The Sun's Deerhunter

After the volcanic ash settled a package my mom had sent me weeks earlier finally made arrived. The journey looks to have been a rough one as it was broken and stained and open... Nevertheless almost everything made it in fine shape, most importantly my Sun magazine. I had a day off yesterday from nannying so I ran some errands and grabbed the magazine to read on the metro. I started with the Sunbeams in the back (I always read magazine back to front) but after changing metro lines I opened up to the front and began reading the letters to the editor. They were all discussing an interview of David Peterson "The Good Hunter". I had read this article when I got home from Chile and found it waiting for me at my apt in NYC. My dad is a hunter/fisherman and I am uncomfortable with this lifestyle. I remember growing up when we'd be at the cottage when my grandpa, dad and uncle would get up early to go out hunting in the cold Wisconsin morning, the same place where on summer nights we'd spend on the lake fishing till it got dark. All of the men and some of the women in my dad's family were outdoorsmen; hunting and fishing was a family tradition. I grew up with deer hanging in our garage and my dad plucking birds and duck; fall wind scattering down feathers all around the driveway. I was embarrassed by our basement which my girlfriends called the man room, because it was more or less a taxidermy haven with dead animals stuffed and hung on display. My dad would occasionally take me duck hunting with him after work and when I turned 13 he signed me up for hunter's safety. I scored very well on the test (after all this may have been the only test my father took interest in my passing), but afterwards I shot a target once, and shot at a deer once.

At 13 it was pretty clear that I didn't have my dad's athletic ability nor did I share his interests or his temperament, and it made me feel guilty, I felt certain that he would rather have a kid who wanted to hunt, fish, golf, toss the ball and do yard work with him. But I was an only child book worm who liked big cities, didn't mind a messy room and Vogue magazine.

A couple years ago my father and I went on a photo safari in South Africa, he had the option to hunt and he took it. Clearly, this was a big deal for him, he is a good hunter, always gets his deer (even though it's well known that the these African companies make sure you get a deer when you pay hundreds of dollars to spend a day hunting) and he spent mealtimes posturing with a guy from Ohio who clearly was more casual about his hunting (the both got Impala's in the end). While I had Obama buttons on my bag I spent my meals with a special needs teacher who complained about gay couples who had the gall to adopt children and then be the only parents to show up at parent teacher conferences, and a family that flew to Africa for their daughters jump rope competition. I hated that my dad wanted this trophy, I was uncomfortable with the redneck image of hunting, but our family ate the meat and while growing up I never heard too much hunting as sport talk except the good natured jabbing that goes on between brothers. If he was simply going to hunt for the food and the enjoyment of being outdoors, I couldn't complain, because I definitely had more respect for someone who got their meat if they were going to eat it, locally, organically and certainly not factory farmed. Still the stuffed and mounted decor of our house made me wonder if there weren't a significant element of sport involved if the evidence hung all over our walls.

So when the Sun article arrived, I felt like I often do when I meet people who believe in God but aren't asshole evangelists, gay haters, anti-abortion nut jobs, war supporters and the general hypocrite variety. A breath of fresh air- not really interested in hunting for myself, but I guess if you're going to do it as David Petersen does, "ethically" then I guess, I gotta respect. Well that was the easy reading of it... I didn't think too much about it, I just figured, this guys all right, and hopefully there's a lot more hunter's like him, who can see how the sport hunters out there are a bunch of jackasses, who can look at what he does, question whether he does it ethically, and acknowledge that a lot don't.

The first printed letter to the editor, was someone who 'a cause de' the Sun having printed an interview of David Petersen, was canceling his subscription. Which seemed, well, extreme, hasty... I mean, does he imagine that every writer, photographer and worker for the Sun is a vegetarian? I can see writing in and saying as some people did that David Petersen misled readers about vegan diets and the like, but the one thing I love about the Sun is that I get to read something that I often didn't know about, and then, think... Thinking, self-reflection, debate, all of these things, seem far superior then resting high on your horse with unquestioned faith that yours is the superior way. It's often so easy to look at the guy on the other side of the table and feel superior; generalizing that all those guys over there, are bad. Good for the Sun for printing reader's letters to follow-up, it made me think twice about David Petersen, he may be a hypocrite for eating bacon, but I wonder how many of us have shaky integrity from time to time. I enjoyed the article, it seems that all we ever talk about these days is the environment- pretty overwhelming, and critical to our times, so it was nice to read another thread in the story of our times...

Sorbonne Confidential

I feel like this book is my life in France. Rejection for my life's work... It's so backward, the states may have a lazy attitude towards learning languages, in fact clearly we see very little need to be bilingual- and it's to our own detriment, we will lose in the long run. But Europe knows that learning English is important if not essential, so it's required, but why does France stock it's English teachers with non-native speakers whose sole qualification is passing a super duper hard test/oral that has absolutely zero reference on whether the taker is fluent in English(or other subjects) or has any aptitude for teaching.

Teaching and education is my downright passion, I get worked up about it like nobody I know. France pisses me off. America's education fails in so SO many ways, but we don't go at it with an ass backward arrogance about language, tradition, and in this case protectionism. If you can't speak English, then you sure as hell, aren't going to be able to teach it...

Did I forget Versailles?

Well thats because palaces turned tourist hot spots hold about zero interest for me. They reduce a massive housing estate to about 20-30 rooms that have been removed of everything interesting and hoards of -I'm sorry but it's true - (or at least it was in my case last Saturday) Japanese tourists clumping together and snapping useless photos that will never turn out because the rooms are darkened to conserve god knows what since all that remained was a sad chair, decorative wall paper and some uninspiring portraiture paintings. Repeat that 20 times and it's easy to ask why, why these places can charge you 15 euro and barely get what could even be considered exercise after all the bottlenecks created by the jammed up lumps of- sorry, Japanese tourists.

I honestly probably never would have made it to Versailles if my friend from high school hadn't invited me, and we did have a lovely day, I just wish I would have said, lets skip the rotting disintegration of times long past and forgotten and lets slather on some sun cream and take a stroll in the amazingly beautiful gardens on this amazingly beautiful day saving ourselves 8 euros. But no time for regrets, too busy rubbing my sore feet. Who knew walking through probably less that a fifth of this palace would drain so much life from the living...

If you ever find yourself living in Paris, or just on a visit, save yourself the money, the time, and the worry, you're not missing a thing, just head straight to the gardens and hide a picnic somewhere in your bag... Also the fountain show, isn't actually a show, they just turn the water on...

Volcanic Ash

My friend Mike is in France on a wine tour with his seller. The volcanic ash added and extra week to his itinerary and he's here in Paris. Yesterday I met him at the Jardin de Tuilleries and we walked through them to the Louvre and then had a glass of rose on what was the first or second gorgeous summeresque day in Paris. Sylvain met us then after he finished putting some time in working on his paper. Mike was my first friend to really meet Sylvain when we went and stayed with him in San Francisco on my spring vacation about this time last year. Other's had met him briefly almost in passing but Sylvain and I stayed with Mike for a week, and then Sylvain stayed on with him for another 10 days after I went to Chicago to be a bridesmaid in my best friends wedding. We then headed to Montemarte where we hoped to find a place to take him to dinner- Mike and I originally met in Boston where we had both worked at Sandrine's Bistro in Cambridge. I started spending more time with the waitstaff after hours and Mike and I met at a superbowl party as he had left waiting at Sandrine's I assume because he couldn't stand the sub par food and the behind the scenes drama. Mike has spent most of the time I've known him as a sommelier and offering up some of the most enjoyable meals of my life. I have eaten about 5 meals out here in Paris none of which were places I would necessarily revisit, the problem for me is all restaurants look the same here- how do you know where to go and what's going to be good?

So I was anxious to impress my friend in a city whose food and neighborhoods are recognized as some of the best in the world, still I knew only that I liked the neighborhood Abesses. Having seen most of Paris, Abesses is the only place that charms me. Sylvain likens it's charm to the film Amelie, which isn't surprising as that's nearby where it's meant to have taken place. Last week's date night I took Sylvain to Abesses for a raclette and afterwards we walked home through Sacre Coeur. On the way home I noticed a few places that seemed charming and planned to come back soon to investigate further.

It was here that we ended up with Mike. We had another glass of rose for are apero and then he asked to see a bottle of Blasson d'Isan ordered it to be decanted and we had it with our meal. They had a good prix fix menu so we ordered frog legs to start and Sylvain had an amazing looking filet with sauce au poivre that I want to learn how to make as soon as humanly possible, I had the skate which was delicious but over-portioned and left me uncomfortably stuffed and disappointed there wouldn't be room for tarte tartin. Mike had entrecoute and pomme frites. I will remember this meal for a long time, first because I tried frog legs which don't taste like chicken but do taste something like fish, the wine which was perfect, the sauce au poivre which will probably change my life to some extent, and of course the company. I don't know exactly how to say what I want to say, which is just that meals and sharing food are really important to me, I put a lot of love in cooking for Sylvain, just as I love having brunch with my girlfriends, but whether Mike cooks for us, or just shares a meal, it's always, always an experience that ends up as a great memory.

Coaching

Today Sylvain and I went to play tennis again, it was a beautiful spring day and without a wet court our game improved, a little. We borrowed what are next to the worst rackets you could imagine without going as far back as the wooden frames of the John McEnroe era. I've played tennis for a long time, taken lessons and still I remain a pretty mediocre player with inconsistent shots and no speed on the court. Still our first time out I decided Sylvain would want to know his shots were dumped in the net because of his flat feet or open stance even if my shots often flew wildly out of court because of my own bad form.

At the end of our play this week I was bored with Sylvain playing his 12 year old boy who needs to "kill" the ball- any sport with a ball, and a boy of any age will decide to try to hit it with bat, club, or racket in an effort to seemingly destroy the ball. Sylvain did this occasionally throughout our game each time usually sending the ball into the net, and at the end I'd had enough "You are not good enough to hit like that!" meaning he didn't have enough control to use his power to accurately hit shots into play. But really he just thought it was fun to try to whack the ball with all his power, it's just that it never went over the net, unless it went so far over the net it also went over my head. Nonetheless, I didn't say what I meant, because what I meant was: stop doing that, I want you to put the ball in play so I can try and hit it back, but of course, that's not what I said, essentially what I said and what he heard was you're not good enough.

After a bit of a row, and some discussion regarding the fact that I am not gifted with his natural athletic ability (his parents are world class runners) he said this: "You are always trying to tell me how to play, and you're not much better yourself."

I made a point of not critiquing his play this week, but obviously our first session had made an impression. At that point I had to laugh because last year just after Sylvain moved to Chile I went home to visit my parents before following him to Chile. I was worried about some unresolved issues that wouldn't be resolved until I got to Chile, so when my parents and I went to play golf, I played terribly. My mother is not a very good golfer, she never keeps her head down and thus never hits the ball solidly so it dribbles here and there. Nonetheless she started giving me unsolicited golf advice and after a while I said, MOM! stop trying to tell me how to golf, when you can't even golf yourself.

The point of course, is that no one likes to feel criticized, and whether you're trying to help, it's rarely seen in that light. When you're preforming poorly for whatever reason, lack of athletic ability, it's a new skill, or you have something else on your mind, unless you ask for support, it's generally not welcome.

J'aime beaucoup ce que vous faites- I love your work

Yesterday was gorgeous outside and I brought A to the park because her parents had a school function with S. A and S got sand buckets for Easter so we headed straight to the sand box, and there was a mother I recognized from seeing her chase her son Michaelangelo around in front of the Mayors office where I occasionally wait to pick up S from school. Melanie knows her and she introduced me briefly once a couple weeks ago while she was having a gouter with her daughter Isabella after school. She is an interesting woman- she is originally from Florida and it looks as if she has baked herself good and brown- she is the cliche- she wears light blue eyeshadow, she's a natural blond but her hair has additional processing to make it even whiter, she is very thin, wears clothes that wouldn't be called age appropriate, but despite all this, I kind of like her- she's a character. She's lived in Paris for 16 years and married an italian, nonetheless her French is all American- she sounds just like we all did in French class when we were 12 and although she doesn't stumble through any of the pronunciations it's funny to see this 40 something year old woman living in this posh moneyed neighborhood of Neuilly conversing loudly on her phone in English, looking like a leathered California beach bunny. She is just so American, but she told me her husband and her own three places in Le Marais- the soho of Paris and she lived in New York before moving to Paris. I guess the point is- she doesn't give a damn if she hasn't taken on all the French stuff- she learned French, but sounds as foreign as any tourist, she dresses like a teenager with low rent taste, she sits in the park with her pants rolled up and the straps of her low-cut top hanging off her shoulders to avoid tan lines despite the fact her skin is screams skin damage from head to toe and she doesn't hide her Americaness in the least. Good for her.


Afterwork Sylvain told me to meet him at Opera for our date that night. He brought me to un piece de theatre J'aime beaucoup ce que vous faites- translated roughly to I love your work. My french has not improved to the extent that I got any of the jokes- this was a comedic piece- well actually I got two of the easy ones. Watching French TV (American shows helps the most if you can handle hearing french voices replace familiar actors) has helped a lot, just recently I realized I suddenly understand most of what we watch. Even if the comedy washed over my head it was so satisfying to enjoy not being lost in French. Unlike watching TV I couldn't turn to Sylvain and ask for a translation- but I didn't care because there was something more authentic in being able to understand actual people speaking, versus their on screen images. The actress in the piece was a doppelganger for my Aunt Loretta when she was in her late 30's.

English Teaching Assistant

About 6 months ago my friend Laura from Wisconsin who I met in Chile told me about a program in France that allows you to teach English as an assistant which in return offers minimal pay but a work visa and the opportunity to live in France for 7-9 months. Of course I applied and thought without a doubt, since I am the perfect candidate, I will get one of these positions. The only concern we had was if I would get placed in Paris, or at least somewhere we'd consider living- which was pretty much, Paris, maybe Lyon.

Since moving to Paris in January I've vacillated between not really thinking Paris was that special (as a place to live) to feeling "ok" about it, not really loving it, but being perfectly ok living here, until Tuesday evening after Smith book club when I thought- I'd quite like to live here just one more year.

Wednesday morning that desire was dashed when at 7:45 my IPod alarm went off and I checked my email. My application for the teaching assistantship was rejected. More than anything this news was a shock, in some ways it's disappointing because the opportunity to stay in France no longer exists, but every American I've ever known who lived in Paris got into this program, teachers I've worked with, Smithies Ive met- so why not me? My age is the only discriminating factor- you can't do the program after the age of 30 and I'm about to turn 30- moreover everyone I know who has done it has been about 22.

It's hard to say what's next, back to Brooklyn?

Climbing the walls at MurMur

Every week Sylvain and I have a date night- each week we trade responsibility for planning it. Sylvain usually plans a dinner date which is sort of perfect every other week, but I'm more keen on doing something out of the ordinary, and today we went to MurMur to do some climbing. I tried it once on a Hyde retreat and Sylvain is really sporty with a lot of upper body strength so I figured he might enjoy it.

For reasons I still don't understand, he thought I was skilled in climbing- that I could show him how. I told him I'd only gone once, but when we got to actually doing it, we had to ask the person next to us to show us how to knot the rope. When I did it at Bath with Hyde we had a belaying device that was sort of idiot proof where even if you were texting on your mobile and your partner fell, he'd live. These were not the same kinds of ropes, but it was super simple after someone shows you once. Nonetheless my initial ignorance made Sylvain uneasy and it took him a few climbs before he felt comfortable with me belaying him. In short, what a great way to determine whether your partner trusts you- every couple should have to do this before committing to anything regarding a marriage contract. Before we met Sylvain broke his leg climbing a wall so he had reason not to want to take it lightly, but still, I was surprised he found it so difficult to trust me/enjoy it at first. I jump into everything, I trust that if it was life threatening or super hard they'd make you inscribe in a class before letting you off on your own.

I like sports and trying anything new although I'm not bothered by achieving any kind of expertise, Sylvain is competitive though, and wanted to do the line climbs where you are only meant to use the red grips, or the white grips and these are labeled with a difficulty level. I just want to get up to the top and am less bothered by following a line or "cheating" with a quick step on a green grip. We did a lot of lines anyway, as it was tempting to try, but when the walls were inclined I was just happy to get up. There were some really incredibly difficult wall courses and it was fun just to watch advanced climbers scramble up or plan their maneuvers - there was one girl climber with some agility which was impressive, all the male climbers were light, but men in general have the kind of upper body strength that makes this kind of work a little easier to manage. What we didn't have was the hand chalk that becomes essential after a couple hours of climbing. The grips can be so tiny and your hands just can't maintain a hold on them without it after a while; this was not included with the equipment rental, but the regulars had their own pouches attached to their climbing belts which I had first imagined were pockets for water bottles.

When we were finished I told Sylvain that one of the things I like about date night is how much we've been able to experience in Paris just because every week we make and effort to get out and do something, already we've done so much more than we ever did in New York I explained, but then he reasoned, if we had started date night in New York, I would have had to host every week as he had been skint and I covered most of our socializing as it was. He had a point.

3 year old's

I am nannying for 2 girls, the older is tough, her instinctive reaction to anything is a serious tantrum-like episode, but I don't entertain tantrums and she is starting to learn that there is no point in exercising these theatrics with me- that's not to say they've disappeared but, we shut the tear factory down pretty quick. She is about to turn 4 and is adjusting to having left her life in the suburbs of Boston and living in another language and a completely different lifestyle- it's an adjustment. But she is my favorite, when you're teaching you always have your favorites, they're usually not the toughest, but they usually have a sly something or other. S would not normally be my favorite but because she's almost 4 she and I can talk which is a life saver in this kind of job. A is only 2 and it's tough to share ideas, feelings and secrets. S is at that age where almost everything she says is 'why' this is not the part I like, but she does say some pretty funny stuff. The other day she asked me who came out of my mom's belly first, my boyfriend, or me. I'm older than Sylvain, so I said, me, her follow up was- so does he sleep in a crib? I laughed and said, "no" and she wondered, so, is he like 3 or 4?

One day when I was leaving S followed me down the stairs a bit, I asked if she was planning on coming home with me, because I didn't have an extra bed, she suggested she could sleep on top of me. Mais, non.

When I started this job, I started thinking a lot about what I was like around 3, and my memories of my life then, in doing so I started telling S about my life as a kid, mostly because what else do you talk about with an almost 4 year old, she doesnt care about my visa problems, that I think I'm starting to look my age, or how I miss being a teacher. In fact, she doesn't want an art teacher for a babysitter- which is a bit of a point of contention between us- because for my own self-image, I need to still be an art teacher, and for whatever reason she really doesn't want me to be one.

In the grand scheme of things I landed about the best job I could have found as a clandestine in Paris. I'm so lucky, and I know as banal as the daily routine of changing poop filled diapers and scheming to get them to eat- literally standing there and feeling my blood pressure raised while 2 little girls mange their dejeuner hoping that broccoli doesn't get thrown across the table and that the 20 minutes passes without tears that I can learn a lot from this experience. Maybe to become a better teacher, maybe to prepare me to become a mother. Admittedly I was ready to put that dream to bed after my first week, but if I could start motherhood with a 4 year old and take all the bathroom and diaper elements out of it, I think I could manage.