This morning, we leave for LONDON!!!

Merry Christmas....

Yesterday the USA celebrated ( is that really the word I want there?) "National Unfriend Day" for the first time ever, thanks to the efforts of late-night host Jimmy Kimmel. Not that is was actually much of an effort. He went on tv and said "Today is National Unfriend Day" and that was it. But it had to be done.

In fact, it's a brilliant idea and should be celebrated more than once a year, IMHO.

In fact, several times every month seems preferable....or is that just me being crabby about all that Mafia Wars crap cluttering up my wall? And no, Farmville Psychos, I don't want to buy you a cow or send you mangelwurzels.

One thing that slightly amelliorates my crabby is this- the semi-official song of the Facebook clean-up movement:

We're back in France now - 22 hours after our plane took off from Lincoln, Nebraska.

It was a trip full of surprises- including an unscheduled trip to Washington DC- too bad all we got to see there was the airport.
Then we had an extra stop in Frankfort before ending up in Geneva.
So, it was a bit of a trial getting here.

At least we got upgraded a couple of times. Not to First Class or even business class, but believe me, there is a huge difference between just Economy and Economy Plus. It was so great to end a long flight and not feel like I'd been folded up and stuffed into a small cupboard for nine hours...

We're finally back from our epic camping trip across five states: Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Our farthest point east was camping along the shores of Lake Michigan in Wisconsin.

Mallory's favorite spot of the whole trip was the tiny town of Desmet, South Dakota. In fact, she wants to live there one day...

The thunderstorms didn't sweep us away and the mosquitos didn't devour us, though it was a near thing at times.

Valentine took hundreds of photos.. so expect to see some of those soon!

As a picture is supposed to be worth a thousand words, I figure that my only real hope of giving my readers any idea of what we're doing here in the USA lies in posting some photos.

First of all, no visit to the USA is complete without an enormous fiberglass animal statue, such as the World's Largest Holstein Cow up in North Dakota....or the slightly smaller, but no less beloved Giant Chicken of Lincoln, Nebraska.
This big guy roosts in the parking lot of a very popular local restaurant. Lee's has been around forever and some of my earliest memories involve eating there with my whole family. Grandpa Augie would invariably tell me to go over to ask the organist to play 'Love Letters in the Sand' and he'd give me a quarter for her big glass tip jar.
I must have done it dozens of times over the years, but I was always SO embarrassed...

It's not much to look at, but it was fun to take my kids to visit...and eat some of that amazing chicken!
Here's my mom and Tya at the bar:

(If you blow up the photo and look to the right of Tya, you can see that the organ is still there and the tip jar still sitting right on top of it)

But my home state of Nebraska is about so much more than Lee's fried chicken and old Pat Boone songs.
It's also about college football.
And, more specifically, college football merchandise:
Yes, the Huskers reign here and their insignia is to be found everywhere, on everyone, at all times. If you want to blend in here, all you have to do is wear a University of Nebraska t-shirt. It's a kind of uniform. As you can see, though, we haven't quite got that mastered yet and Tya's Goth wear kind of stands out like a sad, dark and mournful sore thumb...

We end up spending a lot of time in stores. When we're not looking at books and clothes, we're mostly to be found shopping for food. And when we do so, usually Tya grabs my camera, recruits her brother and heads off to document the fascinating world of the American supermarket. She seems particularly fascinated by the huge quantities and has quite a number of photos of Sev holding jumbo-sized containers of just about everything a person could want to eat.
For example:
They seem to have a good time, though the other shoppers aren't quite sure of what to make of them...

I have lots more photos and lots more to say about our trip. I just hope I can find the time to post them and do some more writing. I miss my blog!

America!!
Land of the Brave and Home of the Free.

It also happens to be the home of big cars, big stores, and big people.
That's what has struck me most in the three days since we arrived here. There's so much space and so much stuff!
And that last item on my list was NOT a cheap crack about fat Americans. When I wrote 'big', it wasn't a euphemism for porky or obese. Americans are TALL. Since I've been here, I've seen several men close to seven feet tall.
Srsly.
Of course, this is a college town famous for football players. But still....


What have we been doing since we got here on Sunday night?

Well, when we're not visiting my Grandad Art, we are mainly out shopping.

Yesterday, we hit the jackpot at a local thrift shop and came home with armfuls of amazing, nearly new clothes. Tya did particularly well, finding stuff to work with her Goth look. So, that was a fun 17th birthday activity for her- along with a screening of the latest 'Twilight' opus and a feast at a locally famous restaurant that has a ridiculously yummy buffet.

So, a good time is being had by all.

The house is tidy, the garden weeded, laundry done, fridge cleaned, and suitcases packed.

In short, we are ready to leave for the U S of A!

We'll go to the Geneva airport early tomorrow morning and catch the 9am flight to Newark...then another to Chicago....then, finally, a plane to my home town of Lincoln, Nebraska.

I just hope the housesitters turn up! They're supposed to be driving in tonight, but it's already 9:30.....

Bad news.
The music festival yesterday was called off on account of the rain. That means no film and no photos.
I feel like a Bad Mom that I didn't do better at their last concert. I can't imagine how I LOST the video off my cell phone.
But I guess that's just how I roll....

Today I've been busy setting up things for our trip to the USA- we leave in 13 short days!! The last time we were there was in 2007, so everybody is pretty excited.
I've managed to get JP's visa sorted out. (He's currently in Ouagadougou, melting in the heat and enjoying only sporadic internet access.)
I've also booked and paid for our campsite in South Dakota.

Now I'm looking at rental cars. I often end up on sites written by French people, advising fellow citizens on their upcoming USA trips.

Here's one that I enjoyed that really gives a feeling for the differences between driving in France and driving in the USA. (I'll translate for you, but you can see the original here, which was written about Arizona):

"Coooool! Firearms may be freely sold here, but it's no problem- Americans are very respectful of the law. It's one of the paradoxes of this great country.
Forget about your latin driving. Here we've never hear a horn honking. And it's not because the light is green that you're not going to let a pedestrian cross.

In the city, you'll have the impression of seeing a film in slow motion. And in front of a school, slow-motion slows down even more.
And everyone respects the speed limits! Forget about passing 'à la Français' and "yes, but the light was orange". Try that on a cop over here and see how far it gets you...
The sign below perfectly summarizes the sense of humor of cops in the USA:


Interesting, huh? From what is said about the USA, you can derive a pretty precise picture of what driving in France is like.

In a word: insane.

People pass on blind curves like they (and everyone else on the road) are protected by magical powers.
And it's open season on pedestrians. Moms pushing strollers containing adorable babies, cute kids walking home from school- everyone is fair game....

And it isn't just me and the internet "authorities" that think so. Every anecdote I've heard from every French person I've ever met that has driven in the USA says the same thing: Americans are polite and sensible drivers and the French are maniacs.

I still drive like an American (safely and kindly) and make the other drivers here a little crazy- especially when I stop to let pedestrians pass, rather than running over their toes as they try to get across an intersection with their lives intact....

Here is just one of the many places I've been in the past few days.
Nice, huh?
And get this: as we wandered around inside, we ran into the owner of the place and that kindly old gentleman gave us an insiders look at some of the rooms not open to the public!
very cool!

I hope to get a chance to write more, when our guests have gone home and the school holiday is over... This "vacation" has got me worn OUT!

It's sadly ironic that a life that a vacation chock-full of fun, outings and general good-times contains SO much material for blogging, but at the same time eats up every moment that could possibly be used to blog about it.
I've missed my blog this last week, but what's a girl to do? After we got back from a great time in Germany, our friends (ex-Ouaga neighbors) T and K arrived from Bamako with their two lovely moppets, Zoe and Francis. They're staying for about a week and we're determined to show them all the nice things there are to see in our part of the French Alps.
And that's a lot of nice things...

Yesterday, we went to Chamonix, took the little train and then the telecabin up Mont Blanc to the Mer de Glace glacier. We went into the ice cave dug into the base of it and it was "cool" in all senses of the word. (I promise some pics asap)

Today, we went to the very beautiful Annecy Lake and spent the day swimming.

I haven't loaded the pictures yet from any of this. All I've got is a few belated photos of our time in Germany. Here, for your viewing pleasure:




My maiden name is Kolb, so I found the "Kolb's Biergarten" extremely entertaining. They make nice schitzel and serve very, very large beers, which is, I guess, par for the course in a German biergarten.

Here's a view of the place.

It was in a town called Worms, which is kind of sad for them.

(Yes, I know you say it "Vorms", but still...)

What really went on in Jurassic Park :

(Apparently, it was WAY more fun than the movie made it look)

And finally, here are the girls and their cousin walking along the Rhine:
That's all I've got today, but I'll try to post again soon...

As we crossed the border into Germany this morning, I noticed an exit ramp to the right marked 'Ausfahrt'. A little ways further, I noticed another, and then another.

My! What a lot of exits to get to the city of 'Ausfahrt'!
I started to envision a bustling metropolis to rival Paris.

It was, in fact, an embarrassingly long time before I finally figured out my mistake and quietly asked JP : 'Umm...What does 'ausfahrt' mean'?"
By all rights, I should have added in a resigned and chastened voice "It's not a city, is it?', but it was all just too humiliating.

As you, Clever Reader, probably guessed immediately, 'ausfahrt' is a German word that translates as 'drive out'.
In short: exit.

And yes, I am a non German-speaking complete doofus.
Thank you for asking.

Luckily, I have the world's nicest cousins here. Not ony can they get by in German, they live on a huge, mega-cool US military base. No German required!
In fact, we spent today completely immersed in American culture. We had lunch at Taco Bell, which Valentine loved. It's her favorite restaurant, ever. And we had a shopping spree at the BX ,which everyone loved. Think Pop Tarts and Dr.Pepper. I bought WAY too much and have no real clue how I'm going to stuff all the gorceries plus our baggage back into the car for the drive back to France. Maybe if we send the kids home by bus...

The only slight imperfection in an otherwise perfect day was the messed-up, hours long dinner at an on-base, non-Taco Bell restaurant. We waited ages to get a table and when we finally did, our waitress turned out to be a sort of odd, slightly manic young person. She wielded a giant pepper mill and shared her name with us by writing it with no less than three crayons, all across the top of our table. Yet despite her mad pepper grinding skillz and constant, desperately convivial chatter, she couldn't manage to get the order straight or convince the kitchen to give us our tepid food in less than an hour.
It wasn't all the waitresses fault, of course. I suspected strange goings-ons in the kitchen that could probably be remedied by a nice long visit from Gordon Ramsay.

Tomorrow, we venture off -base and search for local color. We couldn't have better or kinder guides. They've already proposed such delights as a visit to a castle and attending a local festival, complete with beer and fireworks. It all sounds great and should be lots of fun.

Phase I of our summer holiday is nearly complete. I have exhausted every entertainment option with a two hours' drive of my home.

It's time to move on...

Phase II involves driving up to Lorraine, the home territory of JP. It's sort of the opposite of Provence, in terms of climate, beauty and touristicality. (Yes, I did make up that last word. Thank you.) But it does have the great advantage to being a stone's throw (if you're feeling like a bit of vandalism) away from Belgium, Luxembourg and also, if you have a good throwing arm, Germany. So, if you have a car, there's lots of possibilities for outings and adventures.

And we're always up for some of that!



After a week visiting with JP's family, we'll head over to Germany and see some of my family. I won't go into the whole story again (if you missed it the first time around, click the link), but we'll be staying with Mike and his family on a US military base there! Should be interesting and fun. Êxpect a full report when I get back...

That reminds me- being at my MIL's place is like going to a research station in Antarctica.
No- wait.
It's actually FAR MORE isolated than that. My MIL not only does not have a compuer chez elle, NOBODY she knows does. There's no place in the whole village where we can even check our emails. The only possibility for occasionally clutching at our cyber-lifeline is a rare trip to an internet café in a village about half an hour away. But it's very small (often completely full) and has odd opening hours.

All this to say that I will probably not post much for the next week. Once I get to Germany, I'll be back in "civilization", though, and will no doubt post a bit from the computer of Cousin Mike.



What have we been doing since we got back from the South of France?

Too much to tell, almost. We've been swimming a lot and getting out to local events. One of note was an outdoor sound and light show, written and produced by folks at the village of Reignier. It was rather bizarre and deserves it's own post, one of these days.

Yesterday, I took the kids to an amusement/water park that's just over and hour's drive from here.

After I took the above picture of the park mascot (a walibi, btw. NOT a kangaroo), Mallory went into quite a long "What's up with THAT?" diatribe about adults foisiting partially-clothed animals upon innocent children. Using Winnie the Pooh and the Walibi park mascot as examples, she pointed out (at length) that having animals (even pretend ones) wear shirts just POINTS out the fact that they don't have any pants. Ick!

If they were completely without clothing, you wouldn't think "Gee, naked animal!". It wouldn't even cross your mind, as animals usually don't wear any clothes-right? But once you start putting polo shirts on them, you are getting into murky territory, as far as Mal is concerned. Either dress them head to toe or leave them starkers, according to her. Otherwise...mega-ick! She got quite excercised about it. "Do they think kids LIKE animals with shirts and no pants? Why would they think that?" Oh dear....

Luckily the water park was nice...and very distracting. She forget her troubles in the clear blue waves. It was very, very crowded, but we didn't care. We were too HOT by then.

Here's Sev posing and looking all sultry for you :

It was pretty nice. Lots to do, such as:

Finally- another picture of Sev, who really will do ANYTHING for a laugh.
After lunch on Monday, he came out to mow the lawn in the above get-up. It was our major LOL of the day.

That's it, I guess. I'll post again when I can.
See you all then!

Last weekend, JP, Sev, the twins and I took off for a short camping trip in the South of France. We were visiting friends there and a frequent topic of conversation was our last trip there seven years ago. On that occasion, our hostess had been obliged to come pick me up at the police station. As it was both the first and last time she had ever been obliged to do that for one of her guests, it was pretty memorable for her. And I have to say that every detail has remained in my mind, as well….

The police officers at the station were all very kind, but not sure what to do for me. I obviously needed to phone someone that could help me track down the location of JP’s anthropologist pal’s summer place that I knew had to be somewhere very nearby. But I couldn’t come up with the full name of a single person who could help me.
I sat in an orange plastic chair and mentally went through the list of other anthropologists I knew of. There was Phillipe...Something in Belgium? And wasn’t there a Jean-Phillipe Something? It was all going nowhere at a snail’s pace.

Valentine was patient and sensible, as always. She politely accepted an Orangina from one of the officers and looked around the place as she drank it, possibly wondering if we were both going to end up living long-term in the Castries Municipal Police Station.

Finally, the Orangina Officer came back and brought me over to a computer. We both sat down in front of it. He was all ready to look up a name and number for me on his nifty on-line phone directory. But I had nothing to give him, unless I had a sudden, amazing inspiration.
And it just so happens that I did.
«Jean-Marc Olivier de Bardan*!» I practically shouted.
«Where does he live?» he asked as he started to type.
«Um...Bardan?» I replied. I could have added «Duh!», but resisted. A last name with a «de» stuck in the middle of it doesn’t automatically mean you’ve got a French nobleman on your hands, but chances are good. And the French in general tend not to move around much. So, it’s pretty likely that when someone’s name states that he is «of» a certain village, it means that the family has been there running things for the last thousand years or so and have no intention of moving any time soon.

Of course, being a famous anthropologist specialized in West Africa, maybe JM would be in Niger or Mali, or some such exotic locale. But there was small chance of that- though I only knew of the man through JP, I'd heard that he was not in the best of health. My only real worries were that either he’d be a.) too ill to come to the phone , b.)suspicious that it was some kind of bizarre prank and refuse to talk to me, or (the worst case scenario): c.) not in possession of the information I desperately needed.

I stewed over all this as the O.O. quickly found the number and handed me the phone.
To say that the man was surprised to hear from me is an understatement. But he was very, very kind and, amazingly, had all the phone numbers I needed- a cell number for JC and a direct number for «Les Cabanes» ! (I later found out that the hamlet of Bardan is just 20kms from the place I was trying to find.)

I immediately made another call and got F on the line- she’s a very bright and sensible woman with the soothing demeanor of the child psychologist that she is. She told me that yes, my DH was there with our other children. They’d arrived ages ago, but he was completely unconcerned - sure that I’d be turning up any time. She’d thought that his attitude seemed a little…casual, but had decided that if he wasn’t worried, no one else should be.

I couldn’t decide whether to be mad at him, or to be touched by his confidence in my amazing (to him, anyway) ability to manage in adverse circumstances.

F. immediately took things in hand and within 20 minutes she'd arrived to guide us to her place. We stood for a bit out in the parking lot, listening to her marvel over the idea that I had thought to go to the police for help. According to her (and all the other French folk back at Les Cabanes) it's really something that would never occur to a French person. And maybe they're right not to think of it... just because the police helped a lost FrancoAmerican oddball does not guarantee that they'd have been equally patient with a "real" French person in similar straits. Hard to say, really. But they were awfully nice to me, even coming outside with us to make sure we were in good hands and to wave goodbye. A nice bunch, really.

«Les Cabanes» did turn out to be a hard place to get to, for the first-timer, anyway. You have to turn off the small highway, onto an even smaller one. From there, you turn off onto one of many dirt tracks leading off into the garrigue. As you drive along, the trail gets worse and worse. Thorny shrubs scratch the sides of your car and rocks threaten to eviscerate it from underneath. It feels a lot like the bush back in burkina.

Then suddenly, the thick underbrush is gone and you’re in a huge, lovely meadow with an old stone wall charmingly marking the right edge. This is the meadow where, seven years later, after a much easier voyage, we pitched out tents last weekend:

On the northwest edge of the meadow is a stand of trees with little Hobbit-houses peeking out from between them. These are the famous cabanes that a small group of friends built themselves out of a bit of wood and salvaged elements (doors, windows, etc), back in the late 70's/early 80's. :

This is the one belonging to our friends JC and F:
As you can see, it's all very weird and charming, with strangely shaped windows and oddly sloping roofs. Very un-Provençal, really.

The interiors tend towards the very cute and cozy, in a thrift shop kind of way. And I mean that in the best possible sense, as I am a huge thrift shop fan:

That's all I've got time for today.

Tomorrow, expect a bit more text and lots more pictures of our latest trip to Provence!

(* All names changed to protect the anthropological or the innocent or something like that...)

I became a French citizen in 1996. Luckily, I was able to keep my US citizenship because, although I try to fit in around here, all of my laboriously acquired «French-ness» is grafted onto a whole lot of «American-ness».
And so it was that, as I drove up and down the D610 highway vainly searching for «Les Cabanes» as night fell, that a lightning bolt of a thought flashed through my tired brain: Ask a policeman for help!　

I’d heard this phrase probably thousands of times from my mom when I was a child growing up in Nebraska. (No cracks along the lines of «How could anyone get lost in Nebraska?», please. I assure you that a Football Saturday or an afternoon at the State Fair involves population density above 8.9 per km2).

If you get lost, you’re supposed to look for a uniformed officer of the law and ask to be returned safely to the bosom of your loving family - that’s the rule back in Nebraska and I didn’t see why it couldn’t work in the South of France.

I did a u-turn and headed back towards Castries -the village with the very distracting 17th century aqueduct. I’d already driven through the place several times by this point and on the last trip through had noticed a low, oddly-shaped building marked «Police Municipal».

I pulled up to the closed gate blocking the entrance and Valentine looked over at me with eyes that said «This sure doesn‘t seem like Vacation Paradise to me».

«We’re going to go into the station and talk to the nice police officers. They’ll help us find Papa and the other kids! » I said brightly. Or they’ll think I’m completely mad and send me on my way to wander the side roads of Provence for the rest of my life, I silently added.

While I felt that US police were probably aware of their part of the informal agreement outlined previously, I wasn’t so sure about their French counterparts. Maybe no one had ever told them that they were supposed to be the saviors of lost and confused travelers…

It didn’t seem very promising at first, that's for sure. The whole place was enclosed by a high fence and the gate firmly closed. Not very welcoming. Through the intercom box, I had to use my best and politest French to convince them to let me in. I was careful not to slip into the familiar «tu» form and even made the «liaisons» - something lots of French people don’t do, even though they’re supposed to. In short, I did my best to demonstrate, in just a few short sentences, that I was the «nice» kind of foreigner- the kind who has painstakingly studied the (rather pain-in-the-rear) French language and not done too badly at it.

In the end, I think they opened the gate because they were bored and thought «This is really odd. Could be a fun story to tell around the espresso machine at break-time.»

So, they let in the crazy, but well-spoken, American woman and her 9 year old daughter.

To their credit, they were a nice bunch -a bit mystified as to what they could really do for me, but willing to give it a shot. Of course, not one of the nice officers had ever heard of «Les Cabanes» and they had no clue how to help me find it...

The first time I went to Provence, I got lost.
I got very, very lost.

I had no GPS (still don’t) and this was before cell phones were popular (popular with me, anyway) and it turns out that the South of France is a big, big place.

JP and I had taken off from my MIL’s home near the Belgian border in two tiny, rented cars. He had the twins and Sev with him, while I had Tya and most of the baggage. The idea was that we’d stay together on the road and I’d follow JP to the small vacation cabin of his friends, just outside Montpellier , near a tiny village whose name I could never remember (this latter fact becomes important later in the story).

It all went well until we turned off the autoroute and hit the smaller side roads. To be perfectly fair, I don’t know if it was JP or me that lost the plot. While he does tend to have that whole completely oblivious, absent-minded-professor thing going, I can get distracted by my enthusiasm for a new landscape. And this was definitely new and fascinating.

The first thing to notice was that nearly all the vegetation is a silvery, pale green color or dark, dark green. And the grass wasn't green at all. Not in summer, anyway.
Welcome to the Garrigue: a sort of scrub land full of wild lavender, thyme, rosemary, jasmine, sage, fennel. Just opening the car window smells like a trip to a well-stocked kitchen/perfume shop.

Next, you notice that the houses and buildings all look alike. In a nice way. In fact, they all look rather like they were built by a moderately wealthy Roman family back in about 130 BC. They’re invariably pale rectangles topped by a shallow roof of peach colored tiles. The roof alone tells you that you’re Somewhere Else. In the Haute Savoie, where we live now, the roofs have to be steeply sloped, so that you and your family aren’t crushed in a tragic incident when the beams of your house collapse due to the weight of the winter’s snow. And the wooden sides of the charming chalets here are stained a dark brown-nearly black, in order to soak up all the sunlight they can. Not pretty, really, but it works.
In Provence, however, they’ve got more sun than they know what to do with.

There were also amazing medieval ruins to gawk at. In the distance, I saw the huge arches of an aquaduct rising up over the trees. What archaeologist could resist?

So, I didn’t resist.

And then, all of a sudden, there were several cars in front of mine, but not one of them was JP’s little silver Renault.
I drove on for a bit, trying to figure out where to go. JP was nowhere along the road, waiting for me to catch up. He was long gone. He’d probably been happily listening to a fascinating program on Radio France Culture and hadn’t even noticed he’d left me and Tya behind.

I had no map, no directions and a phone number for JP’s friend’s appartment in Montpellier- where there was no one because they were all at the extremely isolated vacation cabin in the Garrigue, waiting for us.
I stopped in a village and asked around at a few local businesses…but no one had ever heard of «Les Cabanes», which was pretty predictable. It’s not even the name of a hamlet- it’s just what the friends (JC and F) call the little group of cabins that they built out in the middle of nowhere about 30 years ago. Most people don’t even know they are there.

It was getting late. The cicadas were creaking loudly from their comfortable (to them, anyway) beds high in the olive trees and stone pines.

But us? Poor little Tya and I had no bed and no way to find one, unless I got very creative…

We're leaving for the south of France tomorrow. By the the evening, we'll be pitching our tents in the lovely hills outside of Montpellier, enjoying lavender, cicadas, pastis, olive trees and people with cute accents.

Lucky, lucky, lucky us!

I don't think, however, we will be enjoying a WiFi connection. So, I probably won't be able to post on my blog until we get back.

So, I'll be back on Tuesday, with lots to tell, no doubt.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Taciturn-ish Tuesday

Never a dull moment.
Yesterday, I took the kids to Amphion Les Bains to swim in Lake Geneva. The beach where we like to go is just below the bank of fluffy clouds in the center of the photo.

It's a nice place:

Today is the 14th of July- the French national holiday.

It marks the date of the storming of the Bastille

We're having a little party here today in honor of the event- a decidedly non-revolutionary, non-violent barbecue for about 15 people.

Yikes! It's starting to RAIN now and I'm getting worried...
but I'll just have to hope for the best and wish a

Bon 14 Juillet à Tous!

In France, the month of May is crazy full of holidays. Real live, no school, no shops, no banks kinds of holidays.
The kids get four extra days off this month.
They are as follows:
May 1 - Labor Day. The tradition is to buy lillies of the valley that day. It supposedly has something to do with some king or another.... maybe he had ambitions to be a florist? Have to Google that one...
May 8 -VE Day (the end of WWII in Europe)
May 21/22- The 21st is Ascension Day and most people get the Friday off, as well. It's what the French call "making the bridge". I call it "four days in which to get the kids to help me finish cleaning out the garage", which is, admittedly, somewhat less catchy.

On top of this, the kids will be out of school on June 1st, as well, as it's the Monday after Pentecost.

Only Labor Day is actually an official holiday. All the others are through agreements by school boards, employers, etc.


NB: I started to write out short explanations of Ascension Day and Pentecost, but thought the better of it. The people that need to know this stuff, already know it.
Those who don't would think it all sounds like an especially bizarre set of fairy tales...

The week leading up to Halloween was spent in a frenzy of sewing, cutting, gluing, measuring and the application of lots of shiny black paint. The result was some pretty great costumes and prizes all around!
The kids went trick or treating through the US Embassy grounds. We used to do a house to house thing, but the security officer for the Embassy now says it's a "security risk". So now the kids go round from office to office and get their sweets.
Then there was a great party over at the Rec Center. There were lots of games and a costume contest. Mallory carried off first place with her pirate costume. Severin came in second as Darth Vader. Alexa came in fourth as a goth girl/vampire, but friends assure me that it must have been a political decision, as letting the Jacob family take all three top places might have been looked upon dimly by some.
The other big news around here is that the goat cart has arrived!! Aslan finds it rather alarming, but I'm sure Mallory's patience will win him over. Right now when he's hitched up to it, he can only be coaxed into taking a few steps when bribed by massive amounts of saltine crackers. Expect pictures soon!