My very kind friend, The Beautiful Version of Julia Child, has convinced me to do another half marathon.
On April 6.
Yikes.
Like I needed something else to stress about.
I wonder if I attach Typhon and Anouk to me, would that be considered cheating?
Monday, February 18, 2008
The Tap Water
The water comes out of our tap so clear, clean and cold. It's as though I'm drinking water from a private underground source, straight out of the rocks underneath my house and into the jam jar that I use as a glass.
Our water has such a good taste and I've found that I've become spoiled by it. It's gotten so bad, that when I'm not here, I need to buy the next best thing. I'm like a crack addict when I'm away. Needing buy and horde at least six bottles of the stuff in my car, sneaking out for a 'hit' when no one is looking.
At least I fit in here with the French addiction to bottled water. Enter any grocery store and you will find almost an entire wing devoted to the various types of bottled water. There's natural sparkling (with two types: large or small bubbles), still water, flavoured water, water from the Alps, water from Italy, water that's a bit salty, water that has magnesium in it, water that comes from the village just over the valley, water that comes from Paris, etc etc. It's a serious business.
Who knew something we take for granted could become so addicting.
There's a lesson here, I'm sure.
Our water has such a good taste and I've found that I've become spoiled by it. It's gotten so bad, that when I'm not here, I need to buy the next best thing. I'm like a crack addict when I'm away. Needing buy and horde at least six bottles of the stuff in my car, sneaking out for a 'hit' when no one is looking.
At least I fit in here with the French addiction to bottled water. Enter any grocery store and you will find almost an entire wing devoted to the various types of bottled water. There's natural sparkling (with two types: large or small bubbles), still water, flavoured water, water from the Alps, water from Italy, water that's a bit salty, water that has magnesium in it, water that comes from the village just over the valley, water that comes from Paris, etc etc. It's a serious business.
Who knew something we take for granted could become so addicting.
There's a lesson here, I'm sure.
Friday, February 15, 2008
What a Way to Celebrate Valentine's Day
Anouk is in heat. Unfortunately, I didn't realize how 'in heat' she was until about 2am last night when I was woken from a dead sleep to the sounds of a Siberian going, "rrrrr,eiiiiii,aaaaaa,errrrrrrr" in a high pitched squeal.
I flew from my bed, ran downstairs and out into the garden in hopes of at least holding Anouk calm until the whole thing was over. Of course, Typhon was trying to move away from her, but since they were 'tied,' that just wasn't possible.
Imagine if you can: sub-zero temps, a sleepy haired women in a t-shirt and boxers, holding precariously to a Malamute in one hand and a Siberian in the other, as the two dogs cry and whine, frantic to go in seperate directions.
One positive is that it didn't last too long and Typhon seems to a "just-once-and-that's-it" kinda guy. It's also a relief he's been fixed. I can't even imagine having a litter of potential new singers for Typhon's choir at this point!
It's also reminded us that we need to get the dog yard fenced behind the house as soon as possible.
Until then, looks like I'm going to be like a prom chaperon hovering near the punch bowl, just in case they get a little too close...
I flew from my bed, ran downstairs and out into the garden in hopes of at least holding Anouk calm until the whole thing was over. Of course, Typhon was trying to move away from her, but since they were 'tied,' that just wasn't possible.
Imagine if you can: sub-zero temps, a sleepy haired women in a t-shirt and boxers, holding precariously to a Malamute in one hand and a Siberian in the other, as the two dogs cry and whine, frantic to go in seperate directions.
One positive is that it didn't last too long and Typhon seems to a "just-once-and-that's-it" kinda guy. It's also a relief he's been fixed. I can't even imagine having a litter of potential new singers for Typhon's choir at this point!
It's also reminded us that we need to get the dog yard fenced behind the house as soon as possible.
Until then, looks like I'm going to be like a prom chaperon hovering near the punch bowl, just in case they get a little too close...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Les Boules
I'm feeling like I know how to speak French today.
There was once a time when the thought of making a phone call in French scared the beejeesus outta me and sent me running for my Hubster. Even for something so simple as calling a friend. After 5 years, I feel like I'm finally starting to shake that.
Last night, I came home to hear a gruff message on my answer phone from a particular Worker Man. I was astonished by his message and as the French say, I had "les boules." Or in as I would say in English, I was pissed.
Without hesitation, I grabbed the phone, dialed the number, and started talking. We passed briefly through yelling, a few moments of explaining, several "mais, monsieurs," finally reaching a relative peace at the end.
Most of you that know me, know that I'm not a confrontational kinda person, but I have to admit to feeling empowered and strong after all this last night. I spoke my mind, I told Worker Man what I thought, I expressed myself. In French. And I think he got the point.
Of course, I didn't sleep a wink last night and I'm feeling emotionally exhausted. This morning, I bascially begged Hubster to deal with him from now on.
Sure, I might be getting better at my French, but I'm still horrible at conflict in any language.
There was once a time when the thought of making a phone call in French scared the beejeesus outta me and sent me running for my Hubster. Even for something so simple as calling a friend. After 5 years, I feel like I'm finally starting to shake that.
Last night, I came home to hear a gruff message on my answer phone from a particular Worker Man. I was astonished by his message and as the French say, I had "les boules." Or in as I would say in English, I was pissed.
Without hesitation, I grabbed the phone, dialed the number, and started talking. We passed briefly through yelling, a few moments of explaining, several "mais, monsieurs," finally reaching a relative peace at the end.
Most of you that know me, know that I'm not a confrontational kinda person, but I have to admit to feeling empowered and strong after all this last night. I spoke my mind, I told Worker Man what I thought, I expressed myself. In French. And I think he got the point.
Of course, I didn't sleep a wink last night and I'm feeling emotionally exhausted. This morning, I bascially begged Hubster to deal with him from now on.
Sure, I might be getting better at my French, but I'm still horrible at conflict in any language.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Lists
The latest talk in the village is all about "the lists."
"Have you heard who's on the list?"
"Can you believe they joined and then left the list!"
"There's no way they can get 11 people on their list."
A list? A list of what?
Turns out, the local elections are coming up in March and the lists are the bottom line for anyone who's running for office. A list in our village has to have 11 people on it and when the elections are held, people will vote for a list to become the village council. One of those on the winning list will then become the mayor.
You'd never know the elections were coming up by driving through the village. There isn't a poster or political banner in sight. Not a single publication has gone through our mailbox. In fact, it's eerie how quiet this whole process seems to be on the surface.
We've started hearing the underground squabbles though about who's going on what list and why. There are those vehemently against our current mayor and therefore completely opposed to her list, regardless if they are happy with the others on it.
There is a list that is composed of a mix of folks from all the aspects of the village. A couple of farmers, some teachers, a Swiss born former ex-pat to Brazil, a retired couple, and the local bus company owner.
There's also the renagade one man list from the guy who runs the nursing home and brother to Miss Snootie, the secretary at the mayor's office. He's guarrenteed to have at least 37 votes. (Surprisingly, the exact number of residents in the home.)
Maybe we should try and put together our own list. Hubster, me and the tribe, plus the dogs, works out to about 7 candidates. Just need to round up a couple of cats (balance from the opposition, of course) and a donkey or two.
Unfortunately, I don't have the right to vote in the elections since I'm not a European citizen. Hubster went to the mayor's office in December to register only to be told by Miss Snootie that he's not European either.
Luckily, Hubster was patient and kind and reminded Miss Snootie that Britain actually is in Europe, contrary to popular belief, and so therefore he has the right to vote in the elections.
Turns out, Miss Snootie tried the same argument with our neighbour who's originally from Belgium.
Such a shame the secretary isn't up for election.
"Have you heard who's on the list?"
"Can you believe they joined and then left the list!"
"There's no way they can get 11 people on their list."
A list? A list of what?
Turns out, the local elections are coming up in March and the lists are the bottom line for anyone who's running for office. A list in our village has to have 11 people on it and when the elections are held, people will vote for a list to become the village council. One of those on the winning list will then become the mayor.
You'd never know the elections were coming up by driving through the village. There isn't a poster or political banner in sight. Not a single publication has gone through our mailbox. In fact, it's eerie how quiet this whole process seems to be on the surface.
We've started hearing the underground squabbles though about who's going on what list and why. There are those vehemently against our current mayor and therefore completely opposed to her list, regardless if they are happy with the others on it.
There is a list that is composed of a mix of folks from all the aspects of the village. A couple of farmers, some teachers, a Swiss born former ex-pat to Brazil, a retired couple, and the local bus company owner.
There's also the renagade one man list from the guy who runs the nursing home and brother to Miss Snootie, the secretary at the mayor's office. He's guarrenteed to have at least 37 votes. (Surprisingly, the exact number of residents in the home.)
Maybe we should try and put together our own list. Hubster, me and the tribe, plus the dogs, works out to about 7 candidates. Just need to round up a couple of cats (balance from the opposition, of course) and a donkey or two.
Unfortunately, I don't have the right to vote in the elections since I'm not a European citizen. Hubster went to the mayor's office in December to register only to be told by Miss Snootie that he's not European either.
Luckily, Hubster was patient and kind and reminded Miss Snootie that Britain actually is in Europe, contrary to popular belief, and so therefore he has the right to vote in the elections.
Turns out, Miss Snootie tried the same argument with our neighbour who's originally from Belgium.
Such a shame the secretary isn't up for election.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Let's Talk About that Guy
Hubster rocks.
We celebrated his 39th birthday yesterday just as you should. On the ski slopes, in brilliant sunshine, and the kids accounted for elsewhere.
Bliss.
I'm ever so glad my Hubster was born. Without him, my life wouldn't be as rich as it is. Rich in love, rich in adventure, rich in emotion, rich in laughter.
He's the softest tough nut I've ever met. Gruff and grumpy is his favourite costume. But underneath the scowling mask, he's just a lovely man who wants the best for his family, his wife, and himself. Who can blame him for the grumpies when tiled roofs and unhappy cars try and mess with that?
I hope he enjoyed his birthday as much as I did by being with him. I loved watching that guy go sliding down a slope, on his back, skis still on the snow (and parallel I might add,) with a huge smile on his beautiful face.
We celebrated his 39th birthday yesterday just as you should. On the ski slopes, in brilliant sunshine, and the kids accounted for elsewhere.
Bliss.
I'm ever so glad my Hubster was born. Without him, my life wouldn't be as rich as it is. Rich in love, rich in adventure, rich in emotion, rich in laughter.
He's the softest tough nut I've ever met. Gruff and grumpy is his favourite costume. But underneath the scowling mask, he's just a lovely man who wants the best for his family, his wife, and himself. Who can blame him for the grumpies when tiled roofs and unhappy cars try and mess with that?
I hope he enjoyed his birthday as much as I did by being with him. I loved watching that guy go sliding down a slope, on his back, skis still on the snow (and parallel I might add,) with a huge smile on his beautiful face.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Red Skies At Night
The view this evening from our front steps. Who says God doesn't play with crayons?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)