I'm looking forward to posting a bit about this past week and what's been going on in my little life in Paris, and I will soon. But, for the moment, my mind is so preoccupied with thinking about the season finale of Lost, which will air in the US on Sunday.

I'm not usually nutty about stuff like this, but for some reason, I feel kind of emotional about the finale. I saw an interview that "Kate" (Evangeline Lilly) did on The View a while back, and I think she really made a great point - that Lost is a show that focuses on so many universally-emotional and personally-important questions that other shows in our generation don't address.  And, I totally agree.  It's had its shaky moments and outlandish plots, but something about it just sings to me - and to so many others, too, it seems.  It could be that watching someone else's interpretation of the ultimate answer to the ultimate question - why are we here? - just seriously entertains me.  But, I think in some ways, it's a little more than that, and something about "getting to the end" and "finding out what happens" helps me move along in my own little journey to find the answers I'm looking for.  And, well, I think that's worth getting a little emotional over.

Paris is full of creativity, creative people, inspiring scenes.  So many friends I have made here have inspired me to feed my creative passions that I never really knew I was starving.  From knitting, to cooking, to sewing to blogging, I have found so many outlets to express my point of view and creativity that I might never have otherwise known about.  My knitting group has the cream of the crop of creative types in Paris, and I'm truly inspired by them every time we meet up.  I met my friend Abby at Tricothé and she is seriously creative - she turns all kinds of objects into beauitful treasures, and she seems to find magic in the most everyday of items.  She has a perfectly charming blog where she posts her thoughts and musings on the very simply lovely life she leads in the city of lights.  This post is inspired from the Marché Photo of the Week series on her blog, and hopefully it will become a regular on this blog, too. 

This past week brought the devastating news of the passing of one of my dearest aunts, an incredible, bold and loving soul who taught me that many of life's grey days could be brightened with a funny joke and a hearty laugh.  After a few days of grieving and reflection in hibernation, I finally left the apartment to live again.  The sun came out this morning, and we took to the marché to embrace its warmth and energy. 

My Aunt Clare loved to cook, and she introduced me to so many new flavors and recipes in my younger years that inspire my culinary endeavors to this day.  My first manicotti, my first split pea soup - she was a whiz in the kitchen who influenced my palate and fed my creativity at the stove.  Her spirit of life and her passion for sharing delicious food with the ones she loved will always resonate in my heart and in my kitchen. 

Since Gui and I travel at least once a year to the States, we try to track the movements of the Euro against the US Dollar so we can capitalize on the best exchange rates for our trips.  We've usually been pretty good about exchanging our currencies at really favorable rates, which lets us spend a bit more when we're visiting and going out in The Land of Plenty.  Back in November, we talked about exchanging our fancy European money while it was towering over the dollar at about $1.50.  But my overly-confident optimism kept our Euros in the bank and our American bank account stagnant.  Since then, it's all been literally downhill for the Euro, and we'll likely be forced to deal with a relatively even, Dollar-for-Euro exchange rate while we're visiting next month.  Which sucks.

While I'm clearly no expert on the subject, it wouldn't surprise me to see the Euro pan out flat against the Dollar in the coming months.  With all the uncertainties surrounding the Greek and Spanish economies (and the French one, for that matter), the Euro seems to be holding less and less water these days.  Luckily for Gui and I, we don't have a problem subsisting on 79¢ tacos and $1 Lone Star.  America The Great, indeed!

Today sucked for no good reason.  It was rainy.  It was cold.  It was Monday.  And everyone seemed to be wearing their grumpy pants.  Karen Carpenter is familiar with this rainy Monday phenomenon, it seems, and somehow, hearing her sing it kind of makes me feel a little bit better.

So, here's to sunny Tuesday...

Since last Friday, the sun has been shining as bright as it ever has in Paris, and Gui and I have been taking full advantage of the beautiful weather all weekend.  Our friend, Juliet had the foresight to plan a barbecue on the most perfect day we’ve had all year, around which we gladly planned our weekend.  Our first stop on Saturday was at my favorite local marché (on Avenue Président Wilson).  Although Gui doesn’t agree with me, it totally beats out the Avenue Versailles marché which is held on Sundays and is about 15 minutes closer to our apartment.  It’s not like it’s really a “better” marché, but to me, it just seems more authentic…more “French.”  And, besides being fooled by fake farm-fresh eggs, the products just seem nicer – and the people do, too.

One of the many perks (and quite possibly the best one) of my job includes priority access to many vente privées throughout the year.  A vente privée literally translates to "private sale," but saying it in English doesn't quite give off the same meaning as when I hear it in French.  I'd compare it more to a special few days when guests can shop a brand name at their leisure and pay for their items at a very generous employee discount.  Sometimes, this means that the sale will be full of past seasons' collections or off-colored and blemished items, but that is not usually the norm.

Last year, I attended my first vente privée in Paris, and it was such an adrenaline rush. Usually, a huge line forms before the sale begins, and depending on the brand's popularity, it could continue throughout the day.  Most sales are held in spaces or warehouses specifically designed and purposed for such, which means they are professionally staffed with people who run these kinds of private sales for a living.  Nothing but wallets and cell phones are permitted on the selling floor, so a mandatory coat and purse check is the first place to visit after showing your invitation and ID to the security guard at the door (once you've finally made it there).  Then, you grab a massive plastic bag and fill it with as many shoes, purses, wallets, and clothes your heart desires before finally sorting it out into "keep" and "sadly leave behind" piles.

There are no dressing rooms to try your clothes on, so oftentimes, you'll catch a glimpse at someone's undies or see people posing with their hangered treasures in front of the few mirrors available.  Most bags, shoes and haute couture items are placed on shelved walls guarded by staff members who stand in front of the shelves and behind a table of display bags.  You can usually grab what you want from the table, but if you notice something sparkling on the shelf, you can simply ask for it from the staff member.

As much as it all sounds like such a privileged and organized event, it can get pretty ugly.  I went to a sale a few weeks ago on its third day of opening (vente privées can last anywhere from one to five or more days), and could not believe the chaos that normally respectable ladies were causing ... for fabric bags, no less!  The staff can only stock so much on display, so the rest is left hidden "backstage" in cardboard boxes that don't give any indication as to what's in them. For deal-desperate shoppers, this means that as the day goes on, there will be more stock with possibly newer items available for sale, so, someone's dream bag could be trapped in a cardboard box and not come out until the end of the sale.  And, that's what these "ladies" were hoping would happen for them if they waited and pushed long enough.  Despite there being limits on how many bags and shoes can be purchased, these women had gobs of handbags well over the limit and had invited every friend, neighbor and cousin to come with them so they could amass the most stock possible.  I could barely stand the insanity, so I left empty-handed from that sale and swore to never again wait to come when the invitation is extended beyond the employees of the company (it's usually open to anyone with an invite after the first day).

There are a few "big" brands that everyone looks forward to but are really strict on the amounts of items you can buy and whether or not you can bring a guest (you usually can't for the popular brands).  And, as for the prices, well, they're quite good considering the brand that's being sold and the retail prices that the items would normally sell for.  But, these are expensive goods we're talking about here, so it's kind of just relative.

My job has definitely fed my desire for fancy purses and logoed shoes that I never really had so much before. Women at my office are often dressed head to toe in recognizable designer threads, so walking around in my Zara dress, H&M heels and Gap handbag doesn't turn many heads for the right reason.  And, mostly I'm OK with that.  I never buy everything I want, but I often rationalize my rare vente privée splurges by reminding myself that every Parisienne needs a nice handbag (or four) and that I won't have access to the sales once my work contract is up.  Now, rationalizing my need for three more handbags to Gui, well that's another story, and obviously, he's no longer sensitive to my so-called "need" to fit in.

So, my spontaneous trip back to the good ol' US of A seems to have pushed me back to the side of sanity, which is precisely what I had hoped it would do for me. I can't even explain how much of a difference it's made to my nerves to have a few consecutive days of real life family - drama and all - back in my life. Even pulling an all-nighter on the plane-ride back and going to work for 5 hours just after couldn't bring me back to the funk I was feeling before I left.

Besides soaking up the giggles and snuggles and cries and shouts of my loveable nephews, I also got a little "I-just-need-to-be-an-American-and-do-American-things" in while I was visiting my sister in midwest America. It ain't Texas, but I still managed to find a delicious plate of enchiladas, tacos, rice and beans to grub on pretty much as soon as my plane slid onto the tarmac. I made a few Target runs, browsed through the local Banana Republic, J.Crew and Nordstrom stores, grabbed a couple of Starbucks cinnamon dolce lattes (which haven't made it onto the Paris menus, yet), stopped by Michael's and an LYS to check out the yarn scene, ran through the Taco Bell drive-thru, and had breakfast and three lunches at Chick-fil-a. Oh, how I missed thee, Land of Liberty!

I'll admit that it felt a little awkward being back at first - it's so much easier to be somewhere that doesn't require a bit of reflection about how to phrase a sentence before speaking. But, the awkwardness didn't last long and I fell back in the sadle in no time. The weather was pretty cooperative, save for the couple of nights of violent winds and rain that kept me awake. Luckily, it cleared up before Easter and I got to watch the boys hunt for eggs and fly kites.

I even got in a bear surgery while I was there. It's tradition for my dad to give his grandsons a bear when they're born, and they've become the boys' doudous, which of course means they take quite a beating after the years of being dragged around everywhere. Well, my nearly 6-year-old nephew asked me if I could stitch-up his bear (of the same age) in a couple of places because he'd had a bit of wear-and-tear. So, Dr. Auntie held a surgery and made Mr. Bear (as he's named) as good as new! I could tell my nephew was so honestly happy afterwards to see his Mr. Bear all fixed up.  But, he had no idea how truly grateful I was to be there to do that for him.  My last-minute planning couldn't have been better timed!

I'm not really a last minute kind of gal.  I like to plan ahead, make reservations, shop around and do everything I can to ensure that whatever is happening is done so in the smoothest and most efficient way possible.  I don't mind saying yes to a last-minute invitation or hop off to a movie or dinner on the spur of the moment, but when making plans to, say, host a party or take a trip, quick decisions make me nervous and wary. 

This weekend, though, I caught the most wretchedly dire homesickness that I've ever had in my life and nothing could coax me out of my funk.  Gui and I grabbed happy hour and a movie on Friday evening (Alice in Wonderland in 3D - beautiful film but the jury's still out on the storyline and oddly-added solo dance), and then had some Tex-Mex for dinner, but I could barely eat from being so run amok with thoughts about my family and how much I miss them.  Everything reminded me of my nephews and my far-away friends - now mostly parents of little ones - that I don't see often enough.  I felt awful and tried doing things to distract myself, but nothing worked to deter my thoughts. 

On Sunday, we had lunch with Gui's dad and sister at the same place we took my mom to on her first and only trip to Paris, and I struggled to keep it together.  It was hard to stay composed when they asked how I was doing, how my job was going, and how my family and new nephews where getting along - normal stuff.  My heart was totally longing to be near them, to hold my new nephews and run around like a kid with the others.  Gui and I talked about our trip in June and all the things we'll do while we're there, all the people we'll see.  But, in doing this, we realized how little time we'll actually have to see everyone we want to see.  Between Kansas and Austin and Dallas and the traveling between each, two weeks is just not enough time. 

Monday morning rolled around and I was in such a foul mood.  I dragged myself out of bed, threw on the first black dress I saw, tights and boots, trudged slowly to the bus without much care about the time or my tardiness and then, with immense difficulty bonjoured everyone in the office and sputtered off a lie when they asked how I was doing.  I just couldn't be bothered with the day; with anything. How did it get to this?

Despite my lingering Monday workload, all I could think of was leaving - leaving the office, leaving Paris, leaving France.  Just leaving.  I was so incredibly sad and felt so incredibly guilty about being so sad.  All I could think of was going home - being home with my parents, sister, brothers, nephews, friends and their babies.  I just wanted to be near them all. 

So, as an act of desperation, I checked flights to Texas and flights to Kansas and realized that I could visit my sister (and brother-in-law and 3 out of 4 of my nephews) in Kansas by cashing in on our frequent-flyer miles and paying about half the normal price of a ticket.  Originally, I thought about going for a long weekend - taking advantage of the Monday holiday, I could leave Friday night and come back on Sunday, but Gui thought that was just too crazy.  He reminded me that I work in France, and when my contract is all said and done, I still won't have used up all of my paid vacation and RTT (days accumulated each month that act like paid vacation).  So, I guiltily asked my boss if he would mind my taking a few extra days off - even though I'd already taken two days the week before, and he was totally cool with it.  More than cool.  He waved his hand and told me to take whatever days I need to and not to worry about any asking in advance.  I was elated.


I don't know if this last-minute trip will make everything better or if I'll return with a renewed feeling of positivity and happiness, but I know it will do me some good.  Just knowing that I'm leaving on Thursday morning to finally meet my new nephew and see my loved ones has already made such a difference in my mind.  I've never planned a transatlantic flight so spontaneously before, and this time it's not about how smoothly everything goes or how efficiently my time is spent.  Once I see those toothy grins and hear those hearty grunts from the sweetest boys in all the world, my thoughts will be light-years away from the trifles of time and economics.