(Creepy tranny Santy) 

All through the house I have a new room mate moving in. A youngish guy from Juneau Alaska. He moves in a couple of days. He seems ok. He is in for a house full of drinking ladies cooking and cackling over Christmas. Lucky him. (I warned him but he still wants to move in early)

Esme is not much of a stirrer by any stretch of the imagination

Not a creature was stirring but I am thinking about adopting a rescue pet. There is a well recommended rescue place up the hill and I have been inquiring about their pet population. I am thinking older medium sized dog. Like me.

It has been about three weeks since my car took a dump, I cannot wait to be mobile!

My sleigh is getting towed to a mechanic who will it fix up for me this week. I look forward to the prancing and pawing of Old Blues little hooves. Boy, does not having a car make me feel so stranded and hopeless. It is not true but it sure feels true at the time. Glad it is fleeting. 

My Actual Holly Jolly Hall Decking taken with my hipstamatic app on the old smarty pants phone I have had that voodoo Christmas doll for flipping years

My halls are brightly decked. I may decorate a little more. I am looking forward to guests over the holidays. Still planning my menu. My thoughts are swirled around tasty treats. I don't foresee sugar plum pudding or roast goose making the final cut. I do expect to see us partaking in some Holiday Spirits. I am very sparkly about making these plans!

So Blue Schmu!

I am getting into the holiday spirit. I am looking forward to family (my son) and friends (several) hanging out for Christmas. I have managed getting around for work stuff. Getting lots of exercise. I hate it but this soon shall pass! I have sold a couple of things to pay for the replacement engine for my car. 

Ok...now for something that will make you go "hmmmm?" (during my internet search for the above content the following items came up)

 The site link for this crazy little graphic was a little something like this (the headline is the link to the article)

I have to tell ya...I really do not want to be Miss Blue Pants I want to be Miss Happy Merry Joy to the World Pants.

I love the holidays. I always have. It is a family event but I have made due around (read without)  family for many many years before I had family of my own.

I have been smoldering and cogitating over the situation with my daughter (she has excluded me completely from her life and her family for over a year). I love my kids. I have apologized to my daughter. When I try to defend my self it only sounds like denial. If I bring up anything in my defense I get "You CANNOT make me feel guilty!!!!" I get so frustrated that all I can do is shut down, slam doors, cry or go to bed early. This cannot be healthy.

Listen kids, I have thought long and hard about every bad thing I did to my kids. Every could have been better moment. But I always came up head and shoulders above my own mom. Who was, truly, a piece of work. I never claimed or claim to be a good mom but I love my kids. I, for years, was IN LOVE with my kids. I have always and to this moment think they are amazing people. I am proud of all that they have accomplished, the people they have become. Despite our challenges as a family. Some the usual stuff and some tough stuff. All families have their share. We are not exempt. But none of our stuff was in the realm of evil. I always tried to be better, to learn, to be open to change. I never thought I was always right. I can always admit my wrongs and say I am sorry. Maybe not during the heat of an arguement, but I do come around. I try to make amends. We did family counseling for years.

My son has been staying on my couch for a couple of weeks. And he has been on the war path at me. I have a dog-awful car sitch and he OFFERED to help me out til I got my own car fixed. His help has turned into a night mare. The other day he began yelling at me about when he was seven years old. For fuck sake.

That is not ok. Do you know why? Because...I forgave my mom. And her cruelty probably began in the womb. Oh, come on, many of us have come from abuse. Many of us have sworn to do better. Our parenting tools are from how we have survived but we know the difference between where we came from and how we are going to treat our children. And, darlings, these are two massively different worlds for me. And for my children. BUT I still chose to forgive my mom. I loved her to the end. The END. What is the point of hateful? 

And still, my kids are talking about when they were seven. Or twelve. Or when I threw away a My Little Pony or that time I did not make it to that farm field trip. 

Ok, I am drinking a cocktail (trying to be on the wagon but sheesh...what next?) and watching Sex in the City season 4. I have run out of pouty steam. Believe you me, there is more where this came from.

I want to be a merry holly jolly. I do. I most likely will. Thanks for letting me grouch.

xo

Cassi Christmas (joy to the world blue pants)

I am in a bit of a funk.

Lots going on. We had our big IN THE NEWS (see the linked video) goings on over here in Davis with the peaceful campus Occupy protesters getting pepper sprayed. Many of us were very upset about all of that. The fact that seated peaceful students were attacked by campus security and Davis City police in riot gear, armed and saturating protesters sitting peacefully in the quad with arms linked on their faces with pepper spray, may have changed peoples views of the whole occupy thing. I hope. It isn't the bad eggs getting shaken up by the cops.  It is everyone. And we are pissed off about that. (At the well attended rally on Monday after the incident the previous Friday,  I did not see uniforms of ANY kind. I did see Fox News)

Had some insanity with my neighbors. I really do not like them and I never have since they moved in. We had a skinhead in a wife beater t-shirt screaming, breaking windows, throwing garbage around a house full of kids next door. The cops came twice and still let him stay. I guess you don't need riot gear and pepper spray for raging white trash. I am pissed about that.

My son has moved in with me for a bit while he looks for another place. My current room mate is moving out. No bad feelings. She and her bf want a place of their own. It is really nice to have my son around.

Old Blue has been a reliable girl until...

I was in a minor fender bender that turned into a catastrophe. It was my fault and there appeared to be no real damages to anyones car, a license plate injury seemed to be all. We all exchanged info and insurance. My car looked unscathed. But, on my way home, my car began steaming/smoking. I pulled over, but not soon enough. Got the car towed to the shop and it seems I need a new engine.

I am sick about that. 

I have my Christmas tree up and mostly decorated. 

Trying not to mope about the car. I am going to sell stuff to pay for the engine. I have a Yamaha Vino and a Wilderness Systems kayak for sale, if anyone is interested.

Happy Holidays!

In February of 2012 I will have lived in Davis California for seven years.

Davis has never been on my list of places to live. Back when I use to ride mountain bikes often,  I traveled quite a bit across the America's riding awesome bits of trails and mountains in beautiful little towns. I wanted to move all the time. Davis was not on any of my All Time Favorite lists. 

Nearly seven years ago I moved here, lock, stock and barrel. That first year I questioned this move often. Sometimes through sorrowful tears. (I moved here for a guy who promptly dumped me).

I saw the plan through, I'm still here (except for that silly three week stint to Woodland in August...). I know I can think of at least seven reasons I love Davis (Maestro? A little walking music please) :

1. Nugget Market - The first time I ventured into a Nugget Market was during one of our girl trips that we took when my best friend Trac was still alive and several years before I moved here. We started taking trips to Bodega Bay the year Tracy (and I) turned 40. This continued til she passed at 46. We had many planned and unplanned adventures that we did each year. One of our rituals was that of picking up our lunch needs in Davis at the Nugget Market. They have an amazing deli; the likes we had not seen in your local grocery stores. That store was a Grand Palace Symphony to groceries. I had never shopped in a finer grocery store. When I moved here, especially that first sad and cloud covered year, my solace was the bright lights, plethora of vibrant and artfully displayed produce, elegant decor, the dazzling deli and bountiful butcher shop of the Nugget Market. I still love shopping there. Even after working there through all the holidays a couple of years ago (not for me) and even over Trader Joes. My favorite store is the South Davis store on Mace Boulevard.

2. Halloween in downtown Davis - What a sight to see. Every year on Halloween afternoon all the shops give out treats to the trick or treating children and their parents. All are dressed up so silly and adorable. The shop keeps often wear costumes. It is something that lights up my heart. All the dressed up kiddies and mommies and daddies and strollers traipsing around my little burg. This year I was downtown on Halloween doing some errands and stopped in at Ket Mo Ree where it is nearly always happy hour. On my way I passed a giant Gumby handing out candy in front of a Steve's Pizza and hordes of costumed babies with their equally gussied up parents wandering the streets. Ket Mo Ree is a Thai place and for what ever reason was ill prepared for the trick or treating youngsters. The manager sent a waiter out to fetch candy. Forty dollars worth of candy later he returned and they began giving it out. The manager told me a story about his parents being big fans of Halloween. He told me that they handed out pennies, as many as a kid could grab, they would make an elaborate haunted house and also take polaroid snapshots of the trick or treaters and give it to them. The bar manager also let me have three free tastes of extremely expensive premium tequilas...once again, my heart was warmed

3. Music - one of the reasons that brought me here was music. The person I had met did house concerts and I met him through his show on KDVS, the college station here, that my kids and I always listened to when I lived up in Pollock Pines. Once here and tossed to the streets, well, there is still all this music. My kids play music as do many of their friends. The many shows I attended at Delta of Venus, Sophia's, the house shows put on by local KDVS dj's, the Palm's in Winters. Kids and band members strewn about my living room for the night before they hit the road for the next show in the morning. My kids now tour quite a bit but I have actually put on a couple of house shows and still have my couch available for my traveling musician pals if they need me.

4. Davis Ducks - Unfortunately, Davis has a duck overpopulation. Unfortuante for the ducks, kind of adorable for us townies. They are everywhere. Many call the Arboretum (a public garden with over 2,400 kinds of trees and plants) their home. There are a variety of species - we have several types of mallards, wood ducks, and a mix of domestic ducks that I guess people abandon at the Arb. They always pair up and you will see duck couples mixing it up downtown. Waddling the walk ways for duck date night. Crouching in the garden spots along the sidewalks in front of your aparment building or downtown cafe. Holding wings as they cross the street together. Stopping traffic in their waddle wake. We have a few casualties due to traffic. There was the little lady who lost her mate and hooked up with a fellow none of us approved of. But over all, the duck population has little drama and is always agreeable to a free lunch (although, feeding the ducks is frowned upon and not healthy for them).

5. I spent the first five years here working in downtown Davis at several different business'. Funnily and coincidentally all located on E Street. I think this daily contact with people and my friendly demeanor helped pull me out of my sad sack slump after that guy dumped me. Downtown always feels like my town. I love it. Sadly, many cute shops have closed with no cute replacements. Such is the economy. The faces of downtown change because of the student population. It is not a teeming downtown, it is a quiet and sometimes brisk downtown. Depending on the school calendar. It is very busy during Picnic Day or Whole Earth Festival. But, mostly, you have the place to yourself. People bitch about the students but I think they make this town great. It helps to know all the secret, free parking places and good happy hours. Which I do.

6. My Davis fellows - Debi, Todd and their fabulous family (Michael and Gracie), Paul, Betty, Bill (the psychiatrist), Helen, Dave and Kathy at the Palms, the wonderful barista's from Mishka's, the Hot Dogger peeps, Gary, Landon, their mom Laura, Deborah, my many Gallery friends (Rick, Nancy, Maggie, Kelly, Lauren, Stephanie, Lexi, Zak, Elisa, Allie, Adriana, Kristi, Simon, Charlie, Mitch, Claudia, Emilie and Chelsea), Lauren and her girls, Bev, Carl and Diana, Caren, Casey, Tapua, Tatti, Harry and Claudette, Sally, Nicole, all the local musicians I see regularly at all the shows, though not friends, always familiar (Keith, Michael with Crossbill)...and the people I have yet to meet. Oh the fun we have had and will have soon.

7. Another reason I love Davis California: Completing my day with a quick run in to my favorite Nugget Market in S Davis to pick up some odds and ends. As I am putting my groceries in the back of my car I hear music. It is getting dark early. I look up and around and I see, under the glow of the light of the Burger King sign in the corner of the parking lot a person sitting on a ledge playing an accordion. I wander over to listen thinking they may have a hat out to collect money. It is a little lady and that accordion is nearly as big as she is. I see a rolling suitcase and the accordion case. She looks at me and I ask if she has a money jar or something (I want to contribute) but no. She tells me that she is waiting for her accordion club. She plays a little louder and I sit to her side so as not to stare at her and enjoy it for a minute more. I love the accordion.

Those are not the only or last reasons I love Davis. The other day, at my favorite coffee drive through, my atm card was declined. I knew there was no reason for it but had no cash on me. The girl gave me my coffee and told me to pay her later. She said, You come through here all the time, no problem.

I came back later and took care of it. Just like Davis has taken care of me.

This is a true story but the details could be sketchy. Today my kids are in their middle twenties and are fabulous adults who I love and admire.

Back when my kids were in middle school, or near that, we lived in Pollock Pines, California. I was freshly single and out of a particularly abusive marriage (not the kids dad, but my LAST husband). I worked full time with a nearly one hundred mile a day round trip commute.  Pollock Pines is beautiful and worth all the effort of living there.

This particular episode has me home sick with a bad case of the flu. It was early winter and I had been home from work for more than one day due to my illness.

That afternoon, as the kids were getting home from school or there abouts, I rustled myself out of my sick bed, hair disheveled and wearing my flannel ducky pajamas. I go to our kitchen and begin to make the family meal. We were sticklers about eating dinner together.

I think it was something not too time consuming like fish sticks and a salad. Now, this is not something that I make often or on purpose, but, this fact proves important later.

During our meal some drama or argument occured between my daughter and I. She is probably thirteen or fourteen. The days when drama is a mood of the day not just for special occasions.

I am pretty ill and it seems that our argument has escalated and I believe I threw a fish stick at her that hit the wall behind her. Not with any force, but with the tired toss of a mom too ill to keep this argument going. For the sake of argument, I probably said, I am tossing this fish stick at you. There!

She began yelling and ran to her room which is downstairs. I chased after her in a fit - MISTAKE. I do learn from these things, by the way. I was tired and sick of her drama. Indignant by her treatement of me in my unwell and poxed state.

Once in her room, HER TERRITORY, yelling was at a feverish pitch. I was flustered and feverish and yes, I threw again. I tossed a bucket of her nail polish into her closet. My fustration needed color. One of the little bottles broke and apparently soiled one of her vintage dresses. She begain howling in dispair and fury. 

She ran out of her room and dialed 911. I stood in her room listening to her gasping and tear stained cry for help. "My mom is attacking me, she just threw a bucket of glass nail polishes at me...gasp...sniff...please send help..."

By this time my son is downstairs and they are both on the phone explaining their dangerous predicament. Their deranged mother about to kill them. PLEASE SEND HELP.

I cannot believe my ears. At this point, all anger drains from me, my dizzy and feverish state returns and I go upstairs to my room. I shut the door and go back to bed.

A little later I hear someone at the door and the kids let them in. I hear a man's voice muffled through my bedroom door talking to my kids. I hear my kids pleas for help. Their mother is in the bedroom and they fear for their lives. Their mother goes crazy like this all the time. Like ONCE A MONTH! I don't understand the details but I hear enough.

I pull the covers over my head.

A little more time passes and I hear a knock at my bedroom door. "Ma'm? Can you come out here please?"

I dutifully get out of bed. I see myself in the mirror. Disheveled blonde hair, rumpled blue ducky pajamas. I am feverish and bleary eyed with illness. I walk out to our living room.

I recognize the officer right away. I had been a park ranger for a couple of years at the local and popular camp ground. I greet him "Hello Officer Sandy"

He averts his eyes in discomfort. My two kids are sitting on the couch together looking forlorn and fearful.

My daughter is still gasping back tears.

Officer Sandy tells me that the kids have agreed to let this go if they can leave and go to a friends house for the night...

Seriously? I have had about enough at this point.

I look up at Officer Sandy and I say to him "That is out of the question. What I am willing to do, if you are willing to help me with this is let my kids spend the night at my parents place in Shingle Springs tonight. They can come home after school tomorrow as usual. They will need a ride over there though"

"If this is not acceptable to my children then you will have to take them back to the station and call the local spoiled rotten prince and princess foster homes to find a place for them to stay."

The kids eyes get as wide as saucers. Officer Sandy suppresses a surprised smirk and agrees that this is a sound idea. 

My children also agree.

We call my parents, they agree. He takes my kids away and I go back to bed.

 Cooking dinner at my same old place in Davis. Very very glad to be home. Had no idea how home it was until I came back. Wowie!

Even Esme seems lighter (in her hugely Rubenesque way) and happy to be back.

Not entirely moved all the way, but the big stuff is in it's place and I am beginning to set the art about. (I have so much art...I have to rotate it or move)

When life is stressful I tend to take a break from the social scene and watch movies or go to bed early. Escape. That is the word for it.

 Fortunately, situations have come up for me to help and work away from home, another resourceful escape.

This weekend, I rented a spare room in my place out to a young guy from Manhattan. He is starting his first year at UC Davis and needed a room for a couple of nights while he found a place to live and set up house. That was fun. Nice young man. We ended up spending most of Saturday together. He found a place but needed to furnish it. He arrived with his suitcase filled with his "stuff" and that was it. 

I told him, since I have this huge station wagon, to let me know if he needed help moving furniture once he found what he needed. A little later, after I dropped him and his luggage off at his new place, he called and asked if I would take him to Ikea (in W Sac).  I had the day free after having brunch with friends. He and I set off for W Sac and accomplished that deed. We also stopped at Target where he picked up kitchen stuff and we grocery shopped. It was a very productive day and honestly, while, I should have been moving, it was much more fun for me to help this kid out.

It felt like I had a son at home for a day or two. We even watched a couple of movies together. Isn't that hilarious? I was telling my son (my own personal son) about this just now and he called me his "eccentric and quirky mom".

I guess that is true.

Anyway, back to moving. I hope to do at least three car loads today. I have been cleaning and getting rid of stuff. Nothing like moving twice to open your eyes to all the unnecessary crap you have.

I really am trying to get rid of stuff...ack...

(thank you jewishjournal.com for this image)

I wrote a sad feeling sorry for myself blog and a couple of you got to read it before I made it private (or editing it...ack). I do not mind that you did, but, you know, feeling sorry for yourself has an expiration date. So, there that is.

I am currently out of town house sitting for a friend. My friend Rolla and her hub went to Vegas to do a trade show. They have a home that is shared with their feline family (Rocky, Apollo plus Bergie next door), an assortment of needy coastal plants plus her mom lives behind her in an in-law quarter. It would be best for her mom to have help and security for the almost week that they needed to be gone. And, as it turned out, the work get away was the best thing ever.

My stomach aches and my sleep is nil due to the stress of letting everyone down and the need to move back to my old place. I have, indeed, made a mess of things.

This opportunity is already in motion before all the chaos, disappointment and hurt feelings.

 (thank you city-map.com for this image)

I am staying in Alameda California. It is a next door neighbor to Oakland California which is on the other side of the Bay Bridge from San Francisco.

I have written about staying in Alameda several times here. I spent the most wonderful New Years weekend here. My friend Rolla was the first of us to have her fiftieth birthday back in January, too. We all came to Alameda to celebrate that big birthday.

Things have changed a bit since we first made this plan. Her mom had ended up in the hospital after falling from a dizzy spell a couple of days before I got here (she is going to be 81 and her over all health is really great for her age). I knew her memory has been failing her for some time but this episode took it's toll.

Rolla is a nervous wreck about leaving her mom. This trade show is huge money maker in their niche business and her brother lives near by for any emergencies. I could tell it was hard on her getting her business stuff together and organizing her mom's even more special needs in order.

I show up here exhausted and numb. My psyche aching and blown up. I know that the way I am feeling is self created due to poor choices but not malisciously.

(thank you jandbentp.com for image)

NEVERTHELESS; Rolla gave me my list of responsibilities and her mom's agenda. I am ready to be involved with someone else's chores and challenges.

Who here is or has been involved with someone with alzheimer's? I am not quite sure what the difference between dementia and alzheimer's is. I have to look into that.

Ok, and home remodeling? How about that? And basic pet care and house keep?

Yeah, who has time to wallow and self pity with this kind of to do list???? Right?

Our mornings start with a bang as five asian construction guys swoop upon the little in law quarter to begin redoing the foundation. It is an older place and they are getting necessary upgrades done on the main house and the little cottage (plus a new kitchen remodel that has all kinds of corrections and unworking appliances...) where Rolla's mom lives in back. On a Saturday.

Every time Rolla's mom see's me, after minutes of my being out of sight, she inquires who I am. She asks if I am volunteering, or who has hired me. After three minutes, if I need to walk out to fetch something or tell Rolla something I will need to tell Rolla's mom my name and that I am there to house sit while Rolla and hub are in Vegas.

It is eye opening for me in regards to the things that some families are experiencing with their loved ones as they age.

(thanks actnow.com for image)

But Rolla's mom is so interested in my answer and never suspicious. Always smiling and letting me tell her the circumstance again, like new. I like retelling it. Like the past thirty years since I met Rolla has stopped.   The past three minutes can be remade and new. It is Zen.

Watering the hundred plus plants and garden area around Rolla's lovely home every eve...my mind stops and showers all those wild flowers and coastal succullents with attention and water. I cannot ruin this. I can make this well. Zen.

Then there are the cats...

(thank you graphics2.json for image) 

This is a cat househould. They leave the radio on an oldies station because the cats prefer it.

It cracks me up. Rolla told me that cats like it on, but sometimes they enjoy the news, if I don't mind switching it up. 

Is that not the cutest thing????

Zen entertainment. 

I am actually in the room with the radio playing all the rockin' oldies from mostly the seventies and late sixties to some early eighties right now. Borrowing the one computer that has consistent wifi.

Rolla also keeps some bowls of chow chow for the neighborhood raccoons and out door stray cats. Earlier this eve thier cat, Rocky Hardman, was meowing his head off at the door. Then brushing up against the chow chow container for the wild life. I see that his bowl is full and realized that he was letting me know that his critter friends bowls were empty.

SERIOUSLY.

(I texted Rolla about what Rocks had done and she responded back with "Rocky likes his entertainment!")

Too be continued...because things always stay interesting...

Next episode may or may not include: Getting lost, selling jewelery, making friends, loving Alameda, taking Rolla's mom out to dinner, enjoying Alameda weather, watching hours of NCSI TV (ME?), new job and finally, getting mom's house on the market.

Stay tuned.

Ville de Chien

I had read that Paris is quite the dog town.  The French love taking their pet pals everywhere and said precious pooches are welcome in all the restaurants and cafes.

It was not quite the pet population that I expected, but one thing is obvious...Parisian pooches are very very different from their American relatives. It is not the breed, you will find all kind of pedigrees and mixes, as you do here. On leashes, or not. In sweaters, or none. Simply seeing the Parisian pooch could fool you. 

On first glance, the French "équipe l'meilleur ami" (man's best friend) looks no different. Non...it is the way the Parisian pet carries him/or her self that sets them apart from their American pet pal.

(Borrowed from Coil Mag, the fabulous Cindy Pea)

With the exception of the exceptional pet companions in the Marais district. A fashionable and very gay district of Paris. The dog dates here have designer coiffes that had both Ronn and I hanging our heads in shame.

The Parisian pet walks differently. They carry their little doggy heads high with indifference. Not the aloofness of our feline friend, but with blue blood nobility. They are not being taken for walkies, our Parisian companion pet is accompaning their person for a walk about in the arronidissement. There is a bit of pagentry in their step that is missing from our ball chasing, snack begging Americain counter pets.

A genuine Parisian pooch in the Latin Quarter

On two occassions I knelt to greet an on coming pet pal on the street. They wagged their tail a little at my bon jour but as soon as they were in close proximity and discovered my American accent...well, they did in fact turn tail and give me the cold shoulder with a Parisian poochy "Phhhtttt" shake of the head.

(Photo borrowed from wedding 2 point 0)

American Gothic vs European Gothic

Goth, according to the internet, goes something like this:  Today, “gothic” is used to describe a subculture based largely on a certain style of art, literature, and music. Some forms of gothic art and literature date back to the 12th –15th centuries, however gothic music as we know it today is a relatively new development and is responsible for having the greatest impact on the development of gothic subculture.

 

 (Borrowed from How to be the Coolest Goth website)

When we think of goth we think of morose kids in black trench coats and white face make up. We think of nine inch nails and absinthe parties in the cemetary with fifteen year olds reading poetries about love and suicide. American Goth kids are a pissed off fashion statement.

Alright you American gothlettes...take your dark, brooding Cure tune streaming ipods over to France for a tour of Notre Dame.  Catholics understand the suffering of the Gothic. They have since around 440 BC. Romance, suicide, longing? Get your Labrynth watching ass off the couch, quit crying into your cheap whiskey. Read some eleventh century verse, listen to medieval chanting before you launch into your Dead Can Dance lyrics and Hot Topix gift card existance.

REGRET and desire?

SACRIFICE? (this is Joan of Arc)

DEATH and LOSS?

This kind of kicks Steam Punks ass, don't you think?

Oscar Wilde's grave site

A dark spiritual journey if ever there was one. An unhappy ending but leaving behind a legacy of classic comedies that made him one of the most succesful playwrites in Victorian London. From a life of pleasure and decadence to imprisonment with hard labor that later led to an early death at the age of 46. He died destitute in Paris.

I left Paris thinking that suffering is not a skill that we Americans are qualified to whine about.

Part duex of my birthday vacation in Paris. More to come. Thank you for reading.

(no insult meant to my steam punk and goth pals...all four and half of them)

Bon Jour!

Ronn at our Paris flat entry

We made it to Paris. This is the furthest away and longest vacation I have ever had.

Our first day we decide to check out our neighborhood.

We are in the 13th arrondissement (arrondissement des Gobelins which translates to: The District of Goblins). It is a working class and some what business district with some of the tallest and most modern buildings to be found in Paris. While it is not as charming as the more touristy districts, everything we need is right out our door. We did not see another tourist the whole time we stayed there. The restaurants, cafes and bars were friendly and genuine. There were terrific bakeries and grocery stores just around the corner from us.

We are a fifteen minute walk to the Seine. Something we take advantage of every day of our stay. 

Our first day of walking about was pretty rainy. 

So we ducked into this great pub to grab some beers and wait out the deluge.

We are in Paris! Oh mon chein!

Our first Parisian meal. A cafe in our hood. Ronn's salad had tons of brie and eggs.

So much for his vegan diet. He had fun eating stuff he does not usually eat.  His attitude was terrific for the whole trip. I could not have picked a better traveling companion.

The public rest rooms of Paris are amazing. Single rooms with a recorded voice offering direction (in French). Once you complete your business, the room locks itself and self cleans for a minute or two. Nous sommes impressionnés !

We only got turned around once during our entire stay. Ronn was the map guy and he did a wonderful job getting us around Paris. We had "The Little Black Book of Paris". It had maps of each arrondissement. Ronn navigated us well.

We drank lots of beer the first night, walked a ton and slept like babes. What jet lag? 

I am still having issues uploading videos. One is in my Paris photo album here but I am unable to attach it to this blog. So, this is blog part ONE of my trip to Paris for my fiftieth birthday.

Thank you for joining me...

Bonjour!

Blogging about my vacation for my birthday to Paris is still percolating in my head.

This has been the longest and furthest away vacation I have ever been on in my life.

Lots of foot notes and photos were posted to facebook, but I am looking forward to writing out the time I experienced there.

So, the jet lag, the laundry, the exhaustion, the catching up on my mail, phone calls and emails need to be sorted so that I can set my mind to writing about Paris proper.

Right now I am getting back to being in Davis. Also, I am moving house about ten miles away to Woodland now and through half of August.

And! My friend, Caryn, and I are throwing a big birthday bash for ourselves at her place the first weekend in August.

I could not even lay around my first real day back. Having sat around for two days (recuperating for my birthday and the entire 24 hours of travel) I awoke at 5am and could not stay indoors. I had cabin fever.

Now I want to walk everywhere. That is all we did while we were in Paris. Everything is a walk. Sometimes a long walk (to the Eiffel Tower from our flat) or a short walk (the Seine was fifteen minutes from our flat). My body wants to be in motion. That is a really good thing.

My usual walk here in my neighborhood had not been done since weeks before my trip. Maybe even more than a month. I do not remember. It is an under an hour stroll that takes me from my residential South Davis neighborhood to a agricultural thorough fare that boundries the nieghborhood from the adjacent farm land.

The bike path meanders along the backs of homes and apartments, along Putah Creek, past a playground, an orchard over a plank bridge back to older neighborhood sidewalks of South Davis taking you back to the main road along the farm lands. If you go to the left the road eventually takes you past farms, University ag research buildings, the University itself and eventually into downtown Davis. But that is a bit of a trek on foot. It is a terrific bike ride and I have done that many times.

This morning, after my cup of tea, my body demanded a walk. We have been having cool mornings and this one is no exception. I grabbbed my sweat shirt and headed out the door.

The sunshine felt energizing while the neighborhood was still hushed with morning softness.

My first thoughts are which way will I go with my loop? I decided on the pathway to begin. 

I crinkled my nose as I realized that someone had not cleaned up their pooches very stinky and very fresh poo on the path. Ack.

As I meandered I practised French words in my mind. The usual Au Revoir and Je Voudrais and S'il Vous Plaits. I wonder if instead of saying my Good Mornings to the people that I pass I might say Bon Jour. But I don't. I still say my good mornings though.

I think about Paris a bit but then pay attention to my route.

I noticed the quiet of my ambling. No chatter, banter, conversation, laughter.  I think I have been avoiding this quiet all year. This morning, for me, loud would not do. At the moment, I embraced the sound of the air instead.

My mind has been too busy with worries and assorted anxious junk since I got home.

Finally, last night, I made myself dinner, watched a movie and cooled my jets.

I am home from my birthday trip to Paris France and very soon I will come back here and tell you all about it with lots of pictures, mes ami's!