Now THAT was An Adventure!

So I Vélib'ed for the first time this morning... And although there were a few small hiccups along the way, I had a great time! At least those darn strikes were good for something in the end! (and I so wish I could bicycle to work like that more often...) Now here's just hoping they don't last, because I'd like to return home and sleep in my own bed for once... Apparently the rugby game tonight may have a temporary hand in preventing further extension of the strikes, but who knows how long that will last.

The last few days have seen me trekking around the city, sleeping in friends' and colleagues' spare beds, depending therefore on their kindness and generosity, and traveling to work in the morning by bike or by foot. Wednesday night I had dinner with a friend, who generously allowed me to stay with her and her husband in their adorable apartment in the 11th. I thought I would have to walk from there (between Bastille and the Gare de Lyon) to work near the Parc Monceau on Thursday morning, but as it turns out Line 14 was working perfectly (again, automatic lines like that one seem to be the best solution for avoiding strikes in the future, if you ask me!) and there weren't even that many crowds. I think a lot of people must have ended up staying home to avoid the craziness. But there were also quite a few people on the streets, either hoofing it or cycling away. It was a beautiful, crisp fall morning, the sun was shining, and I must say that I didn't mind the walk from St. Lazare to rue de Courcelles at all... I even had time to stop for coffee and a piece of carrot cake, so I treated myself!

Last night one of my colleagues, who lives on the Left Bank near Denfert-Rochereau, told me I could stay at her place, and it worked out perfectly. I did have to walk to her apartment -- and to be honest with you, once again, I didn't really mind, because even though it was a long walk, it was a pleasant one because it wasn't raining and it wasn't that cold. It took me about an hour and a half, even though she had said it would be less -- but my colleague is a first-class athlete, participating in marathons on a regular basis and walking, running or cycling to work pretty much every day. I was stopped for directions by several befuddled people, either tourists or those who were not used to walking around the city. One poor lady stopped me at the edge of the boulevard St. Germain, just as it hits the Pont de la Concorde, and asked in a daze, "Odéon? Where's Odéon?" I explained that she must have passed it a ways back, because it was in the direction she had been walking from -- and she nodded and mumbled that she had come all the way from Duroc... Yikes! As I passed the crossroads of boulevard Raspail and rue de Rennes, a young guy who appeared to be from Eastern Europe (he had an accent, but I couldn't recognize it) asked me in broken French, "République? Je cherche République..." I was stunned, because République is all the way on the other end of the city, across the Seine, in the northeast -- I tried to explain this to him, and he just looked at me disbelievingly. I think he must have mixed up names or something...

When I got to my colleague's place, we all had couscous for dinner -- she said I was really lucky, because usually during the week she and her husband don't do much cooking (who really has time for it?!), but they had decided ahead of time to have couscous together because she's prepping for a marathon this weekend. So it was nice to enjoy the meal and chat about the strikes, our work situation, and other various and sundry everyday matters.

My colleague loves to Vélib' in to work in the morning, so after dinner she asked me if I was up for it -- and I thought, of course, why not? I had been wanting to have the chance to try out the system for a while, so this was the perfect opportunity -- even if the strikes had crowded up the traffic in the streets, requiring us to be even more vigilant on the bikes. Of course, that's a necessity in any normal circumstances, but we just had to be extra careful. After nabbing two bikes near her building (we were really lucky in this case, because I think we arrived just in the nick of time -- several bikes were damaged, and we got the last two good ones), we set out, but about 25 minutes later we tried to switch them out at another station. For some reason the machine wouldn't accept my card identification code, and after having already locked in the other bike, I needed a new one. The check-in process was pretty simple, but I still needed another bike to make it the rest of the way to work... As luck would have it, two Vélib' employees were stacking damaged bikes on a sort of truck nearby, and we asked them for some help. They were super-friendly, but neither one of them could figure out why the machine wouldn't accept my code. Finally, one of them (a younger chap, with a friendly smile) just swiped his Carte Intégrale on the machine and told me to take one of the bikes -- I couldn't believe it! I was a bit taken aback, and didn't know what to do, because obviously I wanted to use the bike, but I didn't want him to get into any trouble. He insisted that it was okay, and just made me "promise" to return the bike once I got to work! Of course, I said -- that was the plan. Apparently my colleague later explained to me that some people have actually been STEALING the bikes! I couldn't believe that, but then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised...

So we made it to work, on-time even, and after returning our bikes we dashed into the office. I had been wearing two sweaters and a jacket, so you can imagine how sweaty I was at that point! And my colleague had been patiently waiting for me, looking back and making sure I was following closely the whole time. I know I slowed her down, but we both had a good time in the end. Like I said, a real adventure -- and the brighter side of the strikes for me. But the terrible thing is, I read about a horrible accident today on-line, and this did send chills down my spine... Please, all Vélib' riders out there, soyez vigilants ! It only takes a few seconds...

Morning Mayhem

Ahhhhh, what a morning! And I don't mean that in a good way. I'm no longer used to 6:30 wake-up calls, and I am definitely not a morning person... Have I mentioned that before? The fact that I am decidely NOT a morning person? Well, I'm saying it again. Especially after this morning. I know that you can get a heck of a lot done by waking up early, but my body is just not cut out for it. At least not yet... Who knows, maybe one day that might change (of course, I'm not going to hold my breath!) -- or I may be forced to change myself. But in the meantime, I am fighting against it with every bone in my body.

Especially when the wake-up requires a stop at the local medical lab to get some tests done, something which can't be done directly at the doctor's office here in France. I know we have an excellent healthcare system, for the most part anyway, and trust me -- I'm not complaining. I just wish I could get the lab tests done in the same place where I have the doctor's appointment. So it didn't require crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn to have either some needles stuck in me, or other fun forays into the medical domain...

My boyfriend had gotten up yesterday morning to go have some bloodwork done himself, to check up on his cholesterol levels and make sure he was doing okay. It's a necessity after the health scare he had last April, and we have to monitor his heart condition on a regular basis. And I'm constantly feeling guilty about this, because I'm wondering if I'm not cooking the right things, if I'm not taking care of him as well as I should... Of course, I know stress doesn't help things either, and I'm not responsible for everything. I like him to be happy, so I try to treat him from time to time, but then I get the gnawing feeling that I probably shouldn't have made that sweet chocolate mousse on Sunday... Especially if I had known he was going to have tests done on Monday morning!! Even he didn't think about it, didn't make the connection until he got his results on the Internet today... Argh, the triglycerides are not looking good, and I have a feeling the chocolate mousse definitely didn't help.

So off I went this morning, leaving my boyfriend wandering frantically around the apartment, tearing apart every room in search of his car keys, for gosh's sakes, which he could no longer find in order to move his car from one side of the street to the other... We live in one of those neighborhoods where the cars need to be moved midway through the month for one reason or another... I can't remember why this morning, for the life of me, he has to do that. But if he can't find his keys, he can't exactly move his car, now can he? I decided not to harp on the fact that it seems incomprehensible to me that he could lose his own car keys, as I knew this wouldn't help matters much, and I also knew that if I started looking myself I would get as frantic as he already was, and that wasn't going to help either. So off I went to the lab as planned, did what I had to do, stopped by the good boulangerie near the lab, and brought home piping-hot fresh bread for us to share at breakfast. He had calmed down by then, having found his keys in the interim, but still had to go out to move the car.

While he was gone I tried to put as much of the junk back that he had taken out in his hunt, but still hadn't finished when he walked back in the door -- damn, is he quick! And I'm as slow as a snail... I don't think I was awake yet, that was part of the problem. I got the coffee going, slapped on some makeup so I wouldn't look too dead at the office today, and finally wobbled into the kitchen for breakfast. We were both in crappy moods, and the lost keys hadn't helped. I was of course relieved he had finally found them, but I was pretty sure he would anyway -- and guess where they were?? Ha ha... At the bottom of his tennis bag. I think I could have told him that ahead of time -- I don't know why I didn't think of it... (Jenn, are you reading this? What is it about men again?!?!...)

And of course you would think that getting up so early would allow me to head out of the apartment early to catch the perfect train and get to work well ahead of time, right? Well, you would think wrong... I ran out the door the same time as usual, as I got distracted in the kitchen trying to clean up after our breakfast. Old habits never die... I ran down the street and arrived, out of breath, at the train station, only to see that the train I usually take was going to be five minutes late. Well, perfect, right?! Yeah, I guess, except there was no guarantee that it would get me to work on time...

And, well, I did make it in the end, so that's certainly a relief -- but it's given me a bad taste of things to come... An ominous foreshadowing of events this Thursday in Paris, when a huge grève générale is expected on the whole métro/train/RER/bus system.

Oh, how lucky we are. We knew this was coming, but I have got a baaaaad feeling about it this time around... Anyone remember Fall 1995? Yikes!

Reflections on Friendship

I met a friend last Thursday evening for a drink after work, at a table in a café on the Place Pereire, and we squeezed in so much in just under an hour and a half... I could have stayed chatting much longer, as I wasn't in a hurry that night, but she had to get home to meet her husband. I'm always in awe of how much we have to catch up on when we get together, but then again, I think the last time we met for drinks was in March -- believe it or not! The time just flies, and I'm constantly reminded of when my parents used to say things like that when I was a kid -- how much faster time seems to go by as an adult. This fact has become more and more vivid for me in the past year or so. In a sense, I don't feel my age at all -- I'm dumbfounded by the fact that I am, in fact, in my early 30s -- I feel much younger in my head and in my heart. And then at other times, for example after a long day, when all I want to do is return home and rest, do simple, homebody-type things, I can't help thinking that I'm acting much older than I should, or that my interests and hobbies revolve around older types of things -- like cooking and hanging out at home! A bit ridiculous, I know, but I've realized more and more that I'm just not cut out for the partying scene -- I guess I never have been, but for years I would try to blend in and make myself enjoy things that just weren't my cup of tea. Now I'm realizing that of course there's no shame in that, and I might as well revel in the things I love, no matter what the rest of the world may think.

But the last two weeks or so my calendar has been packed with more "social occasions" than usual, and trust me, I'm not complaining -- I love catching up with friends, having something to look forward to during my long days at work. It's what keeps me going -- isn't that the case for a lot of us? I guess not everyone, because some of you lucky dogs out there actually have jobs and professions that you enjoy, but I just haven't found that niche yet, unfortunately. At least I can say that I'm in a country I love, in spite of all its flaws and frustrations, and that I have a lot of wonderful people in my life who make the long days worth getting past. That's something, isn't it? That and knowing that there is some potential out there for future endeavors, future possibilities -- I just have to keep my mind, my eyes and all the doors open.

But when the social outings pile up, and I have a heck of a time figuring out how to squeeze it all in, that's when I feel like my head is going to explode. And I don't even have kids! I know how hard it must be for folks like Jenn to find a balance for herself and her family. And here I am having a hard time just fitting in enough time for my boy and me. This week is jam-packed with fun, but I also have to be sure to fit in some time doing those necessary things around the apartment, like cooking, cleaning and laundry. Obviously life -- and living! -- are much more important, but then again you certainly want to feel good about the home you're returning to at the end of the day. Such a juggle!

When my friend Sarah and I got together last week, we found ourselves reminiscing about the time we met back in the States, in the late '90s, when I was working for a French company as a marketing assistant. She was an au pair hoping to improve her English and we were both spending time at the Alliance Française in Washington, DC (I didn't want to lose my French, so I was serving wine and cheese, and she wanted to meet fellow French-speakers living in the area). One day one of the guys I was working with at the time saw a photo of us together, and he said, eyes blazing, "I have got to meet her!" I was stunned by his adamance, but I eventually complied, knowing full well that he wouldn't leave me alone until I did... Their first meeting didn't lead to many sparks -- at least I didn't think so! -- but about a week later I received a call in my car, and Sarah told me that they were officially a couple. They had really hit it off, both loving to swing dance and sharing so many of the same interests. It was unexpected, but I was of course thrilled for them.

Fast-forward eight years later, and they are now married and living in la région parisienne. We lost touch there for a while -- life and all that -- but then caught up again about a year and a half ago, and since then Sarah and I have tried to get together to have drinks from time to time. Again, we always have a million things to talk about, and this time around was no exception. In fact, I felt like we were really on the same wavelength in so many ways, and a lot of what she said to me really reassured me about my current fears and concerns, regarding life and the future in general. It's funny how we so often see so many wonderful things in other people, how much we admire and appreciate their qualities, and then in fact they tell us that they see those same things in us. Of course it's a good feeling, but it's also kind of unsettling...

Well, before I head off in some kind of random philosophical direction, let's just say that I'm hoping we can make our evening drink sessions more regular, and not so few and far between. I love the conversations we have, the memories we share, and the thoughts and feelings that get stirred up in these simple moments of friendship.

It's funny, because I've always thought that my memories, of either my childhood or even of more recent years, were never very vivid, but when I actually think long and hard about things, specific images and precise moments really do come to mind. One of them is a party that I attended with Sarah on a July 4th weekend years ago, by the Chesapeake Bay, when a wonderful Australian friend of mine was in town for a few days. We studied together in a program at the Sorbonne for a semester, and he was one of the brightest spots in those months of study. He recently e-mailed me on "our" birthday (we share exactly the same birthdate, both day and year!) to share some pics of his son. There was the whisper of possibility, of something more happening between us several times over the years, but it wasn't meant to be... When he came to visit me in the U.S., he was living in London at the time and I was in the early stages of a relationship. Today he is married with a baby boy, and here I am back in France. I remember the dress I wore that sweltering July night, the strap that snapped when we were dancing, the fact that we had stayed in touch in spite of the distance between us. I really hope I can continue to do the same as time continues to fly by, remembering each other when we can, and catching up whenever life makes it possible.

A Very French Moment of Inattention

Last night I ended up staying out again after work, sharing a couple margaritas with a new friend in a nifty Mexican bar in the Marais neighborhood, followed by a couple platefuls of nachos and quesadillas. Haven't had food like that in ages! So it was well worth it, albeit completely unexpected. I had already been out the night before, 'til all hours, cavorting with several gal friends at the Burlesque Revue hosted by Gentry Lane, where I also met some other much more well-known Paris bloggers. But my intention after work yesterday was to touch base on some volunteer work I'm going to be doing for a children's book writer and illustrator organization (SCBWI France) in the coming months. I'm trying to tackle some of this work right now, and I'm just a bit nervous about the whole gig, because I don't want to let anyone down and I want to do a good job -- I just hope I'm going to be able to focus and buckle down when the time comes. But this is the kind of organization I've been wanting to get involved with for a while, so it can only be a good thing, right? Right. I just hope I'm not biting off more than I can chew...

Ahem, so the meeting was set up to touch base with a couple other gals involved in the process, and I was just meant to meet them and chat for a bit. But as they were super-busy and up to their gills in work, they didn't have time to talk logistics. So we decided to save that for another time in the near future, and my friend and I headed out to find a nearby bar to unwind after our respective long days at work (her hopping around town on a Velib' from one assignment to another, me chained to my desk...). A drink turned into a couple drinks, like I said above, and then some nibbles, which resulted in a full-fledged meal. So I didn't make it to the métro station 'til after 10:00. Not a problem under any normal circumstances, but I was really starting to feel the fatigue. I took my normal route home, with a correspondance at Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile for the RER train... And found, once again -- for the second time in less than two weeks -- that the interconnexion at Nanterre-Préfecture was down as some construction work is going on at the Nanterre-Université station. Basically this means that I'm in commuter hell, because I have to turn back around on my tracks and trudge on over to the other side of the station, take the train back in the other direction, make my way over to the Gare St. Lazare, and then take an SNCF suburb train home. Which is just fine and dandy -- when I'm not WIPED OUT and READY TO CRAWL INTO BED. I know, I know: after all, I'm the one who chose to go out, so you're not going to feel sorry for me. But this was the last thing I needed...

So after taking the alternate route back through the train system, as I finally approached St. Lazare on foot from nearby métro Havre-Caumartin, I found myself half-asleep and somewhat distracted by the bright street lamps. My attention was momentarily diverted by the Printemps department store windows, and as I swung my head to the right in that split second, I made the huge mistake of not watching where I was going -- I became a walking hypocrite! Because, in fact, this is a crime that I have found Parisians guilty of on more than one occasion, and it drives me off my rocker... And there I was, becoming the perfect example of what I can't stand. That's right: in that split second, I rammed into a poor unsuspecting woman walking in the opposite direction. Now, I say "poor, unsuspecting" because I feel for her -- I honestly felt bad for my moment of distraction! I felt terrible... But her response shocked me even more: before I could even mumble out an apology or an explanation, she had screeched "Il faut regarder où vous allez... ou changer de lunettes !!!" And when I say screeched, I seriously mean she put a lot of volume into those two lines. I was flummoxed, and it all happened so fast, I didn't even get a chance to respond. Now, again, I know I was in the wrong -- I was perfectly ready to recognize it -- but I honestly thought that this was just a wee bit uncalled-for... Over-react much?! I didn't even get a good look at the lady, but let's just say that she walked so quickly out of my line of vision that I can only assume she was about three feet tall...

When commuting, I go out of my way to follow Paris protocol: I step off the trains to allow other passengers to get off, even when it's not yet my stop, and I do my best to be respectful of others' space. I walk quickly, but I don't push (this is particularly grating, when people shove up behind you to get off at a station). I stand when the trains are crowded, allowing the strapontins to flip back up and free up some more space. But of course I'm not perfect, and every once in a while I find myself guilty of a commuting transgression. But this was totally unlike me -- and again, it was probably a result of my long day.

In any case, in that moment I realized how much I'm becoming more and more "French". Yes, my friends, say what you will, the French are well-known for walking quickly in one direction and looking in another at the same time. I've observed this phenomenon in more than one train station over the years, as well as on the streets, so the fact that I committed this cardinal sin makes me feel even worse. I've also been complaining more and more, a sign of the one of the French culture's favorite pastimes: râler.

But oh well, you never know what the end of an evening will bring you... It didn't tarnish my soirée, not entirely, but I was too tired at that point to dwell on it. I honestly believe that fatigue played a role in my distraction as well, so I'm trying not to feel too bad about it. After all, I'm sure that that particular dame didn't even give the incident a second thought...

The Most Amazing Meal

I made the most amazing meal Sunday night... I know, I know -- that sounds so incredibly immodest! But all I can say is that it wasn't due to any particular skills on my part: I think it was simply a question of quality of ingredients, which are oh-so-important, and a good, solid recipe. For once, Elle à table did not disappoint, as it has been wont to do in recent times, leaving me paging through looking for some real inspiration, as well as some recipes that I can actually use on a daily basis. I find that this particular magazine has a bad habit of presenting complicated, fancy-schmancy recipes that just don't hold up over time; they're either fads or of-the-moment trends and I simply don't want to pull them out time and time again to enjoy them. At least, this has been my most recent experience -- because actually, last year at about this time of year, I found loads of ideas in the Elle, and it was one of the motivations that got me back in the kitchen. But then for months on end it would let me down: I would pick it up, purchase the latest issue, and then prepare very few of the dishes. So why did I keep buying it? Good question, especially since now you can get most of the recipes on-line at their website. I guess I was just hoping that something would jump out at me, month after month...

And finally, it has! Part of it is probably this time of year: I've realized that I love the seasonal foods at the market in September, in spite of the fact that the summer is ending and we're having to put fresh peaches and strawberries behind us. They were all pretty disappointing this year anyway, in my humble opinion. But I can't get enough of the figs, I love apples and pears, and we're leading into the perfect season for dishes simmered in a Dutch oven. Yes, that's right: I'm excited to be using my cocotte ! I bought one almost six months ago, and it's just now that I'm able to make great use of it. When I saw the recipe on the pages Friday night, I knew this was going to be my weekend project... Add in the chocolate cake recipe a good friend passed on to me on Friday at work, and I had my own recipe for a Sunday afternoon in the kitchen.

[Ironically, I was convinced that the recipe I used on Sunday would be on-line as well, so I could link to it here, but unfortuantely it isn't! So I'll have to copy it over here...]

****

Voilà my new favorite dinner menu:

Salade de figues, poires et parmesan
(I adapted this for two persons, but the recipe below is for four)

4 nice-size figs
2 ripe pears
the juice from 1/2 lemon
30 grams of grated parmesan
2 teaspoons of olive oil
a few drops of balsamic vinegar
fresh ground pepper

After washing the fruit, you simply core and cut the pears in thin slices, and the figs in quarters. Then you sprinkle some lemon juice over the fruit, mix it carefully, and then lay the fruit out carefully on plates. Grate some fresh parmesan over the fruit, drizzle on some olive oil and just a few drops of balsamic vinegar. Serve immediately, with some fresh ground pepper.

And now, la pièce de résistance -- OK, don't freak out here -- it's rabbit! It's my first time preparing it, but it was truly wonderful. I can see some of you cringing now, but rabbit is a wonderfully delicious alternative to chicken or other poultry, and if the meat is prepared the right way, it can be really rich and tender! This recipe was just right.

Râbles de lapin aux carottes et aux pruneaux
(recipe serves four, so we had leftovers!)

4 pieces of the rabbit's "torso", basically -- the back or "saddle" of the rabbit -- 100 grams each
4 slices of bacon (poitrine fumée), 10 g each
6 prunes with the pits removed
12 carottes nouvelles (fresher carrots, still in a bunch)
8 fresh green oignons (also still in a bunch -- these melt and become tender!)
1/2 cube of chicken bullion (or fresh chicken stock, if you have it)
1 teaspoon of coriander seeds
2 tablespoons of olive oil
1 small bouquet garni (with bay leaves and flat parsley)
a few extra parsley leaves and some fresh ground pepper

[This takes a little over an hour to prepare in total, including the slicing of vegetables and the simmering of the rabbit in the cocotte, for about 40 minutes.]

You start by wrapping each râble with a slice of bacon; the sweet guy at the poultry stand gave me some ficelle to use to wrap around the râbles, because I didn't know where to find it myself... Then you wash and peel the carrots and the onions. You slice the carrots in thin discs and slice the largest of the green onions in half, leaving some of the green stem on them. Toast the coriander seeds in a hot pan, just to bring out the flavor, for a few minutes, and then reserve them for later. Brown the rabbit in the olive oil in the cocotte for a few minutes, and then add salt, pepper, the coriander seeds, carrots, onions, prunes, the bouquet garni and the 1/2 cube of bullion, crumbled up. At this point, you allow the ingredients to cook for about 5 minutes. The recipe says to pour in only about 20 cL of water, but I actually poured in more than half that -- about a half a liter -- I just wasn't sure if the carrots would cook well without a bit more water. In fact, this might not have been necessary, but I still thought everything turned out beautifully, so I feel like 20 cL is cutting it a bit short.

You allow the dish to simmer for about 40 minutes, and then serve, sprinkling some fresh parsley on top.

****

(both recipes are from Elle à table, septembre 2007)

So that's how I spent a good part of my day on Sunday. I did some much-needed housecleaning as well, things I had been putting off for weeks, I'm ashamed to say. I finally scrubbed my oven and vaccumed the apartment from top to bottom. It was a great sense of accomplishment, and it laid the foundation for an evening of cooking satisfaction. I baked the gâteau au chocolat in the late afternoon, and then set to work on dinner at around 6:30 or so -- I may have gotten a bit of a late start, but I figured we never eat before 9:00 on Sundays anyway, so it wasn't a big deal.

I had never cooked rabbit before -- I can hear you gulping and gasping now! -- but it was just so good. Tender and tasty, worth the effort. But what am I talking about? There was hardly any effort involved, aside from the prep work: the slicing of the carrots and onions, the wrapping of the rabbit with the bacon... I was also pleased because the family that runs the chicken stand at the market are the greatest, and the father had passed on some string for me to use in my cooking. He explained the different parts of the rabbit, and how they're prepared. I had never heard the word râble before, so this was a new one for me.

The combination of flavors -- what can I say? It was heavenly... I haven't made a main dish that was this satisfying in a long time. My old stand-by these days is a dish that my boy's mother made years ago, one of his all-time favorites: pintades aux pommes et lardons. But this rabbit dish, simmered in the Dutch oven with carrots, spring onions, coriander seeds, parsley, bay leaves and prunes was the perfect concoction. As it bubbled away on the stovetop, the scent of the different ingredients wafted around the apartment and just blew me away. I couldn't wait to dig into it! And my expectations were more than met: the taste was just as good as the scent. My boyfriend loved it. I haven't heard him compliment me on a meal that much in a long time. (And it was even better the next day as my leftover lunch...) He thought the entrée was a bit more suspicious, so he wasn't as excited about that. I actually loved it myself. It was more of a savory fruit salad, a combination of pears, figs and freshly-shaved parmesan, along with a drizzling of olive oil, a sprinkling of fresh pepper and a few drops of balsamic vinegar. He thought it seemed more like a dessert, but of course it's the parmesan that makes it an appetizer. Fresh, fragrant and light -- what could be better?

I took a few photos, but I don't know if they're worth posting, because as I mentioned we ate at 9:00, so obviously there was no more natural light, and the pictures under bright fluorescent lightbulbs leave much to be desired. So you'll just have to imagine them... Trust me, it was unforgettable!

Wardrobe Wonder

*UPDATE* Not to be a terrible influence or anything, but aren't the bags on this site drool-worthy? I especially love the Rebecca in grey... Man, am I going to have a hard time restraining cravings if I keep running into stuff like this...

Ah, now THIS is going to be a fun post... Quite the refreshing change from my previous rant-cum-diatribe. The Page Française passed on a sort of wardrobe challenge, and I have to admit that in spite of my recent attempts at cutting back on any consumer spending, I have always had a weakness for nice clothing -- for fashion in general, shall we say... It really depends on my mood, as is the case for many women out there I guess, but I do like to make an effort to look pulled-together, as much as possible, on a daily basis. I guess you could describe my uniform quotidien as classic with a twist... As I mentioned in a recent post, I love accessories, and I also love adding just that little touch to an outfit that makes it a bit more original -- even if most parts that make up the whole are very basic and simple. And then of course there are my lazy days, when I couldn't be bothered to throw anything original together at all. That's when I resort to jeans and a simple t-shirt-cardigan combination. I'm a cardigan girl, for sure. I have more of those than I could possibly remember off the top of my head...

These days I find that reasonably-priced, affordable and yet well-made clothes are virtually impossible to come by... Back in the States I guess I always depended on the constant day-to-day sales (there's always an excuse for a sale over there!) or outlet centers, sometimes splurging, probably more often than I care to admit, on something in particular at regular price, if I was crazy for it. But since I moved to France, or let's just say even more recently, I've been trying to restrain myself from one season to the next because I've finally realized that I do in fact have lots of clothes, and in spite of the fact that styles change from one year to the next, I'm realizing that I can certainly get by with what I have. But oh, the vanity-ridden desire and lust are still there, trust me! I may crave something, but I'm finally learning to apply more restraint to my cravings. And my ensuing actions. I'm hoping my bank account will one day thank me, because for the moment it holds nothing but scorn and resentment for leaving it so empty and alone.

But I have to add here that I go through color phases -- it's quite funny, actually, because whereas one year I may abhor a particular color, the next I might be madly looking all over for the perfect sweater in just that shade, yes that one that I wouldn't deign to wear just a year before. This fall I have to admit that I'm caving for the dark-blue-and-grey combination; I've actually had a passion for gunmetal grey for ages, anthracite as they call it here in France, deep rich grey... I agree that it goes with so much, from navy blue to black to burgundy to red to rich hunter green. And the list goes on. So I imagine that I may very well end up breaking down and purchasing one sweater or pair of pants in grey before the season ends, only because I know myself too well. And now that they're actually selling grey shoes for once (something I sought for years on end...), could they perhaps try to stock at least a pair or two in my size? (I have big feet -- American 10, French size 41). Then again, check that: don't carry my size -- then I may be tempted to spend more money...

So as to what I'm wearing right now? Well, I'm at work, so I'm dressed more "profesionnally" than I would obviously dress on the weekend, but comfortably nonetheless: one of my favorite shirt-dresses, in a khaki velvety material, found at Zara a couple years back; my brown suede boots, a gift from my boyfriend's mother, one of the precious gifts she gave me during the winter when we first got to know each other (we spent the better part of a whole Saturday shopping around Le Havre looking for boots in my size that I actually liked, and she was the most patient, supportive person I have ever met... not to mention wonderful company; I have the best memories of that day) and a thick wool, multicolored Max & Co. cardigan which is blatantly too warm for this early-fall weather, but I like to be prepared for what the Paris weather may unexpectedly bring. You never know what's going to be around the corner... I'm also wearing a beaded necklace from Clio Blue -- I love their jewelry. (I said I was a sucker for accessories after all!) All of this outfit is in what you might term "fall colors", but it's only because last year I was crazy about green in all its glory, so I have sweaters and pants in varying shades of green.

That's my outfit of the day... Tomorrow I will probably feel lazy again, so it will be back to simple pants and a top, more than likely. But today felt like a pretty good day.

I believe I'm meant to tag a few people out there in the blogosphere, and sometimes I have a hard time remembering those who do and those who don't enjoy doing memes, so of course if you're not into it, don't mind me! You can only play along if you feel up to it. So what are you wearing,

Adelyn, Colour Me Crazy, Destination Metz, Jennie, and Joy Suzanne?

To Lille or Not to Lille?

There is nothing more frustrating than a change in weekend plans at the last minute. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate spontaneity and improvisation as much as the next gal. But the constant guessing game, the impossibility of making any fixed plans, is just exhausting. That's why I've gotten into the habit of adding "limiting adverbs", so to speak, to my own descriptions of what my upcoming weekend will include. I find myself peppering my weekend-speak with words like "normally" or "if all goes well..." or perhaps even "well, we might be..." And you fill in the blanks from there. The unsurity is sometimes maddening, and I hate playing a constant guessing game, knowing full well that our plans will, in the end, more than likely change.

In a way I've gotten used to my boyfriend changing his mind or committing himself to more than he can really do in one weekend. It's as if he thrives on spreading himself too thin, as if he thinks he can tear himself into three or four different men, and it doesn't seem to sink in that he simply can't do everything -- and besides, perhaps his girlfriend may not have the same ideas in mind...

This weekend's plan, at least as I originally understood it, was to drive up to his sister's place outside of Lille and to spend some quality time there, relaxing and getting away from the city for a breath of fresh air. I was actually looking forward to being in their big house again, and perhaps even bicycling around the area, like we did once a few months ago. I had a feeling that we wouldn't head out on Friday evening, as he originally projected, because I know how exhausted he can be at the end of a long week. So I wasn't surprised when he told me Thursday evening that we wouldn't leave until Saturday morning...

But then the frustrating element kicked in late Friday night, after we went to see The Bourne Ultimatum together, when he just happened to slip in (comme si rien n'était), ever so nonchalantly, that we would be making a "pit stop" on the way to Lille, so he could play in a tennis tournament, the "final one of the season". Mind you, the last three tournaments have somehow transformed, each time, into the "the last tournament of the season"... But I'm just saying.

Trust me, I have nothing against my boyfriend playing tennis! On the contrary, I know it is one of the things that makes him really happy. It's one of his favorite pastimes, along with swimming. I also know that it's both a physical and a mental release for him, a way of getting out all of that pent-up stress men are so famous for keeping inside themselves, whereas girls like me just can't seem to get enough of releasing it simply by TALKING ABOUT IT. So of course it's a healthy thing for him to be doing, for the most part. But I guess I sometimes feel like our plans together come after his tennis-playing plans, or fall completely by the wayside. We don't actually have that many weekends together, and when we do, the time is precious to me -- it's like an oasis in the middle of the desert of our work-run-rest lifestyle at the moment.

So this interruption in this weekend's plans, for a brief trip away from home, just seemed unjustified and a wee bit selfish in my personal opinion... I don't know; I felt like our time together just wasn't important enough, valuable enough, to merit an entire weekend devoted to it. As a result, when I told him how I felt this time around (something I don't always do, because I don't want to upset the applecart or cause any unnecessary conflicts -- the truth of the matter is that I often bend to his will; I want so much for him to be happy) he got all up-in-arms and defensive, saying that the stop didn't change anything in our plans, that it wasn't really a detour at all, that it was on our way, that I was making a big fuss out of nothing. It just didn't seem that way to me, of course.

We really don't disagree like this all that often, and I honestly don't like to complain -- I mean, I try really hard not to complain about his own activities, because I think it's important that we spend time separately doing the things that we love -- that's what makes us happier when we spend time together, after all! But you have to draw the line somewhere when you have so little time together, n'est-ce pas ?

Needless to say, we didn't end up going to Lille... Our Friday-night discussion didn't reach any kind of truce until Saturday afternoon. We were at a bit of a standstill. To complicate things all the more, he just decided to cancel all the weekend plans, in his opinion because I was making things too complicated. In the end, though, apparently his sister must not have been expecting us anyways, because as it turns out she was going to see their father in Le Havre. Maybe she figured her brother would change his plans at the last minute or something... as usual. Hmph.

Oh, and he did still go play tennis. :sigh:

And then we ended up going to Le Havre too.