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Home Again

This was our house the first time we looked at it. It actually looks the same as it did in the picture on the outside, except for our old Kia parked in front of it.

Kind of repeating a topic this time, but as this blog is intended to let whomever is interested in it to know about the experience of moving to France, it’s probably just the thing to do. I spent three months here (in this house) in the spring of 2022, and I moved here permanently in May of 2023. So I have actually lived in France for thirteen months now, and I do have some impressions.

First, it no longer seems at all odd. In fact, the way things happen here seems normal, and I’m not sure but that I’d need to do some adjusting if I were to move back to the US. Not that the US is bad, but it’s different. In France I am in the process of applying for a residence permit, which of course I’ll never need in the US. You ain’t seen bureaucracy until you’ve seen French bureaucracy! That said, they have a facility in the nearest sizeable town for the sole purpose of helping people find a way through the bureaucratic maze, and they were very nice, and very helpful, and I felt better when I left than I did when I went in. That, believe it or not, seems like a normal thing.

And the food really is better. Not just restaurant food, but food you make yourself. Europe doesn’t approve many additives in food, so the beef never had hormone treatments, nor antibiotics unless it was sick, and there is a lot less added sugar in, well, virtually everything, although sugary treats are quite easy to obtain, and not just weird Frenchie stuff, but Kit Kat bars, Snickers, Gummy Things, Nestles (naturally, as it’s a Swiss company,) plus pies and cakes and other dessert items. Even, occasionally, doughnuts that would sell in the US. Not all the time, but sometimes. But outside of the dessert aisles, the food is nutritious, and meats, in particular, taste better, and if you’re into veggies only (can be tougher in France) the legumes (vegetables) are extremely high in quality.

Streets and roads are not as wide as I was used to in Nevada. In fact, some country roads are just about wide enough for one car, and it’s not unusual for someone to have to pull into a side lane or entrance to a field to pass another vehicle. This is normal. Also, speeds are generally lower, although the Autoroutes (mostly toll roads) are beautifully maintained and have a speed limit of just above 80 mph. Every so often they catch somebody going 120 mph or so, but as enforcement is strict, that’s rare.

And I can speak some French. In my learning curve, I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can see how much I don’t know. This is discouraging, but also encouraging. Sometimes I even understand what someone is saying to me, and I’ve had a few conversations that, I think, actually worked. So there’s that.

I hear my supper calling, so I’m signing off. Be sure to tune in for the next thrilling installment!

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Happy Holidays

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The Metric System

Either you can’t see the label, or the numbers are upside-down. The manufacturer was obviously not thinking of photograpy!

That’s my tape measure. 8 meters is roughly 26-1/4 feet. I have it because I bought a barn door to install in an upstairs suite (in Las Vegas) and the instructions were only in centimeters (!). Converting makes for some really odd fractions, so I ordered that device from Amazon and used it to install the door. And, it was so much easier than fractional measurements that in all future home projects, I kept right on using my metric tape measure, which I brought with me to France in my luggage. Just landed (I hope) in Rotterdam are our household goods, which include some more tape measures with both scales on them. I haven’t rejected US Customary measure (not the same as Imperial, but similar) and even in France not everything is metric. For instance, socket wrench sockets come in 1/2, 1/4, and 1/8 drive. Yes, folks, your ratchet or breaker bar will be compatible with any sockets you buy here. My biggest project using centimeters was to build a base for a new shed. I followed the directions carefully and, boy howdy, the shed fit perfectly. No messing up how many eights in a half or that sort of thing. 235 is 235 (unspecified it always means centimeters) to use a quick example. So, yes, folks, metric is easier to use for construction.

And for distance, honestly, how far is a mile? Don’t give me any other measure to answer because that’s just putting off the inevitable. How long is a foot? How wide is an inch? What’s 3/8 inch plus 5/16th? It always gets messy. And I’m not saying that kilometers are superior to miles. But, honestly, it takes maybe a day or two driving using metric and you figure out how far a kilometer is the same way you figured out how far a mile it. You just know it. I can’t tell you how long a kilometer is without referring to another measure,* the same problem as I’d have with a mile. Honestly, it’s not worth worrying about. Ask a Canadian, you just do it.

Weight? Well, I still say that I weight 192. That’s 87 kilos, or kilograms, but somehow 87 doesn’t mean as much to me. But for buying stuff, half a kilo is a tad over a pound, so that’s how much butter I buy at once. I have a kitchen scale that does grams, and a bathroom scale that would give me kilos or stone if I set it to, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll no doubt flip my scale to kilos at some point, but I haven’t done it yet.

Volume is easier than you’d think. 5 ml to the teaspoon, and you can run that right up if you’re cooking. It varies some with larger amounts, but how much buttermilk are you putting in those biscuits anyway? The trouble in cooking is that in Europe everything is by weight, which some say is more precise, and they may be right, but cooking isn’t a precise art because one must allow for ambient temperature and humidity in many cases. I have standard US measuring cups and spoons, and a scale in grams, so I’m good either way.

The one thing that I am reluctant about, for some reason, is temperature. Fahrenheit, with narrower degrees, gives a closer look at the temperature. Mid-80s says more than Mid 20s, and I like that. I’m okay with hearing Celsius because I’ve lived with it long enough to get it, but, really, I prefer Fahrenheit for determining comfort levels. Pauvre moi, huh?

You might be interested to know that, as of 2021, about one-third of US manufacturers were fully metric, one-third were partially metric, and one-third used no metric measures. If you want to sell at export, you have to be, it’s as simple as that. Also things like lumber dimensions are metric even though they rarely say so on their labels. Sneaky, those decimals!

The truth about metric is that you’re most comfortable with what you’re most used to, and it takes very little time to get used to a different system of measurement. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me a bit. For building something, I highly recommend it. For driving, so long as your speedometer and the speed limit signs use the same system, who cares? For cooking, well, whatever works for you. Now I’m gonna take my 87 kilos and move on. Later, Gator!

*Well, I kind of can, because originally a meter was one ten-millionth of the distance between the equator and the north pole along a line passing through Paris, France. Okay, I had to use the size of the planet for a reference. Ignore me!

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France info

A Quick Note

No picture. Sorry.

We are having a major canicule, or heat wave. The predicted high today is 39.5 degrees (103 f). My studio is upstairs, and we have no AC (cooling) installed yet. It’s 10:30 am and already too hot up here. I am going to shut down my computer to protect it, and only turn it back on if I really need it, or maybe Friday, definitely Saturday. I’ll post my weird things about France thing then. Thanks for understanding!

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My French Connection

You must admit, this venue has legs!

I thought I’d devote a post to my familial connection to France. This, although my Grandfather, who lived in Paris for five years prior to leaving Le Havre for New York in 1891, was born in Germany. Specifically, the province of Alsace-Lorraine. If he had been born two years earlier he would have been born, as birth records today state, in Moselle. It seems that Louis Napoleon (Napoleon III, he called himself) was no genius. He declared war on Prussia, and the newly united German empire pretty much walked to Paris and occupied the place. Louis Napoleon had left town by then. Part of the peace treaty ending the war ceded Alsace and a chunk of Moselle to Germany. I had a couple of grand uncles (who I never met) who were born French, but grandpa was a German. When he was naturalized, he had to forswear allegiance to the Kaiser of Germany specifically. He did. He pretty much hated the Kaiser of Germany.

That is because, in 1886, his father, my great-grandfather, had been drafted into the German army and died, as grandpa said, “in the war.” I’m not sure what war, but there it is. He, his two older (French born) brothers, and a friend were in line to be drafted next. Instead, they hid under the straw of a farmer’s cart. The farmer drove next to the river, where they slipped out, waded across, and proceeded to walk to Paris. That was 1886. Grandpa arrived in Brooklyn in October of 1891, which means that he was there for the construction of the Eifel Tower, the Grand Exposition of 1889, and other notable events of La belle epoch. I have no idea what he actually did there, outside of learn to make glass, but I have notes for a book in which I combine the things I do know with an imagined set of adventures in Paris during those years. I figure if you couldn’t have an adventure from 1886 to 1891, you couldn’t have an adventure at all, so, as I said, I have notes. The actual subject of the book is, of course, Paris in La belle epoch. If you’re interested in writing at all, check out my writing blog, the link is in the header.

Grandpa was the last to leave for America. I’ve seen the single line of information written by the customs agent at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He travelled in steerage (deck A), had money in his pocket, a job lined up, and was a glassmaker. He made good stuff, for the Tiffin Glass company (it had various names over the years.) I have some Tiffin crystal, and maybe grandpa made it, maybe not. But, he did speak French at one time, his family was French (his grandfather was named Baltazard!) and now here I am bringing a little bit of him back home, so to speak. It’s kind of odd, really, when I consider that, in a real sense, in Europe, I am an aboriginal. I don’t know if grandpa would approve or not. Probably, he’d wonder why the Hell I moved here. I guess that would be his problem though, and not mine.

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Do French People Like Americans?

Odds are that you know what this is. It is the original, not the one on Las Vegas. Spring 2019 photo by the author.

Short answer: Yes.

Two part longer answer, first as people, then as a country.

More than once I have improved my immediate relationship with a French person by pointing out that I am, in fact, not British, but American. This is not a criticism of British people, but a natural result of the fact that the majority of tourists in France are British, which means that the overwhelming majority of idiot, impolite tourists one encounters are British. The British people I know personally are lovely, and French people will agree with that if you get them to look past the hundred years war years. There are no stereotypical prejudices against Americans that I’ve encountered, although I have met people who really did not appreciate that whole “freedom fries” nonsense twenty years or so ago. (Fries are Belgian in origin, not French at all, which is an indication of what ignorance prior to speaking up can do for you.) French people are very aware of how much American help meant for the outcome of World War II. The only real “complaint” I’ve read (not heard) was the wry comment that “When the Germans invaded, the men went into hiding. When the Americans come we have to hide the women!” Apparently, the liberating GIs were told that French women were desperate for love after the occupation, and also apparently, this was not entirely untrue. They were making love ‘everywhere’ according to accounts from the time.

As a country their attitude is more mixed. All of Europe has viewed the USA as the world leader in security and economic policy since the end of World War Two. NATO is an American invention, after all. America has been seen as providing security for Europe, and as a stable force for good at home. In the past couple of decades, however, this image has suffered greatly. First there was the reaction in the USA to France refusing to back the second gulf war. Freedom Fries? Zut Alors! It didn’t help when it turned out that Saddam had, in fact, no weapons of mass destruction more deadly than his ego. And Europe saw what they interpreted as a bungled effort to resolve remaining issues from that war, including infrastructure repair and installation of a decent government in Iraq.

And then we elected Donald Trump as President. What had been seen as a bastion of security and stability suddenly seemed to fall apart. It would be difficult to overestimate how much damage that administration did to the image of the United States in Europe, including of course France. Well, President Trump said that Europe should handle their own defense, and they are moving to do just that. The talk amongst governments is that Europe is going to have to mind its own house from now own. There is talk of a stronger Union, of a common military, that sort of thing. I recently read that 15% of French citizens trust the US to guide France in dealing with other dations. Twenty years ago a solid majority trusted us. This is not a political column. I’m just reporting, so please no political comments. I’ll just delete them. This is really how France is thinking these days. But the good news is that French people genuinely like, and are grateful to, Americans. France is our oldest ally after all, so that seems well and proper.

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Home Again

This grows in my back yard

I left home on May 9th 2023, and arrived home on May 10th, 2023. I left Paradise Nevada, and arrived in Lizant, Vienne. Different climate, different culture, and I’m lucky my French finally caught hold of my brain, because that’s what they speak around these parts. Faithful readers, both of you (and I’m not kidding) noticed that I’ve been pretty lazy with this blog. I may be about to change that. I’m thinking of making this into a blog about moving to France at 73 years old, the mistakes I’ve made, the good decisions, too. I also may re-activate (start posting to again) my YouTube channel called “A Grumpy American Moves to France.” Along the same thematic lines. You can comment to let me know what you think of those ideas if you want. If you’ve never commented before I have to approve your comments, but once I approve one, you’re free to comment whenever you wish.

That’s this post. All news, not so entertaining. But useful, right? Until next time, my friends!

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HAPPY HAPPY

Our Tree from 2001, in Centennial Colorado. It featured AOL discs painted in festive colors, plus the lights, and on this occasion, a generous helping of new snow!

It’s time for the Holiday Happys, and here’s mine! I hope that whatever holiday you are celebrating brings you joy and peace and love and all that good stuff! If you’re away from home, I hope it’s at grandma’s! Bon Noel a tout le monde, and I’ll see you next year!

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But Wait! There’s More!

Is this what I’ve been doing?

Those cats are no longer with us. The big one on the bottom tied the world record for cat toes, according to a vet tech. Twenty-seven toes. He looked like several cats glued together, and he had a lovely personality. But, no, that’s not what I’ve been doing.

I have gotten back into playing music. In fact, over the weekend, I performed at a neighborhood party, my first performance of any kind in years. I had a bit of an epiphany while staying in France last Spring, and developed a new and deeper understanding of authenticity. My own especially. I wrote a post about it that you can read over on my writing blog, should you be so inclined. The link is above, to the right. Just click it. Go on, it works. Ahem. Sorry about that. When I was in my teens and twenties, I really wanted to be a folk singer hero. You know, the next Bob Dylan. Of course, Dylan is a heck of a poet, and I’m not, but who’s counting, right? My first song was “Sounds of Silence” from Simon and Garfunkle. Amazingly, my dad’s guitar and my brother’s old record player were both in tune. One string at a time, I plunked it out. Imagine my surprise some years later when, upon checking the sheet music, I discovered that I had it just right! Some people would say it was meant to be. I just say I was lucky. But, I didn’t do much with that talent (I am okay on guitar, no Clapton, but okay) nor with my writing for a few decades. That is a shame, for me. But now, I’m back, folks!

So I practice my music every day. I have a YouTube channel, which shall go nameless for now because there’s nothing on it but a bit of filler, where I will be posting songs as I get good at them, either for the first time, or again. I’ll post when the first videos are up. I also write every day. Not necessarily my current novel project, but stuff, lots of stuff. Blog posts? Yes, even blog posts. And my current project is close to being drafted. (Autocomplete wanted “finished.” A lot autocomplete knows!) This book will sell, because I’m tired of practicing. I’ll post how that’s done as well, either here or on my writing blog, maybe on both. Also, we continue to prepare to move to France. I actually miss France, although it’s difficult to find Fritos ™ there.

There. Two posts, one story. But, also be sure to keep reading the stuff from OddGodfrey. She’s a good writer, and a sailor, and currently in Brazil.

Later!

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What Am I Doing?

Took this meself, I did. (You do know what this is, right?)

Last week I told you where I am. Now here is what I’ve been up to. I mean, Blog is short for weB LOG, after all, so here’s a log entry for ya.

I spent three months (almost) in our house in Lizant, France last Spring. Pretty much all Spring, although I was able to enjoy (?) the first of this year’s now famous heat waves. The house retains heat (or cool) pretty well, so with fans, it was okay. Not always great, but okay, so long as I opened all the windows at night and closed them by nine or ten in the morning. There is more I’d like to get done to the place before we move in, from simply painting to overseeing some major remodeling of an old Fish & Chips shop, and a lot of stuff in between. But that will have to wait until the family that has rented it, who are shopping for a house of their own, find and close the deal on said house of their own. It takes about four months to buy a house in France and I don’t think that they have an offer in yet.

This is complicated by the fact that ma bonne mere, mother-in-law, has announced her intention to move back to Phoenix to live with a different daughter this fall. Since her living in our house in Henderson is the reason we couldn’t just up and move to France, well, now we can just up and move to France. Once our house is available, that is. The upside is that they are adding money to our French bank account on a monthly basis. It’s hard to be too upset about that, as our remodeling will probably cost, um rough estimate: a lot!

While I was in France I demonstrated the general rule that breaking any sort of writers’ block may be best accomplished by doing something completely different. I think living in a foreign country (less foreign seeming than it used to be) qualifies. I started a new project, unlike anything I’ve ever done before. I like it. I feel like I must write it, and, amazingly, I don’t really care what the world may think of it. It’s all authentic, all real, and, by cracky, a fantasy. So, I’ve been cranking out a chapter a day (most days) since early June. I’m sure it sucks bigly, which is why I’m looking forward to revising and revising, which probably will start soon. You may see this one for sale yet, folks. As I said, I like it.

And, after years, I’m finally able to do regular runs again. Last week a total of 2.9 blistering miles, with a pace as fast as 12:44. The one-legged man with a bad ankle is having trouble keeping up! And I read, and I watch TV (mostly streamed,) and, well, heck, this is getting long. I’ll post again, maybe even with something funny. ‘Cause I am doing more than I’ve revealed so far. Have a great week, people! Au revoir!