Weighty Issues.

Rang in the New Year overweight, as always, and, as always, Sad.  That was the main impetus for Dry January.  Well, that, and the fact that, if I shed problems like onion skins, I'd get to the root of Things.

Don't know that that's what's happening, but do know that not drinking alcohol leads to wanting to cut back on caffeine, which leads to a whole bunch of other things.

In one of my stronger, more inspired moments of late, opened a box containing a journal dating back from 2012, where I found myself 20 lbs lighter than I am now ... Fretting about how I needed to lose 10 lbs.

I've always been chunky.  I probably always will be.  Doesn't mean that I'm not healthy or athletic; just means that I am Bigger than what current aesthetics dictate.

Let's us not worry so much about weight / being thin, and worry more about the body chemistry issues.  Cholesterol is fine, but could be better.  Blood sugar is fine.  Blood pressure is only high when I stress out over going to get it checked.

This is me back in 2009 - same as in 2012, when I was all upset over things.  2018 me *loves* this portrait of me, chunky as I may be.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

I’m kind of hooked on buying sweaters at thrift stores and unraveling them; currently, have three in the works and just finished two others a couple weeks back.

Anyway, sometimes I’ll find something that, in its original state, I’d never wear and the Frenchie (who still doesn’t quite get the appeal of unraveling stuff when you can buy perfectly good, new yarn) tells me I’m wasting my money on. In this case, it was a nuclear lavender mohair-blend sweater at the semi-annual “vide grenier” (community-wide yard sale) for about $4.00:

 I did feel kind of bad pulling this one apart, as someone did put a lot of effort into creating it. Still, really wanted that yarn in all its glow in the dark, fuzzy glory.

This just doesn't do justice to the color. You should be seeing waves like gaussing on an old computer screen while looking at it.

Since we’re not in what you’d call Kool Aid territory, headed over to my local African market to see what they had food dye wise. As usual, they delivered:

Red, blue, yellow, green; just like McCormick's. Espig is a food-industry supply house around Marseille, where all sorts of really Cool Stuff seems to come from. Indications on the bottles say, "for pastries, desserts and ice creams. Not to be consumed in present state." (Woudn't have considered that last one if they'd not have mentioned. Now am thinking of downing a bottle of green to see what happens.)

Did what I normally do with the yarn (skeins of about 200 m with 40 drops of color, 1/2 a cup of vinegar and water to cover. Microwave until water turns clear) - found that, for the blue, I was always going to have color remaining, and a lot of it. It cost more than the other colors, so must be much, much more concentrated. The red acted like Kool Aid or Mc Cormick red - meaning, after a few minutes, the water was clear. Let stuff cool, rinsed, then soaked in salt water for a while. Rinsed again, then set out to dry:

There goes the neighborhood. 

Ended up with something like 1600 m of a beautiful morning-fog like blue and about 300 m of a nice raspberry color. Both seem fast and am amazed at the depth and variation of color in both. (Apparently, there was a bit of acrylic).  Am currently working on a classic doily pattern with some of the blue (pictures forthcoming.  I'm not quite done with it yet) and have the rest kind of earmarked for a circular shawl or two.

Heavens, can’t imagine what the yarn would have cost if I were to have bought it pre wound, pre dyed, packaged-up.

Heimweh.

Just got a postcard that the Frenchie painted for me.



The bridge spans the Seine. Home's in the green just below the fort at the crown of the hill. When I left, the apples and plums were in full bloom. Am told that, now, the hedgehogs (who we encourage) are out in full force. I really like hedgehogs; it's a pity they don't seem to be indigenous to this part of the world.

This has to be about the best English language explanation I've seen on what's going on in France right now.

I can't claim to speak for All the French, but the few that I do know know that pensions, health care, education, etc need desperately to be reformed. Like here in the States, things are pretty complex and messy. I often wonder, too, if the French kind of got into the same mess that we did here, meaning that they hired people who turned out to not be up to the task of governing, much less reforming. It seems that way when conversations eventually turn to politics.

For what it's worth (and it's not worth much), I don't find this sort of commentary to be very helpful. Calling people leeches and telling them to grow up when there are legitimate issues at hand seems kind of like calling the Tea Party movement racist, radical, violent, whathaveyou.

And now, the Frenchie's Tuesday ticket has magically transformed into one for Sunday next week. Amazing how that happens.

For him, it's been fairly easy, though disappointing: he's just been cooling his heels at home. I feel terrible for all the other folks trapped Heaven Knows Where depleting their bank accounts in Limbo.

Makes this news seem all the more Onion-esque.

Well, no flights out of northern Europe until probably tomorrow now. The Frenchie, who was supposed arrive here this afternoon, managed to get a flight for next Tuesday. Given how the cloud's moving and how, organizationally speaking, stuff is in chaos, I have serious doubts on his getting here next week (or at all).

Given that things could be much, much worse*, I really shouldn't be so sad or disappointed. Still, am.

Hopefully he'll get a nice sunset or two out of this all.

***

* We were actually talking about the last time volcano ash affected an airplane, maybe 20 some odd years ago. The Frenchie said that, at least he's home and not 12 km in the air with all engines failing.

Someone isn't a very happy camper right now.

Roissy's officially closed until 14:00 tomorrow. The Frenchie's flight was due to take off at 13:50. (We're prepared for the worst, but 're also hoping for the best.)

Trapped.

Flight's already delayed for three hours - will be delayed for an undetermined further length, according to the folks in charge of taking care of us / penning us in at CDG. As much as I'm feeling sorry for myself, I feel worse for them. No breaks, constant individual searches and patdowns if we go to the toilet or to get a coffee...dealing calmly with our frustrations.

Maybe I'll get home tonight; we'll see.

Huîtres Stendhaliennes.

Traditionally, for New Year, a lot of French folks do an oyster feast. It's easy to prepare* , a bit luxurious, and delicious with champagne, so what's not to like? Since we tend to eat oysters a couple times a week,** the question was, how to make it a bit different for the reveillon?

Inspiration struck at the market after a visit to the bookstore. I'd just cleaned up on used copies of books by Stendhal, and the Frenchie, who could easily lecture on the guy, found cancales***.

"Oh, we're having cancales for dinner tonight. Absolutely. They're perfect."

Never having heard of these before and not knowing what the heck reference he was making, I asked why.

"They're Stendhalian oysters, of course! In Lucien Leeuwen he references going to Le Rocher de Cancale**** to eat oysters. I absolutely want oysters like Stendhal would have eaten himself in Paris."

So, that's what we're having for dinner tonight: oysters like our favorite writer would have had over on rue Montorgeuil back in the day and a nice, dry Crémant from the Loire Valley to wash them down with.

I can only hope for as good for all my friends; can't imagine better. Happy New Year.

***

* fishmongers will put together all sorts of plates with everything from oysters to crabs to langoustines and shrimps from all over the world, so no work at all if you want to pay.

** No, we're not high rollers; the Frenchie's Old School. He shucks them himself. I'm not nearly as good as he is, but can hold my own. With a bit more practice, am sure I could get a job somewhere opening oysters.

This in mind, biweekly plates of oysters are much more doable; the ones I like go for roughly 5-6€/dozen.

*** Cancales are like Belons - round and flat with toast colored shells. They are to Paris as Duxburies are to Boston.

**** As of last year, anyway, this restaurant still exists.

One of my big, long-gone crushes turned 450 today.

(Pictures from my pilgrimage to his home this Summer are here.)



Bonne Anniversaire. (Rock on.)

Got plenty to read, too. I want to knit, but if I can't keep track of the stitches or I'm not allowed to bring my needles on board (happened the last trip back from France), I'll read.

Finished the Tuchman book on the 14th Century and Audubon's collected writings. Didn't know which to follow up with first (The Tuchman was a great followup to the Amy Kelly book in Eleanor of Aquitaine - thought I might go back to what I'd read in college to hang onto the framework that both these books gave.). Decided on reading around Audubon, as the first contemporary who came to mind was another Frenchman doing pretty well both as a writer and a bureaucrat under Napoleon's reign: Stendhal. (Why not? It was either going to be him or Tocqueville.) Got my spanking new copy of Le Rouge et le Noir (lost the old one. Have 85 different copies of his treatise on Love, but don't much feel like that right now. Need some drama, some sharp wit, some biting social commentary. When I get tired of Stendhal, I have some Twain short stories to lift my spirits and some essays by Jeanne Kirkpatrick to bring me down (not that I'll be needing any of that this weekend).

Mostly, though, I hope to knit.

Tomorrow, leave again for France. Am not feeling particularly excited or happy about it, though. Just feels like I'm trying to run away from life/obligations/the future here. Am not really sure that I'd find a much better life over there, either, with the cost of living, the perpetually depressed society, the problems of government there that make things look like positively rosy here...

We'll see what sort of luck we have looking at schools, sorting out visa and money stuff, etc. Feels kind of daunting.

Pattern Recognition II

On the last trip to France, got to visit both the ocean and castle country. To keep my hands busy evenings when I didn't feel like reading and in the car, I brought along some yarn for doodling. Since the Frenchie had asked for a new pair of socks, I started messing with a tube in a machine washable medium:



Was going to give up and frog this until I realized that I'd actually incorporated two major elements of our road trip into the pattern: the undulating blue of both the Channel and the Loire and a particularly impressive architectural detail found in the majority of the chateaux we'd visited:



Blois.



Chambord.

A Bit of Perspective.

A rough equivalent would be Wall Street being gerrymandered into a separate political entity and our president pushing the candidature of one of his daughters to head it.

(They've not finished college either. Furthermore, and please correct me if I'm wrong: under the French educational system, I don't believe a baccalaureate or high school diploma is even necessary to matriculate into law, which is an undergraduate university degree.)

Small World.

Received a message from someone over at Ravelry asking about my experiences at St. Jean-le-Thomas. Apparently her family hails from that neck of the woods. Further conversation revealed that we'd both grown up in roughly the same area in the States, though we're no where near one another right now.

She mentioned that the next time I visit St. Jean, I should mention to some friends who own a restaurant there that she sends her best wishes. Asked her if she meant the one in town attached to the hotel or the guinguette on the beach. Couldn't have been the guinguette, as that would be too weird.





Le Petit Nice; St. Jean-le-Thomas. August, 2009.

One evening under the big tent, the waitress asked me where I was from. I did my usual shrugging of the shoulders and answered that I came from les Etat-Unis. Instead of smiling and changing the subject as a lot of folks are wont to do, she asked me where exactly I was from. Answered that I was from the Boston Area. She grinned and told me that that was quite a coincidence as, she'd been there a number of times before. Had a friend in Cambridge who was originally from Granville (a couple towns over) and who, in fact, was due to arrive the next day. Wow, quel coincidence, was all I could think to reply. She went on to mention that he owned a restaurant, perhaps I'd heard of it?

My jaw dropped, as did the Frenchie's. Regained ourselves enough to start laughing like crazy. Calmed down, then explained to her that two of our best friends had worked for her friend: he as bookkeeper, she as chef.

Airplane Knitting.



Storks nests aren't covered in Audubon's survey. Figured the lace pattern inspired by their nests looked good against the book cover art anyway. The scarf's being worked in Green Mountain Spinnery's Sylvan Spirit, color Antique Brass.

When I fly, I generally plan for little if any human interaction. There's so much technology available on planes nowadays for shutting one's neighbor's out. (Doesn't help matters that am pretty painfully shy; shy to the point of looking rude.)

For the last trip, packed two sink-one's-teeth-into lace patterns and a couple of books I've really been savoring lately. Didn't make much headway into anything, as both flights were filled with much more social interaction than I'd have expected.

Was a bit surprised to see a familiar face in the security line at Logan: turned out that an old friend from school was heading out to wherever his company outsources their manoeuvre to nowadays. Since it was a jam-packed 747, about the only place we could go to catch up on things was in one of the emergency exit doorways in front of a toilet. Somehow we managed during our chat to not annoy anyone too much (I hope) and to not get cricks in our backs from standing hunched over for as long as we did.

Returned to my seat to the gentleman next to me rousing from a nap. "You're getting home late. Where were you all this time, Young Lady?" Told him that I ran into someone I'd not seen in like 15 years. He expressed (complimentary) surprise that I'd be old enough to know someone for that length of time. His wife, the graceful, egret-looking French lady next to him, laughed.

Over the course of the rest of the flight, learned an awful lot about them: where they worked, where they lived. How they met,* why they chose Boston for settling down, why they went back to France every year, etc. The lady seemed fascinated with what I was knitting, so showed her the pattern and talked about the yarn I was using, which came from a mill in Vermont. (Later learned that she had more than just a passing interest in Rudolf Steiner's educational theory; knitting's a major component of the curriculum.)

Of course, given that this was an Air France flight, we talked about the two downed planes earlier in the Summer. That led to talk about 9/11: they'd actually flown one of the first AA flights out of Logan after the attacks; said that it was a strange, but generally positive (and surprisingly spiritual) experience. Talked about air rage**, fears of stuff falling from the sky, our worries about the world in general. The news was just coming out about one of the Lockerbie bombers being freed soon, something no one was happy about.

Made it to our destination early, though had a fair wait in immigration due to something like six other planes arriving from different parts of Africa. Got to introduce my new friends to the Frenchie, who offered them a ride to their hotel. Turned out that they were going in exactly the opposite direction from us, so said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

***

* The Frenchie, who's a 68er himself in spite of his denials, told me that how they met is a classic scenario for that generation.

** Over the past six flights, have seen three particularly pointed incidents, all with European males losing their tempers. The Frenchie tells me that American airlines have a bad reputation in the French papers for their tough approach to these situations. I don't like to make sweeping generalizations on these sorts of things, but am not so sure that cause-and-effect or an understanding that the world outside one's day-to-day might be different from what one is accustomed to are particularly valued/nurtured in this part of the world.

T minus 17 hours and counting.

All packed and ready to go. Tomorrow - just need to get some $ exchanged and to pick out something to knit on the airplane needles. I think I'm going to go read a bit to calm down the brain some and hopefully to forget a bit the miserable heat.

From what I can see - the heatwave's broken over there; should be like here a couple weeks ago. We'll see. (A girl can hope).

T minus TWO days and counting.

T minus four days and counting.

Well now.

Guess there was a bit of a shakeup yesterday.

(More on this later.)