Vehicles, the New Hampshire Version

For the last week and a half I have been up in Moultonboro, New Hampshire, where my parents have a summer house.  It has been a really nice respite from the craze of packing in France, and from the dreaded cleaning up after a year of tenants in the house.  No one else in the world will ever love your stuff half as much as you do…

But that is all an aside.  After the lake activities, and just general relaxing that happens at this house, one of the things that we love is the outings.  Whereas in Aix-en-Provence there was hardly any issue with having no car, here you would be hard-pressed not to have some sort of regular ride.  The distances are so great and there is no such thing as a sidewalk around here. 

So what do you see on the roads?  Well, it is at the same time totally different from what we saw in Aix-en-Provence and not that dissimilar. 

The only place where you will see pedestrians is in the several-block stretch that counts as Main Street.  There are bright cones in the intersections reminding vehicles that pedestrians have the right of way.  And the crosswalks come at literally every corner. 

Next up, bikes.  Not so many, and only in the mountainous backroads where you need to swerve widely to avoid hitting them. 

Then, the REAL BIKES.  You got it, the motorcycles.  These are no small scooters, as in France.  These are big Harley’s, with large, American-sized riders on them.  And definitely no helmets.  This is New Hampshire after all, where they “live free or die.” (Really, live free and die.)

In terms of cars, there are some smaller vehicles, some vans, but more of the larger types like SUV’s.  Many of them will be covered in backroads dirt, many of them will be towing something behind them: a boat or boat trailer, a camping trailer, even farm equipment.  A surprising number of jeeps as well.

The trucks are pick-up, also pulling loads, many from earlier eras.  And there are cabs for sale on many a front lawn, as well as other various and sundry items looking for new homes. 

And finally there is lots of farm equipment.  Mowers, tractors and lots of other John Deere-type things that I might once have been able to name in a DK book read with Julian. 

So lots of motorcycles and lots of priority placed on farmed foods.  But also lots of immensity and lots of aged vehicles.  Again I am struck by how it is possible to feel comfortable in both environments, yet in neither feel a full part of the whole. 

Home Turf

Our first day back in North America. After some, but many fewer, travel adventures (including a taxi stand with no taxis, a teddy bear flying around the waiting area, and a boy unzipping the bags of other passengers while the baggage attendants complain about how the bags NEVER take this long) we arrived safely chez Dominguez. Ed travelled with the older boys through Iceland while I travelled with Noah through Toronto. Yes, you read it right… through Toronto. It was all I could do to not pick up the phone to make a collect call to any and all of you! But, sadly, I had no mobile phone, no Canadian money and no phone numbers that I remembered. So Noah and I longed for Lora Hill Park and the company of all our Norseman friends.
     Arriving back has been very comfortable. My parents’ house in Belmont is as familiar as when I grew up, and the New Hampshire house, where we will spend the next two weeks, is just a joy to live in. The lake, the loons, the little-or-no-pressure to do anything. All good reasons take a brief respite as we adjust to the time change and, more importantly, the culture shock.     
     I already miss France. Even on the airplane the only movie choices I wanted were the French ones. While Noah watched the same tv episode again and again and again, I watched Amelie, a French movie from the early 1990’s that struck me as bizarre when I originally watched it. I was thrilled. While the subtitles still helped, I could tune them out at will and still enjoy the movie. And I GOT the humour! I really treasured the movie and all of its quirks. The other movie I watched was a documentary on the Maitre d’Oeuvres de France, a prestigious award given only to the true artisans of patisserie each year after three days of competition. I was transfixed, not the least because I had eaten and observed many similar works of art/deliciousness.
      But the differences have hit us all in different ways. Last night, in a sleep-deprived delirium, Julian was noting the high levels of water in the toilets. (“Why do the Americans have to use SO much water?) Both he and Noah noted the shallow sinks, Julian because the water kept splashing up on him, Noah because he could not lean under the running faucet to drink, as they did at school. And we all have noted the increased humidity, and the chance for rain!
     This morning, when we awoke at four a.m., Ed noted after his run that those random dark blobs that he was so accustomed to seeing out of the corner of his eyes were no longer there. After we all regarded him with puzzled looks he continued. “You know, the poo on the sidewalks.” And then I went for my run. Two things struck me more than anything else. The first was the homes. If the shingled homes were instead covered with ochre-colored stucco, they could be called chateaux. The homes are much larger, each with a nicely manicured lawn. And everything around is just so much greener than arid Provence. It is a marked difference.
     The other thing that struck me was the street-cleaning. (I know, it seems silly and disconnected, but stick with me!) In Aix-en-Provence the streets were cleaned every day. This keeps the city tidy after the litter and, yup, dog poo. On my run I noted a city sign forbidding parking on that side of the street. Street cleaning happens once a month, on the fourth Thursday of the month.
      All of this got me to thinking. Whereas the French treasure things within their own spheres, such as fine foods, wines, good company and even high culture, the North Americans place a high value on their external environments. American like their space, and try to preserve some of the nature around them. Picking up after themselves, creating large areas of green space. Whereas in France, and Europe, the citizens are so far removed from the initial domestication of the land, that maybe there is less of a desire and less of an ability due to limited space issues to create an environmental movement. And even the environmental movement in France seemed to be more on a personal level than a village-wide level. Individuals could conserve water, electricity and gas, individuals could recycle.
      I guess what it comes down to is I would love to have a French home with French culture based in a North American society. All of the appreciation of the local living, in a greener, less crowded city.

Le fin de l'annee spectacle

Friday night Julian and Micah had their end-of-the-year spectacle at school. I am always a sucker for closure, and this event did not disappoint. The party started at 6:30, with a buffet that kept replenishing as more families arrived with their offerings. There were hot dogs, drinks, crepes, savoury tarts, and oodles of desserts. Enough to keep my boys asking for more and more tickets to fill up their excited tummies. As you might expect at a full-school event there were lots of crews of kids buddying around, but relatively calm for the number of people fitting into the small courtyard. After an hour or so, the kids were organized into their classroom groups and calmed down enough to present. Micah’s teacher, Patricia, in addition to being a real star teacher, is also the director of chorale for the whole school. First up were the CP and CE1 classes. They had about 8 or 9 songs to present, and then one with the older groups included as well. It is beautiful to see so many little ones, singing so sweetly and taking it all very seriously. We have been to many concerts now, over the kids school careers, but this one was especially well put together. After a joint song en rond the CE2 (Micah’s class) and the CM1 and CM2 (Julian’s class) presented their 8 or 9 songs. Micah was his true show-man self, in the front row next to his buddies, singing with his large round eyes as sincere as can be. And Julian, after a dance presentation in which he actually was smiling and enjoying himself (hip-hop is not his usual genre), just dropped my jaw. He was singing in the second row, and I am sure that not many other families paid much attention. But his body was so relaxed, his face was so uplifted, and he was just in his element. Just in case you were wondering what Noah was up to during the show... Singing in French was one of the first ways that my two older boys could REALLY enter into their school community. Music resonates so deeply for the both of them and memorization comes naturally. So they could quickly learn the lyrics, puzzle out their meanings together and practice at home so that, when their epreuve came around, they were both confidently prepared. It also helps that Patricia picked really wonderful songs to practice, from fast-paced lists of foods to slower reflective pieces (prends le temps…). AND, above all else, all of the students want to work for her. She is a tall woman, with large features, and a large personality to accompany them. At the beginning of the year parent meeting, unlike the other two that I had attended where the teacher talked and the parents listened for the entire hour or more, Patricia had all of her material on the board, covered it in ten minutes flat and spent the rest of the time speaking to what the parents really wanted to discuss. She took Micah’s class on a week-long trip into the mountains to explore old-fashioned times and to get in touch with nature. They hiked several times, witnessed first-hand their studies of marmots, went to an old-fashioned school-house and visited a goat farm, tasting the milk, cheeses in varying ages, etc. The kids have so bought into everything that she presents that it looks like a constant love-fest. And the amount of material they have covered… let’s just say that Micah has had a very good year. When the show was over, Micah had been asked by the directrice to be the student to present flowers to Patricia. I had suspected that Micah and Patricia had a special understanding with each other, but this confirmed it. And after the show, when I thanked Patricia for all of her incredible work with the chorale and with Micah in general the two of us were both teary. She told me if she could teach Micah for ten years straight she would do that. (Sniff, sniff…) The other moment that really made me tear up, and it doesn’t take much, was at the beginning of the show, when the directrice was introducing all of the grades to the audience. Because this is the only event during the year where parents are invited to the school, it also serves as the graduation party for the CM2. Hence their chance to dance as well as sing for the school. Lots of whistles and cheers and proud children and parents. But after the classroom introductions, the directrice also introduced the five Canadian children to the audience and talked about how integrated they were. And the hoots and hollers made me just well up again. I am so proud of my children for the year that they have had here in France. Each one, in his own way, has come along so far in their personal development. Julian has applied his fine-tuned learning skills to learning French (and don’t I get corrected on a daily basis). But he has also become more secure in what he is and is not willing to do. He had a great quote for Ed about not needing to be the “cool” kid in the group. Micah struggled the most in the beginning, because he could not just jump in as the social being that he is. But, with his level of French and accent to boot, he is now enjoying the fruits of his hard work and going to birthday parties left and right, going on sleepovers, and really enjoying his newfound friends. And Noah has finally come out of his shell. His class is a challenging one, but he has finally sorted out for himself the kids who play nicely with him, and who he prefers to avoid. But the children with whom he now plays benefit from his imagination and his secret French (don’t let his parents know that he speaks) along with his coquin ways! Noah’s end-of-the-year fete will be next Friday and his class is, along with singing in the chorale, presenting a yoga demonstration. Lots of chien-tete-en-bas, bebe heureux and gorille, with all the kids dressed in white. Can you say pizza stains are hard to wash out? I am looking forward to seeing Noah in his environs as well, and wiping away a few more of those mommy-tears.

Too Much Pretty?

Last weekend we took a drive out into the countryside and I was struck. By how beautiful everyday living can be in Southern France. On the other hand, last night I went out for a drink with several other Canadians and we were discussing the end of our respective year here in Aix-en-Provence. The other two women live closer to downtown Toronto and were saying that they had enough of Pretty. They were ready for a little more urban grit, a little less bourgeoisie. And I sat there quietly. Maybe I am just that much more suburban. Maybe I am just a bit more content with a smaller lot in life. It doesn’t much matter. Call me Pollyanna, and not Sid Vicious! I still find myself caught by surprise at the way the light hits the side of a building as I walk by. I still am filled with wonder at the ruined architecture that dots the roadsides on a trip through the country-side. I was just stunned at the simple beauty and strong color of a field filled with poppies. And I was inwardly ecstatic to notice that the lavender bushes near the hospital are just about to come into bloom. We missed seeing the fields of blooming lavender last year, although we saw them with full foliage, and full scents. On most car rides, and train rides as well, I make the sounds of the animals that we pass by. Because they charm me. Another non-urban thing that has benefitted my family has been the lack of structure to our weekly existence. Whereas in Toronto my family has lots of activities and people that pull us into lots of different directions, here in Aix-en-Provence our lives have been much simpler. The boys have activities on Tuesday, and for awhile we had a second activity on Thursday. This was due partly to the later release time from school, partly to the fact that we wanted to decompress from all of the busy-ness of our city life. And it also helps that we know fewer people, so we can structure our time in a way that goes a bit more with the flow, with fewer social obligations. Between the beauty and the time to enjoy it, I feel like my soul has been filled. My mind feels less cluttered, my motivation to explore our environs is higher, and I think my overall happiness level with my family can be labeled as quite contented. When I shared this with Ed he pointed out that there always seems to be a new way to see something here. The shadows are always changing, the turns in the road are always leading to new views, and the juxtaposition of old and new leads to ever-novel opportunities for reflection. I am very much looking forward to many aspects of my life back in Toronto, not the least of which are all my friends and the comfort of my own home surrounded by all of the choices that Ed and I have made over the years. But one thing that I will miss, above all else, is the charm and beauty of my daily surroundings. The wonder of the unexpected, stemming from the quaintness of antiquity.

The Space and Time Continuum

One thing that I have been thinking about a lot lately is how my concept of physical space fits in with my surroundings.  Everyone talks about the super-sizing fetish of Americans and the obsession with large homes, large cars, etc.  In France, and by extension in Europe, that just is not really possible.  Cities, especially older ones, are much more likely to have narrow streets, with small store-fronts.  The aisles are narrow in order to fit more in, and the choices of any given item are limited to increase the variety of products offered.  The cereal aisle is not an aisle, for example, but one small fraction of all the goods offered in the aisle. 

When we went to Disney our friends reported that the public spaces and walkways were smaller than in Disney World Florida and that everything just felt really crowded.  Add to that a closer sense of personal space and one can start to feel claustrophobic.  The crowds were always civilized but we were definitely cheek and jowl with one another.  It is the same thing in stores, with lots of “pardon” as one squeezes by a stranger blocking the way to the yogurts and cheeses.  As I have mentioned before there is also a heightened sense of peripheral awareness.  People walk along extremely narrow sidewalks and make calculated judgments as they pass by someone to the left, the right, off the curb to make room for the elderly gentleman with the cane.  And when there is a mis-step there is a sheepish “pardon” to make up for the trespass. 

There is also personal space in terms of noise levels.  When we traveled to and from Paris on the train, there was hardly any noise emanating from the other passengers.  People whispered to their copains, or texted loved ones from afar.  It is the same thing on all modes of transport, buses, trains, even the ferry boat rides! And I have written about the noise levels in our apartment building in another blog as well, but it has really been something that we have all worked on all year long.  The challenge rises anew as we finally open all the windows all the time. 

I am not quite sure how this fits in, but the other thing that I have been mulling over is my identity as a fully-functioning member of society.  I have been working more in the school, helping them put their library on-line and helping the students with their library books each week.  And the students all seem to be fine with the fact that I only sort-of say what most other adults would be telling them.  “Carry the book into your sack and make the line please.”  Clear enough, right?  But it gets just that much worse when the school directeur is asking me, as a member of the end-of-the-year committee, how to properly explain the basket raffle to the French parents who have never heard of such a thing.  Or when I am trying to set up a thank-you dinner for our landlords but there are many many events in all of our lives that require working around.  “Wednesday, yes, not so good.  The kids have school and must to bed.”  It has been a true exercise in humility to try to participate as fully as I can, but not feel badly about my struggling French.  I know that I have made significant progress over the year, and I really can fumble through most anything (with lots of queries, of course).  But I look forward to feeling more comfortable in my own physical space, and being able to speak anytime, anywhere, on almost any subject to anyone who comes my way. 

Photos of Euro Disney

Arriving at the Park

At the front gate

The Bazaar by Aladdin's Passage

For good luck...

In front of the Haunted Mansion

Space Mountain, here we come!

Driving the Formula One Grand Prix...

Relaxing on the Tea Cups

Buzz Lightyear

Rolling down Thunder Mountain

A little love for the Pluto souvenir

Fighting the Jack of Spades at Alice's Labyrinth

The view from the Queen of Heart's palace - Disney is just so beautiful

The end of a fun two-day visit

Capped by a rainbow

Race-Day Training in Aix-en-Provence

In January my friend, Jackie, convinced me to at least start the training for a half-marathon with her.  I was set to begin anew my running regimen, and thought why-the-heck-not.  Jackie had run a half-marathon before and had a training regimen that we could follow.  I printed it up and gulped.  There were 5 runs every week.  Each week had a long run, which began at 7K, already more than I was currently running.  There was hill training, which in Aix-en-Provence is a must.  And then there were the sprints.  I told Jackie that my plan was to train with her until I could see how this old body would handle the increase in the running schedule, the longer distances, etc. 

We ran most of the longer runs together, and some of the shorter ones as well.  Jackie has a time which she is aiming to meet, whereas I am simply running to complete the run.  As we got further into the training I was really amazed at how my body was responding.  Did I love every run?  Absolutely not.  There were days when I really had to just keep my feet moving using sheer will power.  There were the days when, the day after the run, I realized that the reason my run had been so awful was that I was coming down with something nasty. 

Yet there also were the days where I could pull off my long-sleeved t-shirt in February and run with the sun on my arms.  There were my beautiful runs along the Venetian canals, the Seine River in Paris, and down the boulevards of Grenoble, surrounded by snow-capped mountains.  There were the long runs over our last vacation, where I doubted my ability to run without Jackie’s unflagging encouragement and support.  But I did it!  In the sun, in the rain, chugging along like the wheels of a train. 

The runs up the hills were a challenge that I enjoyed.  There was a big bad dog who lived along one of my hill routes, so if he was out I switched to running a stretch of road.  I had to wonder what the lady who waited at the bus stop was thinking as I ran up and down a stretch of steep hill, over and over again.  Trying for a bit faster each time. We’ll have to see how it goes on race day, as there are two big hills, one at the 10K mark and one at the 15K mark.  I am a bit nervous, but a bit confident in my perseverance as well. 

The sprints were something that I wanted to love, but just didn’t.  My thighs BURNED the second week of sprints, in a way that I did not appreciate.  If I weren’t so stubborn I would not have stuck with it.  But it was written on paper, and Jackie would be asking me how they went...

Because I am not much of a shopper, I really did not have appropriate equipment for all the training.  I went out and bought new running shoes, and a pair of running tights to get me through the wintery moments.  And just yesterday I had to buy a new bra because the one I have had since my time living in Madison (read at least 12 years old) has been chafing and that’s not the kind of run I want to have on Sunday.  Chatting with the running store owner about the number of female runners in France he was surprised to hear that I was not running the “Feminin” Course on Sunday but the “Semi.”  As well, the doctor who filled out my “Certificat Medical” stating that I was in good enough health to run, was also surprised.  But he was doubly surprised after giving me a heart recovery rate test.  I had to do twenty squats in his office, then have my pulse taken.  He then took my pulse again a minute later to see if it had dropped.  After taking the second pulse rate he announced that I must be a fast runner because my heart rate was already back down to its normal rate.  That made me feel good.

So, it is off to the races on Sunday.  We start at 8:45, late for most North American races, but early for French time.  The race loops to the west edge of town, then back through the center.  Next through the park that I have run through most often and then up the mountain to the next town over and back down to another park in town for the grand finish.  I have heard rumour that the water tables may also have wine on them.  And the running store owner told me that there would be about 2000 runners.  I am looking forward to a nice sunny morning run, along with 1999 of my fellow crazies.  Oh, and did I tell you the name of the race?  Les Grandes Folles!