came to be the emblem of a city... go figure. But we took pictures and sort of gave a nod to the local attraction, because why not? We will not be buying Mannequin Pis chocolates, frittes, cork screws (picture it if you dare,) T-shirts, ashtrays, shot glasses, tea towels or plates. I did see a cute shirt about the rain in Beligium, some pretty lace and waffles, lots and lots of waffles.


Then we came to the Grand Place and it is quite a site and sight. It's the expression and success of merchants that built the towering buidings around the main square, and all the flowers are a crowning touch that take my breath away. Hanging from baskets, in flower boxes and window boxes, in corners and every little niche are every kind of bloom, full and abundant... so lovely. We walked all around the place and up and down a few side streets.

We made a note of the shop with the strawberries and the chocolate fountain. We looked for the restaurant our hotel clerk suggested. We listened to the many languages, watched the guides leading tours, raising their umbrellas to lead the way through the milling crowds.

We owe the hotel clerk a hug, unless that would be faux pas. But he deserves a hug... he did not lead us astray. We did not get a table outside on the Place, but we walked up the stairs and inside T'Kelderke and we waited patiently. Maria was almost patient. Poor thing deserves dinner well before 21:00. It was worth the wait... we ate, as Alex said it is done in Belgium, as much as Germans and as well as the French. Our dinner was delicious and with beer and the peaceful nook with stunning views our night was complete. We'll have to sell our place in Cambrai if are going to move here and have onion soup and grilled goat cheese in honey for dinner every night.

Now it is morning and we are preparing to do laundry, not in our sink, but at the laundromat across the way, then we have got to find WIFI... so au'revoir for now.

Merci
For my first decent night of sleep in a week, merci!


For Holly and Rich, who moved the Greengoose in to storage, merci!
For Tutu Ruth, who is keeping Betty, Chango and Benji company, merci!
For my mommy, who sent me Mary Jane Crocs in ruby red, merci!








For seeing Geoff and William stairmaster up the Eiffel Tower, merci!


For Alex ordering and trying escargot, merci!


For the scenic ride on the Seine, merci!






For sailing boats with Max and Maria in the Jardin des Tuileries, merci!


For standing slack jawed before the grandeur of the Louvre (without even actually going in,) merci!


For green salad with toasted goat cheese on slices of baguette, merci!


For Les Bouquinistes along the Seine, merci!


For new visitors, for dear visitors... merci!

For light on water and the light in their eyes, merci!


For curiosity, for stamina, for humor and humility, for comfortable shoes and single scoops of Berthillon ice cream and the Marche around the corner... merci! merci! merci! merci! merci! merci!


For the construction crew renovating across the courtyard from our hotel room, for their noise, and for bemusedly watching us eat our baguettes and frambois breakfast, we forgive you.

And Someone's Been Sleeping in My Bed.


After posting from the bathtub, where I was trying to pass my insomnia time without waking the children, I came back out in to the room, hoping to slip in bed for a 6:20 AM nap... no such luck. Max and Maria are stretched out, back to back and crosswise across our double bed. Alex is in a single and Geoff and William are upstairs each enjoying their own beds. I am sitting here with the lap top perched on the mini-fridge... greatly sloped because of the uneven floor.

I do not speak French. Badly... I mean my unFrench ability is really bad. It is humbling. It makes me feel actually stoopid. I think it is extra frustrating because I can manage some Spanish and I always thought in time I could learn Hawaiian, but no matter how I try, French baffles me. Why do they insist on using so many letters they are never going to pronounce?! It seems so wasteful, so frivolous. Such wanton and liberal sprinklings of unspoken consonants.

I try. I read the phrase book. I listen and practice, but when I am face to face with a Frenchman and asking about the one week metro pass, it becomes an out of body experience, and my spirit watches from my own shoulder and says, “You are babbling. Say something. Dear, that was Spanish in a bad French accent... that does not count.” I try again and the man behind the counter winces. Was he sympathetic or have I managed to confirm all of his beliefs about American tourists? I am so confident, in spite of all contrary evidence, that I should be able to communicate in this vaguely familiar Romance language that I blurt anothernonsensical inquiry...

S'il vous plait. Parlez-vous anglais? Mooah soy un Amercain ignorante y quiero comer pronto. Merci.” Then I smile. Then I pantomime a family of six buying metro passes, with a discount s'il vous plai, and eating dinner, then I say “Pardon. Tres bon. Mele kalikimaka. Then I grin and try to look confident, yet humble, and smart... in spite of all contrary evidence. We may starve.

Alex in Asia gave us some great tips in her comment, and we went straightaway to practicing the very useful: Sorry. I am an @ss phrase she suggests we employ, but it feels kind of redundant admitting we are sorry and need to be excused for being a bother. It seems so obvious we merit excusing. Now I regret more than ever that we forgot to pack the Obama stickers Phil sent us. Every time I try to communicate and I get the look, I could whip out an Obama sticker and say “I voted for this guy,” as though to say, “Aloha, I am smarter than you think. Please find us food and the stop for the Batobus. Merci.”

Remind me and maybe someday I will tell you about the time in Avignon when I translated French for a Frenchman. It was a whole other level of me being stoopid that cracks me up every time I think of it.

Oh man. They're still hogging my bed.

Coming Soon!

Our first morning in Paris is beginning slowly. I have been awake since 4 AM, and it 8 AM now. Still no stirring from Alex, Max or Maria. Still no peep from the upstairs crew either. It's just me and the construction crew outside the window... I am getting a lot of local color and sensory stimulation jack-hammered in to my morning. Bonjour!

On our walk to the hotel we went passed a marche... a stall market, very traditional, like the kind I know in Mexico. But where? We followed Geoff dragging luggage and we moved at a pretty quick pace, zig-zagging from Rue to Rue. I already checked the map, but it does not show up. I am just thinking of breakfast. I could buy bread and fruit, maybe some formage, more water.


Today we have tickets for the “Hop on-Hop off” boat that serves as a kind of water bus on the Seine. It travels from the Eiffel Tower, around the two Iles, passed the Louvre, and as the name implies, we can get on and off through the whole day. I thought it would be a pretty and fun way to get an overview of the heart of Paris. Looking forward to this. I think we may try the Notre Dame tour today too. Alex and I have been talking about climbing the 387 steps up the north tower for the views of Paris and more gargoyles. I think a tea at Angelina's would make a wonderful break. Tomorrow the Louvre, maybe the Eiffel Tower. Alex wants to go to the Flea Market, Marche aux Puces, on Saturday. Maria wants a single scoop from Maison Berthillon, on the Ile St. Louis. any every day! William's camera needs fresh batteries... he's got the shutterbug, like his mama!

And still ahead, we are going to Brussels, then the Netherlands. I am making the most of the big cities and all the amazing sights and opportunities, but I am really, really looking forward to our mellow little rented cabin in the Holland countryside. We found a very family receptive place, where rented bicycles await us, where there will be swimming and walks in the woods. I imagine we will relax and have time to process all the newness and wonder we have been absorbing. And rest we should, because we have a whirlwind kind of tour of Germany, then Switzerland, and a night in Avignon before we arrive in Barcelona.

Another thing, about Saturday in Paris... we leave that day for our drive to Belgium, and we will just miss Laura Jane... *sad face.* She's traveling from her home in Australia and arrives in Paris the day we leave. It would have been so amazing to meet face to face. We are so close! We'll try to warm the place up for her, so her visit will be extra grand and memorable.

Speaking of missing friends, I think it's Karen's night hosting MNO. Hopefully, I will be asleep when it 6:30 PST, but when it is dinner time here I will raise my glass to toast my dear friends. Anne, you let them know I am thinking of them... tell them we are moving here and starting an urban chicken farm, that we can see the Eiffel Tower from the barn!

”I Don't Get It. Where Are The Chickens?

Blogging to you live from the bathtub of our two star hotel!
It is I, the Chicken Blog lady. It's 4AM and I am sitting in the tub writing this post, trying to not wake the children. Don't worry, the tub is full of dirty laundry,so it's really comfy. Comfy compared with a double bed shared with a four year old and a 5'5” ten year old boy. Overhead is the still damp laundry I hand-washed and hung, before Alex read the notice on the door... “Mom, it says 'don't wash clothes in the sink,' here on this sign.” Gee, and I suppose they don't want our bloomers hanging from the window either. Sheesh.

Before I regale you with the tale of our first night in Paris, it occurred to me that anyone new, anyone visiting for the first time, might be thinking “Where are the chickens? Who are the chickens? What's a chica?”

Some Answers to”Imagined”Questions

1.The Chicas are the chickens, past and present, that have been our pets since the founding of this blog in 2002.
2.Presently there is only one chica and her name is Lady Elizabeth Orpington or informally, Betty. A.K.A. “Over the Wall Betty,” “Meet the Neighbors Betty” and “Poop-Deck Betty.”
3.The chicken or chica is home at Garage Mahal,our frequently maligned suburban rental palace with genuine faux columns.
4.The Chickens Abroad is us, our family, traveling for the first time together in Europe.
5.I am really hungry.
6.Sorry about that last bit... I got distracted by the howling pit in my stomach. We didn't have dinner.

We safely navigated 4 children and five pieces of luggage through Gare Nord, passed Gare Est, in to our hotel, up the stairs and in to our room, and this was no small feat, so it was awhile before we could muster the strength to seek food. This economical, yet quaint hotel is in a doubtful neighborhood, so after washing aforementioned laundry, and generally settling in, we rallied the children, who incidentally were also doubtful, but not in a 'peep show-leering winos' kind of way... where was I? Yes, we left the hotel in search of dinner. By the time we decided to Metro to the Seine and Louvre, it was 9:30 PM. At night... this is not our usual schedule. Not at all.

So, it seems doubtful hotels are not too near the good stuff, and our ride was lengthy and the doubtful-hungry-tired children were getting doubtfuller (real word.) We pressed on. We walked from Pont Marie through Ile St. Louis, around Notre Dame, and it was passed Notre Dame when Maria fell asleep on Geoff's shoulder, and it was ten minutes later when Geoff let me carry her. We walked all the way to the Louvre, then I let Geoff have a turn carrying Maria, and then to Pont Nouf Metro and we rode back to the hotel. And by now our doubtful neighborhood hotel was looking like a welcome sanctuary. We consoled doubtful-hungry-weary children and tucking them in at 12:30 AM we promised them a great breakfast.


Isn't this sad? We stood before the great Cathedral, the one begun in 1136 (it's just so darn typical of me to throw around interesting facts...lol)... we stood there in awe, absorbing the majesty and wonder of actually being here in front of this icon... and all I can focus on is ”where is my great breakfast?!”

I bought “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” for the boys before our adventure began. I hoped one of them would have time to read it, but they were pretty busy in school, and already absorbed in other books, so I wasn't sure there would be time to get to it. Last night, looking up at gargoyles and the rose window, Alex told me that it all looked familiar, like he knew it. He did read the book. So cool.

I am off. Time to remove the clean, damp clothes from the window, then to sniff out some croissants... bonjour!

Riding Backwards to Paris


As soon as we knew that we were flying to London, we planned to get to Paris by the Chunnel, the train that goes under the English Channel. I spent months imagining what this was going to be like and now we are here, riding the Eurostar and it's a kick. It's fast. I can feel it, the mass and the speed, change in air pressure as we travel through the smaller tunnels on our way to the main event. Our assigned seats are facing London, so we are going backwards in to Paris. All along I imagined that we would basically see English countryside from London to Brighton, or some other coastal town and then woosh in to the tunnel.

Are you laughing? It dawned on me, and get used to this, because these fourth quarter epiphanies are pretty common for me... it dawned on me that there is no way we could slip merrily along, southward, to the English Channel and then just scoot down into the tunnel... under the Channel, way down deep beneath all that water and fish! This is the kind of thing that I find hilarious, when my brain alerts me to certain facts and realities. Talk about an E-ticket! High speed train ride and then a nearly vertical ascent under hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet of water and rock! Yahoooo! I'm no engineer, but it cracks me up that I didn't realize sooner that we probably would enter the tunnel long before the coast, making a gradual, train-safe ascent.


Maria is asleep. Before we boarded the train we spent time at a playground. It's a beautiful day by the way. The sky has been mostly clear, and it is neither hot nor cold. We enjoyed our garden time, but then Maria had a small spill. There was barely any abrasion and certainly no tears, but she kept talking about the fall and telling us that Beanerina Bunny (her best friend softie, a ballerina bunny) was very sad about her fall. Geoff gave her a sympathy shoulder ride to St. Pancras Station and about half way there the tears started coming. In earnest. By the time we got to the station, we were offered first aide and train station kindness. Her knee is swollen, and she won't stand on it. I gave her a petite dose of acetaminophen, and shortly afterwards she fell asleep. A four year old girl that cannot walk in Paris might be problematic. Hopefully tiredness and tenderness are the main factors, other wise things are about to get (more) challenging interesting. How do you say “cheap stroller” in French?

Ah, this may be the one. We've been in this tunnel a long time.

What if in the future the Chunnel is like the aquarium tunnels they have in aquatic parks... people walk through the tunnel and the sharks and yellow fin tuna swim all around them... ? Of course far below the surface they would need to illuminate things for us to see anything. It would be awesome. Seriously. Riding a train, under the ocean and seeing... cod or pike, or whatever swims in the Channel. Seems a little far fetched, but I can think of a lot of things that as a child I never imagined we would have, like DVR and GPS and electric pencil sharpeners... the future is bright. I know it.


In the British Museum we visited two of the gift shops. I love Museum gift shops. For the most part I take pictures of things I like, buy a few post cards and enjoy looking.

Not the Chunnel tunnel: We just came out of the really long one. Just saying.

I asked the children to choose a favorite postcard. Max chose the famous wave painting by Hokusai. Maria chose a painting of Sandwich Islands birds, and then she picked up a mummy postcard. It showed an open sarcophagus and a linen wrapped mummy.

“That's white chocolate,” she said with certainty.

I like to listen to children and allow them to express their perceptions, explain their views, but I really thought associating a mummy with white chocolate was on the creepy side, so I said, “Maria, that's called a mummy. It's not chocolate.”

“It is white chocolate. Daddy told me.”

Eeww. I thought he was telling her some kind of weird something or other, but then that's not his style, so I asked him what was up with Maria's mummy-white chocolate association? It turns out that the first gift shop sold sarcophagus boxes with white chocolate mummies. Yummy-Mummy anyone?

Guess what... it was the Chunnel Tunnel and now we are in Paris!

Thought It Was a Goof-up I Am Stunned

I am stunned, and I cannot write. I do not know what to write. After blogging for 7 years, I have just today broken a comments record... 30 comments! Thirty comments?! I thought someone was goofing around, or that my server was acting up, but I did not think that Chickenblog had achieved “Blog of Note” status. Maybe you cannot tell by reading this, but I am shaking and sort of babbling and laughing, and I am debating: Should I continue as though nothing has changed? Should I explain that I am easily amused and know that it is St. Pancras, not St. Pancreas? Should I reply to the commenter who thinks I write too much and try to convince him that every thought and word is essential and good, that I am really nice? Lol... Dude, if you think that post was long you should see my chicken posts.

Thank you. And welcome to Chickenblog. We are at the beginning of our family trip to Europe, a trip Geoff and I have anticipated since we were in high school. Now we are here at last, with our four children and about to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary. The thing is, it's tricky blogging from here, because I do not have my usual posting set-up. Regular readers already recognize my methods and musings, but I am feeling caught off guard about greeting new visitors and naturally when someone new is at my door I want to make them comfortable and I want to have everything tidy and inviting... uh-oh, babbling.


We made it to The British Museum. Marvelous. It's like high school, when I enjoyed flipping through the pages of my history book to look for pictures and the more tangible bits of the story. We stood before the Rosetta Stone. Not a replica. Not a grainy textbook image, but the actual tablet fragment that unlocked the mystery of hieroglyphics. The British Museum is free and has been around since 1753... before we were One nation under God... William took pictures. Max enjoyed looking for a treasure to bring home. Alex found a ball... twelve free moving ivory spheres, carved from a single piece... one inside the next and about the size of a tennis ball... we need pictures, I know. Soon.


Next we Tubed to Hyde Park, the lake and playground, the Boathouse. It's so interesting to see unfamiliar trees and new flowers. Big trees. Really big. And beautiful flowers, like foxgloves and different poppies. At the lake were geese and ducks, coots, a great heron. Even the squirrels were charming. We walked quite a bit and then we played with a boomerang and a flying floppy disc. Then I lost my phone. Then I found my phone. Then I vowed to not lose my phone ever, ever again, because that was so not fun. Then we got floored by Harrod's where food and merchandise is displayed in theme park grandeur. Then we tried to keep Geoff awake for the Tube ride back to our hotel.

Back at the hotel Alex asked about the rest of our trip. He wanted a break down on the big city vs. small town ratio. He sides with small towns and countryside. He's not keen on the traffic here, or the rush of people jockeying for real estate on the Tube. Cities. They are frenetic. The energy seems to permeate the air and when inhaled can be a bit of a jolt. I like it in doses, like the times we stay in San Francisco or visit Los Angeles, Chicago, Minneapolis, but it's not our usual pace, so I understand Alex's feelings. He thinks it's all bit too much.

Good thing we began in London, where at least the language is familiar. I think jet lag and culture shock is a lot to mange and cope with.
And today? Today we ride the train to Paris. Another big city and us without a French Rosetta Stone... oh dear. It's too soon, isn't it? Our London time is brief, and I know we are missing an awful lot, not to mention the rest of the country. Next time I want to go the Lake District, to Scotland, to that area southeast of here featured in Jane Austen's novels... sigh. Next time, right?

Before we are all aboard, we need to wake Max, gather laundry and pack. We are close to the Body Organ St. Pancras Station, which is convenient. Maria calls it the castle and she wants to live there. We are going under the English Channel. Under. Oh man that is so totally weird.

Reading and enjoying all of your comments. Thank you. Geoff promises pictures asap, so stick around.

Top of The Morning


Does anyone actually say "top of the morning" or have I been watching too much Mary Poppins? They do say "Love," like the man that sold me tickets for our ride to King's Cross: "Love, when someone steals that purse of yours they are going to take this credit card and shop." He wanted me to sign the back of my credit card. Back home I leave it unsigned so they ask for ID, but now it says "See ID." At the next station the man selling Tube tickets said, "Love, here are your tickets for tonight and these are for tomorrow," but he did not check for my signature on my card.

"Mind the gap." On the Picadilly line from Heathrow to St. Pancras Station, we heard "Mind the gap" at every stop, and we learned there is a lot to mind when negotiating the busy London streets and metro.

So, we are here and the jet lag is real, which is easier to cope with than the first time I faced the confusion, and disoriented loopiness of flying from So Cal to Europe. It helps a lot to believe that it will pass. I think Geoff is coping best, but he did not get to be at Stonehenge for the soltice... as much as he wanted to. We'll make it up to him somehow. Max and Alex are asleep... probably they will be bright and perky about the time Geoff and I hit the wall.

Can you guess what we had for dinner? Is it supper or dinner? It was after nine, still light out, slightly chilly and we were upstairs in a quaint and snug corner of the Wellington Pub. Have you guessed? Fish and chips! And mashed peas. The mashed peas fit the classic descriptions I've heard about British food all my life... they were bland. We had a variety of fish and Geoff had a Guiness (AKA meal in a can.) William and Max only had garlic toast, but William just had English breakfast, minus meat. Beans for breakfast... I like it. Not accostomed to sweet beans, but they were tasty. And the fish was tasty. Maria is subsisting on grapes and cherries. She tried three different jams on toast and found them each equally unpalatable. I am sure Max will be quite hungry.

Today we are going to the British Museum. Geoff just came from St. Pancreas Station where he bought our Chunnel tickets. So, Tuesday it's Paris! That means it must be Monday. Monday morning. 9:30. Alex and Max are still sleeping. Geoff and I have been awake since 3:00 AM. Maria just found the breakfast muffin from the flight, so she is eating! Yay.


Do you want to hear about our rooms? Did you ever see "European Vacation," the Griswalds in England? I only saw the movie once, but the hotel scene came right to mind when we walked in to the first room... lol. Mind you, I am not complaining. I am only saying that the rooms are remarkably small, which is why we had to take two. Maria and I are upstairs and the men folk are downstairs and only inches from the sidewalk and a stones throw from the train station. I actually confused the bathroom for a closet. It's behind a sliding closet door. I think our RV bathroom is more accomodating. The sink would fit in a cereal bowl, with the cereal. But everyone has a bed and a pillow and last night I did not need much more.

Back to Mary Poppins and Peter Pan... I keep thinking of those movies, especially last night when we walked around this neighborhood and we could see the roof tops of London and I kept expecting to see Bert and Mary pop out of a chimney, or Peter Pan slip in to a bedroom window. Even when our flight broke through the clouds we had our first London view, over the Thames and it was postcard like, or like the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland! We could see all the classic images and structures of a city I know only from books and movies, and the song "You can fly, you can fly, you can fly!" played merrily in my head. It was quite magical. It's fortunate that I am here in person. I do not need to go through the rest of my life believing that any time spent in London will produce Peter Pan sightings, but I do continue to wish I might see Elzabeth Bennet or run in to Nigella Lawson.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, ....



It's almost time for three, two, one--- take-off! Chickens Abroad is gonna fly!


We got luggage tags filled out and attached and we are obviously prepared to do sink laundry.


I've read a lot. Some of these books came long before our reservations. I love reading travel books.


I've listened to your advice and I am thankful for your tips and wisdom. Crocs may not be much to look at, but my mommy proved their worth when she and I were in Barcelona.


what the?!
OKay. So there is still lots left to do, including more laundry. Help!

And if you are wondering about the house that we want, we've submitted an offer... nothing like a last minute bureaucratic decathlon to make things interesting! There were as many hurdles in the last 3 days as I've ever seen in an Olympic event. We are still accepting prayers and good wishes. Thank you.

laundry
clean fridge
clean pantry
clean closet
drop off donations
pick up rental car
nap
exfoliate
sigh deeply
drive to LAX

Never give up!
Never surrender!

Not Bad For A Monday


Maybe it's because two children have begun break, or because it rained on Saturday. Maybe it's because the house is very nearly clean and has a post party glow. Maybe it's because I finally found us a place to stay for the two nights in Belgium, so that we won't have to ponder the possibility of shutting our eyes in a train station... Whatever it is, I have to say I feel pretty good for a Monday morning. There is still lots to be done and the days are zipping past, but I feel kind of mellow and kind of *ready.*

He he hee hee...

That's my nervous laughter, as I consider the reckless daring of thinking I might be *ready!* Please note: I am not tempting fate. I know there is plenty left to accomplish. I have not forgotten the state of the garage or my our closet. It has not slipped my mind that Geoff is working right up until take-off, that my to-do list still has 42 items that have not been crossed off. Honestly, "I feel kind of ready" is more of a spiritual state of mind, a coming to peace with the relative state of our situation, than a "mission accomplished" kind of declaration.

Okay then. That's better.


In our usual fashion we have extended our celebration of Alex's birthday. One day of honoring and playing is just too brief. We had a cook-out. Low key and so very nice. Holly and Rich came with the cousins and Tutu, and the boys' school friend, Tamara, joined us too. We didn't go to In-N-Out, but we did bring the indoors out. Our dining table looks good on the patio... I wish it could stay there actually.


Even Chango approved, and he looked adorable enjoying the evening from the cushioned comfort of the Radio Flyer. Betty followed Izzy and Maria and did a pretty fair job of keeping the floor clean of melon seeds and chip crumbs. Good Betty. (Betty is a Chicken, if you don't know. Just saying, so no one thinks we abuse guests.)


Alex and Geoff went out and found a piñata. They make 'em tough these days. We all took some serious swings, with direct contact and the piñata withstood the beating admirably.


Of course a plastic bat is probably a pretty flimsy tool for the job. You can see Maria meant business. ¡Dale, dale, dale!


Here come the big boys. Even Holly and I gave it a whoopin'. Hey, Geoff put dark chocolate in there. You'd beat a dinosaur for dark chocolate, wouldn't you?


I think everyone had a good time.


Even before he blew out his candle, one wish came true: Tutu Ruth brought Alex's favorite dessert, her rhubarb-strawberry crisp.


So, what was his other wish? I hope it comes true.


Another wish come true!
Nice hat Alex!



*************************************************************************************
Goodness. I was tempting fate. It seems we may get our foot in a door... a selling agent is meeting me later this morning to write up an offer on a place we kind of, sort of want to buy. I am trying to be focused and optimistic, yet detached. If we even make it to the next level of negotiating it could mean our lives will get about 99% more complicated, and naturally this would all come as we are about to board a plane heading to Europe. We need a very good house inspector. We need goodness and light to align, God to bless us (more) and all conveniences of this modern age to serve us well and true. Suddenly my Mellow Monday Morning feels jittery, anxious, sort of nauseating, deeply hopeful, yet full of trepidation and fear.

It's a blue house. There's a fig tree. It has nooks and sunrise views.

Detach
Believe!
Detach
Believe!
Detach
BELIEVE!

Fifteen

Sigh.
Happy Birthday Alex!


Remember last year? Alex and I had a memory chuckle over the croissants I burned... actually it was more like a kitchen fire than just well-done buns. This year the croissants are golden and light. I was sighing because it's hard to believe he is fifteen years old and because I am dizzy with good memories, happy recollections of life with this boy. Sigh. He deserves a lot more than unburned croissants! Which is why this post has got to be short and sweet... there's so much to do!

Alex is great. Really great. I've said it before and it's as true as ever.



I just came from the high school. Maria and I took a huge cake to share with students and staff... that was a big hit. The principal led everyone in a warm and sweet round of "Happy Birthday." I could not be more eager for summer to begin, but today I realized how much I like their school... I am going to miss all those great people.

On Sunday we are going to do something. A cookout. Light some tiki torches. Ruth is making Alex strawberry rhubarb crisp. As you can see, we are limited by space when it comes to backyard activities... not that it keeps us from having any fun at all, but it has occurred to me that we do not even have an outdoor table. Maybe we will have a cookout and an eat in. Of course, inside we don't have much in the way of chairs... lol.


Maybe we should consider In-N-Out. Take it down to the beach.


Chango would vote for a backyard party, without the hose play. Alex gets the deciding vote.

Ms Sew 'n' Sew


I can think of a lot of ways to waste time and/or procrastinate, but my all time favorite way to postpone the inevitable is with a needle and thread. Or a camera.


I got it in my head that our family trip, Chickens Abroad, calls for a particular kind of wardrobe... summer cool and light, for comfort, and also to dry easily when doing hotel room laundry. I envisioned something simple to manage when negotiating an airplane bathroom. So with a pencil and a ruler, some freezer paper and a willingness to try reverse engineering basic styles, I have been having a grand time sewing Maria a custom wardrobe for her first trip to Europe.


I think Maria had a grand time modeling today's project. She loves her red dress. She loves the ribbon rose and hopes it will never fall off. I love that I have successfully designed and made two pair of pants, a skirt and blouse and this sweet and easy, ready to go dress. The sewing muses have been so kind to me... this time.


Gee whiz... I really wish this look would work on me. No, not the dramatic pose... the dress.


Here is the skirt. Honestly this is totally inspired by me trying to make airplane bathroom trips as easy, sanitary and convenient as possible.

I wish I had more of this print. Can you see the bird silhouettes? It's so breezy and cheerful, like the best of summertime.


Ta-da!

I'm sorry for carrying on, but I am so very amused-delighted-surprised-relieved about this blouse. I made it with my fingers crossed, and then made a longer version for the red dress. It worked. Stunning. Mom and I shopped together for the blue Provençal print... now it gets to journey back to France.

I should have taken pictures of the pants, but since we are taking so little clothing on this trip there will be plenty of fashion sewing photo-ops later.


There are a few other things I am supposed to be taking care of (*ahem*,) but I hope I can do a little more sewing soon.

Chickens


About fourteen years ago I started to think about chickens. I started to recall, fondly, that when I was a child we had chickens. We also had a barn and two acres of land, so having chickens made sense. Fourteen years ago my own family was far from any farms, living in a small two bedroom house. No one thought my fond recollections of having chickens were interesting or worth pursuing. Still I could not stop thinking about chickens and really my thoughts were becoming an actual plan to get chickens. I wanted to see their ruffled feathered forms in the yard. I wanted to hear their clucks and chuckles, their cackles. Nothing could discourage or dissuade me, and there were a lot of people that wanted to discourage and dissuade me. They pointed out all of the drawbacks of raising backyard chickens, like messes and noises and smells, and messes and noises and smells. Their sermon preached and repeated the same unholy chicken trinity: Noises, messes and smells.

Naysayers. I listened to them. I heard them. I knew they were probably right, and I smiled politely, trying to reassure them that I was not about to behave rashly. But I was about to behave rashly. I was waiting for the moment to be ripe, for the impulse to mature to obsession, for the obsession to bloom in to full scale action. I was patient and determined. I was going to have chickens.




In 2000 PBS aired a program that absolutely confirmed my affliction affection for chickens. "The Natural History of Chickens" embodied the humor, the sensitivity, the practicality, the whole picture of chickens and people's history with chickens. And even though I enjoyed laughing about the "extreme" demonstrations of love and respect some people have for their feathered friends, I was also startled to realize that it was all terribly attractive. That will be me some day, I thought with some awe. I will be a crazy chicken lady. It was not a decision; it was a premonition. I remember how much I wished we could have a copy of this great film, how much I wanted to view it again and keep a copy on hand... a happy substitute for the real thing.


My day has come. I have my hen. I will have more again, when we have our own place. I do not consider myself a crazy chicken lady. Not yet. But perhaps by some people's standards I have arrived. The chickens do not come in the house. Well, not often. In fact this visit was a certain rarity, and we were amused by their curiosity, and by Benjamin's indignation.


Lady Betty Orpington makes me happy. And it's not that I think everyone should have chickens, because, really, they are noisy, messy and smelly, but what I do think everyone should have is an affinity for something in the natural world that makes them happy. Everyone should have the pleasure of connecting with a garden or a pet, with the forest or the ocean, and see it with all of its beauty and flaws, its strengths and its perils and in spite of whatever challenges it presents we should extend ourselves to foster a relationship. It strengthens my mind, body and spirit to be in the ocean or walking in the woods, and it does the same for me to hear Betty in the garden, to follow her and care for her, to learn about her.

I do not have any illusions about what she is, and I am not even opposed to roast chicken... I think that is another reason why I enjoyed filmmaker Mark Lewis' film; he demonstrated an affection for his subject without oversimplifying the complexity of the issues or forcing an agenda. The film was funny, maybe silly truthfully, it was entertainment-educational. The DVD is available now, and the program is airing on PBS this week. I cannot wait to see it again. With Betty? No, it'd be passed her bedtime.

Mom, This One's For You
In your honor we made a our way to Falafelandia, where everything was nacholy supreme. We raised our smoothies and toasted you and thought beautiful birthday thoughts for you. The children assured us that the tribute would not be complete without ice-cream, so Geoff took them to the counter to choose their favorite flavors.











"Think of your grandma and send her birthday wishes," I told them as I snapped a few pictures.

Maria gave me two bites of her ice cream. I made birthday wishes for you... all about us being together either in Falafelandia or at Foodies, or in some obscenely wealthy-lotto billions scenario where we become co-habitors of a Central California ranchito with full wells, fertile soil, a big barn, a pond, a stream, a few houses, a view to the ocean... you get the picture. There would be room to be together, juntos pero no revueltos.









Like every day, I will be thinking of you and wishing we were together, because I love you. Happy Birthday.

I Need a Butt Kick Personal Assistant


There is nothing relevant about this photograph. It happens to be the only thing new on my memory card. On second thought... maybe I am moth-like, doing nothing until something blows me away or a bright light stirs me to action. One does not want to take this metaphor too far. I am not flying in to flames.

Never mind.

So.

Remember October through February when Geoff was working ridiculous hours and I lived like a single mom, but with husband laundry? It's on again. I blame real estate agents. Realtors and terrorists. I do not apologize for lumping them together. Geoff is working all nighters again. Other than getting a big bed all to myself, it pretty much vacuums much of the joy out of life. And of course his hours coincide with hectic school days and a lot of unfinished Chickens Abroad business... on that point I would just like to say that I wish we had listened and heeded all advice about keeping our trip simple. My head is not happy trying to manage all of the details and what-ifs of traveling for 3 weeks with four children in seven different countries. I know: We are so lucky, but even "good" stress takes a toll.

Was that a paragraph? Am I rambling? Is today Friday?

Did anyone else see the NBC two parter about the Obama White House? By the way I do watch television. In fact, I love television. I am ready to take my brain "all the way." Just saying. I like our President. I am not one of those blind fans that ever believed he is a flawless man that will lead us out of this wilderness. In fact I believe we are barely skirting the first ring of the "greater recession," but it was a joint effort of both parties and greed (and Realtors and terrorists... see? it all ties together) that brought us to this place. Anyway, I think Obama is a good man, a smart and capable man and he surrounds himself with some interesting and smart people. Hey, bottom line... they will do a better job than the last crew.

What really struck me is how much help people get. P E R S O N A L A S S I S T A N T S. Say it with me: Personal Assistants. Help. Extra hands. Support. A network. Back-up. Sweet. I have a problem with admitting I need help, asking for help, accepting help, yelling "Help!" I believe, and this only applies to myself, that as a stay at home mom, with no time clock or commute, that I am supposed to do all things domestic. I am supposed to do it all and do it well, and like it. Oh, and look good doing it too. Needless to say, I am not doing so hot. I think this is the result of many things, including errors in my thinking, a pinch of laziness, lousy housing circumstances, disorientation, and a lack of personal assistants. I blame Facebook too, because I think it helps save my ego to blame the Internet for my failures.

Was that a paragraph? Am I rambling? Is today Friday?

The best thing to happen this week: My mom called me and asked me if I've registered Maria for kindergarten, and then she laced the rest of the conversation with this subliminal message: "Enroll Maria." She asked me about the boys. She told me about grandma, the weather, counting beads... and regularly, subtly, she would say "Enroll Maria." It worked. I did it. Maria is enrolled, and very happy, I should add. Thanks to my mother's kind and repetitive assistance I actually accomplished a major thing that, frankly, I was blowing off big time. I don't think it's really necessary to explain why I would want to postpone enrolling my youngest and last baby in "big girl school," away from home, where everyone will confirm that she is not an actual baby. Sigh.

Mom, could you please remind me to clean the house and car, reserve two nights somewhere in Brussels, book an airport hotel, and a rental car for our return home? Also, Alex has a birthday coming soon and I need to plan a get together for that, so a push in this direction will be appreciated. Thank you. I love you. A lot.

Yo Tambien Quiero Volver
Un regalo para mi Tia Elvira. Con cariño, departe de su sobrina. Yo tambien tengo buenos recuerdos de El Valle de Tacupeto. Besos a mi Tio y Tia. Les amo muchismo.


Desde El Ojo de Agua, noviembre, 2003. El Cerro Cabezón.




Antonia y Ismael en su casa, en el pueblo.


Huele a humo y tortillas. Se oye los coros en la iglesia. En la cocina... bondad y amor, risa y comunión.




Leche. De la vaca de Kia, en El Ojo de Agua.




Un paseo en el campo. Caminando a Los Cajoncitos.


El año pasado escribí mas sobre El Valle... "Maíz, Leña, Agua y Memorias"