Armistice Day

Yesterday was the 90th anniversary of the armistice that ended the first world war. In celebrating this event, the French media followed the memorial ceremony live from Verdun during the afternoon and then with an intense documentary covering the war in incredible detail last night.

As I sat with Hubster watching those thousands of soldiers digging the trenches, the same men then being slaughtered by the waves of bombs and bullets, others walking over the corpses of their comrades, vainfully trying not to fall into the vast puddles mud that seemed to be everywhere, it took everything in me not to rush upstairs, grab my boys, hug them tight and cry.

There is a memorial in our village, as in most French villages, that lists the names of the young men who died pour la France during WWI and WWII. Sometimes the ages are listed too: 18, 22, 24, 19. The only sons, brothers, uncles and cousins of a rural village. A village not unique in their loss.

I get chills when I read the names. These same family names that are now at school with my children.

It strikes me every time I see the monument that the family that originally built our house back in 1857 lost a son in WWI. I try to imagine him playing in these halls, slamming the front door, or getting warm by the huge fireplace in the dining room. I have no idea what he was really like but as I watch Mini-Husband and Bubba-Love play in this old house, I hope that he is pleased to see other boys playing where he probably played too.

Eight and half million people died during the four year war, leaving at least 4 million widows. President Sarkozy said yesterday at the ceremony:

"Imagine the infinite pain of each victim, the pain of the child standing by his father's grave; that of the father and mother learning of the death of their son; the pain of the wife receiving a last letter from her husband.

"Behind each destroyed house, each devastated village, there was a deep wound that will never fully heal."

Understanding this is crucial to understanding the French. It may have been 90 years ago that the "war to end all wars" was finally over. But as we well know, the horrors of war continue and through a nation's character, it's fears, and it's hopes for it's people, these wounds rest visible 90 years on.

Never forget.

Godspeed Jean-Francois.

This Monday Morning

Up early again. Bubba-Love decided at 5:30am he wanted a bottle. OK, it's a little early, but what's a mama to do?

Downstairs we came, to the magic TV couch, and got him happily tucked up. I tried to sneak a quick 5-10 minutes on the other sofa. Just as I'm ready to head back to the land of nod, there's a lovely gushing water noise. A cascading, gushing, eruption of noise coming from that sweet little man.

I'm trying to look at it this way: the sofa covers needed to be washed anyway and it's a lot easier to mop the floor when the other kids are still in bed and Bubba-Love is lying limply on said sofa.

It's at times like these that I remind myself, I wanted children. Sure, it would have been a lot easier if I didn't have to worry about them in my life. Go as I please, do as I please, just as I had before they came on the scene. No puke to clean up (except my own,) no potty training, no fighting and screaming to get them to clean their rooms, no constant challenges to my decisions.

Sounds like a dream.

But, as I sit here hugging this little man who now smells of sour milk, feeling his heart beating as I hug him to me, I think I'd be lost without all this. And, truth be told, I'm OK with the chaos.

What's a little bit of vomit at 6am between a toddler and his mom?

Building an Ark

This past week has seen record amounts of rain and for the last 4 days or so, our Département and several of those around us have been on Vigilance Orange ( level 3 on a 4 level scale of weather warnings) for the risk of possible flooding. Two Départements that border ours, the Allier and the Loire, had even been placed on Vigilance Rouge, level 4, for 2 days this past week.

The village of St Yorre, north and east of us in the Département of the Allier, has been hit particularly hard by the flooding.



The town's western side, closest to the river Allier, has become submerged and with the forecast for more rain in the days to come, I'm not sure the worst has past. Mini-Husband, The Princess and I had a quick tour of the river as it passes through our Département on it's way towards the northeast. The two main bridges over the river have become almost like "catchers in the rye," if you will. All sorts of trees, pieces of metal, and other debris has piled up against the bridge, held there by the force of the water and the strength of the concrete and stone holding the bridges steady.

Locally, we've seen the smaller streams and rivers burst their banks and block some of the lower lying roads, but since our area is rather hilly, we've been relatively unaffected.

At our house, the only major issue has been that the garden has permanently lost any grass it had hoped to grow. All three dogs are wet, muddy, and not at all convinced by this temps de chien. Most of the time, the three of them are holed up in the dog houses, nesting in the straw, staring out at the mud with a look of disdain on their faces. Who can blame them? It's cold, wet, and miserable.

The upside is that all three kids scored new wellies. For them, all this mud and water is good. A fabulous way to watch mom get really annoyed on the walk to school.

What I'd do just for a couple of days of sun! Not even warm, hot, sun. Just clear autumn light and the smallest chance for everyone to dry out and stop smelling like wet dog.

On a Lighter Note

The cows are back.

They've been staring at our field since about 8am this morning.

You know that phrase, "the grass is always greener on the other side?"

Well, it's true for them.

Let's see where this goes, shall we...

"Out of Many, We Are One." ~~ Barack Obama

I don't think I've ever been so emotional about an election. And I don't think I've ever been so excited to take my kids to school and hear the comments and questions from my French world.

I remember heading to school and being almost harassed when Bush beat Kerry in 2004.

"How can they elect him again?"

"Why did people vote for Bush again?"

I had no easy answers. How can you explain complex issues in 5 minutes before the bus comes?

Through this election, it has been said by several of my neighbours, that the United States wasn't ready to elect a black man to highest office, that America was still so caught up with it's segregated past, that we wouldn't have the ability to see past his colour.

This morning, that is a mute point.

My country, and I, have elected a good man, whose life is an incredible tapestry. He is so much more than just a "black" man. His colour wasn't the factor, his character was.

We may not agree that he is the best person for the job, but I, for one, can't wait to see what this change brings for the world.

Let's believe in him and guide him. He's one of us, from this mixed fabric that makes our nation who we are.

My relief this morning comes as tears. Today, I am so, so proud.

Time to Cast Your Vote

I think most of you know that today we are awaiting the results of one of the most important American elections in our history. I know that over the last 2 years we have heard loads of arguments and loads of promises about what each candidate could bring to the Oval Office, but not one of them, Hillary included, ever mentioned the most important element: Who would be their choice of First Dog.

The neglect of this issue is far reaching and I can not begin to tell you how stressed Typhon, Anouk and Abaka have been over this obvious lack of attention to their needs.

That being said, I've decided to take this upon myself and demand of you, dear citizens of the world, to cast your vote! All it takes is one paw!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you the Canineidates, in no particular order:

Snoopy: Dedicated WWI flying ace who has an incredible ability to look "outside the doghouse." He speaks French and Serbo-Croatian and has played major league baseball. Snoopy already has a tight attachment with NASA and would love to be the first dog in space.

Scooby Doo: fearless companion through thick and thin. Has no problem facing down scary monsters, enjoys running, and even knows how to drive. His appreciation of "Scooby Snacks" could revolutionize the American diet. Though his neglect of peanut butter is a tad worrying.

Pluto: Cute as a button and nice as can be. May have a tendency to upset very formal state dinners, but one lick, and all is forgiven. His connections with Mickey Mouse could be very advantageous to the country, for example offering foreign leaders a chance to bypass boring Camp David and summit at lively Disney World instead.

And the last Canineidate isn't really a dog, but due to his love of cats with ketchup, he needs to be seriously considered.

Alf: What other furry friend can claim such extensive international and galactic experience? His acute understanding of the impacts of nuclear war and fighting for couch space are issues near and dear to the American people. His understanding of the world beyond our borders would be an asset to any administration as long as there aren't any cats invited. Granted, he wasn't born in the United States, but his application for resident alien status is awaiting approval.

So there you have it my friends. Four outstanding Canineidates for the office of First Dog. Other write-in Canineidates will be considered as long as they posses 4 paws, a wet nose, and are house trained.

Yes, I know Typhon should have been considered for the list, but he was too busy chanting with the church bell to submit his application.

So there you have it. Happy voting and may the best Canineidate win!

While Eating Homemade French Chinese on a Rainy Saturday Night

The debate started while sipping pastis.

A simple question about the American election and that was all that was needed to spur my British Hubster and French-Me's very French husband to delve into those fabulous topics like the British miners strike during Thatcher's government, the merits (or lack there-of depending on who was talking) of the 35 hour work week, and the absolutely absurdity of the electoral college.

It's was a busy night.

It has taken me a little while to get used to the fact that once most of our French friends are really comfortable with us, they go ahead and tell us exactly what they think about everything English and/or American. At first, I used to get extremely defensive and worried that they really hated everything Anglo, but I've since realized that this in depth analysis of us and our people is really a good thing. A compliment in a way. A sign showing that the friendship is real because you could never speak so frankly to someone you didn't know so well.

Sure, dinner at French-Me's house can last upwards of 4 hours because of that, but the debate is good. (As long as we don't talk about rugby!) Over the first bottle of wine, things start unravelling at a frightening pace. For example, French-Me's husband turning to me and saying,

"But, admit it. The electoral college is nul."

Thank God, I paid attention in my political science classes at Marquette.

By the second bottle, the debate turned closer to home, to one of his and Hubster's favourite topics, Nicolas Sarkozy. Thank goodness it was a nice rosé so the boys mellowed ever so slightly. Bear in mind, neither French-Me or I am drinking during this debate. We're too busy handling the very important English parliamentary tradition of heckling the speakers.

By the time coffee was served, the debate was back to trying to understand the true nature of universal suffrage and which democracy, the English, French, or American, is the best example of this lofty ideal.

Your heading spinning yet?

Things took one more scary turn as economics finally reared it's ugly head. At this point, being the woman that failed remedial math, I decided it was a good moment to start getting the kids ready to head home. French-Me and I left the boys to hash out bail-outs over a fine digestif or two and started praying that they could solve the world's problems before 2am.

It dawned on me as we drove home that we've had these discussions with most of our French friends at one point or another. (We tend to save the religious debates for Miss & Mr Tennessee 1975 but that's a whole 'nother post.)

For some of them, we are the only non-French people they have ever known. It's as if, finally they see a chance to really ask, to learn, to find out what it is to be American. To be English. And that goes for us, with them, as well.

I love that.

Of course, I would have loved it more if I had brought up the importance of the chocolate and peanut butter lobby and it's impact on American politics, but I think I'll wait till next time for that one.