If I Have Kids

All my friends are having kids. Not a day goes by without someone posting a picture of their newborn or featuring a cute video of their drooling bambino. Countless friends change their Facebook profile pictures to feature an ultrasound photo and couples galore announce that they’re expecting.
I remember about eight years ago when my friends started getting married and I felt the peer pressure to get hitched too. Eight years ago it was Spouse Season and now Baby Season has rolled around.  Although I am not currently married and don’t foresee having children in the near future, I can feel a little bit of the Baby Season pressure and it’s entertaining to imagine what my children would be like.

I remember a specific day about a year and a half ago when I was sitting in my counselor’s office, trying to explain what I was feeling.

“I’m no spring chicken anymore! By the time I settle down again, get married, and even think about having kids, I’ll be 45 years old and my ovaries will be dried-up old raisins by then!”

Pam, the counselor, just shook her head and laughed. I had told her of the pressure I’d been feeling to have kids because that’s ‘what people my age do’. I explained I felt afraid that time was slipping past me and I’d end up all alone with a Hope Chest full of stuff I couldn’t use. Pam just listened like a good counselor does and then asked a question I’ve been thinking about ever since:
“Who’s timeline are you on? Who told you that you have to have kids before you’re 30?!”

The question left me stumped. Why was I organizing my life around what other people were doing? Why not decide for myself if and when and how to (fill in the blank: get married, have kids, pursue another career…etc.)?

It was Pam’s question of “Who’s timeline are you on?” that reinforced my idea to go to Europe and paint for a while. I wanted to do something adventurous and it fit on MY timeline.

So,  I don’t have any kids right now, but spending this past month babysitting my cousin’s children and seeing how character (habits, mannerisms) is shaped at such an early age HAS made me think about what kind of kids I would probably have.

They say that kids imitate what they see their parents doing and I know that my children would be very skilled at the ‘monkey see-monkey do’ routine, so I figure that half of their behavior would come from observing their animated, somewhat spastic mother.

The other night, my cousin’s four year old son, Alasdair, kept getting in trouble for being a goof at the dinner table, he was loud and kept trying to get everyone’s attention. I was highly annoyed until I realized that I had spent each meal doing the same thing. Alasdair kept getting in trouble for being obnoxious, but he was only copying what he saw me do. I’d tell a story and use extra large hand gestures and too-loud sound effects, and then Alasdair would do the same…but he’d get scolded for it. Elodie, the baby, has developed a very loud cackling laugh after I arrived Ger and I have the sneaking suspicion that her piercing laugh is an imitation of mine.

In continuing with my theory, the other half of my child’s character/personality/presence would be purely genetic. Considering the fact that, physically speaking, I was abnormally small for my age and I didn’t exceed fifty pounds until sixth grade, I wince when I imagine what my children would look like. Also, my mother’s side of the family is genetically skilled (cough) at making puns and silly plays on words and also knowing a lot of trivial information and then feeling obligated to share it with people. My dad’s side of the family is famous for holding grudges, stubbornness, being incredibly creative, and having a highly competitive spirit.

After considering this 50% observation, 50% genetics theory, I’ve concluded the following about my future kids:

1.       My kids would be pint-sized little hyper spazoids who struggle with impulse and volume control.

2.       They will be know-it-alls and compete with each other for attention.

3.       I will not have the energy or patience to keep up with them or their puns.

The above facts are almost enough for me to give up the whole ‘having kids’ idea for good. But then again, maybe the world needs a few more pint-sized pun pipsqueaks…

Spicing Things Up

I am perpetually cold. I'm just a cold person. It's like my body's thermostat broke a long time ago and I've been suffering from it ever since. My fingers and toes act like cold-blooded creatures- taking on the temperature of their surroundings. I am always cold and always trying to find ways to warm up.

I think that part of my state of constant chilliness is genetic. As a child, I remember sitting on the couch with my family, looking up at Mom and seeing her with one hand covering her nose. 

"What are you doing, Mom?"

"My nose is cold."
"Oh."

Mom's nose got chilly in the house, and now my nose (finger, ankle, toe, shin, kneecap) gets cold in the house- it's genetic. 

The other part of my perpetual chilliness it the fact that I have something called Raynaud's Disease. Raynaud's Disease is a very common condition (mostly among women) and it basically means that your fingers and toes go numb and white whenever they think it's cold outside. When my fingers feel something cold, they go completely numb for about 15 minutes and turn a sickly whiteish color. Don't feel too sorry for me though. As the Mayo Clinic website says, Raynaud's is more of an nuisance than anything else. And what a nuisance it is.

Last winter, I bought lettuce at the store, brought it home, washed the lettuce in cold water and then began chopping it  for salad. Because my fingers felt the cold water and overreacted by shutting down all circulation, my digits went numb. Since this happens a lot, I didn't think anything of it.
I mean to say, I didn't thinking anything of it until I felt the knife blade hit my finger.
It didn't hurt. It didn't even bleed. I looked at my finger to see that I had sliced a considerable chunk from it while chopping my salad and because of the Raynaud nuisance, I didn't feel a thing, until the circulation kicked back in which allowed me plenty of time to scream and gather a pile of Band-aids for when it started bleeding.

So, my being cold is half genetic and half medical nuisance. I'm telling you this because a few nights ago, the temperature here dropped and I sat in the restaurant area of my cousin's establishment like a little frozen popsicle. My feet's circulation had shut off and I let out a whimper as I shivered.

Seeing my distress, my cousin Gretchen said, "You know, my dad always said that sprinkling cayenne pepper on your socks will warm up your feet."

"Really?" I stood up and went to the kitchen and unabashedly spooned the red powdery cayenne onto my socks, put my shoes back on, and re-entered the restaurant area.

"Is it working?" Gretchen asked.

I thought about it. I didn't really feel anything yet- maybe a slight tingling, maybe. "Not yet," I said.

Minutes passed.

Gretchen looked up from her book, "How are your feet?"

I tried to concentrate and think about my feet. "Nope, nothing yet."

Disappointed that they cayenne wasn't working well, I took my shoes off and tapped my socks in an attempt to fluff the spice around. My feet smelled like a spice cupboard. I was really hoping that my feet would instantly warm-up and that I'd maybe found a remedy for my chronic nuisance. With each minute that passed, my frustration with the spicy socks grew. I tried to imagine that it was working in hopes that the power of suggestion would help. Even with my imaginings, nothing worked, my little toes remained frozen.

After about an hour of waiting for my feet to warm up, I shrugged and concluded that the whole 'cayenne on your socks' thing was a bunch of poppycock- a spice scam.

I voiced my thoughts and it wasn't long after I'd abandoned the experiment that Gretchen said that she wanted to give it a try. She walked out of the restaurant, through the swinging kitchen door, and disappeared for a few seconds. Emerging from the kitchen with the spice jar in her hand, she walked towards me with a look of amusement on her face.

"Viv! That wasn't cayenne you sprinkled on your socks..that was paprika." 

Accident Prone

The day after I arrived in Ger, I played with a kitten and hurt my back.
The next day, I slammed my thumb in the door.
Two days later, I accidentally fell off of the sidewalk.
About three days after that, I walked through the dining room, started singing along to music that was playing, stumbled over a step going into the bathroom and almost knocked my teeth out on a doorknob.

But yesterday I took things to a whole new level.

Gretchen, Dan, Alasdair, Elodie, and I piled into the car to go to the grocery store in Flers. After a 20 minute drive, we pulled into the parking garage and we started getting out of the car.
It was then that I somehow tripped myself getting out, slammed my leg into Alasdair's booster seat, and fell out of the car. I put my hand out to catch myself on the car door, but that caused the door to swing open with incredible force and collide with the neighboring car- resulting in a stranger's dinged car and  bruise on my thigh.   After turning around to see what all the loud noise and commotion was about, Gretchen gave me a look of like 'WHO ARE YOU!?!?'. I sulked into the grocery store and tried not to fall flat on my face.

I've never been described as 'graceful' but this incident yesterday was freaky-bad, like I've been taking some nasty drugs or drinking myself silly. These past few weeks have been like a scene from The Three Stooges. Since it's just me being a spaz, however, I guess it's 'The One Stooge'.

Being scientifically minded, I tried to find a common thread among all the incidents that have resulted in injury or near-injury. Unfortunately, I can't seem to find any common denominator except, well,  me.

Someone do me a favor and cover me in bubble wrap. I need it.

Home Away from Home

I don't have much new artistic news to share these days as I have been very busy helping Gretchen and Dan in the restaurant. Between watching the kids, washing dishes, folding some laundry, and eating delicious food, there isn't much time to put paint on canvas... but I am enjoying every minute here with my American cousin and her family. The best part about being with family is that you share a common history, a common blood, a common ancestry that you can't find anywhere else. There's no awkward introductions, no explanations necessary- just you being you and them being them. I love that. 

Gretchen and Dan have been very gracious in letting me invade their home for the month. I've been trying to not get in their way so that I don't wear out my welcome.  Of course, my efforts to stay out of their way are in vain as I find myself walking into the kitchen and sticking my face in whatever Gretchen is cooking and saying "OOOOH! What's that!? I want some!!! I'll eat it! Oh goodie!" After bothering Gretchen, I walk out to the bar where Dan is and I say "Hey man, what's happening!? Can you make me a Roy Rogers?!"

So, basically, I'm a mooch and I drink beverages designed for 8 year olds, but whatever... I'm down with it. I do help when I can and I find myself trying to keep the one year old Elodie busy. She reminds me a lot of myself- moody, easily distracted, and always eating but I guess she can't help it, it's genetic.  

Speaking of genetic, although Gretchen and I haven't seen each other in 20 years, we have found that we share a lot of things in common- they are as follows:

We both:

-have one parent that is related to the other person's parent

- like to purchase a scratch ticket every now and then

- have excellent taste in clothing

-were jealous of each other's toys when we were little.

-appreciate a good pun

-laugh when we are tired

-burst into spontaneous dance for no apparent reason

-enjoy doing crafts if the product is easy yet impressive and completed in a half hour.

-like antiques and all things vintage

-look great in hats

Aside from sharing common interests and laughing at stuff, I find that Gretchen's company is just what I need at this point in my trip... I was feeling a little homesick but having a cousin to visit makes me feel like, in a way, I am home.

Here are some photos from the past few weeks:

Double Rainbow in Montcabrier

Who could resist?

Sorbet and Espresso in the shadow of Abbey St. Martin in Moissac

V is for Vivster

Cloister Archade at the Abbey

Sunday morning at the Cloister.

On the train, headed to Paris. 

There's a hot air balloon in the distance.

Before painting Gretchen and Dan's bathroom.

After!

Hi, Alasdair.

Good night, Alasdair.

Elodie being charming.

A Taste of Soup

You know, I was thinking: People name their children after herbs and spices like Basil and Rosemary and Ginger, so why doesn't anyone name their kid 'Bay Leaf'?
I'll tell you why.
Because no one appreciates the bay leaf, that's why.
Who here can really tell us what good a bay leaf does?  Yes, we are told that it is an important ingredient in soups and stews, but how many of us can say why? I'm not sure about you, but I have never tasted a culinary dish and said "Ooooh, I love the bay leaf in this." Have you?

I dare you to tell me what a bay leaf tastes like. Go ahead, describe it. You can't. You can't describe it, can you?
I thought so.

Well, I was just like you once. I used to only put a bay leaf in my cooking because a recipe told me to. I just put it in there and the took it out before I served my soup or stew or whatever else you put a whole bay leaf in. In the back of my mind, I knew that ingesting a whole bay leaf would be bad for me, but I never really bothered wondering why... and never EVER did I wonder 'hmmmm, why am I putting this in here in the first place?"

I used to think that the bay leaf was like tossing salt over your shoulder when you knock the salt-shaker over.... you just do it as some sort of ritualistic, superstitious gesture and I  never bothered thinking more about it.

I never bothered asking 'why' until this week.

My cousin, Gretchen, is a fabulous cook here in Ger. She and her husband run their own restaurant in this small Normandy town. Gretchen makes fabulous dishes every single day and continues to wow us, and the restaurant patrons with her culinary prowess. A couple of days ago, Gretchen was talking about a soup that she had simmering on the stove and made an off-hand comment about using a bay leaf.

Mentioning the herb opened the proverbial can of worms. We started questioning why it is such an important ingredient if none of  us can identify the taste. We discussed that everyone has a bay leaf in their spice cupboard, but we only use it when we are told- and we hardly ever question the recipe. We scoffed at the bay leaf- we poked fun at it, we were like bullies at the playground giving a kid a wedgie just because he looked different than we did.

Gretchen and I decided to get to know the bay leaf a little more intimately. We wanted to know what a straight-up dose of bay leaf tasted like so that we could identify the flavor. But how do you taste it without eating it- and we all know that you're not supposed to pop a bay leaf in your mouth like a Dorito and crunch it up...you just don't do that sort of thing.

So, Gretchen did the next best thing- she made bay leaf tea- a hot cup of water with several large bay leaves steeping inside. We let our brew steep for quite some time before grabbing the mug.

First came the sniff-test.
It smelled herby- a nondescript herb smell that none of us could identify.

Then came the taste test.
I tasted it first. I sipped in a small amount of bay leaf tea and the flavor was like......soup.

Bay leaves taste like soup, like chicken soup, like minestrone soup, like chowder and stew and all sorts of delicious hot liquidy meals.

Actually, let me backtrack a step. Bay leaves don't taste like soup, soups taste soup-ey BECAUSE they have bay leaves in it.
Seriously.
Without the bay leaf, a vegetable soup would just be a pot of watery potatoes and carrots, but WITH the bay leaf, that watery mess of garden veggies becomes SOUP.

Are you listening to this? Are you getting what I am saying?! This is important, people. The bay leaf is important! How dare we underestimate its power. Little did we know that the very thing we poked fun at has serious potential. Little did we know that our bullying of the bay leaf was like bullying a young Bill Gates- we regretted it once we found out that it has power.

If you doubt me, go ahead, make yourself some bay leaf tea and see for yourself. I bet you'll take a sip and think 'hmmm...this is kind of like soup...without chunks."

I keep a  running list of potential baby names for when I decide to have children of my own. I have old fashioned names, I have funky names, and I have traditional family names - one name I do not have on my list is Bay Leaf, but after this week's mind-blowing experience, I'm seriously thinking about adding it.

Barbara

Five days ago, I met a woman that changed my life.

She arrived by train in the afternoon. It was hot and the air in the hostel was thick with steam from the pot of pasta boiling on the stove.  I had my back turned to the door when the woman arrived and I turned around to find her wearing clothes too large for her skinny frame and a loose scarf concealing her bald head.

Barbara.

After a quick introduction of shaking hands and saying 'bonjour' she excused herself from the hostel kitchen like she was in a hurry and disappeared for a couple of hours. 

It wasn't until later in the evening that I saw her again. She smiled and as she sat down to join me at my picnic table, she reached up to make sure her head scarf was tucked in. 

It was like we'd been friends for years. We chatted about art and laughed at my terrible French skills. She asked me about my artwork and my trip and my plans. I filled her in with the details of my trip, where I've been and where I am headed next. 

Then I asked her about her story.

Barbara has cancer.

She undergoes chemotherapy three weeks a month.

And she spends the last week every month walking sections of the Way of Saint James- 500 miles to Santiago.

She doesn't know how long she has left to live, so she chooses to do the things she loves while she can still do them.

She told me her story and, when she was finished, I sat speechless for a few seconds. It was obvious that I was sitting across the table from an incredible human being- a woman of strength and courage. I stared at Barbara for a few more seconds, fighting the urge to cry.

This woman was beautiful, shining from the inside-out. Forget the fact that she didn't have any hair, she had to draw on her eyebrows, and was obviously very thin- Barbara's courageous spirit and inspirational attitude made her one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. She shone with a radiance that cancer can't beat- a   happy spirit that cannot be oppressed by sickness.

If I was dying with cancer and horribly ill three weeks a month, I don't think I'd have the motivation to hike ten miles a day; I don't think I'd have the motivation to change out of my pajamas. Barbara's attitude reminded me that happiness is a choice, not just something that we might stumble upon if we are lucky, or rich enough or pretty enough or successful enough. It is very clear that Barbara chooses every day to be happy and find good things to look forward to.

After hearing Barbara talk about her struggle with illness, her sleepless nights,  her grueling bouts of treatment, and her adventures in between, I realized that I'd found a true, real live hero. No, she doesn't play for a major sports team, she doesn't sing at the Grammy's, and she's never published a New York Times Bestseller- but she is a real hero- battling in a fierce competition with cancer, singing her own song along the way, and telling her story of facing life's biggest challenges with strength and determination.

This woman changed me, and for that I am truly grateful.
Thank you, Barbara, wherever you are.

Ger. Ger. Ger.

Apparently there are like, 15 towns with the named 'Ger' here in France because all of my friends keep saying, "Are you in the southwestern part of France?" or "Are you southeast?" or "North by northwest?" Well, it turns out that I am in the northern one- but which norther one, well....that's still to be determined. =)

My fabulous cousin Gretchen and her family picked me up at the train station last night at 10pm and drove me to their home. Gretchen and her English husband Dan own a restaurant/bar and live above it in the living quarters. Gretchen and Dan have two beautiful children, a son that is four years old and a fifteen month old daughter- who is just starting to walk and loves to carry a bucket around like a purse.

It looks like my month here will be a balance of getting some art finished and also helping out around the place. After spending this last month getting spoiled by Sally, I am ready to maybe fold some laundry or make a bed- whatever it is, I want to do some work! Gah! I never thought I'd say it, but I am ready to toil! I'm at the point of this trip where I really want to help others, contribute, and serve. I've been a one-way valve long enough; I'm anxious be an outlet now.

My day today was spent getting acquainted with everyone and getting settled in. Tomorrow, Gretchen and I head to the hardware store to buy some paintbrushes so I can start painting their bathroom (not a mural, just white).

I am more than happy to report to you all that I did not have one single mishap with my luggage yesterday- no bleeding ankles, no embarrassing moments, nothing. Everything went strangely smooth- I kept waiting for the handle to pop off my bags, or my backpack to split open or my water bottle to try to commit suicide... but...nothing happened. This alone is something to celebrate. Me? Travel like a normal tourist? It happened, finally.

I have tons more to say and will write more in the morning.
Thanks to everyone for their prayers, support, and love!