It's been over six months since I last wrote something for you all... which is too bad. I enjoy writing, I hear that some of you enjoy reading, and there is so much to say! That being said, there's so much to say that I feel like I never quite have the time to say it!
So over the last six months there have been trips to Spain, Italy, and Portugal (what can I say? All of these fabulous places are so close!), amazing birthday surprises for my big 3-0, many visitors, a move to a new apartment, and a very busy work season. Most of it has been great, and some things have been a real drag, but in general life is always good. For each one of these events, I've drafted a blog in my head, and then it has faded away as I never got the time to put it down.
I guess another reason why I've not written very often this year is because some of the novelty has worn off. Last year, there were certain things about living in France that absolutely struck me as being different or crazy, and I just needed to write about them. Maybe things here now seem less weird, so it's not as obvious to me what people would like to hear about. The transition to life in France is funny... I sometimes find myself searching for a word in English, and blurting out the French word instead. I also sometimes speak an awkward form of English, that's essentially a direct translation of a French phrase. Once I double-kissed my sister without thinking. She gave me this look and said, "What was that all about??" I even have to remind myself to look up at the Eiffel Tower on my way to work every day.
Though in a lot of ways, I'm still 100% American. I still pay a ridiculous amount of money for a cup of Starbucks coffee (it's even more expensive here), and am foolishly excited about their seasonal lattes. I miss American grocery stores every time I go to a French one. (They don't bag your groceries here... they just shove them down the little "chute" and you have to bag and pay as fast as you can so as not to upset the people behind you). And of course, I still 100% argue that Fahrenheit is the best scale for temperature for every day use. It's degrees are smaller, which makes it more precise! Also, I still can't get used to saying it's "30 degrees out!" when it's super warm. Being from Upstate New York, it's just not going to happen. Thirty degrees means cold!
So that's where I'm at right now. Many blog ideas swirling around upstairs. Maybe in the "off season" for my work I'll be a bit more productive here. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this little update.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
The Scariest Thing About Living Abroad
I'm going to focus this post on an aspect of life in Paris that is more sobering and serious than a usual post. There was recently a death in my husband's family. Out of respect for our family's privacy, I'm not writing to share any specifics or personal details. I certainly won't attempt to speak about this person's life, either. As the newest member of the family, I simply couldn't do justice to such a task.
I have been reflecting, though, on how things were different here, simply in terms of customs and logistics. In general, this is exactly what my blog is about. Also, this type of life event brings a real poignancy to living far from home and makes one question one's motives for doing so. But we'll get to that.
As I've mentioned in a previous post, all my grandparents are no longer with us. Sadly, this means I am all too familiar with burial and mourning customs, and so could feel the differences between how things were done here and how they were done back home. One thing that I found most striking was the amount of time that everything lasted. There were about ten days between the day the person passed away and when the funeral services took place. To me this seemed like an eternity, as in my experience things usually take 3-4 days. I realize, though, that this might be more of a function of living in a big city than it is a function of living in France. It's strangely similar to going to a nice restaurant -- it simply takes time to get a reservation.
In my experience in the US, all of the children and grandchildren of the deceased met in one place and then rode to all of the services together in a series of limousines. Being outside of an environment where this is normal, I realized that it might be a bit strange, overly luxurious. That being said, it's nice when the family arrives together and enters the church together, without having to greet the crowd of extended family and friends. While of course it's kind and supportive and wonderful of them to be there at such a time, it's also very difficult to face people in these moments. Here in France, our nuclear family made our way to the services together, and then met everyone outside the church, greeting and chatting with each other for what seemed like 30 minutes, but maybe was only 10-15. I watched those closest to the deceased hang back a bit, unsure of what to do, and then accept the condolences people offered them gracefully, though sometimes with difficulty. My understanding is that there are sometimes wakes in France, though not always. As there was not in this case, perhaps this time outside the church took its place, giving friends that opportunity to speak with the bereft family members. Whether this happens in a funeral home or outside a church doesn't really matter much, I suppose. The sentiments and the interactions are the same. Certainly none of this is ever easy.
One last observation is that cemeteries in France seem to be all stone and gravel, not grass the way I've seen in the United States. I don't know why this made such an impression on me, but it did. The families of the deceased have to bring their own flower pots and either install them permanently at the grave or find a place where temporary containers will stand up well. The custom is the same though, that people bring flowers and take a sense of pride in making sure their family member's graves look tidy. I suppose none of us can bear the idea of leaving our loved ones unattended.
In the midst of all of this, of comforting loved ones who are grieving the loss of a beloved family member, there were a few things going on in my mind. The first, of course, was trying to be there to make everything easier for my husband and make sure he carried on all normal necessary functions, such as eating enough, sleeping, etc. This was hardly necessary, but it gave me something to do and a sense of purpose. Perhaps that's simply my way of grieving.
On the other side of things... being here during the death of a loved one terrifies me. We were here for this one. We were in the right place. We had seen this person over the last few months, we were here to be with the family and mourn together. But... my side of the family is far. With the exception of a few weeks at the holidays, we've not been able to spend time with them. What if, God forbid, something were to happen to one of them? I've wasted precious time with them, living life in some far off country instead of being with them. What am I thinking?!
And then I remember what I'm thinking. I remember my husband who is here and who is the most important person in my world. I remember that he had been away from his home and family for over three years before we moved to France. I remember how wonderful his family members are and how they've become my family members, too.
And so there you have it. Plainly put, the one most intense source of anxiety and fear that living abroad carries with it. The fear that the worst could happen while you're gone, you could lose one of your most beloved friends or family members, and you will have given up time with them during their most precious last days. But then again, we've chosen a life that means we will face this fear no matter where we go. (Unless, of course, we convince one entire side of the family to move to another country. Should be easy, yes?) So I'll keep saying my prayers that God keeps us on the right side of the ocean, and that He grants us many years with those we love. May He send us no surprises. And may He bless the member of my husband's family and keep him always in His care.
As I've mentioned in a previous post, all my grandparents are no longer with us. Sadly, this means I am all too familiar with burial and mourning customs, and so could feel the differences between how things were done here and how they were done back home. One thing that I found most striking was the amount of time that everything lasted. There were about ten days between the day the person passed away and when the funeral services took place. To me this seemed like an eternity, as in my experience things usually take 3-4 days. I realize, though, that this might be more of a function of living in a big city than it is a function of living in France. It's strangely similar to going to a nice restaurant -- it simply takes time to get a reservation.
In my experience in the US, all of the children and grandchildren of the deceased met in one place and then rode to all of the services together in a series of limousines. Being outside of an environment where this is normal, I realized that it might be a bit strange, overly luxurious. That being said, it's nice when the family arrives together and enters the church together, without having to greet the crowd of extended family and friends. While of course it's kind and supportive and wonderful of them to be there at such a time, it's also very difficult to face people in these moments. Here in France, our nuclear family made our way to the services together, and then met everyone outside the church, greeting and chatting with each other for what seemed like 30 minutes, but maybe was only 10-15. I watched those closest to the deceased hang back a bit, unsure of what to do, and then accept the condolences people offered them gracefully, though sometimes with difficulty. My understanding is that there are sometimes wakes in France, though not always. As there was not in this case, perhaps this time outside the church took its place, giving friends that opportunity to speak with the bereft family members. Whether this happens in a funeral home or outside a church doesn't really matter much, I suppose. The sentiments and the interactions are the same. Certainly none of this is ever easy.
One last observation is that cemeteries in France seem to be all stone and gravel, not grass the way I've seen in the United States. I don't know why this made such an impression on me, but it did. The families of the deceased have to bring their own flower pots and either install them permanently at the grave or find a place where temporary containers will stand up well. The custom is the same though, that people bring flowers and take a sense of pride in making sure their family member's graves look tidy. I suppose none of us can bear the idea of leaving our loved ones unattended.
In the midst of all of this, of comforting loved ones who are grieving the loss of a beloved family member, there were a few things going on in my mind. The first, of course, was trying to be there to make everything easier for my husband and make sure he carried on all normal necessary functions, such as eating enough, sleeping, etc. This was hardly necessary, but it gave me something to do and a sense of purpose. Perhaps that's simply my way of grieving.
On the other side of things... being here during the death of a loved one terrifies me. We were here for this one. We were in the right place. We had seen this person over the last few months, we were here to be with the family and mourn together. But... my side of the family is far. With the exception of a few weeks at the holidays, we've not been able to spend time with them. What if, God forbid, something were to happen to one of them? I've wasted precious time with them, living life in some far off country instead of being with them. What am I thinking?!
And then I remember what I'm thinking. I remember my husband who is here and who is the most important person in my world. I remember that he had been away from his home and family for over three years before we moved to France. I remember how wonderful his family members are and how they've become my family members, too.
And so there you have it. Plainly put, the one most intense source of anxiety and fear that living abroad carries with it. The fear that the worst could happen while you're gone, you could lose one of your most beloved friends or family members, and you will have given up time with them during their most precious last days. But then again, we've chosen a life that means we will face this fear no matter where we go. (Unless, of course, we convince one entire side of the family to move to another country. Should be easy, yes?) So I'll keep saying my prayers that God keeps us on the right side of the ocean, and that He grants us many years with those we love. May He send us no surprises. And may He bless the member of my husband's family and keep him always in His care.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
"Dish-aster" or... The Great Cabinet Avalanche of 2014
So I'm coming home from work on Friday afternoon at a little after 12:30. As I enter the apartment, things seem normal. All is quiet. There's a little bit of light coming in through the living room door. I'm thinking about what my options are for lunch. And then I catch sight of this:
and then probably....
Weird... those seem to be parts of our coffee mugs and glasses. And... isn't that the door to one of the cabinets that hangs on the wall opposite this door from which it's protruding? Why yes, yes it is. So if those things are spilling out into the hallway, that means....
and then probably....
So yes. I've let these pictures speak their thousand words to you (which may or may not be suitable for children). The cabinets fell off our kitchen wall on Friday. Unfortunately these were holding all of our dishes and glassware.
There are a few ways to look at this. First and foremost, what did we not lose? The obvious -- nobody was crushed to death by a falling cupboard. I realize it might seem that I'm overstating this a bit for effect but honestly, I'm not. We left our apartment a bit before 8:00 on Friday morning, with everything as it had always been. According to my neighbors, there was a horrible and thunderous crash some time around 8:20. If we hadn't been out of cereal, and I hadn't convinced Paul that the only logical response to this was to go to Starbucks and get a muffin, my husband might have been cleaning up the kitchen when these fell. This thought is terrifying. It's also terrifying that if the cabinets had managed to hang on for a few more years and there were children living in this apartment, the unspeakable might have happened. None of this even mentions how many pieces of shattered glass lay on the floor, just waiting for us to try and step over them, trip, and open some vein. We're very blessed not to have been here and to be unharmed.
The second way to look at this: What did we lose? All those beautiful, almost brand-new dishes and glasses. I know they're just things, but they were all wedding gifts. I think of my aunt and cousins and all the glasses they gave us. I think of my other aunt who gave me that pretty serving bowl with the cover (oh the cruelty, the cover survived but not the dish). Wedding and shower gifts are the things our family and friends gave to us so that we might start out our lives together with everything we need, aside from Love, which they have always given us in volumes. I do think of the people who gave us these things when I use them. Having let them break and perish here in this foreign land, I do feel like I've let my loved ones down a bit and not taken care of the things they gave us. But... they're just things. On a more practical note, the cabinet fell on the stove top, breaking that as well. Lucky for me I like baking dinners...
The third way to look at this: How could this have happened?!? Well, I have a few answers.
The first is something we may laugh at some day, but not yet.... We installed our own cupboards. That's right. We bought them at Ikea and had them delivered in there assembly-ready pieces. I put them together while Paul was at work and then he and our brother-in-law put them up on the walls. We even decided to attach the cupboards to each other to make them more "stable!" Ha. We probably won't be doing that again! So I think the rule about how a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client also applies to home improvement. Our clients were idiots.
Second... and I apologize that this might be kind of a rant... but why on EARTH would France have the common practice be that the renters, and not the landlords, equip the kitchen?!? Why??? Then what happens is you end up with people, much like us, who have NO idea what they are doing and are making very large holes in your property. We didn't know which wall was made of what. (Apparently one wall is plaster, whereas another is brick, and the wall in question was a combination of the two. Obviously we didn't go far enough into the brick). I personally feel that the entity who has a little more ownership and knowledge of the place should be responsible for these things. (Disclaimer: I love our landlord. She is amazing, and very nice. I do not blame any individuals in this situation other than my husband and me. I just wish things had been different. Please see previous post about moving into a French apartment and unequipped kitchen).
Third, and this is obviously less the culprit than the first cause, is my American-ness and lack of familiarity with France and all things French. I have heard from a few people here (after the fact, of course) that one should never put too much in the hung cabinets, and they've heard of this happening. The heavy stuff should go in the cabinets that stand on the floor. Again... what?!?!? I'm sorry, my assumption was that if there is a cabinet, it is meant to store things. I have never heard this in the U.S. My mother's hanging cabinets are chocked full of dishes, glasses, and various other things. We have never needed to be aware of how much weight is in them. They were constructed and mounted properly. That has taken the variables out of the equation. And, as several of my American friends have mentioned, if this had happened in the US, someone would be paying all of our expenses so as to avoid a law suit. (Unless, again, we were the idiots who had installed them...) Had I heard this rule that the upper cabinets should be spared the heavy weight, and had I been born and raised here, we might never have had such a dish-aster. Ah well.
In the end, quite a few of our dishes survived. I would really like to fully endorse Fiesta and all their products. They might have been the heavy dishes that brought the thing down in the first place, but a lot of them survive the fall! We have about 9 plates, 7 bowls, and various other things. Also, one of the cupboards is completely in tact. (I'm sure it's because I followed the Ikea picture directions to a T!)
That's really not such a bad lot to be left. We have plenty of plates and bowls. Several mugs (some without their handles, but whatever) and a very good story to tell. One day.
Before wrapping up this post, I would like to give a couple of shout-outs. Thank you to AS for answering the phone when I called and giving good advice like, "Don't try to climb into the kitchen for the broom while you're alone, you could get really hurt if you fall on broken glass." Thanks also for all of your help cleaning up the mess.
Thanks to Aunt B for the moral support, the dinner and scotch later Friday night, and the replacement glasses and temporary use of the mini stove, the pots, and of course, the means to make coffee in the morning!
Our neighbor here in the building, with whom I am not acquainted online, was also incredibly kind and gave us cleaning supplies and even more replacement glasses. She had some gloves that were thick enough to protect from glass shards, which were a huge help.
And... thanks to Aunt Karen for coining the phrase, "Dish-aster!"
So to my family here in France, thank you for all the support! To my family in the US, thanks for all the moral support, and don't worry... I promise we're okay. There's no sense crying over some broken glass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)