Paris, Part Three

You can't put such a thing as that poor hurt French girl out of one's mind; obviously I haven't put it out of my mind even now.  But, facts were facts:  we had done all we could, and there was nothing more to be done.  As John and I headed back to our hotel, we discussed the incident, and then tried to think of other things.  It was hard.  When you witness something that shocking, the rational part of you understands the limitations of the situation, of being human, of not being able to do more, and understands that those with medical experience are much more able--should be the ones--to deal with it, and that ordinary civilians could do more harm than good.  But the heart doesn't reason like that, and there is always a bit that wishes, hopes, wonders if somehow you could have done more. And for us, there isn't closure.  We will probably never know what happened to that young woman.

We are old enough to know that unless you move on past something that hurts and is difficult, unless you make the best of what you have, you do no one any good.  It was our first day in Paris, a Friday.  We had Saturday and Sunday, and then we'd leave on Monday.

We would make the best of our stay in Paris.

Paris, Part Two

I noticed that the prior post's map didn't show our route accurately.  Though Google Maps has a train route option, it didn't want to show the train route from Geilenkirchen to Paris, or even show the train route to Aachen to Paris. I mean, really, Aachen used to be called Aix la Chapelle (and still is, for the French), and there is the high speed train from there to Paris.

Paris, Part One

Yes, that's Paris, France, and it means I went there.  :-)


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So about a month or so ago, John suggested that we go to Paris for my birthday, and I stared at him in disbelief because that is what you do when someone hands you the fulfillment of a childhood dream on a plate.   "We could have dinner at the Eiffel Tower," he said.  "Why don't you make reservations?  We could go by train."

I was so floored by this that I didn't even blog that we were going just in case I might jinx it.

J'ai tricoté au Tour de France

Which is my high school French attempt at saying, "I have knitted at the Tour de France." Here is a picture of what I was knitting, a cell phone (or "handy" as they say here in Germany) sock. I'm making it out of wool and silk tweed yarn, using a US size 3 Skacel Addi lace knitting needle and "magic loop" method. Why? Because 1) I kept running out of minutes on my cellphone while it was in my purse and it would get hit on this or that button and dial whatever number without my knowledge, 2) it was the first yarn I picked up and hurriedly packed away before I went to bed last night, 3) and we were going to be sitting there waiting for hours before the bicyclists would whiz by.  Unfortunately, the deep aubergine color (note, I use French for "eggplant") does not show up well in this light. At least the needles show up somewhat (I bought them at the Unraveled Yarn shop back in Federal Way, WA--I also think I might have bought the yarn there, too).

Happy Independence Day - and the Tour de France

Happy Independence Day, all you United States citizens, wherever you may be.

I'm feeling this day more than usual, as I'm not in the States, and I do miss it. On this day at home, we'd be hearing fireworks shot off here and there, sometimes even starting the day before. John would be suddenly seized with a bit of pyromania and have gone on a trip off to the fireworks stand to load up on explosives. I would be fixing something to be prepared on the grill, while our friends would be doing the same. We would often get together with our long-time friends, the Thompsons, and pool our food and our fireworks in a display of gustatory and pyrotechnic indulgence.

Waterloo

You may imagine the excitement I felt when John told me that there was the opportunity on June 20th to see a reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo--at Waterloo in Belgium! He told me this last week, but I didn't mention this on my blog, or e-mail about it to any of my friends (other than the local ones who were going along), just in case mentioning it might jinx it. Yes, that's how anxious and excited I was to attend this once-every-five-years event.

It meant that we had to get up at an ungodly hour of the morning (for me, anyway), get ready, and be at the place where the tour bus would pick us up. The bus would leave at 6:30 am, so we had to be there before that time. But heck, this was research! I would of course get up at 5 am to attend such a marvelous event, no complaints. I already had our lunch packed the night before, and was ready to go, and then the doorbell rang when our ride to the bus (Doug and Anna) arrived.

What the...? And Other Finds While Shopping

Yet another thing that makes this little ol' American gal stop and think, no, you are not in Auburn, WA any more, but in Europe, specifically a European neighborhood grocery store:

Yes, lest you think "Mäusepisse" can't possibly mean what it looks like, there is a picture to let you know that this does indeed mean "Mouse Piss." It is a liqueur that can be found in the liquor section of the local grocery store (all types of alcohol are sold in grocery stores--there are no separate liquor-only stores like we have in the U.S.), and which is made up of milk, vanilla, and (I think) wheat of some kind. And in case you were wondering what that rather phallic-looking bottle next to the Mäusepisse is all about, all I will say is that the label has pictures of happy little sperm swimming about on it.

A Crafty Afternoon

I was feeling rather blah this morning and so mentally debated whether I wanted to go to the craft/quilt afternoon at Margaret's house, but remembered that I was to show Anna how to use her drop spindle, so decided to go. I was glad I did, because it meant I finally finished the quilted pin cushion that I started...I think some months ago. Finished except for the stuffing, that is. So that's all I need to do with that.

Plus, it was very nice just being with the other gals. Margaret is a sweet and lovely Dutchwoman who goes to the same church we do on the base, and she is very much into quilting and does beautiful work. Cheryl, Anna, and Dee picked me up at home, and we went over the border to...I forget where in the Netherlands. I was too busy looking at the landscape and buildings. :-D

I found that Margaret is into New Age spirituality, which is rather cool. I got into that when I was in my 20's, and still do a bit of tarot as well as astrology from time to time as well. And, I have gone to psychics from time to time, these days just for fun to see if they come up with the same things I have. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. I keep an open mind on these things; that is, I'll allow the possibilities, even the probabilities, but just because someone says it's so doesn't mean it is. It's always necessary to verify via plain hard facts, observation, and personal experience. All three tell me there may very well be something in it all, but that people are fallible, and there are outright fakes out there. Even the well-meaning and ones who may have something real going can make mistakes. In my humble opinion, always verify, test, and keep records.

Anna got a lesson in using her drop spindle, and she did very well for a first-timer. One of the things most people do is not get enough fiber into the twist while not twisting enough, resulting in the yarn coming apart and the spindle falling to the ground. Though her yarn ended up being thick, her spindle didn't drop to the floor. That's a great start.

Margaret has a lovely home, and she spoiled us rotten by bringing out profiteroles, fruit, crackers, and cookies, in addition to various drinks, including white wine.

I went as far as I could with the quilted pincushion, then switched to knitting some yarn I have had for ages, and which I had brought over. It's a lovely cotton polyester yarn between sport and fingering weight, in varied hues of blue, purple, lavender, pale green, and pastel yellow. I figured I'd knit it in lace.

Yet, I felt restless...I knitted it for a while, and when I returned from the get-together (I had a lovely time--so nice to be in pleasant, cheerful company!), I didn't feel like working on it. Perhaps I need a definite pattern for it (instead of just making one up), or I need something else.

I'm beginning to think that I need to go whole hog on the Irish novel now. I've let it rest and allowed myself some percolating time, and I find that I'm thinking of it more--the characters, and how the story will be structured. I've written a synopsis, but I'm not going to look at it, lest I feel bound to it. It--or the structure of it--is in the back of my mind, and that's where it needs to stay, rather like the original of a house plan. You follow it, but if you have a homeowner (i.e., the muse) who knows what she wants but doesn't quite know how to put it in words, you're going to change the plans. And then there is the terrain, and the affordability...you get the idea. You have a plan, but you have to allow that it'll be modified, sometimes more than you think.

I'm still afraid of rushing it...having done that before, I know it usually means disaster. But I might get my hammer and nails out and take a couple of swings to see if I'm about ready to build that house.

Eurobiking...a start

So, I got myself a bicycle this weekend! It's what's known as a "city bike," which is a 3-speed, sturdy, every-day sort of bicycle that people here in Germany and the Netherlands just ride to do errands, for a little afternoon ride, and so on. It means freedom to me...we only have one car that we trade off on using, and there are times I'd like to go to the local grocery store to pick up a few items, but it's too far to walk and when John's using the car...well, it means I'm stuck. I bought the bicycle from Tanna, a fellow ex-pat, as she hasn't used it in a while, and she will be moving back to the States pretty soon. It fits well, but we'll need to get smaller wheels, as it is a bit of an effort for me with my short legs to get up on the thing. The pedal length and seat height are fine, but the wheels need to be 2 inches shorter in diameter. I can get up on the bicycle if I have one foot on a curb.

The hubby is a bicycling enthusiast, so he not only brought over two bicycles (a street bike and a mountain bike), he started a blog called "Eurobiking Through American Eyes." It's a blog on experiencing bicycling here in Germany and the Netherlands; if you want to know more about European culture vis a vis bicycling, it's a good read and pretty informative. It also has maps.

Me, I'm doing good just to get on a bicycle after years of not going near one. Today, I went for a short ride, not much more than a mile, just to practice getting stable on the thing. Yes, I wobbled a lot, like a newbie. Luckily, the landscape around here is pretty flat, so it didn't take the Herculean effort it would normally take back home in Auburn, WA. Our house in Auburn is on a steep grade, and let's just say it's an effort to walk up it, let alone ride. For me, anyway.

It's easier to bicycle in this part of Europe, in more ways than one. It's not just the flat terrain around here, but there are thousands of miles of dedicated bicycle paths both in the countryside and the city. I have even seen traffic signal lights specifically for the bicycle paths along side the main auto roads, so it's safer. But even in the areas where bicycles and autos share the road, there is a mutual courtesy amongst drivers and bicyclists that ensures more safety than the frankly rude behavior of both in the U.S.

And then there is the bicycle culture itself. Bicycling is a way of life here. Back home, there are three kinds of people who bicycle: those who are in it for the sport, bicycle messengers, and those who can't get any other kind of transportation. If you aren't into bicycling as a sport or as a job (and the messengers are often into it as a sport as well), then chances are good you had a few too many drinks when driving and had your license pulled. You are either in bicycling heaven or bicycling hell--among the blessed or the damned. If you are a heavy middle-aged woman like me, trust me, you will be stared at with suspicion or scorn, sort of the way a heavy woman going into Bally's Fitness gym will be either secretly or outright sneered at for not already looking good in spandex when she first enters the doors. I.e., one of the damned. I've always felt horribly self-conscious riding a bicycle after I hit 40.

In Europe, everyone bicycles. Young, old, thin, fat. Doesn't matter. I've seen white-haired grandmas and grandpas on bicycles riding about just for fun or to go on errands. Kids from toddler age (on bicycles without pedals--they push or walk them with their feet) to teens with their trick bikes. I've seen whole families out for a nice afternoon ride. I've even seen a very heavy woman in shorts bicycling, and nobody cares! It's no different than anyone getting into a car and driving to the grocery store or for a drive out in the countryside. It's just what you do if you want to go shopping or to do some errands.

I do like bicycling, but the terrain and most of all the anti-plump-middle-aged-woman-on-a-bike attitude back home was off-putting to say the very least. But here, there isn't that attitude. My only inhibition is that I'm so out of practice, I'm kind of wobbly on it. That should disappear with a smaller wheel diameter and more outings.

So I went out today and rode a bit on one of the bicycle trails near here, maybe a mile or so. The sun was very bright and warm, and so I was glad when John directed me to the bike trail through the woods, where there was lots of shade. It was beautiful and so peaceful, with birds singing and a slight wind riffling the tree leaves--a real reward for my little effort. Well, it sort of felt like a big effort, because there was still the residual inhibition I had from feeling discouraged from bicycling back in the States, plus I was just not used to it. But once I got on, and we entered the woods, it was quite nice. I'm going to make a point to do this again, and once I get the smaller wheels, I'll make longer trips out to the grocery store, and perhaps even to the Sittard market again. Wish me luck!

Candy that is so wrong...

Who in the world thought giving kids the idea that sticking a plunger in a toilet and then into one's mouth was ever right? Apparently someone did. One more curious item I found at the Sittard Market:

Yeah, that's right. Toilet candy.  Apparently you take one of those plunger-shaped lollipops, lick it, put it into the sour powder in the toilet, then put the plunger into your mouth.

(Face palm)

No, I did not try this myself.  I have my limits.