Christmas in Central Asia

A few months ago, I was trying to decide where to go for Christmas. I don't have much vacation time left for the year, and having just gone to the states, I didn't have a lot of money left either. And more than anything, I wanted to go where there would be snow. Last winter in Besancon ruined me, in that I just want SNOW all winter long...and I live on the Mediterranean coast. As I was thinking about it one day, I felt like the Lord whispered in my heart, "Why not look at going to see the Suits?" I looked at ticket prices and was pleased to see how low they were....and they were booked within days. I haven't seen the Suits since they moved to Central Asia, and I've always wanted to spend a holiday with them, since they are practically family in my heart.

I left my house at 5:30am to walk to the metro, catch it to the train station, where I caught a shuttle bus to the airport, and promptly checked in 2 hours early for my flight. As usual, my passport caused some confusion (so many visas, many of which are expired), but they agreed that as long as I try to enter the Central Asian country as an American and purchase the visa at immigration, I would be fine. Why in the world would I want to try to confuse the Central Asian immigration by trying to enter as an American resident in France?! I like to keep things simple. I'm an American. I'll buy the American visa, please. Thank you.

We flew over the Alps, and oh my. It was lovely. I would have stared at it the whole way if the sunlight wasn't bothering my still-slightly-sick eye. But I did snap a shot so that I could look back and remember the majesty of the Lord's creation. If this is what they look like from above the clouds, imagine from the ground looking up!

About a week before I left France, the Suits asked me if I would feel unloved if they didn't pick me up at the airport, but had someone meet me who could get me to the bus station. I told them that was fine, so a very sweet young lady and her friend met me at the airport. We rode a shuttle bus from the airport to the bus station, where we went from one booth to the next looking for a bus going to the Suits' town. One of the busses was leaving at 11pm...no thank you! I did not want to wait up that late nor ride that late by myself through Central Asia. We found one that was leaving at 5:30. Perfect! As I was paying, we realized it was 5:26! The man who sold us the ticket guided us quickly to the bus and I said a speedy, "Nice to meet you! Thanks for helping me!" to my new friend and climbed on board.
Each seat had it's own TV that was programed to local channels...none of which I could understand, obviously. I pulled out my Kindle to read, and they promptly turned all the lights off. Well. First time ever that I regretted not having a light for my Kindle. I pulled out my iphone and began to watch the movie that The Jeremy gifted me for Christmas. About 10 minutes into it, I'd attracted the attention of several little boys who climbed into the seat beside me and wanted to see the phone. They didn't understand that I didn't understand them, that they wouldn't understand my movie if I let them listen, or why none of my apps were working. I decided turning the movie off would be the best way to get them to let go of my phone. So...I slept the entire 3 hour ride and am happy to say that for once in my life...nothing crazy happened on my bus ride. Shocking, I know! After 15 hours of travel, I was greeted by wonderful squeezes from those kiddos I love so much.

The next day was Christmas Eve. After a lazy morning, we got dressed, and ready for friends to come over. One of the neat things about spending Christmas with the Suits was that Gran Suit had come too, and some other friends from their home fellowship had just moved there as well...so with so many familiar faces there, it felt...normal. Not like we were in Central Asia. We sang Christmas songs, read the Christmas story from Luke 2, and spent time worshiping that God became flesh to live among us. We ate a great Christmas meal, and watched the Nativity Story. Then...games! The kids got Twister for Christmas, and just loved it.
I think we killed some bunnies, had a dance revolution on the wii, played some backgammon and chess, and all around participated in gaming merriment. As the friends bundled up to head towards home, we noticed that it had begun snowing and the snow was sticking to the cars. It was a wonderful day, and we all went to sleep dreaming of waking up to a white Christmas.

The Suits' kids are not yet quite old enough to wake up the world at 5am on Christmas morning (thankfully), and so we had another slight sleep-in that morning, and kept them locked in the kitchen until we had everything ready (ie, a train track set up in front of the tree).
We slowly opened presents all day...opening for a while, and then playing with new games for a bit, eating a bit, and returning again to the gifts. One particular favorite moment was when the kids received a beautifully illustrated children's book with the lyrics of "A Few of My Favorite Things." As Mrs. Suit was reading it, Gran, Mr. Suit and I began quoting along with it, which turned into singing along with it, which turned into a melodramatic rendition of the song. The kids seemed shocked that in this first time reading of the book, that we would all know the words, and have made up a song to go with it already!

Schlomo and Sputnik gave me a pair of turquoise striped socks with money from their piggy banks. They wanted to get me something with that color, and when Sputnik saw the socks, he knew they'd be perfect. The best part of that story is that when they went to wrap them, Gran Suiter almost wrote, "From Schlomo, Sputnik and Dayspring." The boys interrupted her and exclaimed that she could not write Dayspring's name on the tag, because she did not give any money to help pay! (Dayspring is two and just beginning her piggy bank.) Well. So my socks are from the boys. :)

Mr. and Mrs. Suit gave me an antique coffee grinder from their country. It's really cool, and still has some grounds in it. I love how the brass and coffee smells. Isn't it beautiful!?
We stayed in our pjs all day. We played Sequence for kids, which I lost about 20 times in a row. Schlomo came over to sit in my lap and help me, but I still continued to lose...so he went back to playing by himself so that he might stand a chance at winning. Mr. Suit taught me how to play chess later, and I decided...I don't like it. You have to think way too much without having any fun. No thanks.
On Monday, we decided that maybe I ought to get out of the house. The two families and I all loaded up into the van and another car, (driven by a local friend), and headed towards the mountain to play in the snow.
On the way there, the driver took us by some natural hot springs. This rock formation was so beautiful! It was neat to see the steam coming up from it, and to put our hands in warm water while the air around us was so bitter cold.
I loved all those colors and shapes formed into the rock! So beautiful! I was really glad he took us by there to see it.
We were able to get a photo with me, the Suits, and Gran.
We kept heading up, and then suddenly the driver pulled over and announced, "We're here!" We looked around at the lack of snow, and saw the mountains still off in the distance and felt confused. He insisted that there was no road up to the mountains and we could just play in this snow.
There was some snow on the ground...but there was more mud than snow. We all got a good bit muddy. But the kids had a great time trying to make snowballs out of the very powdery snow. Here Sputnik is throwing one right at me.
Schlomo, I mean Spiderman, spun a web at me.
Dayspring just tried to figure out how to make a snowball. I was just trying to figure out how to not freeze. I was good from the waist up, but my legs and feet were frozen!
The Suits got down jackets for Christmas, so they were toasty and warm. Doesn't she look gorgeous!?
The sun began to set, and that was our cue to head back. The mountains turned such pretty colors as the sun set shined onto them.
It made me think of "purple mountain majesties." The driver took us on a bit of a tour of some areas that are being rebuilt since an earthquake had flatten many of their buildings. We stopped at a restaurant that was heat through radiators from the natural hot springs...we were able to warm up and eat an awesome meal. $35 covered 14 of us!!! I just kept thinking, I could pay that for just me at a restaurant in France! I thoroughly enjoyed the entire outing that day.
Back at home, I read some to the kiddos one last time before they went to bed and I began to pack my suitcase. Skype is an amazing thing, and so Schlomo and Sputnik have always remembered me, no matter how long it's been between visits. Because of that, I got MANY squeezes and sweet whispers of, "I love you Aunt bettercountry, please sit by me." Dayspring was just beginning to warm up to me by the time it was time for me to leave, but maybe now when she sees me on Skype she'll remember me from this visit. I do love those kids...and their parents!!!
The next morning, we made the 3 hour drive back to the town with the airport. The scenery was beautiful the whole drive...countryside, twisting roads, rolling hills, and amazing mountains in the distance. I commented that I thought all that I'd seen on this trip to Central Asia looked just like what I'd thought Central Asia would look like.
My flight went smoothly with no hitches. I was a little nervous about making it from the airport to the metro in time to catch the last metro of the evening. Our God is good to us, though, and answers our prayers. My suitcase was the first one out of the shoot (first time ever!), and I was able to grab it and scurry over to the shuttle bus, which I just barely caught. Just a few suitcases later, I would have missed that bus, and subsequently missed the metro, thus having to pay a ridiculous amount of money for a short taxi ride to my house. Instead, I caught the bus, caught the second to last metro, and was able to collapse into my bed at 11pm.

It was a good Christmas. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Suits.

Bible reading plan

Last year, I wrote this post about reading through the Bible in a year. 2011 was not the first year for me to do that...in fact, I can't honestly remember when I began reading through the Bible each year. But I do love each December picking out the new plan for the next year.

Do I think there is something magical about reading the Bible in a year? No. But I do think that we should the Bible regularly, daily even, and over and over. Reading it in a year gives us a time frame to work within...and when you can see the goal posts, it's alot easier to kick the ball straight through them. I do believe that "ALL Scripture is God-breathed and useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness," (2 Timothy 3:16)...and so even though I don't understand why we need to read the book of Nahum, I do think it is God-breathed and there for a reason that I haven't figured out yet. So I'll keep reading the WHOLE Bible, and not just the parts that make me feel good, until I get to heaven. Cause it's only There that I'm gonna figure it all out.

This past year, I used the chronological plan that the Church at Brook Hills used when their church did the Radical Experiment in 2010. I listened to the sermons that went along with each week. (I still have a few sermons to go; I got a little behind in December.) I'm not going to lie: I didn't enjoy the chronological plan.

I liked the amount of reading per day. I liked having Sundays free, so that if I needed a catch-up or reflection day, I had it. I liked how the story, for the most part, flowed. (Reading multiple accounts of a story all at the same time, like in Chronicles/Kings, and the Gospels, was sometimes difficult, and sometimes drove the point home.)

What I didn't like was 9 months with no Jesus. I didn't get to the New Testament until October, and oh man...that was rough. I suppose that I got the sense of longing for the arrival of the Messiah the way the Jews did/do with just the Old Testament...but I know He comes and I want Him daily!

As far as Bible reading plans go, the problem is that I don't like reading hopscotch all over the place so that I get a little bit of New Testament in every day. I suppose it's the only way to get NT and read the whole Bible in a year without going chronological again. But because it felt like I didn't get enough NT this past year, I decided for 2012 to read through the NT slowly, so I'm doing a several part plan.

I'll be reading through the NT a chapter a day with this plan.

I'll read a Proverb a day every day (they fit so nicely into 31 day months!), and a Psalm a day (twice in the year).

I'll start the year off with a 10 week Bible study, and finish the year off with some other Bible study that I haven't picked yet.

In between the two Bible studies, I'll read through the Bible in six months with this plan.

If the hopscotch reading doesn't bother you, I highly recommend this plan. It gives you 4 types of readings per day, for 25 days per month (which is plenty of catch-up days if you miss some), and even has pretty little boxes to check off that you've read something.

Happy Reading!

Chair Delivery

Within an hour of writing my previous post about feeling more confident in my language abilities when speaking outside of my comfort zone, I had a foreigner moment that pushed me to angry tears and a call to the Superhero to see if I could have handled things better.

A few weeks ago, I ordered my first real piece of furniture from a store's website. I decided to order it online and pay for it to be delivered to my home so that I wouldn't have to inconvienence any of my friends to have to lift it from the car to the elevator. As much as I love my kung-fu chiropractor, I don't want to send any of my friends to her because they helped me move a chair that could have been delivered for a small fee of 35 euros.

After a week, I received an email from the store that the chair was ready to be shipped, and that they use a moving company to deliver their goods. I could trace the status of my chair with a particular ID number.

This was a little weird to me, but okay, whatever. I've never had anything delivered from a store before, so what do I know about how it works? The delivery company called me last week and told me that they would deliver it on Wednesday between 2-6pm. I asked if it were possible for Tuesday, since I already had plans on Wednesday at that time. "You don't get to choose when. It'll be there Wednesday between 2-6pm." Alrighty then. (One of my new cultural pet peeves here in France is every time they say, "Madame, you don't have the right to do xyz." The American in me gets all riled up being told I don't have the right. But that's a whole other blog post...)

So I missed my plans for today (they couldn't be changed) and sat here catching up on blogs while waiting for the delivery of my beautiful leather chair. My phone rang at almost 5pm, and the man told me he had a delivery for me. I said, "Come on up, it's the third floor." He interrupted me and asked if I could come downstairs.

I went downstairs and he says, "You paid for a ground floor delivery. Normally, if you want it delivered up the stairs, you have to pay another 50 euros."

I explained that I didn't understand that from the website when I purchased it. It didn't differentiate between a ground floor or higher-up delivery. I paid for a delivery already, I shouldn't have to pay for more.

"Yes, but you paid for a ground floor delivery."

"Well, that's ridiculous. Why would I pay for it to be delivered partially? You can't carry it into the elevator?"

He responded, "It's not heavy."

I looked at him with a look of incredulity, and exclaimed, "I'm a GIRL! I'm not going to carry that chair by myself! I paid for it to be delivered...to my apartment, not to just my building's front step."

His buddy bent over to begin picking up the chair, and they put it into the elevator, then brought it into my living room, and had me sign that it was delivered. I told them thank you, and hurried to get them out of my apartment.

The talkative one then turned to me at the doorway and said, "Madame, we had an arrangement."

"A what?" I asked.

"An arrangement."

"No, we didn't." The quiet one said, "She doesn't understand man. Let's go." (I probably should have shut up then.)

"No, no, I understand. I didn't understand downstairs nor did I agree to an arrangement. I told you, I already paid for a delivery. I don't think I should pay more for you to have put it the elevator and then carried it out of the elevator. That's ridiculous."

At this point, I felt very uncomfortable, as a single female with a guy I am perceiving to be sneaky, in my home. I wanted him to leave, and in the stress of the moment, decided that just paying him the 50 euros he wanted was the easiest way to do so. I couldn't think fast enough to demand a number to call, or even a receipt for the 50 euros. I just wanted him gone, and 50 bucks would do that. So I paid him 50 euros, shut (and locked) my door...

...and realized that I probably was just scammed.

About 10 minutes later, my phone rang. It was the guy! He'd accidently called me back, but since I had him on the phone, I asked if he could come back and give me a receipt.

"Madame, I gave you the receipt from the store."

"No, I want one for the 50 euros I gave to you."

"Madame, I can't give you a receipt for that...it was an arrangement. Between you and me."

Then I got mad. "An arrangement I didn't agree to! You...(and at a loss for the word for "scammed," "tricked," "duped,")...you lied to me!"

Well then he got mad. He began yelling at me into the phone that he was not a liar, that he never lied to me, that he was a worker doing his job, and he had not lied to me.

Still not able to find the word, I said, "You're right. You didn't lie...you stole from me!" Dagnabit that I couldn't find the word for "took advantage of" right at that moment.

Seeing that I was quickly loosing my temper and not reflecting Christ at all, I said goodbye and hung up the phone. I did a quick google translate, found the words I needed, and sent him a text, where I apologized for calling him a liar. I explained that it was the only word I could find at that moment. And that I felt he had scammed me, since I didn't understand nor agree to "an arrangement." Well played, mister, for taking advantage of a foreigner. He tried calling me back five times, to which I never answered. (Men round these parts always need to have the final word in a fight, and I wasn't going to argue with him anymore. Seeing how I wasn't going to get my money or a receipt, there was no need to talk to him again.)

I called the Superhero (who's been living in France forever), and recounted the whole story. Did I do right to pay him? What should I have done? What would you have done? Did I get taken advantage of? Besides losing my temper over the phone, how could I have handled this one better?

The Superhero said that seeing as I was a single female home alone with two strange men in my apartment, I did the right thing to just pay them the money. I expressed my frustration at being a foreigner and not fully understanding what was going on. He said, "bettercountry...your French is good enough that I am fully confident that you understood what he said to you. He took advantage of you, as a female, yes; as a foreigner, maybe; but it was not a language miscommunication. As a man, I would have handled it differently because men can do that. You did what you felt most comfortable doing at that moment, and it was the right thing." Well. That made me feel a little better.

When it's all said and done, I have my lovely leather chair, and that guy got blessed with an extra 50 euros at Christmas time.

Yes, it's facing away from the TV. I wanted a piece of furniture to face the couch, so that when I'm just sitting and visiting with friends, the living room has a triangle-of-conversation sitting places. It's light enough to easily pick up and turn to face the TV when a bunch of people are over to watch a movie.

But not light enough that I should have had to put it in/out of the elevator after having paid a delivery fee.

Chalazion

I mentioned a few weeks ago about how I've been having some problems with my eye. I thought it was a stye, but it turns out it wasn't. Those drops the pharmacist gave me relieved the eye a bit, but not much. And the little red bump inside my eye wasn't going away. Well, last week, after several days of it feeling pretty much fine, I (foolishly) decided to try some eye make-up. I blinked, some of the mascara went into my eye, and oh man alive I thought I was going to DIE it hurt so bad. (The Artist was at my apartment and came rushing to my aid to find me some eye drops to flush out my eye. Thank goodness.) My eye was sore after that, like I'd been sucker-punched, and I decided it was time to find an eye doctor.

I would like to use this time to talk about "being fluent." Americans who've never had to live in a foreign language will ask if I'm "fluent in French." Americans in France never ask that question. They know better. To me, "fluent," means you were born and raised here and are thus bi-lingual. You speak French as good as you speak English. Like a native. Or you've lived here for 25 years, and while you have an accent that is quite charming, you use all the idioms, laugh at all the jokes, know the "other" meaning of words that isn't listed in the dictionary, and well...except for the accent, you speak French as good as you speak English. That is fluent.

I wasn't born and raised here.

I'm not married to a Frenchman.

I haven't lived here for 25 years.

And thus, no. I am not "fluent." Do I speak French? Yes. Am I comfortable speaking French? Usually, yes. ***When I'm in my comfort zone.

My comfort zone is using the top 50 verbs that people in every day life (to go, to come, to be, to have, to do, to eat, to sleep, to read, to eat, to say, etc.) My comfort zone is talking about work things. My comfort zone is probably an 8th grade level of speaking, but fully capable of living life.

My comfort zone is not...

...describing to the plumber what's wrong with my sink. I don't know any of those words.

...asking the electric company over the phone to explain again how the monthly bill works.

...anything medical.

So going to an eye doctor? Ack. Did I learn the words for "eyelid," "eyelash," "socket," "pain," "to itch," "to burn," and "tears" once upon a time in language school? Sure. Have I used them since then? No.

I wandered around all day Monday until I finally found an eye doctor that could see me right away. (I went into approximately five offices. Only one could make me an appointment...for two weeks away. Thanks, but I might be blind by then.) The eye glass store kindly recommended an eye doctor down the street, and they made me an appointment for the next day.

When he called me into his office, I immediately used my newest tactic for getting people to have mercy on my language abilities.

"Bonjour. I'm a foreigner, and thus, French isn't my mother tongue. And well, I've never seen an eye doctor in French." He smiled kindly at me, and promised we'd work it out. I sat down in the examination chair and he asked, "You're here for your 'côntrole'?" (Note to self: 'côntrole' must be the word for yearly eye check-up.)

"No," I explain. "I have a problem with my eye." I explain about how I've had a headache behind the eye, a something that is not a stye, and that sometimes the eye makes me want to scratch it (cause I couldn't remember the word for "itch"), sometimes it burns, sometimes the sunlight bothers me, etc., and that all around it feels like I've been sucker-punched. (Although I didn't say "sucker-punched," because I don't know the word for "sucker." I just said "like someone hit me," and he finished my sentence with the word "coup de poing," which is the word for "punch".)

He removed my glasses and had me read the chart on the wall. I had a small panic of "what if the letter G or J is up there (because I don't know how to pronounce either one correctly and he might mistake that for I-can't-see-the-letters)," but was quite pleased with myself to be able to remember to say "zed" instead of "Z," and "ahch" instead of "H," and I passed. My glasses are still the correct prescription (which is called "ordonnance," for anyone who's interested). Thank goodness for that.

He pulled on my eyelids in all sorts of directions, told me look left, right, up, down, etc. He put all sorts of drops in my eyes. He shined lights in them. He dilated them (which I wasn't expecting)...and all the while I understood everything he said! I can handle the eye doctor in French!

The one word he said that I didn't know was what's wrong with my eye. I have a chalazion, which, it turns out, is the same word in English. He pulled out a big, English medical dictionary for me to read the description of it. But because he'd dilated my eyes, I couldn't focus on the words, so he told me to put my nose right to the book and I should be able to read it. That made me laugh. Basically it's a cyst-like infection. (And if you google photos of a chalazion, they're really gross. Pantene, I know you'll do it. Ha. Mine doesn't look like those photos, it really is a small little un-noticeable-from-the-outside bump.)

He wrote me a prescription, and then said that if it's not better in a week, he'll have to scrape it off. WHAT?! Did I hear that correctly?! Unfortunately, I did. "Scrape" and "eye" should never, ever be used in the same sentence. Ever.

I stumbled my dilated self to the pharmacy, where I was blinded by their bright lights, and got my meds. All three of them. The left eye drops are actually for my normal eye, cause it feels weird and unbalanced to put so much in my sick eye and the other one be all dry...so I put normal eye drops in just to equal things out. I have two different drops I put in four times a day in the sick eye. The orange tablet is a creme that is a bit like the consistency of vaseline, and oh man, it's weird to put in my eye. I do it right before I go to bed, and the ointment covers my eyeball so that I can't see, and when I wake up...it's all gone. So weird.
So while I still wouldn't say that I'm fluent in French, the trip to the eye doctor did boost my confidence level that maybe my comfort zone isn't as small as I thought it was. And my favorite word I learned at the eye doctor? The "socket" is called a "cul-de-sac."

The Great Marseille Scarf Exchange

A few weeks ago, I unpacked my winter suitcase, pulling out all my sweaters, scarves, coats, hats and gloves. Not that it's cold enough in Marseille for the hat and gloves. (I haven't even had to turn on my heat yet). But it's France, the country where one can wear a scarf even in the summer.

Girls, scarves, and France are best buds. Every girl I know, even ones who arrive saying they don't like to wear anything on their necks (Sue-Wee), end up sporting the scarf. At any given street market in the country at any given time during the year, one can buy a scarf (or three). And so what ends up happening is that a girl has more scarves than she can possibly wear.

As I unpacked my scarves last month, I came across...

...the red, blue, and brown scarf that I wore with the red riding coat. I no longer own the coat, so I no longer wear the scarf.

...the blue, grey, and brown scarf that doesn't match any (not a single one) of the grey things I own.

...the scarf someone gifted me once what is not only not my style, but also not a color I wear.

And the list went on. Scarves that used to be my favorite until a new one replaced it. Scarves that had been gifted. Scarves that didn't match. Scarves that matched things I no longer own. Oh man...too many scarves. Which made me feel like I shouldn't go out and buy new scarves because I have more than enough right now. Although I don't wear half the ones I have. So, no new scarves this year.

A few days after the unpacking sadness (that I shouldn't buy new scarves), someone complimented a scarf I was wearing, and so I went into the telling of how I'd come across all the scarves that I don't wear anymore. She agreed with me about she has the same dilemma. It dawned on me...what girl doesn't?

We should have a scarf exchange! Everyone bring the scarves they don't wear anymore, and we'll all trade them up! And so that's exactly what we did. A bunch of my friends came over, bringing the scarves with them that they didn't want to wear anymore, and we played a type of White Elephant Game exchange, and traded the scarves all around.

I got rid of a few. I gained three new-to-me. And opened up two holes in my scarf rack for two more I can buy this winter.

And I decided to keep the red, blue, and brown scarf that only matches the red riding coat that I no longer own. I had that coat for more than 10 years and had a lot of special memories in it. That scarf kept me warm in Venice, Italy, and well...I'm just not ready to part with it yet. It's just too pretty...

Feeling Crafty

Before I moved to France, I would only wear earrings...and the very occasional necklace. Even upon moving to France, where one wears a scarf for at least 9 months of the year, a necklace just seems pointless. But nevertheless, I found myself being drawn to jewelry more and more here. I love bracelets and necklaces in the summertime, and earrings all year round. As I began to accumulate more jewelry, I realized that I needed a box to put them in. At the time, however, pragmatics won over aesthetics, and this was the result:

I kept my earrings in the top two drawers of the little plastic doohickey, and the bracelets in the taped up Taboo box. Pitiful, I know. Well, last week, when looking for an old window frame to use as a photo frame at a store similar to the furniture section of Goodwill, I found my jewelry box(es).
The drawers are made of ceramic and are very heavy. They hold my earrings and the box on the left holds my bracelets. I've got a work-in-progress project to hang my necklaces from, and when it's done, I'll post photos. But it's basically an old cabinet door that will be painted that teal color seen above (which is the same color as my bedspread), with several doorknobs that are hand-painted like the ceramic drawers screwed into it. The necklaces will hang from the knobs. Look at me, being all crafty!

While at that store that is sort of like the furniture section of Goodwill, I found my reading chair! I am a lover of the big, comfy arm chair that one can curl up in for hours upon hours lost in a ridiculously good book. I hadn't gone looking for the chair...I was still looking for the windowpane (which I have yet to find). But the chair found me. I rearranged my dining room/bookshelves to make a nook (and still have room for dining room table). The Chair fit perfectly.

The thing is, I do not love that fabric. I don't even like it. But she's SO comfortable, and was SO cheap! Joy and I took turns sitting in her at the store. We lifted the cushions to see how easily they could be re-upholstered. (Quite easily: they zipper right off!) And, who can resist a chair that has a hidden compartment with a little door at the feet, where one can hide a reading blanket, or reading slippers, or the next book on the docket, or Christmas presents from sneaky peaky people like CSI and Pantene?! I saw potential in this chair, and Joy agreed with me. I took the plunge and bought it, as is obvious from the picture of her in my living room.

CSI and I were digging through my fabrics to find what I would use on my next quilt, and lo and behold! I had this huge piece of fabric that could work for covering up the chair until I find the perfect reupholstery for her. I nipped and tucked and pinned and voila! A blue, grey and brown chair that would look perfect in my bedroom...except it's in the living room. Ha!

I plan to stain her a dark brown to match the bookshelves, and one day (probably not until I'm in the states next year), will reupholster her in some kind of brown, cream and accent color plaid. Maybe I'll go all crazy and do argyle.

I've sat in her every day since she's arrived, and I have to say...she's wonderful. When she's all finished and has some friends (an ottoman and an end table), she'll be the reading chair I always dreamed of. And even more so because I helped her find her true potential and become all that she could be. With that--I think I'll go curl up in her and read for a bit.

Christmas Carols

I went to Aix last weekend to celebrate Christmas there. Mrs. X and I went shopping (a post about that is to come), and then we watched a Christmas movie. I wupped up on Mr. X at some game. And then, we went a caroling!

Mr. and Mrs. X go to the International Church in Aix, which puts on a Christmas Carol concert every year. It's fun to go sing Christmas carols in English, as well as see Mr. X conducting. AND, there's a candlelight ceremony at the end, which...even though it isn't on Christmas Eve, it fills up my candlelight cup.It seems that this year, I cannot get enough of Christmas carols. I went to a cookie exchange party where we sang a whole schlew of carols before trading our cookies. And then I went to the International Church of Marseille's Christmas Carol concert. And I'm listening to them all day long at the house and on the ipod. AND, I've been doing a morning devotional each morning that is based off of one of the Christmas carols in our hymnals.

There are some beautifully amazing truths in carols. Look at a few of these lines:

• O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer our spirits by Thine advent here. Disperse the gloomy clouds of night and death's dark shadows put to flight. Rejoice!
• Then let us all with one accord sing praises to our heavenly Lord, that hath made heaven and earth of naught, and with His blood mankind has bought.
• God and sinners reconciled. Joyful all ye nations rise!
• How silently the gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven.
• Veiled in flesh the Godhead see, hail the incarnate Deity.
• Pleased as man with men to dwell, Jesus our Immanuel.
• Born that man no more may die, Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth.
• Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
• In all our trials born to be our Friend. He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger.

This year I read two different books that talked about Jesus' conversation with Nicodemus in John 3 about the need to be born again. We, who are dead in our hearts, get new life, a second birth, so that we can have...life...hope...peace...joy...forgiveness...true blessings...love. All of the warm fuzzy feelings that Christmas stirs up in us, that cause our eyes to well up with tears when we hear "I'll be home for Christmas," or when we watch "It's a Wonderful Life," all those sentiments we wrap up into the holiday season...they're just a shadow.

They're a shadow of the Light that came into the world so many years ago, born that we may no more die. Born to be our Friend. Pleased to come and dwell with us, in us. Pleased to impart all the blessings of heaven to us because His birth, death, and resurrection brought us redemption, reconciliation, rebirth.

Oh what joy, that we get to celebrate "the dawn of redeeming grace," that comes through the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ! It's worth singing about.

Christmastime is here!

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! The winter wonderland has arrived at my house. (Okay, it arrived a few weeks ago...) I don't have many Christmas decorations, but the few I have are up! Let me give you a tour.

In the entryway: the wreath from the wedding is hanging from the candelabra, with a red candle. (Usually there are two white candles there, and the wreath is elsewhere in the house.) Next year, while in the states, I plan on buying some cranberries to stick in the wreath, and a red ribbon to replace the white one at Christmas time.

Music playing: Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God.

Cookie baking: Mexican Mocha Bars.

Movie watching: The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (both versions).

In the dining room, Santa and Mrs. Claus are waiting to have you over for dinner. They've brought out some festive coasters and candles. Maybe next year they'll have a Christmas table cloth. In the meantime, they do have festive placemats and napkins when they host you. Not pictured (they're shy): some elves who are similar to Santa and Mrs. Claus are guarding the presents by the tree, over on the steamer trunk. They said, "For secrecy purposes, the presents, even though wrapped, cannot be shown on the world wide web." Elves are funny little things...

Music playing: Mariah Carey's Merry Christmas.

Cookie baking: Gingerbread Men.

Movie watching: Elf.
Christmas has come to Paris! The Eiffel Tower has her Christmas lights AND the mayor decided to decorate her with ornaments this year. Isn't she pretty?

Music playing: Mannheim Steamroller Christmas Collection.

Cookie baking: Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Icing.

Movie watching: The Sound of Music. (Not a Christmas movie, you say? Au contraire! Chez moi, it is!)
For Christmas in San Francisco, it snowed on the Golden Gate Bridge!!! I thought I might do this every year, but those snowflakes were so hard to get on that they might melt never to return after a few weeks. Doesn't she look festive, though?

Music playing: Trace Bundy's Christmas Collection.

Cookie baking: Joy's Oatmeal Cranberry Cookie.

Movie watching: White Christmas.
In the living room, there are several little Christmas trees made from magazines. I don't have a real Christmas tree...because I only have two Christmas ornaments. Maybe one day I'll have a real tree. But for now, I'm happy with my creative (free) trees. One of the ornaments is hanging in my kitchen from a cabinet knob, and the other is sitting on top of the television. Here you can see the festive Christmas placemats I have for when Santa and Mrs. Claus have you over for dinner, and the French Christmas chocolates that are all over my house. I love these chocolates, and you can only buy them at Christmastime.

Music playing: Chris Tomlin's Glory in the Highest.

Cookie baking: Pinwheels.

Movie watching: Gone with the Wind. (Also not a Christmas movie, you say? Au contraire! Chez moi it is!)
Christmas in the kitchen: Another one of the Christmas trees, the festive placemat, the French Christmas chocolates, and oh! The Christmas mugs. Last year, Joy gave me these two mugs, a square plate and square bowl. (Cause I love me some square plates and bowls!) I share this set with some of her other friends, so to remember that I am loved and part of family. Isn't she sweet? I've been drinking out of these mugs each morning. Come over and I'll make you some Speculoostastic Hot Chocolate in them!

Music playing: iTunes 2009 Holiday Sampler.

Cookie baking: Classic Christmas Sugar Cookies.

Movie watching: Christmas in Conneticut. (Haven't heard of it, much less seen it? You must, oh you must!)
I was trying to remember when baking cookies became such a big deal at the holidays to me...and I think it must've been college. During my first few years of college, my Meme and Grandaddy lived in my college town. I would go over to her house to help bake and decorate cookies. (I also remember driving over to Richmond to see my aunt and uncle and making Chex Mex during the holidays. If I lived in America and had access to Chex cereal, oh man! would I be making the Chex Mex.) Anyway, with my love for baking, I sure do love making all kinds of cookies during the holidays! Here is the first batch of cookies I made this season.

Music playing: iTune's No. 1's Christmas Collection (all the best Christmas hits).

Cookie baking: Campfire Cookies. (Click the link for the recipe, and change the chocolate bar that is added at the end to a small dab of Speculoos. Yes, I am becoming an addict.)

Movie watching: It's a Wonderful Life.

Honorable mentions:

Music playing: Vince Guaraldi Trio's Charlie Brown Christmas.

Cookie baking: Brown butter dark chocolate cookies (with or without bacon).

Movie watching: Home Alone.

Book reading: Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

Merry Christmas everyone!

I love this time of year!

Going to the Pharmacist

Pharmacies in France work a bit like going to a general practitioner: you can go into one, tell them your ailments, and they give you medicine. There are plenty of medicines they can't give you without a prescription...but it can save you a good bit of money to go to them first to find out whether you need to go to the doctor.

My eye has been bothering me for a day or two, and today I finally saw in it what I'd expected: a stye. I've had them before, and I usually put a warmed teabag on it several times throughout the day until it goes away. (I read somewhere online that there's something healthy in the tea leaves that helps heal the stye.) This time, I decided to go see if the pharmacist had some handy-dandy drop I could use instead.

First, however, I would need to find the word for 'stye.' "That's easy," you think to yourself. "You just look up 'stye' in your dictionary and voila! You know the word." Not so fast, smarty pants. (Master Yoda, I'm looking at you.)

I did that, and both wordreference and Google Translate both gave me two words for the one word 'stye': orgelet and porcherie. In that second word, however, is the root word for 'pig,' (porc), and I suddenly realized: eek! Pig stye! I don't want to walk into the pharmacist and tell them, "I have a pig stye in my eye." Might be funny because of the rhyme in English (and the sense), but in French, eegads. That's a quick route to a culture shock moment in the pharmacy right there.

I looked up "orgelet" in Google images and sure enough it's the right word. A little shy, I walked up to the pharmacist and said, "I have an, um, orgelet in my eye. Is there a medicine I can put on it?" She nodded and explained that they have some drops they could give me, but if it didn't get better I'll need to go to the doctor.

She apparently didn't know about the tea bag trick. She also didn't appear to realize that her understanding my question, answering it, and treating me like I was 100% normal, (instead of the "oh no, a foreigner with a charming yet incomprehensible accent" attitude), without even batting an eye helped me take another step towards feeling adjusted here.

I got my drops and felt proud of learning a new word and side-stepping a culture shock moment in the pharmacy. We'll see if the drops work better than the tea bag.

Rice Taste Test

Something that is really common here in France is people on the street who try to stop pedestrians as they pass by either (a) to offer them something free, like a newspaper or a flyer or even a small sample gift, or (b) to try to convince them to sign up to support a humanitarian aide organization like Doctors Without Borders or (c) to conduct a survey. All three of these are incredibly common. In Paris, I used to love to sit in the second story of this one particular Starbucks, so I could watch the crossroads below...and all the various workers trying to stop pedestrians for whatever reason they were out there.

Even I've done it. In language school, our teacher would send us out to take surveys in order to practice language. In Paris, my boss sent me out with surveys. I've even been known to hand out a free thing or two. And I've certainly picked up my fair share of free stuff. (Once, during the Fete de la Musique, someone handed me a self-breathalizer test. Gee...thanks?)

As I was walking down the street today, I was stopped several times by a humanitarian aide group. Once, when living in Besancon, I was stopped by this group and talked with them for about an hour. I really like their work (giving food to poor children in Africa), but I explained to them that I've already decided to give my support to Compassion International for that. And usually, when the groups here in Marseille stop me, I explain the same thing. When the first one stopped me today, I explained that. When the second, third, and fourth stopped me, I explained that I'd already spoken with their colleague back down the road.

So when I breezed by the next group who said, "Excusez-moi, madame," I just said, "No, sorry," and kept walking. But as I passed by, I heard that they were giving a survey.

Surveys are a great way to practice language (cause who knows what you'll get to talk about, and thus, possibly learn new vocabulary), and a great way to just get in conversations with people. I turned around and said, "You're taking a survey? I'll answer."

"Great! Do you eat rice?" she said to me.

I took a mental double-take. Did she just ask me if I eat rice?

"Rice? Like...rice, rice?"

"Oui."

"Well, of course!" She went on to ask what brands to I buy, how do I cook my rice, what types of rice do I like, what other grains do I eat, and am I allergic to any of the following things...

It was by far the most bizarre survey I'd ever participated in. Then, when I said I wasn't allergic to any of those things, she asked if I would follow her for a taste test. I was out on a busy road and sort of looked around to see where the tables were with the rice samples. There were no tables.

She led the way into a building, and I followed her up an elevator. (The whole time thinking, this is so wierd. Is she going to kill me in the elevator? I've seen too many scary movies.) Up on the fourth floor, I follow her down a hallway, and into the testing room, where, sure enough... there were several booths set up and people were testing rice. (I wasn't supposed to take a picture of the rice, to keep the results of the survey secure...so this was all I could sneak between rice tastings.)

I ate four kinds of rice and gave my opinion about the taste, smell, color, texture, and stickiness of the rice. And I was a little disappointed, because... I didn't learn any new words. I understood every single question and was able to express myself clearly in response! I suppose I should be thrilled about that! But I always hope with surveys that I'll get challenged a little bit.

With this survey, all I got was a new, interesting experience and some not-very-good-rice. And a really good laugh about the whole thing. It dawned on me later that the rice survey people should hook up with Feed the Hungry humanitarian aide people and let the hungry answer the rice survey!

Traditions

One of the things I am learning is that as you grow up, there comes a time to create your own traditions. I think somewhere in the back of my mind this was catalogued as something couples do when they get married and start life together. I am not part of a couple, and thus, have no traditions to create. Au contraire!

I suppose I already have a few small traditions in my head for holidays.

• I like to eat Chinese food on Christmas Eve.
• I like to travel somewhere I've never been for my birthday.
• I have a go-to recipe for Green Bean Casserole that I use for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
• I refuse to wear red or pink on Valentine's Day, and like to cook a special meal for my single girlfriends on that day.
• I like to watch Luther on Halloween.

But that's about it. Hmmm....what to add to that?

Well, this year, after our big Thanksgiving meal that a bunch of us had together, we divied up the left-overs so that everyone had a little bit of everything that had been brought to the party. On a whim, I invited a bunch of friends over to watch all the Thanksgiving episodes of Friends while eating left-overs on Black Friday.

I enjoyed it so much! It felt like hanging out with my family on Black Friday, still in that stuffed stupor, laughing, talking, watching TV, just doing whatever. It felt right. I'm not a big Macy's Parade or football kind of person, but I always enjoy the fellowship time with family while they enjoy those things. With the girls I have here, laughing over Friends fit that mold perfectly.

I think I have a new Black Friday tradition.

Thanksgiving 2011

Traditionally on my blog, I have a Top 10 list of non-traditional things I am thankful for from the past year. Why non-traditional? Because I try my hardest to be thankful all year long for the traditional things like Jesus, grace, God's provision, family, friends, health, etc. This year, though, the list looks a little more traditional. Why?

I'm not gonna lie...this year has not been easy. And one of the things I sort of feel thankful for is that it's over. As I look back at the year, I think things like:

• I am thankful that the Chef's wife didn't die, and that God brought her through that terrible heart ordeal.
• I am thankful that my friends were all safe during the uprisings in Tunisia, and that even though I didn't understand why God had me leave when He did...I am glad now that He had me leave when He did. I probably would not have handled a revolution very well.
• The Radical Experiment was hard, and part of me feels like I didn't even do it to my upmost ability, but I am thankful for how it opened my eyes...to how greedy I am and how much I do not put Jesus first in my life as a I should.
• Language school was a dark and lonely period and I am thankful that I'm not there anymore.
• Living with the Wise family was awesome and challenging all at the same time, and I am thankful I got to experience that...but again, thankful that I'm not there anymore.
• There were some deep hurts this year that sent my soul down into the pit, and I'm still trying to figure out how to be thankful about that. I am thankful now, that it seems God is beginning, hopefully, to pull me out of it.
• The summer in Paris was unexpected, continued my homelessness for even a while longer, and that was yet another challenge. But I had fun, and am thankful that my relationship with Paris was restored, renewed, redeemed. I'm glad we're back in each other's good graces.

In the midst of all those things, though, there were so many great things to be thankful for!

10. Friends. I've always hoped and even prayed to have a good close girl friend. God's given me several. Joy. The Superhero's wife. The camelridingcowgirl. The Real McCoy's.

9. Having a HOME. After 27 months of being homeless, living out of a suitcase, having my stuff strewed across several continents, I finally have a place to call my own. I finally got everything in one place and unpacked. I finally started putting down some roots.

8. Master Yoda and Princess Leah's wedding. Yippee! I have a sister-in-law! I am so thankful that I got to go home and be there for the wedding.

7. It's been several years since I put this on the list, but SKYPE. I am so thankful for the internet and being able to stay connected with my close friends and family with webcam's and phone calls. It makes me far away seem not so far away.

6. The sunshine in Marseille. The warm weather in Marseille. MARSEILLE.

5. That I have a year in a furnished apartment so that I can take my time in furnishing my own place, and even just looking for my own place. I don't make decisions quickly. And the extra year helps not have to pay for everything all at once too. So thankful for all of that.

4. All the fun things I've gotten to do this year. 8-Course Meals, Chateaux, Giverny, Bastille Day, the Tour de France, Cinema in the Park, Chick-Fil-A, Arles, Swan Lake.

3. The Fly Lady. I really am thankful for her cleaning/organizing/motivational systems and how it helps me to get my house in order. There is peace that comes with knowing that my sink is shiny and there is this little joy that comes from that peace. I am thankful for all of that.

2. My kitchen. I began dreaming of my own kitchen when I was about 22 or so. And while I've had kitchens since then, I never could afford to buy good enough stuff for the kitchen to be able to cook in it the way I dreamt of. This year, that all changed. I have a big kitchen. I can afford to buy stuff for my kitchen. I have time to cook in the kitchen. I love my kitchen.

1. Grace, mercy, God's kindness and love. It got me through this year. It gives me hope that the next year will be better.

So...Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Know that I am truly thankful for each one of you and the gift of your friendship in my life! I hope that your Turkey day is wonderful, your fellowship with friends and family blessed, and that no matter what you're eating or where you're eating it, that you are thankful for God's wonderful grace, love, mercy, and provision in your life.

The Sick Box

Today's post is inspired by two past events and two ladies. The first event happened almost 12 years ago. The second one happened about one month ago. One of the ladies is real, the other proverbial. Sit back and recall with me.

On All Saint's Day, 1999, (yes, I meant to type 1999), I went to an All Saint's Day weekend retreat with some friends in Portugal. (It was that weekend when I stopped drinking milk in my coffee, because, well, there was no milk. But that's another story.) While a fun weekend, it was difficult, because I'd only been in Portugal a few months and was still working my way through learning that language. And I caught an e.coli infection.

Ugg.

It took me several weeks to get over that. On Thanksgiving Day, I was finally feeling better. However, one of my friends at the dinner party I attended that day had bronchitis. My weakened immune system wasn't prepared to fight bronchitis, and well... I caught bronchitis.

Ugg.

It turned into the worst case of bronchitis ever. I was physically incapable of exhaling without wheezing and coughing. (It was so bad I began searching "whooping cough symptoms" on the internet.) About a week before my Christmas vacation was scheduled to begin, I went to the doc and pretty much told him he had to make me better. I'd been sick for six weeks, and I was not going to miss my first Christmas vacation overseas (and my trip to Belgium and France) due to a pesky cough. He gave me some more intense meds and told me to stay out of the snow in Belgium and France.

However...I got caught in a snowfall one evening and there were no taxis to be found. Can anyone say "relapse?"

I spent the second half of my vacation with a high fever, the whooping cough, and feeling utterly miserable. I don't really remember much at all about my first time to Paris because my fever was so unbelievably high. I went to the doctor the minute I returned to Portugal and found out...I had pneumonia, and a 105ish fever. Eek.

When I pleaded and cried to not hospitalize me, but give me one more night in my own bed to break the fever, he agreed. He gave me stronger antibiotics and told me to come back the next day. I didn't want to be hospitalized because I was the only American I knew (at the time) in the country. Everyone had gone on vacation for the holiday, and well...the idea of being in the hospital, alone, and still not knowing the language well made me feel even worse than I already felt...which was like death.

My fever did break. However, I developed a fungal reaction to the antibiotics called thrush, (click the link if you want to be grossed out by the picture of exactly what my tongue looked like)...and well, the doctor was tired of seeing me at his office. He gave me more meds, and quarantined me for 10 days. No one in my apartment, and I could not leave. That was all fine and dandy, except that, since I'd been on vacation the week before, I had no food in the house. And my gas bottle was empty.

Enter small crisis. After several emails and phone calls, a kind stranger (who became a friend afterwards), bought me groceries and a gas bottle and left it all on my door step.

Fast forward 12 years to last month, when I got food poisoning. It came about a week after I'd read an article by The Fly Lady about making being sick a "day at the beach." The Fly Lady's article was about being prepared for sick kids, and how to make having sick kids a little bit more pleasant. I read it and thought, "I don't have kids." A week later, after that miserable night with my head in the toilet, I remembered that article and thought, "I could be more prepared to get sick."

I was lucky last month to have the Real Mrs. McCoy here to help scrape together some chicken soup from what I had in the pantry. I didn't have any Sprite, so we all drank Schweppes instead. She made a quick run to the store and picked up what we needed to eat the BRATS diet until our stomachs could handle more.

After that, I decided I wanted to be more prepared. I live by myself, and don't have someone (roommate, spouse, mom, etc) who can run to the store for me when I get sick...and who knows when that will happen? And while I have plenty of friends around who could help me, I can't help but recall that December of 1999 when everyone was out of the country.

Proverbs 31 says that that superhero of Christian women is "not afraid of snow for her household," (or sickness), and she laughs at the time to come (even sick days, I bet). I'm guessing that she had a crock pot and a deep freezer too. And because she did, she could make the Sick Box, and laugh at those winter colds to come in flu season in France.

The Sick Box is a shelf on my pantry that will remain untouched until the day that I get sick and need it... or Spring next year when I do some spring cleaning and replace it all with new items so that the expiration dates don't bring added sickness. In the Sick Box are: 2 large bottles of Sprite, 2 large boxes of multi-vitamin juice, applesauce, plain crackers, 2 boxes of tissues, and a full package of toilet paper. (Cause what if you ran out while you were sick? Do you really want to go to the store with the shivers and a sore throat just for some TP?)

And the part of the Sick Box not pictured: Chicken Soup in the freezer. Sore throat when I go to bed one night? Pull the Sick Box Chicken Soup from the freezer to the fridge. In the morning, throw it all in the crock pot, and voila! My crock pot becomes my nurse. Can you hear me laughing at the days to come?

Hahaha. Bring it winter in France!

P.S. If you have kids and want a copy of that "sick day at the beach" article, let me know and I'll email it to you.

P.P.S. Pantene, CSI, and the Artist: I made enough soup for each of our three apartments. You can pick it up the next time you come over.

Eggs Benedict

When I was 10 years old, my family and I were living in South Korea, and we (well, my parents) decided to go to Japan for spring break. I don't remember very much about that trip, but here's what I do remember:

• Flying space available on a non-commercial military flight. LOUD.
  
• Going up to Mount Fuji wearing shorts and being shocked to see snow in the spring.
• Cherry blossoms. Probably when my love for them began.
• Crowded, crowded, crowded.
  
• Being in love with our beautiful hotel, so much so that I didn't want to leave it. I still remember that the bedding was a gorgeous shade of yellow that made me feel like I was wrapped up in beams of sunlight.
• Eating Eggs Benedict for breakfast at the hotel.

I've always loved Eggs Benedict ever since. What's not to love? Bread: yum. Canadian bacon: yum. Eggs: yum. Creamy sauce to mop it all up in: yum.

Fast forward 8 billion years to two years ago. Like most of the rest of America, I watched Julie & Julia, and as someone who likes cooking, thought--I ought to try cooking Julia Child recipes. I mean, why not, right? I live in France! So last year, my parents gave me Mastering the Art of French Cooking as a birthday present, and sent me on my way back to France. Living in the hotel, however, intimidated me away from trying out Julia, and I didn't pick up the book until a month ago.

Last month, the Artist arrived in France and was staying with me while waiting for her apartment to become available. One night, we watched Julie & Julia, and we became inspired to inaugurate the cookbook by trying out Hollandaise sauce. Let me reprint what Julia had to say about Hollandaise sauce here:

"Hollandaise sauce is made of warmed egg yolks flavored with lemon juice into which butter is gradually incorporated to make a thick, yellow, creamy sauce. It is probably the most famous of all sauces, and is often the most dreaded, as the egg yolks can curdle and the sauce can turn. It is extremely easy and almost foolproof to make in the electric blender... But we feel it is of great importance that you learn how to make hollandaise by hand, for part of every good cook's general knowledge is a thorough familiarity with the vagaries of egg yolks under all conditions." (Pg. 79)

Well, I misread that paragraph last month. I read the "extremely easy and almost foolproof" and somehow missed the "in the electric blender" part. I, being a rule-follower, felt I needed to make it by hand first, since that what Julia said should be done. I whisked and whisked and whisked, and after probably 30 minutes (instead of less than 5) of whisking, and even following the "if your sauce doesn't thicken" instructions, gave up. The sauce never thickened, and it was evident it never was going to. Oh boy was I ever disappointed, frustrated, and downright mad.

The Artist and I ate one lousy dinner that night. The next night, I made a Rachel Ray recipe that was easy and foolproof and thought to myself, "I guess I am a Rachel Ray cook and not a Julia Child cook." However, I'd like to be both.

So I decided to try again today. Skipping that whole "by hand" nonsense, I went straight for the blender. And guess what? Julia was right. It was "extremely easy and almost foolproof." I did manage, as I always do, to make a disaster of my kitchen, getting butter sprayed everywhere. (Julia said, "You may need to protect yourself with a towel during this operation," and um, she was right.) It's no wonder that when Sue-Wee bought me a Christmas present back in 2007, she didn't buy me one apron, but two.

I got my English muffin ready and cooked up the "bacon." (France does not have yummy bacon like the US, but they have good enough substitutes that don't look like bacon but taste good.) I made the Hollandaise sauce, and had it ready. The last part was also new for me: poaching an egg. I've never poached an egg. And from the scene in the movie, I was a little nervous that I might mess it up. But I followed the instructions exactly, dropping the egg softly into the simmering water, and then immediately and gently pushing the white over the yolk. (You read that in Julia without seeing it done and think, "huh?," but in the process, it makes sense.) The egg whites looked all ghostly in the water, and just like in the movie, I stood over the pot enthralled with watching the eggs poach.

There I am staring at the water wondering if I am ruining my eggs like I had ruined my sauce the first time around last month. I scooped them out of the water after 4 minutes, followed the rest of the recipe, and assembled my Eggs Benedict! Here's the final product.

I was so proud of how it all looked...but would it taste good? It did! I was so happy! I did overcook one of the eggs, but the other one was perfect. 26.5 years after eating Eggs Benedict for the first time, I was able to make them myself. Thank you, Julia.