Crafting a Tale of Insanity

In case you couldn't tell right off the bat, this is an ornament of Joseph's coat of many colors which I was assigned to make for the Jesse Tree ornament exchange I attended today. I'll just say running a close second to Jesus's birth, the greatest miracle of all is that my sanity is intact tonight and Dean still chooses to remain married to me after I went on a journey to craft hell and back this week, dragging my family with me every step of the way.  Crafting to me is the equivalent to Lesli singing opera in Chinese:  painful and unpleasant on every level.   

To acknowledge that I have been refused any inherent gifting or tendencies which favor the tactile creative arts is to affirm the most obvious of natural laws.  The problem is that in my excitement to attend the exchange and be able to enrich my family's anticipation of Christmas with the Jesse Tree tradition, I chose to deny this basic truth about myself and plunge headfirst into fantasyland--a trip which would ultimately immerse me in the lowest depths of craft despair.  

If you haven’t heard of the Jesse Tree, it’s an advent tradition full of meaning—a series of Bible verses and devotionals which focus on prophecies and events which led to the birth of Christ, one for each day of December until Christmas.  For each day/devotional, there is a coordinating ornament to hang on a separate little tree in your home.  Doesn’t that sound amazing?  There are very simple printouts that you can use for the ornaments and probably be good to go in about 30 minutes.  Lesli chose to forgo the 30-minute route and instead chose the 2-week valley of the shadow of death route.  My jumpsuit of pride zipped up like a glove and rose-colored safety goggles in position, I was ready to soar through the air of craft triumph.  I can do this!  I am woman, watch me appliqué.  

The way the ornament exchange works, 25 days worth of ornaments are needed for a full Jesse Tree set for each person attending and the idea is to share the work.  There were 30 people participating, 25 of whom were assigned to make 30 ornaments each of their assigned ornament.  Don’t ask me what the other 5 people did—I’m having negative thoughts about how minimal their task was compared to the 25 ornament-makers’ and thinking on this inequality draws me away from God, not toward Him.  I was assigned the ornament for Dec. 7:  Joseph’s coat of many colors.  Thirty colorful coats, coming right up!  Feeling extremely perky.

Upon my first google, I found my inspiration:  a felt-shaped coat with multicolored felt patches, sewn in an adorable pattern, neat and tidy--not at all "crafty."  Perfect.

 My brain quickly booked a first-class ticket to Delusionville.  No matter that I didn’t own a sewing machine nor had ever attempted using one in my life.  The longer I stared at my inspiration photo, the more convinced I became that my passion for conquering the patchwork felt coat would trump any obstacles in my way, such as NOT KNOWING JACK ABOUT SEWING.

Passion hijacked logic and before I knew it, I had clicked “submit” on an Amazon order for a sewing machine (yes, that's right) and a slew of felt samples from some felt specialty store in the midwest.  WHAT?!  A blatant disregard--nay, an outright slaying of common sense.  Don't listen to those voices, Lesli--they want you to end up with the ornament print-out, not something amazing.  You are capable of much more.  Fear the generic.  FEAR IT.  Haste via fear of the generic will take me to some crazy places....    

I have to pause at this juncture and confess that I am essentially a lunatic.  Five weeks post-Paris return and I am still treading water in the deep end.  I know--you don't feel sorry for me and that's fine.  Hush.  Every Sunday night, I give myself a pep talk and convince myself that this {insert any week from the past five} is the week I will start and finish laundry in the same week, have all the normal items in my pantry and fridge, actually cook a meal without having an emotional breakdown, *think about* recommitting to moderate exercise and feel as though I have the slightest clue as to what is occurring in my children's classrooms with regard to activities and homework.  I cannot catch up.  I'm now looking at Christmas break as my only hope.  Never mind that I just started a blog.  

ENTER: THE SEWING MACHINE.  Enter:  Thirty colorful coats.  Enter:  Learning a completely new skill which I have no business devoting time to in an already helter-skelter season.  Enter:  My husband's well-founded yet nonetheless annoying and unspoken assumption that this will be yet another "unfinished project" of Lesli's to add to the graveyard of forgotten and overwhelming projects and all their paraphernalia.

Monday morning, once the kids left for school, I spent an hour and a half reading the machine manual and watching instructional DVDs, which got me as far as threading the bobbin and running the thread through the little crevices and the needle so that I was ready to sew.

I felt victorious for a half-second and then I froze.  I stared at my inspiration photo again.  In a moment of horror, I realized the reason it looked so lovely was that every differently-colored little patch was sewn on with matching thread.  It had taken me an hour and a half just to thread one color.  I admitted defeat...privately.  I had to.  But if not this, then what?  My weary wheels began to spin....  Time to switch tracks.  Just to prepare you, dear reader, there would actually be 3 forthcoming switches from the original inspiration idea.

Switch #2:  Maintaining commitment to my felt purchase yet substituting the glue gun for the sewing machine.  This resulted in a scorching glue gun burn and rampant cussing.

The ornaments were decent but they just looked too messy and crafty to me.

I then moved to Switch #3:  The latest Pinterest fad--melted crayon bits, version "colorful coat."

Visually, I loved this plan, but there was a very short window between 'liquid' and 'slightly hardened' in which to press the cookie cutter into the melted crayons and then no time to punch a hole for hanging.  If my timing was even slightly off, it was a total loss as the crayon coat would crack and break from the hole punch.  It would've cracked and broken anyway as it was quite fragile.  Switch #3 was especially stressful because it occurred during dinner prep on Wednesday night (just before we host our CollegeLIFE group from church).  I was trying to brown ground beef for taco salad in between peeling crayons, breaking them up and beating them senseless in a ziploc bag with a can of black beans, ironing the crayon bits between layers of parchment and coming up short every time.  I made four & cracked four before I gave up.  I was two days out from E Day (exchange day) and desperation started to set in.  Money spent so far on the 30 coats including the sewing machine:  over $250.  And I have seven irregular patchwork/glue gun coats to show for it.

At the height of my frustration Wednesday night, I had Walker falling apart emotionally from his failed glitter river in the pilgrim diorama he was working on and unable to assist him as I was blinded by my own craft rage.  In addition, I needed Dean home 30 minutes prior, dinner needed serving, there was a pile of blue glitter in my kitchen sink, I had 15 people due to my house in an hour and a half for CollegeLIFE and then that would be my Wednesday night gone.  Things reached fever pitch as Dean finally walked in the door, Walker was crying, I had all the toppings set out for taco salad and then went to grab the bag of blue corn chips I bought two days prior, only to find 90% OF THE BAG WAS EATEN.  I threw my hands in the air, exclaimed something tragic about never being able to cook a freaking meal in my house and stormed into the bedroom with a grand finale tantrum door slam.  Yes!!  Well done, well done!!  And what was this all about?  An ornament?  Meant to contribute to an advent tradition?  Meant to focus my heart on the coming of Christ?  NIIIICE.

During and after dinner, I was racking my brain about Switch #4.  What in my life was multicolored?  Please, God, please.  I need a Jesse Tree miracle.  And then, as if by divine implantation, a thought entered my mind:  sprinkles.  Sprinkles!!!  Oh, thank you, God, THIS IS IT.  I had already cut all the little coat shapes out of red felt.  I would only need to brush glue on each one, sprinkle sprinkle sprinkle, and then let dry.  I churned out 7 within 30 minutes.  The sprinkles were sticking, it was multicolored, not fragile and semi-cute.  This was going to work!!  Then in God's mercy, bestowed not long after my blue corn chip rant, my CollegeLIFE girls showed up and two of them insisted on taking over sprinkle coat production.  Before we even started our group time, they had finished all but two.  All I had to do was seal them with modge podge on Thursday and let them dry so they'd be ready by Friday morning.  I was at the finish line!!

Except I brushed the first coat with modge podge on Thursday aaaaaand it took the color off of the sprinkles!!!!!!

Are you hearing me?!???  Insanity draws nigh....

Thankfully, in God's mercy, I had read the modge podge instructions while standing in the craft store and it said to use a clear acrylic sealer after using modge podge, so I grabbed some of that before I left the store and I was able to use that spray to seal and finish the ornaments.  If I had been forced to return to the craft store once more that day, I would've ended up on the evening news.

I have an internal panic that sets in every time I get near the craft store and it doesn't fully calm until I'm back in my car.  There's a mental battle waging the whole time I'm physically in the store.  I tell myself, "You will get out, you WILL get out of here, Lesli."  And also, "These employees aren't equipped on any level--personally, professionally, socially--to be working here.  Yes, it's true.  But Jesus died for me and for them.  Grace is needed."  I alternate between praying and cussing when I'm standing in the longest & slowest checkout lines known to the modern age and then OF COURSE there is that *one* lady--holding up the line with discrepancies about her coupon(s) and what the sale price really was on that most tacky piece of crap she dug up from the clearance bin.

Five coats of the clear acrylic spray later and a few hours of ventilating my house and...it was over.  I walked with head held high into the ornament exchange the next day knowing I had given myself, body and soul, to these 30 colorful coats that would go on to be a part of so many families' advent traditions.

And now every December 7th, 30 someones in Knoxville will hang Joseph's colorful coat on their Jesse tree and for those who know me and are acquainted with this laborious tale, they will pause for a half-second in remembrance and reverence.  I don't feel like that's too much to ask.

The important thing is my craft storm has calmed, I have a wonderful set of Jesse Tree ornaments thanks to the efforts of 24 other ladies and for the first time this Christmas season, my family will participate in the anticipation of Christ's birth in a very meaningful and intentional way.  I am truly thrilled about this and look forward to seeing Christ shine brighter in all of us because of it!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a sewing machine to sell (cough)--I mean....get to know better.    

            

Day 3: Moving to Maison 1400

It's moving day! 

We moved out of our hotel and into the apartment today.  But before we did that, we had a little bit of time--that is, after I was forced to crack the whip on Dean to get him out of the bed at 11:00 (!).  Jet lag still in effect.  So we went for a stroll to hunt down a lunch lead based on the recommendation of the lady at our hotel.  

We found the restaurant she had suggested, but it looked a little too fancy for what we were wanting, so we fumbled around for a minute with our phones and maps.  We'd been standing in front of the Bourse for about 5 minutes trying to make a decision when Dean looked up and said, "How 'bout that place?"  I did my discerning traveler quick-study of the proposed eatery a block away:  looked popular but not crowded, nice windows with baked goods in them, not touristy...we moved in closer.  The menu looked perfect so we stayed.  Lovely place!

 

This was the kind of place I would go every morning if I lived close by.  I had a jambon (ham) & emmenthal cheese tartine with a salade vert and some tea au lait.  Dean had a smoked chicken tartine and salade vert with some coffee.  But guess what?  The coffee and tea came in:  BOWLS.  Like big teacups with no handles.  I never knew to be excited about this, but cupping that bowl of hot tea in both my hands and drinking it was supremely comforting.  I asked Dean to take my picture so I could remember the cozy moment.

 

As I ate my food, it was good, but I kept thinking, "something is missing.”  Contributing to this thought was the fact that in very casual groups on the big community table were several jars of different jams and condiments, and among them something chocolatey called, "Choco." 

Looking at the food I had ordered, I sadly realized I had no use for the Choco.  I had a growing desire to know more about the Choco.  I summoned my courage and French accent to order a croissant.  "Je voudrais un croissant {qwass-ahh}, s'il vous plait?"  

Do you see how this croissant is kind of flat in shape?  We later learned that this is a sign it is an all-butter croissant.  Very good boulangeries will only sell all-butter croissants.  But some lesser boulangeries will offer croissants made with butter substitute, which makes them rounder in the middle.  These are not desirable.  If you get your tummy all the way to Paris, you better make sure you are delighting in the virtues of croissants au beurre.  

Once delivered, some bites of this insanely flaky croissant got a smudge of Choco, some got a smear of apricot preserves, then back to the Choco.  These were not difficult decisions.  

And when I say the croissant was flaky, I mean there was a tiny snow shower of croissant flakes every time I tore a piece off to eat.  It was beautiful.  It was snowing food on my lap, the table, my plate, the floor.  Wait a minute:  SNOW FLAKES.  

Once we finished, we headed over to Galeries Lafayette because I had an errand to run--forgot to pack a belt!  Galeries Lafayette--how to describe this place?  It's like a department store and a Ritz Carlton got married.  Absolutely palatial!  Oh la la!
  

Had a ball walking around their children's section--clothing, toys and books.  All my favorite French characters & labels were there!  Le Petit Prince, Corolle babies, Babar books, Moulin Roty toys, Petit Bateau pajamas in Mamie's size (!), eeeeek!!

 Finally, we completed our shopping and made our way back to the hotel to get our bags and call a taxi for transport to Maison 1400, my home for the coming fortnight.  We arrived and met our landlord, Michael, who was a complete treasure and insisted on having us into his downstairs apartment for coffee and conversation.  It was thrilling to be able to unpack and think, “This is really my home for the next two weeks!!  Can that even be true??"  Let's get comfy and pretend this is really our home.

Maison 1400 is in the 4th arrondissement in the heart of the Marais and is a restored 15th century residence.  Michael was the architect on the redo and said it is probably one of the 5 oldest homes in Paris that is still standing--which means it wasn't demolished by the reconstruction under Haussmann.  As mentioned in the Day 2 post, George Haussmann was a city planner hired by Napoleon III to come in and restructure Paris in the mid 1800s.  He is the reason for Paris's wide, stretching boulevards and impeccable symmetry...and, consequently, the reason for the absence of much of what used to be medieval Paris because much of it was torn down to make for more space at that time.

Our townhouse is an exception to that--timber and plaster ceilings, slanted spiral staircase, absolutely chocked full of refined character.  I was a carnival of internal squealing.

Because of the way the apartment was laid out, we had three bedrooms, each self-contained with its own bathroom and kitchenette and each connected with a spiraling timber staircase.  One of the bedrooms had a large living and kitchen area.  My sister, Amber Beckham, is a professional photographer and she took this collage of photos of those rooms during her stay.

  
I started scoping apartments before I even had my airline ticket booked.  I scrolled til I couldn't scroll no more (!), combing hundreds of apartments available for rent.  When I landed on Maison 1400, my heart did a back flip.  This was the one.  Maison 1400 so far surpassed all of our expectations.  It really felt like home and was so charming, safe and beautiful.  

Dean and I can't help it--we just default to lazy on a vacation.  Even in Paris!  Eventually, after we felt like we'd honored our need for rest in our cozy new space, we made our way to dinner.  

Dinner:  time to hit Lesli's food list again.  Three weeks ago, I tried to get a reservation at Spring with no luck.  But I had heard tales of people showing up when they opened the doors at 7:00 and possibly getting a table downstairs.  I google-translated, practiced my phrasing, gathered my bravery and then gave them my best, "Est-il possible pour deux personnes pour diner sans reservation, s'il vous plait?"  

There was a friendly exchange, a consulation with the computer, concerning facial expressions with some low-level fast talking and finally...an offer to sit at the bar downstairs.  I’m not sure they normally seat people at the bar for dinner so we were thankful.  Two glasses of champagne were presented, consequently clinked and we were settled.  Oui, oui!!  And, as luck would have it, by the time we'd finished our first starters, they'd had a cancellation and could move us to an actual table.  C'est merveilleux!  We are pictured below in the typical traveling couples solo portraits ensemble.  You take one of me.  Now I'll get one of you.    

Spring is a place where you get what you get and you don't pitch a fit, as I am fond of telling my children from time to time.  Chef-chosen menu every night, five courses plus an optional cheese course.  Magnifique!!  My pics weren't amazing because of the lighting, but here was the list of the plates:

Pickled eggplant with ham
Foie gras with figs
Potato, mustard and buckwheat soup
Cabbage, cauliflower and white fish 
Prawn, spring onion, leeks, foie gras sauce
Fried oyster
Veal, hoof & foot, porcini mushroom purée, veal jus
Cacao tart
Chocolat sorbet with rum granita
Lemon something 
Hazelnut something
Choux pastry w coffee cream

Thoroughly enjoyed every bite of every plate even though some of the terms probably would've turned me off if I'd had a choice on a menu.  It was wonderful to try some new things.  And it actually took the stress off of ordering and pronouncing words and deciphering the menu.  We dined downstairs surrounded by old, bumpy stone walls and candlelight.  I didn’t want to leave.    

Once we finished, we walked a mile and a half to the Latin Quarter where I'd found an old cinema called Le Grand Action which sometimes shows old American movies.  The movie playing that night was, "Paper Moon," with Ryan and Tatum O'Neal (father and daughter who play a father and daughter in the movie).

 

It was the original movie with French subtitles.  It was actually made in 1973 (the year we were born) but is a period piece which took place in the 30s, so it's in black and white.  It was so great!  Why have we never seen it before?  Very funny and quick!  It was a soft place to land and let the wine wear off a bit.  

And that's it for today!  My first group of ladies arrives tomorrow and I couldn't be more excited!!  I hope I can sleep tonight!  Bonsoir!!

Vélib'-ing, Poilâne, Le Marais, & Paris by Night

If the airplane deprives me of my quality time with the Sandman, then the first night’s sleep once I’ve crossed the pond is always blessedly deep.  And so it was the morning of the 27th, our first full day in Paris.  We eventually forced our eyes open and tried to make a little plan for the day.  

In 17 years of marriage, Dean and I have learned some things about our relational dynamics where travel is concerned:  a.)  we don’t insist on spending every waking moment together and b.) sightseeing isn’t our strong suit.  If we make the sacrifice of planning, preparations for childcare, time away from home and work and expect to have any profit on our investment which results in a sense of feeling refueled prior to our return, sightseeing is not the way to arrive there.  It results in constant mapping, researching, arguing, feeling emptied instead of energized and both of us resenting the other for basically doing what we each naturally default to based on who God made us to be:  planner and plan-ee.  But the bottom line is museums and crossing off the 20 “you really should see the ______”s just don’t really do it for us.  Which is why when we do get the chance to get away together, we normally pick something very low-key and relaxing—nothing to map or strategize or figure out.  

So, naturally, I had a few reservations about us doing Paris together.  Many of these stemmed from the fact that for several months leading up to the trip, I repeatedly asked Dean for ideas on what he would like to do while in Paris…and all in vain as he just continued to (gasp) be exactly who he’s always been:  quite happy to just go along.  I would even leave guide books in strategic places to try to lure him into planning mode.  He was never tempted.  

I began asking what he did *not* want to do.  Better tactic.  No museums, no wait-in-this-line tourist attractions.  We settled on experience-type activities—where we both just showed up and someone else was in charge.  We planned one or two per day, allowed time for resting and made reservations for some long, leisurely dinners.  Best decision.  

The first of those activities was the previously mentioned car tour with Antoine.  Antoine was a hard act to follow, but we had to try.  We booked a walking tour in the Marais, which is the neighborhood where my apartment would be once we checked in the next day.  We thought it would be a great way to learn more about the area and its history.  The tour was led by a local Parisian lady through an organization called Paris Greeters.  Completely volunteer-based group of locals who love Paris and want to share it with visitors (the friendly word for tourists).  And complimentary!  

So we knew we had the walking tour in the afternoon but nothing beforehand.  We decided to conquer the Vélib' bikes, which is the amazing public bikes system in Paris.  There are banks of these bikes all over Paris, usually within a 5-minute walk from wherever you happen to be standing at any given point in the city.  There is an 8€ charge for a week’s pass and as long as your bike journey is completed within 30 minutes, no extra charges are filed.  If you go over 30 minutes, it’s like 1€ for every half-hour.  But honestly, I used the Vélib' bikes for two weeks and I don’t think I went over the 30 minutes one time.  Wonderful, exhilarating way to see the city and get around.  Heavy on the fresh air and visuals when compared to taking the Metro.

Once we checked out our bikes, we realized we were hungry--so what better time to start chipping away at Lesli’s mammoth wish list of Paris food joints?  Very near the top of the list was Cuisine de Bar, the cafe arm of Poilâne, home of the best bread in Paris.  Seemed like an ideal field trip.

We mapped our route to Poilâne and took off on our bikes, probably breaking all kinds of cycling-in-traffic protocol, but whatever.  Deal, Frenchies.  We were biking in freaking Paris, y’all!!   

We arrived at Cuisine de Bar and I approached it with the reverence that some probably reserve for the Van Goghs in the Musée d’Orsay.  It was a very simple but modern cafe with seating for around 30 people.  We were seated and began to examine the menu, although I knew what I wanted before I even sat down.  The open-faced tartines are what they are known for and Dean and I both chose the Tartine For’bon.  Poilane bread toasted with Bayonne ham, whole ripe Saint Marcellin cheese, olive oil and marjoram.  Very simple but poised to redefine all prior perceptions about ham and cheese in my food memory.  Essentially, mouth-watering.  

Fresh greens with a tangy mustard vinaigrette dressing to start.

 Tartine For'bon.

  
Oh, good heavens.

Two people worked at Cuisine de Bar:  the cook and the server.  One cook, one server.  And the server was a very busy lady I would later come to know as "Isabelle."  Isabelle seated customers, took orders, delivered food, cashed out checks, bussed tables, cleaned up messes, everything that needed doing except for the cooking.  Even though she was working away, she presented as joyful.  She beautifully displayed a sense of purpose that was inspiring to watch.  More on Isabelle later in the blog….

Spotted around Poilâne....

I am told by my baker enthusiast friend, Tricia, that the scoring of the bread in this way takes great skill.

Edible utensils!

#France

{The Art of Bread}

From lunch, we headed over to the Marais in the 4th arrondissement to meet our greeter for the walking tour.  She told me in an e-mail that she would be wearing sunglasses, had red hair and looked “sporty.”  Her name was Gillian.  Here she is:

Gillian took us, along with two other couples, walking around the Marais and explained much about the history of the Marais.  We learned about George Haussmann and his restructuring of Paris in the mid-1800s under Napoleon III.
  
Many of the tight and winding streets in Paris were taken out along with many of the medieval buildings during that time.  Waste would very often get dumped in the streets and the cramped and narrow alleys and lanes contributed to disease, in addition to making homes hard to access in the event of a fire.  During the reconstruction, tens of thousands of Parisians were displaced outside the city walls…and then returned to a very different Paris—parks, various public works and the wide, grand boulevards with a very symmetrical layout, for which Paris is known today.  If you get to an intersection and look straight behind you to find the Eiffel Tower standing smack dab in the middle of your line of sight, that’s no accident.  That is a credit to Haussmann.  

The Marais has the highest concentration of medieval buildings left intact during that period and therefore, has some of the oldest residences in Paris.  Dean and I both loved learning about Paris in this way—walking around, having architecture and idiosyncrasies explained in a historical light by someone who is passionate and knowledgeable about the city.  

Some kind of fruit tree, growing in the tiny front garden of a residence.  Rarely are little sections of lawn spotted in front of these buildings!

Garden shop in the Marais.  Some of the most snap-worthy spots in Paris are garden shops.  Only most of them do not take kindly to photos inside their stores.  But they make me swooooooon.

An example of an "hôtel particulier" in the Marais.  They aren't hotels, like people know hotels today.  They were once opulent private residences and most were freestanding mansions with private courtyards in the front and gardens behind, like this one.  Most have been sold off because the upkeep and taxes on such properties makes them difficult to maintain.    

Inside the courtyard of a group of private residences/apartment buildings.  There was a gate closing this off as private but it happened to be cracked open so we stepped inside....

We had to cut out from the walking tour a little early because we had made a special nighttime activity plan for that evening:  an evening bike tour around the lights of Paris.  This was with a company called Fat Tire Bike Tours and was the first of three bike tours I ended up doing with them.  Wonderful company!  Cannot recommend them highly enough.  We felt completely safe, learned so much from our amazing guide, Theo, and again, I cannot overstate the thrill of riding a bike around the streets of Paris.

The meeting spot for the bike tour was under the Eiffel Tower.  This was as close as we'd been to it!  Pics from the night bike tour to follow.  Paris after dark is just a truly beautiful place to be....

 Our awesome guide Theo (on the right) and the rest of our group.  Yes, we had to wear reflective vests while biking and yes, that hurt.

When I look at this photo, I want to jump straight in, a la Mary Poppins & Bert.

  

Snack stop on the night bike tour:  Berthillon.  The best ice cream in Paris.  Handmade in small batches, both ice creams and sorbets, naturally-flavored and flavors change weekly.  I picked the mandarin sorbet and c'est delicieux!

This was on the bridge near Berthillon where we milled around lapping up our ice cream.  It's hard to tell exactly what this is, but there is a man dressed in black, seated just left of center.  He is seen playing a flute.  He is surrounded by various...contraptions.  Lights, little fountains in upside-down umbrellas, a bicycle with "wings" and messages and a trailer attached to the bike that carries a generator to power everything.  Apparently, he makes a habit of setting up his "office" and offering anyone within earshot a selection of flute tunes, original poetry or readings from literature.  As we left him on this night, he had finished the flute and was reading in French from "Le Petit Prince" to a small audience.  Most intriguing.  I wished we could've stayed to see him pack everything up and actually ride away on his bicycle/flying machine.

Giving my best smile on the Bateaux Mouches.  

The Fat Tire night bike tour is 3 hours of touring and finishes with a cruise on the Seine with the Bateaux Mouches.  Selling point:  they pass out red wine at the end for the boat ride.  And all of this for 30€, I think.  Such an amazing value.  Our guide, Theo, was lovely.  Raised in Paris by a French father and an American mother, he was effortlessly bilingual, gracious, conscientious and a fount of information.  Not only was this a really enjoyable tour, it was a great way to get oriented to the city in the beginning stages of knowing how the arrondissements (districts within the city) are laid out and a genius thing to do at the beginning of a trip.  It also gave us confidence on bikes and some useful hand gestures and protocol to employ when riding in traffic—which then only made us more eager to use the Vélib' system.  Have I said “highly recommend” yet?  I did.

That does it for today!  Tomorrow is moving day to the apartment!  Onward and upward....

Bonjour Paris, Au Revoir les Enfants!

We did it.  We actually got on a plane and left the country.  As a couple.  The amount of work required in order to make that happen was staggering. Praise God our flights could not have been smoother and our luggage came through.  Airplane chardonnay, anyone?      

I didn't set out to leave on my actual birthday, but that's what happened.  As I looked out across the horizon from 36,000 feet, I felt crazy thankful. I still don't know much about the number 40, but if I had to pick any age I've ever been in my life to revisit, I'd pick right now. 18, 26, 34--nope. 40. Today. Through every loss and hard place I've ever been, God has been sovereign and steadfastly continues to redeem the darkest days of my story. Thankful for a heart alive and ready to embrace the next year of this beautiful and messy life!

Sadly, even with sleep aid medication, noise canceling headphones, an eye mask and two pillows, my body informed me that I am clearly just not EVER meant to sleep more than two hours on any long haul flight. Arrghhhhh.... I told Dean the only thing I haven't tried is: business class.  So there's that. Dean didn't fare any better, except that he didn't try as hard as I did, so he actually got to watch a couple of movies in the process. So envious of people who can just snooze the whole flight.

We got a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags and walked around to find a place for a little breakfast {petit dejeuner}, which we easily did!  Petit dejeuner is always tea or coffee, a little glass of orange juice, a croissant and toast.  Precious.   

After we ate, we came back to the hotel to depart for a little car tour I had arranged for us.  There we met Antoine, who, bless his heart, was made to wear a beret and a long-sleeved striped top for his job as a French tour guide.  We believed you were French the moment you opened your mouth and spoke, Antoine. Plus, your name is "Antoine."  No apparel props necessary.  Dean says this is maybe going to be his new facebook profile pic (below).  Antoine made this face about 72 times.  J'adore l'arched eyebrow.      

Antoine took us on a 1.5 hour tour around central Paris in his 1970s Citroen 2CV, which is like the French version of the old VW beetle.  "It is...so choice.  If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up."  It was the perfect mode of transport in which to get wheeled around and see some sights while settling into a nice, delirious jet-lagged fog.

It was immediately apparent that Antoine had taken a picture or two in his line of work.  I think he provided nine different angles of us at the Eiffel Tower before the photo session was finished. 

  

When Antoine had just about enough of us, he dropped us at Place de la Concorde and from there, we strolled Jardin des Tuileries.  We ate lunch at Angelina on the Rue du Rivoli and then walked back to the hotel for a nap. By 1:00, everything had started to glaze over. Our stomachs were hurting because we'd been eating meals at weird times for a whole day and I was really missing the kids. I just needed some sleep. We snoozed for two hours and then woke up to shower (ahhh...) and head to dinner.

Had a fabulous dinner at Chez Dumonet, which was one of Dean's recommendations he'd gotten from a friend.  The first thing that happened after we sat down was one of the waiters came and set down a complimentary glass of house white wine, without even asking.  Then they brought a tiny pot of soup and an even tinier spoon.  PARIS, mes amis!!!!  

I had beouf bourginon that was unlike any other meat I have ever had in my lifetime.  I can't really even apply the term, "chewing," to what I did with it once each bite was in my mouth.  It just dissolved.  And the rich sauce and mushrooms in its own little cooking pot--c'est magnifique!  

Once dinner dishes were cleared, the waiter placed before us two mouse-sized footed shot glasses of Grand Marnier.  What a lovely little wakeup call that was.  Like sweet fire down my throat. 

But then...THEN...dessert.  The Grand Marnier soufflé and the millefeuille (also known to Americans as a "Napoleon").  I hate that I am typing right now because words simply are not good enough.  Words are SO WEAK when what we are talking about here are works of art that you get to physically consume.  And I know as I am spooning this ethereal pillow of a soufflé that I will never-never-no-ever encounter a soufflé like this once I am back in the US and that I am henceforth spoiling myself for all soufflés from now to whenever Jesus comes back--it was a big moment and worthy of reverence.  I had to take 8 pictures of it before I could even wound it with a tear of my spoon.  And even then, I may have apologized to the soufflé under my breath.  If I could've laid on it and pressed my cheek to it as to a cushion, I would have.  

When the waiter saw me taking pictures, he swooped over to add in the bottle of Grand Marnier as a prop.  I have a feeling he's used to photo ops with the soufflé.  

...and just for the sake of being thorough, the aerial view.

And the millefeuille, the millefeuille!!!  When have a stack of the thinnest layers of buttercrisp pastry ever presented butter to your lips with such flawless delivery?  If you weren't sure of the answer, it is "never."  And don't think I didn't make a mental note of the vanilla bean flecks in the custard which blanketed those butter sheets of crisp, sweet Frenchness.  Thank you, God, for Frenchness.  

As I'm prepping this entry for posting, it is at this point in the pictures that I've started to tear up a bit.  

And just because it deserves to be noted:  pink gingham toilet seats in the bathrooms.

Also, they seem to be using a champagne chilling bucket as their bathroom trash receptacle.   #France

We walked all the way back to the hotel at 10:30 at night, two miles. Had to take my shoes off at one point like a heathen because my 40 year-old feet were getting sore but LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Perfect weather, walking, felt very safe, walked on a bridge over the Seine at one point toward the Palais Royal, all lit up, and looked down to the landing by the Seine where we heard a band down there just playing the most lovely jazz--just some friends getting together to make music.  Remember that scene in "Funny Farm" when Chevy Chase's character is trying to set up the perfect buying scenario for his home and he plans for the release of a deer into the clearing behind the house just as the couple is entering the crescendo of a buyer's swoonfest?  He instructs, "Cue the deer," which has always tickled me and has served to translate into other "perfect" moments in life.  This moment was "cue the jazz band by the Seine."  Is someone pulling strings here?  Too good to be true.  

Paris, day one.  Feeling jet lagged but oh so so so blessed....