reentry

The French have a term for this: after the nearly universal vacationing in July and/or August -- a period lasting at least three weeks for them, because pourquoi pas (why not),  they come back to work late August or early September and adjust. La rentrée. Adapting to normal life once again. It's a process.

I feel that way after most trips to Europe, but I especially think this term ought to be applied to my return now. Because I was gone for so long. Because there was a seasonal switch and the new season requires my full attention. Because Ed's beard has grown too long and I need to find time to cut it. Because I want to continue the long daily walks even though finding time for them will be a challenge. Because, because. I need to adjust!

The time change (it's earlier here than it is there) favors a smooth transition. I wake up early, which is a good thing. And the weather is on my side as well -- the warm-up has finally begun in Wisconsin. Not quite short sleeve weather, but not cold either. 

I step outside to survey the farmette lands.

What's blooming? Plenty of blue Siberian Squill flowers popping up in the flower fields and underneath the big maples out front. And the crocuses haven't faded!

And we're just getting the start of the daffodils.

Of course, the perennial beds are bursting with spring time enthusiasm. Plenty of green tips out there!

I take a walk in the new development. Ed is still dozing and I figure it's a good time to fit in a brisk saunter. (We'll go out on our own park walk later.)  It's that or lose myself in doing laundry and cleaning up corners of the house that were, um, a tiny bit neglected in my absence!

We eat breakfast. Oatmeal, because I feel deprived of oatmeal! 

And then it's just a hodgepodge of the usual: go through the mail, do that blasted laundry, unpack, put away... oh, the list is long!

I break for that second walk, this time with Ed. For him, it's just another day, with me now back in the picture. But I'm still reeling from all the movement between such different places! I'm no longer a souvenir purchaser, though I did pick up a couple of magnets for the fridge and lots of chocolate -- some from Switzerland, some from France, some for the upcoming holidays, some for our couch snack after dinner. And this jar of honey, from my girl, purchased when she and her husband went away for the night.

I have to smile at that: this time I knew to pack it well, remembering the one time I didn't, and the jar opened, and I had before me a very sticky suitcase. 

 

Ultimately, yy period of adjustment is a brief one. By early afternoon, I'm in the school pick up line, waiting for Snowdrop.

To the farmette!

And now it feels like my travels were more than just a day behind me. There's homework, there are snacks. There's reading, there's ballet. Typically, all this runs smoothly, but today, I admit to getting the girl to ballet class 1. late, 2. a bit messy, and 3. with an imperfect hair bun. Why? Oh, it's entirely the president's fault. 100%. Since I'm apportioning blame, let me explain: 

My younger daughter bought shoes for her two girls for their Paris trip. Simple, fabric, comfortable. They happen to be sold by a European company. They were perfect. Inexpensive and pretty. (Perhaps you saw them in the posts? The girls wore them every day.) I thought these would serve Snowdrop well too. So I purchased a pair for her. Online. Same company, same shoes.

Only I purchased them after the whole European tariff mess began. 

Fed Ex kept sending me messages while I was in Europe, telling me customs forms needed to be filled out. On my end and on the end of the seller. Long forms. And they were due today or else. (??) I finally got through to Fed Ex this afternoon and their explanation was so long and so cumbersome that it made us late for Snowdrop's class. (And she was barely put together for the class, because I had no time to help her get ready.)

I don't even know if in the end the forms I sent back were properly done. I'll likely never see the shoes. And let me assure you, America will not be made great again by any of this. If you think otherwise, well, dream away.

Evening: I popped by the grocery store and restocked our food supplies. Fish and asparagus for dinner. And a few moments on the couch, with Ed, before I zonked out early again, still one foot in Europe, but mostly back home now. Reentry completed.

with love...

leaving Paris

Where do you begin to review, to think back on an unusual, an especially unusual three weeks? How do you start a post that is at once an ending and an important transition to the next phase of spring? With the obvious, of course! With a long good look at  the first morning light of the day. Is this part of your routine as well? I so recommend it: to start the day with an appreciative glance at the world outside. 

This morning, I wake up early. I have a cab booked for 6:45 a.m.   This is the view then, just before 6. One last time -- hello Paris. You were so kind to us!

 

 

That's my first memory, tucked into my storehouse of them: Paris was kind. The weather was kind. The hotel staff, noting the presence of two young children, was kind at every turn. The woman on the crowded metro yesterday who told me Juniper looked just like me was kind. The group of twenty somethings at the Toulerie Gardens was kind. The merry-go-round attendant who gave the girls a free extra ride was kind. All the waiters at all the restaurants were supremely kind, but at La Varenne, they topped the top of the kindness pyramid. 

And this is just Paris. I could (and should) provide an equally packed list of kindness coming at me from Grindelwald. Zurich. Venice. I live in a country that is right now riddled with tense anger and hostility toward... well, a lot of things. It was almost a revelation to see that on this trip, despite everything, people still were, are, so very kind.

Last bit of dirty laundry stuffed into a bag, a double check of the room, and I go downstairs. The cab comes, I'm off.

The driver is chatty. This is hard for me: at 6:45 in the morning I am not chatty. At first there are a few choice words thrown out at the organizers of the Paris Marathon. The event takes place today and well do I know the disruptions it causes for movement within the city. Two years ago, I could not get to a train station in time for my train because of blocked streets, reroutings and barricades. In the end, my guy today has a shouting match with one blockade guard and he is let through. 

Normally, leaving Paris on a Sunday is easy: early airport trains are empty, or if you take a cab, traffic is minimal. Today? Well now. The airport train isn't running (maintenance work) which means that the traffic buildup to the terminals is huge. It's a reminder that getting to the airport early is always a good idea because travel surprises of this sort abound. 

My cab driver then turns to other topics: he tells me a two week Easter vacation starts today for French kids, and how come we, in America, don't have much vacation, because he has a buddy who lives in the US and he reports that he gets only 15 days a year. 15 days! You people! And how were you're so stupid as to elect the leadership you have there now? 

I get out, he helps me with my medium suitcase. I arrive at the airport just as my daughter and her family are going downstairs at our lovely hotel on the quiet street on the Left Bank of Paris. We are on the move.

Since I haven't had breakfast yet, I pause for that. Airport croissants aren't award winners but the taste is good and the yogurt is always yummy.

I take a few minutes to think back. I already miss my sweet daughter, her family, Primrose's hand in mine as we walk miles upon miles of Parisian streets, Juniper's belief in me -- that grandma will grant that fervent wish for an ice cream cone, or for a Playmobil little pony. The richest memories come from my days with them.

 

Not long after, I'm crossing the ocean. I'm going home.

(The stop in Detroit is on the long side, not helped by an extra hour of delay, but that's fine -- no need to stress about making a connection.)

I'm in Madison by early evening. Ed is there, he drives me home.

Ed, at home, makes it possible for me to take these solo trips to Europe. How so? Well, he is there for me. We talk every day. He listens to my worries and provides that balance to sometimes stressful transitions. His world rarely strays from these words -- all is quiet here. It's a reminder that quiet is in the arms of the beholder. You can find it wherever you go. (Well, perhaps not on the Champs Elysees...). 

I am so curious about the garden! Yes, there's a green tone to it and a few blooms are popping open. Spring is here. 

I am here.

with so much love...

 

Paris

Was it really 45 yesterday? Ocean pictures in a single day? Oh dear. Well, it just tells you how full my days have been! And of course, much of it is the fault of the month and the place: April in Paris. Everything screams beauty and color and tender growth. Paris is a big city and there are definitely parts to it that overwhelm me (as any city does these days). But I have found my neighborhoods and quiet corners and special places that wake me up to city life in good ways. And even though I know these blocks so well, I see them in new and brilliant ways every time I am here. Add to it the treat of having the young family with me and you're going to get... 45 pictures!

But that was yesterday.

Today is my last full day in Europe. It has been a long trip! I have a mess of stuff to pack even as I want to spend a good chunk of the day with the young family (they're also heading home). I can tell you one thing: it cannot be a 45-photo day. 

The first peek outside reveals sunshine. It wont last, but it's a pretty sight nonetheless.

This is our last breakfast together here, at the Pavillon. 

 

And then what? 

We left this day open. Depending. If the weather is good, maybe we should go to Versailles. If not, maybe a museum at the Georges Pompidou Center. There's not a shortage of possibilities.

Well, the weather gave us a morning treat of partly cloudy skies. We settled on an excursion to the 19th Arrondissement and the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. I've been there only once and it was a long time ago. Why? because it's a pain to get to: several metro connections and a walk. And yet, it is a lovely park and quite different from the others. It is just at the northeast corner of the city. Less visited by tourists, that's for sure. Less crowded period. And it is hilly. How so? Well, it was built on quarries and so it actually rises up high. Higher than other point sin the city. A walk through it puts you on hills.

We are off!

(energetic girsl ran this way and that within the first minutes of our adventure!)

To one subway...

 

And then another. 

We alight at a station to the west of it and head up the hill to a park entrance. It's a less familiar to me area of Paris, though I dare say, most younger than me people would say that the 11th and 19th districts (arrondissements) of Paris are more edgy, more hip and more likely to have young and ethnically diverse talent try its luck at cooking up innovative dishes in eateries.

Now the park:

What can I say, it's a really fine time to be here right now.

(playground!)

Everything is blooming, everything is fresh!

 

And yes, the views to the north are lovely.

 

Walking, riding, walking some more -- it stirs up the appetite. We come across an eatery in the park called Rosa Bonheur. Self service, actually. You go in, you order your food and when its ready, you bring it to one of the many tables outside. 

I stay with the kids while the parents attend to the food decisions. Some French speaking Italian kids come over and show off their loot. Primrose is always scrambling to figure out how much trust to put into such encounters, but Juniper plunges. 

 

And then the parents bring a couple of pizzas (so good!) and we concentrate on filling up on foods.

Our walk continues. (Same Japanese cherry as in the Jardin des Plantes!)

And when we do leave the park, we still continue with our adventure: to the Canal St.-Martin!

 

I suppose the one misadventure was the train stoppage: One of the lines (our line) had to close down because of some incident on the tracks and so we sat for a while in a very crowded metro car, trying to figure out our options.

 

Of course, there are many as there are many crisscrossing metro lines. We pivoted to another combination of metros.

And now it's definitely time for a Juniper nap. I grab a cup of coffee in my room...

 

Then I head out to pick up another tiny toy for the kids. It turns out that the one I'd purchased on our night together was especially popular, and I thought that perhaps for the long flight home, they should each have their own, rather than negotiating nonstop who should have how many minutes with the one they were to share.

When I came back, the young family was all ready to go down for a farewell drink at the hotel Bar James Joyce. I was invited!

At 6:30, we set out on the half hour trek across the Left Bank to the restaurant La Rotisserie. This is the lesser cousin to the renowned Tour d'Argent. Checkered table cloths, roasted chicken -- all very informal and yet extremely focused on good ingredients and great taste!

And this is when the rains start. We, of course, don't mind. Paris in the rain... Big deal?! I suppose the one who minds most is Juniper. In the stoller, her legs get wet and pretty quickly she is in parental arms as we pick up the pace on our walk.

We're here! And it is delightful! The kids love their chicken, we play around with other traditionally French bistro fare.

Our walk back is going to be wet of course. No one could possibly mind, given all the sunshine we've had all week.

(photo by Primrose)

Despite the rain, the kids begged, begged for a repeat of the ice cream treat they'd been having here after dinner: two flavors on a cone, with a macaron stuck on top. Not possible to deny them this in their last hours of our glorious trip!

(the giggles start right here!)

There is no final line to this story. Not even to this day, let alone this week, or my three weeks. If I like to review events, words, sweet moments in my head, well I sure have a lot to work with. All with one huge happy smile of contentment. A week in Paris with these guys was of course what mattered most. I'm so thrilled that Paris gave us all these fabulous memories.

And so much love....

Paris

Every string of beautiful, sun drenched days comes to an end. Today I revel in a very long string indeed! (Tomorrow we may have rain.)

I'm with my two grandgirls in Paris. Parents went off for a 24 hour escape. I'm filling in.

 

(a different view -- out their window this morning)

 

If you bring two sweet kids to a city where few speak their language and habits and demands are new and not always easy to adapt to, and if parents leave for a while, then of course, you have to expect to make adjustments. The absolutely best way to keep them excited and happy is to cut them some slack, all the while keeping in mind that they are little ambassadors, so good behavior is a priority.

 

(cutting some slack for Juniper means allowing her to have fruit before, during and after breakfast)

(Oh! Is that a mirror?)

Staying local, to our neighborhood, would be the easy way to go about it this morning. But I don't want easy. I want them to have some excitement and an adventure.  I take out the stroller and we walk over to the bus stop. 

(The number 63 has arrived! Let's get on!)

Everything is so much simpler these days with google maps giving you details of which bus to take in how many minutes. But where are we headed?

To the Jardin des Plantes (yep, the garden of plants) over on the east end of Paris. 

(Oh, the fragrance of spring! Heady blossoms, honey scented chestnuts...)

But of course, I can't just get them excited by another garden (even though I can certainly get myself excited by this one). Within the gates of this one, there is the Menagerie -- the small city zoo that is forever immortalized in the Madeline books (to the tiger in the zoo, Madeline said poo poo!).

I've come around on zoos. Now that we've evolved and we no longer create them as places to gawk at imprisoned exotic animals, I no longer avoid them. This particular zoo no longer will have the tiger that Madeline wasn't scared of, because tigers dont belong in city zoos. There are some animals you'll encounter probably for the first time, and there are always educational materials available that'll teach you about what you're seeing.

 

(A "red panda??" Looks more like a red racoon to me!)

(I associate flamingos with France, where I in fact saw them in the wild. In the Camargue.)

(I asked the girls if they were sure these birds were pink, they said "yes!")

Perhaps the best part here is the freedom that you can give kids. And this little one grabs all that she can take of it, hiding so well that I almost could not find her!

But let's not forget the flowers. It is a fantastic time to visit these gardens. I'll show you why:

As in all parks, you're going to find a merry-go-round here.

Juniper always starts off cautiously.

 

But that's only at the beginning of a new ride.

And of course, the way to keep them excited is to say yes to ice cream. Before lunch!

 

Time to take the bus back to our neighborhood...

 

... Where the parents have just arrived! 

Before we can even think of lunch foods, we have to wash up: I hand over dusty, sticky, disheveled girls!

Okay, all fresh.

We head out to a crepe stand.

 

Rather than stand and eat, we walk over to the church gardens of the St Germain des Pres church.

 

(so beautiful!)

(a park, even a small one, is an invitation for Juniper!)

It is the girl's naptime now so they head back to the hotel as I continue my stroll through the all too familiar blocks. I pick up a coffee, and of course, in this weather, I must take a few moments for the Luxembourg Gardens.

(However did this street musician set up his instrument here!)

Sure, none of us should hang out in the sun too long. But those few minutes in spring are irresistible!

(the green shades of spring are simply sublime...)

Okay, I need a rest. Just a few minutes. With a cup of herbal tea in my room.

And now we all head out for dinner, with a stop at the Tuilerie Gardens. 

 

 

 

Why? Because we did this before, some two years back -- same restaurant (Primrose begged to return to it!), same stop at the gardens beforehand, with a pause for a refreshing drink.

(lemonade!)

(lemonade)

(with Parisian twenty-somethings having great fun next to us)

 

 

Which restaurant so struck the girl's fancy? Le Souffle. Funny, because this is where I took my girls when they were very young -- because it's such a rare treat to eat all things in a souffle form!

We walk back afterwards the long way: to the Obelisk, looking out on the one hand to the Arc de Triomphe, and on the other -- to the Eiffel Tower (and we catch the few minutes of twinkling lights on the Tower). 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the night air is wonderful, so full of the sweet scent of a season that does not believe in holding back.

(one post-card vignette after another...)

I had one string of breathtakingly lovely days! 

with so much love...