I never before thought it possible to fall in love with a piece of luggage. But alas, it has happened to me. I am smitten.
Last weekend I brought utter joy into my life with the purchase of a top-of-the-line Samsonite Spinner Silhouette 11 26" Expandable in blue (on sale at Macy's, bien sur!). I figured that since I am literally living out of a suitcase, I might as well go all the way and get a great one, right? This bag was worth every penny. Sturdy, lightweight, and zero effort required - with four nifty little wheels, the thing practically moves itself. Even the American Airlines agent at the check-in counter was impressed. She felt bad putting stickers on it. I gave her my blessing.
Meanwhile, I have found a nice little home to store this fab new purchase and empty out its heavy contents for awhile. For this next round of Parisian living - aka Paris Part Deux - I (somehow) landed myself a gorgeous, spacious and impossibly affordable apartment in Le Marais, my dream neighborhood in Paris, in the center of just about everything - at least, everything that is adorably "Paris" to me. And as of this very moment, I am on vacation. Yes, a real vacation. Today marks the start of 5 entire weeks of doing nothing at all. 5 weeks blissfully free of airplane travel. 5 weeks of not coming within 10 feet of an airport. 5 weeks free of stress, void of any complications whatsoever. Other than daily French classes, there is absolutely nothing on my agenda. I have convinced myself that after an insane year, and after the surprising success of having passed the FSOA, I deserve this. Thus I offer sincere apologies in advance to my loyal readers, but my goal for the next 5 weeks is to be totally boring.
Although knowing me - and as many of you know me - something nutty will happen. So consider keeping your expectations low, but stay tuned nonetheless. Notice I haven't ruled out travel by train...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Don't Rain On My Parade!
Somewhere around 5pm Central Time this past Tuesday, while in an utter state of shock over what was happening, I was congratulated, and advised that it was time to make an addition to my "List of Future Career Options": Foreign Service Officer.
Well, it seems I have passed the FSOA. One of only two candidates to do so, out of 11 total to test with me that day. Now how on earth did this happen?
I tribute the unexpected (but very welcome!) success to a few things: the FSOA Yahoo Group and its wealth of excellent prep materials - particularly the files and documents; friends and family who let me whine or obsess or simply just left me alone to my studies; my sister's awesome editing skills and unwavering assurance that "You will pass - like, duh."
But most of all, I have to thank that mighty little TV show "Glee" for providing the day's soundtrack. My morning-of, listen to while getting dressed and while en route to the testing site, fire-up, go-get-em song was this: Lea Michele's fab rendition of "Don't Rain On My Parade!". Yes, I realize this may make me the biggest nerd ever, but who cares. It worked! I went in feeling good, feeling ready, and feeling as though nothing - not even bad news at the end of the day - would get me down. In the center of the table of the candidate waiting room was a tourist brochure for Chicago, with the words etched across "Feel Magnificent". All day long, at every opportunity, I meditated on that brochure and its excellent bit of advice. I knew that no matter what the outcome, I was giving it my all. I couldn't ask for anything more from myself. I felt magnificent all day long, knowing that nobody, not even State, was gonna rain on my parade.
And so I offer this advice for future FSOA test-takers: on the morning of the test, relax. Breathe. Do some yoga if you need to. Whatever it takes to kill the nerves and go in feeling calm. Be yourself, feel magnificent. And trust that whatever the outcome, life absolutely will go on.
But perhaps most importantly, find your own theme song for the day to get you fired up. You are welcome to borrow mine. Or if it's too nerdy for you, check out Shakira's World Cup song "Waka Waka":
"If you fall, get up, eh eh
When you fall, get up, eh eh"
I couldn't have sung it better myself.
Well, it seems I have passed the FSOA. One of only two candidates to do so, out of 11 total to test with me that day. Now how on earth did this happen?
I tribute the unexpected (but very welcome!) success to a few things: the FSOA Yahoo Group and its wealth of excellent prep materials - particularly the files and documents; friends and family who let me whine or obsess or simply just left me alone to my studies; my sister's awesome editing skills and unwavering assurance that "You will pass - like, duh."
But most of all, I have to thank that mighty little TV show "Glee" for providing the day's soundtrack. My morning-of, listen to while getting dressed and while en route to the testing site, fire-up, go-get-em song was this: Lea Michele's fab rendition of "Don't Rain On My Parade!". Yes, I realize this may make me the biggest nerd ever, but who cares. It worked! I went in feeling good, feeling ready, and feeling as though nothing - not even bad news at the end of the day - would get me down. In the center of the table of the candidate waiting room was a tourist brochure for Chicago, with the words etched across "Feel Magnificent". All day long, at every opportunity, I meditated on that brochure and its excellent bit of advice. I knew that no matter what the outcome, I was giving it my all. I couldn't ask for anything more from myself. I felt magnificent all day long, knowing that nobody, not even State, was gonna rain on my parade.
And so I offer this advice for future FSOA test-takers: on the morning of the test, relax. Breathe. Do some yoga if you need to. Whatever it takes to kill the nerves and go in feeling calm. Be yourself, feel magnificent. And trust that whatever the outcome, life absolutely will go on.
But perhaps most importantly, find your own theme song for the day to get you fired up. You are welcome to borrow mine. Or if it's too nerdy for you, check out Shakira's World Cup song "Waka Waka":
"If you fall, get up, eh eh
When you fall, get up, eh eh"
I couldn't have sung it better myself.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Four Questions
I have to give a shout-out here to what could be the funniest blog and writer I have come across on the internet. Laughing-out-loud 100% guaranteed: http://factsoptional.blogspot.com/
Now, on to my four questions. Number one: Why is this night different from...
Just kidding.
My questions relate not to Passover, but to French culture. Truth be told, I have many, many questions about the culture I am currently living among. But in the interest of time, I have narrowed them down to four general topics that have left me dumbfounded. They are as follows:
1. The French Shower. What’s the deal? Why is it the norm here in Paris to install a shower hose, but without a wall mount to hold the hose in place? Or a shower curtain, for that matter? Don’t the French get how much water and time can be saved by a hands-free shower? Maybe I am all too heavily influenced by my "Conserve Water! California is facing a drought!" childhood, but France is a progressive society, all about saving the Earth and whatnot. Imagine the efficiency that would result if I were able to wash my hair with two hands, rather than one? Shave my legs without having to hold the shower hose with one hand and try to balance with the other? And imagine the amount of conservation if there was a shower curtain that kept water inside the shower, rather than letting it spew all over the bathroom floor?
2. Pharmacies. In all fairness I have never thoroughly read The New Testament (go figure) but I have to wonder if somewhere along the way, God granted France the right to perfect health on Sundays. This would be the only sensible explanation to the fact that on Sundays, along with everything else (from grocery stores to my beloved Sephora) pharmacies are closed for business. How can this be? Are the French fortunate enough to never get sick on a Sunday? Do sneezing allergy attacks, stomach flues and splitting migraine headaches only occur Monday through Saturday?
3. Sex. (Now that got your attention, didn’t it?) We have all heard the stereotype about the French man who has more than one – sometimes many – lovers simultaneously, whether he is married, single or otherwise. (And let's remember that stereotypes exists for a reason.) So here’s what I want to know: do French women put up with such nonsense because they are totally OK with it? Or do they feel they have no choice, as though it’s some cultural norm they simply need to accept? Or do French women and wives have many lovers of their own? (Which would at least be fair!) Or none of the above?
And my fourth question goes to back to trying to understand why and how French children are so well behaved - see previous post. (Additional note on this topic: last night I attended a dinner party in a beautiful apartment in the 19th. The hosts have a three-month-old baby. They put her down to sleep around 9 PM. When I left the party, somewhere around 2 AM, she was still sleeping. Apparently she sleeps through the night, already at 3 months. More proof that French children are perfect.)
Without a doubt, my four questions require further investigation. Which is why I will be returning to Paris after the FSOA in Chicago. Inquiring minds want to know, and there is research to be done! Check back here as answers unfold to these pressing questions.
Now, on to my four questions. Number one: Why is this night different from...
Just kidding.
My questions relate not to Passover, but to French culture. Truth be told, I have many, many questions about the culture I am currently living among. But in the interest of time, I have narrowed them down to four general topics that have left me dumbfounded. They are as follows:
1. The French Shower. What’s the deal? Why is it the norm here in Paris to install a shower hose, but without a wall mount to hold the hose in place? Or a shower curtain, for that matter? Don’t the French get how much water and time can be saved by a hands-free shower? Maybe I am all too heavily influenced by my "Conserve Water! California is facing a drought!" childhood, but France is a progressive society, all about saving the Earth and whatnot. Imagine the efficiency that would result if I were able to wash my hair with two hands, rather than one? Shave my legs without having to hold the shower hose with one hand and try to balance with the other? And imagine the amount of conservation if there was a shower curtain that kept water inside the shower, rather than letting it spew all over the bathroom floor?
2. Pharmacies. In all fairness I have never thoroughly read The New Testament (go figure) but I have to wonder if somewhere along the way, God granted France the right to perfect health on Sundays. This would be the only sensible explanation to the fact that on Sundays, along with everything else (from grocery stores to my beloved Sephora) pharmacies are closed for business. How can this be? Are the French fortunate enough to never get sick on a Sunday? Do sneezing allergy attacks, stomach flues and splitting migraine headaches only occur Monday through Saturday?
3. Sex. (Now that got your attention, didn’t it?) We have all heard the stereotype about the French man who has more than one – sometimes many – lovers simultaneously, whether he is married, single or otherwise. (And let's remember that stereotypes exists for a reason.) So here’s what I want to know: do French women put up with such nonsense because they are totally OK with it? Or do they feel they have no choice, as though it’s some cultural norm they simply need to accept? Or do French women and wives have many lovers of their own? (Which would at least be fair!) Or none of the above?
And my fourth question goes to back to trying to understand why and how French children are so well behaved - see previous post. (Additional note on this topic: last night I attended a dinner party in a beautiful apartment in the 19th. The hosts have a three-month-old baby. They put her down to sleep around 9 PM. When I left the party, somewhere around 2 AM, she was still sleeping. Apparently she sleeps through the night, already at 3 months. More proof that French children are perfect.)
Without a doubt, my four questions require further investigation. Which is why I will be returning to Paris after the FSOA in Chicago. Inquiring minds want to know, and there is research to be done! Check back here as answers unfold to these pressing questions.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
12 days and counting
Chocolate éclairs, croissants, goat and feta and camembert cheeses, nutella banana crepes, pommes frites, full-fat cappuccinos, red and white and rose wine... Paris is a bad place to be on a diet. But we know this already.
Paris is an even worse place to be when the mind is expected to be elsewhere. Something – or someone – beautiful, charming, fascinating, or utterly quaint can literally be discovered around any corner here. Paris, for lovers of all things lovely – from a bustling sidewalk café, to an artisan fragrance shop, to an outdoor marketplace, to an empty wooden bench resting peacefully by the River Seine – is easily one of the most distracting cities in the world.
This is particularly true today, June 3, when a frustratingly lazy sun has finally decided to join us here on this side of the Atlantic. Along with it comes the sundresses, sandals, sunburns, tourists, sidewalk musicians, outdoor festivals, picnics in the park, cold beers and beautiful barely-dressed people... basically, every reason in the world to be outside. So what is the problem, you ask? Simply put: my mind is expected to be somewhere else.
In a matter of days – 12, to be exact (but who's counting?) – I will be in the midst of what just might be the toughest experience of my life thus far. The Foreign Service Oral Assessment. Oh dear.
Until I (much too recently) joined the Yahoo Group dedicated to the FSOA and began to comb through the thousands of files and messages posted there, I admittedly had not yet comprehended the significance of this experience, or the astounding fact that I was invited to the assessment in the first place, or the extent of painstaking preparation I will need to put into this. As I come to terms with all of this nerve-wracking reality, I realize that I have a total of 12 days to comb through my entire life history: to recall and reflect upon 36 years of one life; 20 years of work and educational experiences; a decade of travel adventures and the many places I have been, seen and lived; people I have known, those who have known me. As I try to remain calm, I can’t help but hear a clock ticking oh so loudly, practically screaming in my ear, warning me that I had better disregard Paris and the hot summer sun and invitations to picnic on the edge of the Canal. There is work to be done, after all!
I hear that darn clock – it would be impossible not to. But it's so pretty out today, and I find myself wandering aimlessly and lovingly through the district of Le Marais, window shopping, people watching, mentally perusing the long list of all the many things I want to do here. I round a corner, and there before me is the splendid Hotel de Ville, rising up against a deep blue sky. I remember there is a photography exhibit here that I am curious to see. It's on my list. As I approach the entrance, I take a deep breath and think to myself: could another hour of procrastination really hurt?
Paris is an even worse place to be when the mind is expected to be elsewhere. Something – or someone – beautiful, charming, fascinating, or utterly quaint can literally be discovered around any corner here. Paris, for lovers of all things lovely – from a bustling sidewalk café, to an artisan fragrance shop, to an outdoor marketplace, to an empty wooden bench resting peacefully by the River Seine – is easily one of the most distracting cities in the world.
This is particularly true today, June 3, when a frustratingly lazy sun has finally decided to join us here on this side of the Atlantic. Along with it comes the sundresses, sandals, sunburns, tourists, sidewalk musicians, outdoor festivals, picnics in the park, cold beers and beautiful barely-dressed people... basically, every reason in the world to be outside. So what is the problem, you ask? Simply put: my mind is expected to be somewhere else.
In a matter of days – 12, to be exact (but who's counting?) – I will be in the midst of what just might be the toughest experience of my life thus far. The Foreign Service Oral Assessment. Oh dear.
Until I (much too recently) joined the Yahoo Group dedicated to the FSOA and began to comb through the thousands of files and messages posted there, I admittedly had not yet comprehended the significance of this experience, or the astounding fact that I was invited to the assessment in the first place, or the extent of painstaking preparation I will need to put into this. As I come to terms with all of this nerve-wracking reality, I realize that I have a total of 12 days to comb through my entire life history: to recall and reflect upon 36 years of one life; 20 years of work and educational experiences; a decade of travel adventures and the many places I have been, seen and lived; people I have known, those who have known me. As I try to remain calm, I can’t help but hear a clock ticking oh so loudly, practically screaming in my ear, warning me that I had better disregard Paris and the hot summer sun and invitations to picnic on the edge of the Canal. There is work to be done, after all!
I hear that darn clock – it would be impossible not to. But it's so pretty out today, and I find myself wandering aimlessly and lovingly through the district of Le Marais, window shopping, people watching, mentally perusing the long list of all the many things I want to do here. I round a corner, and there before me is the splendid Hotel de Ville, rising up against a deep blue sky. I remember there is a photography exhibit here that I am curious to see. It's on my list. As I approach the entrance, I take a deep breath and think to myself: could another hour of procrastination really hurt?
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