Whew!

For the past several weeks, I've been seeing ads for the Liam Neeson movie Taken. At first I thought they were for the release of the DVD, but when I realized they announced that the movie was coming out in theaters this week, I got confused. I was sure I had seen ads in Paris last year for a very, very similar movie starring Liam Neeson, and it seemed odd that a movie in English would get released that much earlier in France. But I just checked, and the movie was released in France on February 27, 2008, almost a full year earlier than in the U.S., perhaps it because it's actually a French movie. So I'm not crazy, at least on this point!

Proof that it's Just Too Cold here

Today's temperature of 10°F (-12°C) is warmer than it's been lately.

And yesterday, someone moved a house across a frozen lake. A house! With a truck big enough to tow a house! On a lake!

Not Worth a Plugged Nickel

God meant for nickels to look like this:

Not like this:

I don't deal well with change (get it--change?! hahahaha!!), and my readers are expected to warn me about this kind of thing, so I don't freak out when I suddenly come across counterfeit money in my wallet.

What other horrifying mutations took place in this country while I was away?!

A Great Day

I'm verklempt. And very, very proud to be American.

No Place Like It

I had a nice, quiet weekend putting my house in order. My couch arrived a couple of weeks ago, so I could finally arrange the living room and start putting up some decorations. (The teetering towers of boxes in the office remain steadfastly packed. The tape holding them shut seems too strong for a mortal such as myself to pierce. Not that I've tried.)

Two wonderful friends donated their Saturday afternoon to indulging my obsessive-compulsive need to see each and every picture I own in every possible spot on every wall in every room. Their rewards will be great in heaven.

And Saturday evening I had a lovely dinner celebrating a friend's 50th birthday.

I spent Sunday putzing around in the living room and entry way (the entry way is the one space in my home which I now consider "finished", and in my humble opinion, it's pretty) while white, fluffy snowflakes floated gently past my window.

Then I had a cozy, comfy Sunday evening lying on my new couch, snuggled under the quilt my sister made me. While I watched TV, my mind lazily inventoried the things it saw in my peripheral vision: my little wooden statue from West Africa, my blue glass vase from IKEA, my overstuffed easy chair, my black and white photos of DC and New York, the soft glow from my North African lamp. All my favorite things from all over the world. And I realized that I had the contentment I feel when I'm in my favorite place in the universe.

Home. I haven't been here for over six months, and it's good to be back.

TIMM: Bisous

TIMM = Things I'll Miss the Most

There is another thing that I miss about France: the kissing. (No, not that kind of kissing.)

Les bisous or la bise is the kissing-on-the-cheek that the French do as a greeting, as a good-bye, as a thank you, as almost any expression of goodwill or affection between friends and acquaintances. There are lots of little rules about how bisous are done that you learn over time (Isabelle and other French experts can feel free to add or correct):

1. Generally, it's not really a kiss. You just press your cheek briefly against the other person's cheek and perhaps make a vague little kissy noise. Once in a while, you'll come across someone who does actually kiss you on the cheek, but this is usually the French equivalent of your grandma or great aunt pinching your cheek. My friend A and I have a mutual acquaintance who gives a big, wet sloppy bise, and A and I always complain to each other about it.
2. If both people are wearing glasses, at least one of you will have to take them off, otherwise you will inflict and receive injuries to your face (and possibly your fashionable frames). If only one of you is wearing glasses, they can remain on, but the glasses-wearer will need to tip her/his head very carefully, to avoid scratching the other person. The truly considerate always take off their glasses, even if the other person is eyewear-free; I am not that nice and feel that the possibility of scratching the other person is much less important than the hassle to me of removing my glasses.
3. Most people begin with their right cheek to the other person's right cheek. Going in for the wrong side can lead to disaster, or least a sore nose.
4. The number of bisous given (alternating cheeks) varies according to region and social class. Two, three and four kisses are the most common, although in Rennes, Brittany, where I spent a semester abroad in college, a single bise was the norm. There's definitely an element of social hierarchy: two-bising people will usually tell you that giving three or four bises is low-class or for country hicks; four-bising people say that those who only give two bises are stuck-up snobs. Two is most common in Paris, and when in doubt, I generally do two bisous and then pause, pulling back only slightly, so I'm ready if the other person keeps going. You don't want to be the person trying to keep kissing while the other person is pulling away--that's a real faux pas!
5. Women give and receive bisous more than men. Bisous are generally shared between any two women who have an even slightly warm or affectionate relationship (relatives, friends, colleagues, acquaintances), between a woman and a man who are friendly, between two men who are family members or very close friends of long standing, and between an adult and almost any child under 12 or so. Otherwise, the default greeting or good-bye is a handshake. In professional settings, you always shake hands with people on a first introduction and generally continue to do so with colleagues until you've established a "work-friend" sort of relationship. I was often surprised at casual parties at friends' home, because almost everyone I met would immediately give me la bise as soon as we were introduced. Women who don't want to receive a kiss from someone can pre-emptively stick out their hand for a handshake instead.
6. On special occasions, bisous are even more freely given. Every year at Christmas, my building superintendent in Paris, along with his wife and their two children, would all line up in the hallway to give me bises to thank me for the tip I put in their Christmas card (I was never sure if this was normal or a sign that I was tipping too much). And when I was moving back to the U.S. and went to say good-bye to the people at my boulangérie, we all exchanged bisous for the first time.

As a good Minnesota girl who was brought up hugging close friends and family, all this kissing weirded me out at first. It seemed far too personal and intimate. But over time, I came to see bisous a warm and heartfelt way to express affection for the people in my life. And hugging--pressing my body against someone else--that seemed like a weirdly intimate thing to do with relatives and platonic friends!

After six months back in the U.S., I'm used to hugging again, but what I really miss about la bise (or even hand-shaking) in France is the constancy of it. French etiquette requires that you consciously greet and say good-bye to those around you, every time you see them, and every time you leave them. Families generally exchange bisous every morning when then get up and every evening before they go to bed. Friends give la bise every time they get together. Colleagues make the rounds of each others' offices to shake hands or kiss or at the very least formally say hello when they get to work every day. Not to do so would seem cold and rude.

You know that reputation that the French have for being cold and rude? Part of it may stem from the fact that the French see Americans as being rude, every time they enter or exit a shop without greeting the people there. That's right: in France, it's considered polite to say "Bonjour mesdames, bonjour messieurs" whenever you enter a store or a public room and "Au revoir" when you leave. I once heard a crotchety old lady on a French bus complain at great length about the rudeness of kids today after a group of teenagers got off the bus without thanking the driver and saying good-bye to the other passengers!

And the thing is . . . taking a second to acknowledge other people is nice. It makes me sad that when I reflexively say "Hello" or "Thank you, good-bye" to the cashier at a restaurant in the U.S., I often get a strange look. And it makes me sad that I'm starting to lose that lovely French reflex. I miss the unquestioned certainty that each and every time I greet or say good-bye to a friend, there will be a physical acknowledgement of our friendship and affection for each other, whether the acknowledgement be a kiss or a hug or a handshake.

I miss les bisous.

Six Months Out

So, it's 2009 now, happy new year, blah, blah, blah. The more important event that some of you may have overlooked this week was on Tuesday, December 30, 2008, the six month anniversary of my departure from France.

People these days are fond of asking if I miss living in France, and I have to fumble around to find an appropriate response, usually saying something vague like, "Oh, sure . . . but you know, I mostly feel like I'm still just getting settled in here, so I haven't had time to miss it too much yet." This is mostly prevarication, my feeble attempt to hide the dark, awful truth lurking in the depths of my soul:

I don't miss France as much as I thought I would.

Or perhaps I just don't miss France as much as I think I should.

Or perhaps missing France doesn't look and feel like what I thought it would look and feel like.

In any case, my missing of France is too far complicated and sensitive to discuss with strangers in small talk. So instead, I'll post it here on the internet.

Any good living-abroad book will tell you that cultural repatriation is often far more difficult than expatriation. With expatriation, despite its many challenges, you at least have the excitement of new discoveries, and you're surrounded by people who know that you're different and will (usually) tolerate at least some of those differences. Returning "home", you're often faced with being re-immersed in the same-old, same-old and are surrounded by people who expect you to be just like them, and just like you used to be, without really caring or wanting to hear about the ways that you've been Changed by your experiences abroad. Shortly after returning from my semester abroad in France in 1990, I remember sitting talking to a dear college friend, sobbing and telling him, "I just feel like I'll never be happy again, living in America!"

So I was fully expecting to be abjectly miserable upon moving back this time, and I'm really rather discombobulated that that hasn't happened. Yet. (A girl can keep hoping!)

My theories on why I haven't been missing France that much? Well, this is the first time I've moved to a place where I already know a lot of people, many of whom are among my oldest and dearest friends, so I've had less social downtime to sit and pine for Paris than might otherwise have been the case.

It's also true that I still don't feel at all settled here. Moving to a new city while almost simultaneously starting a new, work-from-home, part-time job means that I still feel like I'm waiting to get back to "real" work. So far, I am working enough and billing enough hours to make ends meet, but it hasn't really sunk in that I'm not on vacation and probably need to establish more a of real routine in my life. The huge towers of book boxes remain steadfastly unpacked in my office (I've sworn an oath to unpack by Monday, which is good news for you, since when given the choice of unpacking or blogging, you can see what I choose!), and I still have no couch around which to organize my living room (in my own defense, I'll point out that after weeks of couch-shopping this summer, I ordered the stupid thing back in August (!!), but the furniture store which shall go unnamed, although it rhymes with Freight and Peril, is finally supposed to deliver it next Tuesday. That's January 6. Four and a half MONTHS after I ordered it, not that I'm counting.)

And I was profoundly grateful not to be living in France while my dad was in the hospital this fall.

So I guess there are a number of reasons for me not to miss France so much, just yet. It's also possible that my missing of France is manifesting itself in more subtle ways than flashy, abject misery. For example, it's possible that my unpacking procrastination is indicative of a deep-seated, pathological desire not to admit that I'm actually living in Minnesota, and that I'm clinging to my boxes as proof that I'm ready to return to Paris at a moment's notice. But no need to give any more fodder to my more therapy-minded readers.

However, I do miss France some. And some things in France more than others. At the head of the list of What I Miss Most in France is my friends there. While I lived in France, Thanksgiving was the one and only day each year that I knew I would be fiercely homesick for the U.S. and my family. So I was very surprised that this year on Thanksgiving (the first I'd spent with my family since 1993!), I was fiercely homesick for my group of ex-pat friends in Paris. I missed the sense of coming together with my fellow country people, with our tales of triumph in finding rare and exorbitantly expensive turkey and pumpkin, for our national feast which we would generously share with the untamed natives (who were always stunned to learned that pumpkin can be made into something other than soup!). I miss the stories of hardship and heartache as we struggle with renewing our residency permits on either side of the ocean. I miss the bizarre French-English franglais mixture we all speak without even realizing it. I miss hanging out with these people I love.

The other things I miss about France were brought sharply to mind and heart during the week before Christmas, when I was in North Africa for a work trip and had access to some of those tantalizing tidbits of France which are so readily available in its former colonies. The first night there, we had a working dinner at a colleague's house, and someone picked up bread and pastries from chez Paul. Yes, the best chain bakery in France has a franchise in North Africa, and my soul was singing with the first bite of baguette de tradition--not to be confused with the pathetic "baguette traditionale" sold at Lunds in the Cities ("traditionale"?! not a word in English, not a word in French)! The chocolate macaroons were nice, too. Later, I turned on the TV in my hotel room, and my heart was made glad again: not only were the stars of NCIS and Les Experts--Miami, New York ou autre--speaking French once again, just as God intended them to*, but the French commercials were also tugging at my heartstrings! I got misty-eyed when I saw the Christmas station-identifier ad for TF1 and was inordinately pleased to watch the holiday commercial in the Bouygues ad series "Le répertoire de Mathieu".

So maybe if I feel like I haven't been missing France, it's just a case of out of sight, out of (the forefront of my) mind. But six months out of France, it's definitely not out of my heart.


*One very disconcerting part of my return to the U.S. has been trying to get used to the American (aka "real") voices on some of my favorite shows, like NCIS and the various CSIs. I started watching these shows when I lived in France, and I've found that I have a very different perception of (and less liking for) several of the characters, because of the accents they have when they speak English. For example, several of the characters on CSI: Manhattan have a strong Brooklyn accent, which automatically (to me, at least) signals "swaggering blue-collar tough guy", an image that I did not have of that character in French. Very weird.