Living in Provence

Beauty Tips for Me

First of all don’t tell anyone you’re doing this.

Then every morning repeat the following:

Skip the shower, just use lemons where it’s necessary.

Swish your mouth with warm strong black tea for a good two minutes before expectorating.  Really, it’s better than brushing!

Squeeze any black heads that are appearing.  Squeeze them good and  hard girls.

Opt for the sugar- pass the antioxidants.

TV is your friend, gets lots of TV- stay away from that evil gym.

Promise to keep this up for as long as possible and voila!

I will look so much better than you.  And that’s my beauty tip!

In the Shower

Yeah, in the shower.  And I do mean standing in a tub type of shower.  In the shower I was looking out of the window.  Watching a shower.  I thought that was funny.  And I wanted to write about it.  But as I stood there with suds in my hair and a razor in my hand and blob of conditioning soap in my other, I realized it was not the best time to write a story about being in a shower watching a shower.  So I couldn't.  And I didn't.  And I thought and thought about all of the times a good story comes to me and I'm not able to write.  It kills me. 

Like really, when does a good story hit you when you have a couple hours to spare and you're sitting in front of your computer?  Exactly.  That's my point.  We writers and bloggers need to be prepared.  We need water proof paper with water proof pens. We need lots of flashlights with working batteries for those late nights. Heaven forbid I wake the house with an actual lightbulb!  We need dictaphones, too, for those long ... or short, car rides.  Oh I'll only go a couple of miles, think of an extraordinary story, swear to myself that I'll remember it, and then get out of my car only to never ever again recall what those thoughts were. 

Unless, one day I'm back in the car and hits me again.  That has happened.  Of course, followed by the short term memory loss syndrome I seem to suffer when trying to recall a story I've come up with while not anywhere near a computer or a pad of paper. So even though it might, just might come back to me, I’m in the same situation and can’t write it down, and therefore, yes, I forget it. Yeah, sometimes I get lucky and find time to pull over, or make some scratches of an outline on the back of receipt tape as I'm going down a grocery isle.  Things like that do happen.  But why can't I be more prepared?

Maybe because being prepared would hinder the moment.  What if I were to be prepared for the rest of my life and never again come up with a story?  That would be tragic.  No, I guess it's best that they come and go and entertain me.  And when luck and magic and timing are all working together, I get to create a story for all to enjoy.

Now about that story in the shower…I forgot it.

The Winning Lottery Ticket

I bought the winning lottery ticket!

Actually I knew it all along.  I had a hunch.  When I pick up Haven from school there is a Tobac across the street.  I know, not the best place to put a cancer stick store, but there it was, as always, but this time it looked different.  Seemed to glow, maybe it was the smoke coming out as the evening sun shone through it.  Whatever it was, it called me.  It was a beckoning of light.  I never play.  (You know that gamblers can get addicted and live in a state of delirium.) I had, though, been hearing through the grapevine that this was a biggy.  I had also, decided again not to play.  But - something shook that reasoning from my head, all those years of statistics - out the window. I just had to go in.  And deep down inside, I knew why.  I was going to by the winning lottery ticket.  I took a deep long breath of fresh air from across the street, ran over and in, tried to hold it as long as possible and then realized that the coughing lady working the store couldn’t understand me with my breath held like that.  So I exhaled and asked for a quick pick for the 27 that’s Twenty Seven Million.  YES I said MILLION euros.  27 million euros please thank you very much indeed.  Ticket.  And I got one in a flash, or maybe that was a cigarette lighter in my face.  Either way, I ran out, shaking my hair of the smoke and holding on tightly, oh ever so tightly, to my winning lottery ticket. But not so tight that my palm sweat would ruin it or my clenching fist would wrinkle it illegible. It would be still a few hours before it would be known to the world.  I tried to stay up late enough and see it on the tv, but amazingly I fell asleep. Must have been the adrenaline rush I had.  I dreamed for an eternity. I dreamed of how I’d spend the winning money.  Our money. Countless renditions. Would I fly out my family to us here, or would we buy that pink jet and fly out there?  Oh the planning went on to the wee hours of the night, till I actually did wake.  And there was the ticket.  My winning lottery ticket.  Still there.  Sitting peacefully on my nightstand.  In good shape. Waiting with me for the sun to rise. Ready to be transferred into TWENTY SEVEN MILLION EUROS.  Needless to say, I couldn’t go back to sleep.  I was too excited.  I knew it was true.  I waited till morning making more plans and more plans and more.   

And some more.

And then Chris woke up.  And because the whole deal is in French, and I had missed it on the tv the night before, he was the one who searched to find the winning numbers. Of course he enjoyed torturing me – insisting his coffee comes first.  Before becoming a millionaire?  I couldn’t eat a morsel.  He checked the numbers. I double checked.  He didn’t seem too surprised.  I was beside myself!!  He casually went about his business!  I couldn’t sit still!!  It was too much to take in.  The lottery people had actually made a mistake.  They got my numbers all wrong!  Every one of the winning numbers was wrong!  Does anyone out there know how to contact these people? We need to talk…..

I had plans. 

Lots of them…..

HONK

Honk is a cute word.  Honking is fun to say.  If I say I say Honking out loud and really drop my jaw and get a certain sound to come out, it makes my ears go weird as if I’m talking underwater.  I like to say Honking like that.  But I can’t go around saying Honking like that in public.  It does make ones face seem a bit disproportionate.  On top of enjoying the verb honk and its conjugations, I also enjoying being a honker. 

I like to honk.  I’ll honk to say hi.  I’ll honk to say watch out.  I’ll honk to say excuse me, can you see me here, just wanted to let you know that I’m actually here.  And of course I’ll honk to say GET LOST IDIOT, or something even nastier than that.  But the most important honk, and we all must agree here, abates accidents.  So why – Why on earth is there not a horn attached to all the seats of a car? 

I’m an avid campaigner for passenger horns.  Ok, I just started writing about it.  But for years I’ve been talking about it.  If nano-seconds matter, and they do, then sometimes by the time a passenger yells out….and sure you drivers are saying here that you know the road and you’re careful and all that and of course you are, but even you teachers don’t have real eyes in the backs of your heads, so by the time a passenger sees something that the driver didn’t or couldn’t and he or she yells, OH MY GOD, if they can even get those words out because maybe they’d be too scared to say anything, and if the driver looks over and registers that a giant truck is heading in their direction and the truck driver can’t see them so therefore the horn must be honked…it could be too late.  However, had the passenger been rightfully equipped with his or her own horn, the driver of the truck would have had time to swerve and miss them and the diver of the car could calming comment, maybe something like this, “Darling, good job there, I didn’t see that truck careening around the corner and luckily you did, bravo mate.”  I’m sure dialogue like that would become common and we’d all live longer happier lives.  No more arguing in the car, “oh why didn’t you honk when I screamed?” or more negative conversations of the sort. 

Also, how many times have you been sitting in the car watching the town go by and you spot a friend, you quickly say  to the driver, "hey there's Marge," and as you sit waiting to hear a honk and see Marge turn to you and wave, nothing happens, scenery passes and so does Marge, unaware that your paths had crossed.  How sad.  IF only you had had your passenger side horn. There'd be no more relying on the driver to say hello to your friends.  You would have control!

This would solve marital problems and lower insurance rates and increase the well being of mankind.  So I have to ask, why aren’t the car manufacturers doing this?  Surely I’m not the first to think of this idea.  But if so, are any of you readers out there helpful with the patenting laws?  Ha ha ha  We could go halvies and be rich (not to mention Alive and Happy due to our new passenger side horns!)

My New Love

I have a new love. I have to confess this. A new obsession really.  Oh sure I have a husband that I adore and a son I’d love to superglue to me, but this is …this is different.  His name is Earl.  Or rather My Name is Earl.  No, I’m Randy.  Now now,  not really, not in that way.  Not with Earl.  It’s my name, Randy.  So is Earl’s brother, which is always funny, they’re always chubby guys.  Did Gary Larson start that?  At least that’s the case in the states.  I have a Norwegian friend who claims that Randy is the most popular name for females of Norway.  I”d have never known that interesting fact.  But let’s talk about my new love.  I want the world to know.  I want to stand on my roof and shout it from the top of my lungs  (is that the right phrase?  Sounds funny.) (And actually I”d like to scream it off the top of a flat roof, mine is way too steep- scares me to imagine myself on it, I’d be screaming alright, but not about Earl, about somebody to get my stupid butt off of the slanty roof!!! If I were to fall we're talking major hospital bills, that is if not the coroners!  Gulp...)  Anyway I can’t get enough of Earl and the problem is I never know when I’m going to get it!!! 

Now people have told me in the past that when I’m excited it’s hard to follow me.  Can you tell that I’m excited?

You see, there is a new show on TV.  It’s new in France.  Not even that old in the states.  (I did a little internet searching just this morning and it seems it’s recently done very well with awards like First Episode Winner of blab la  yady yada.  And I couldn’t agree more)  The name of the show is My Name is Earl.  It has me in stitches!!!  (Have I mentioned that I grew up in TX?  Don’t know if that matters).  Now, I had a love with Scrubs.  Still do.  But we don’t see each other as often as I’d like.  And when we do, it’s all the old stuff again, nothing to exciting to me. The love is there, but the fizz is gone. And since my French stinks…(now how many emails am I going to get telling me that watching tv in a foreign language is a great way to learn.  I’ve heard it, doesn’t work, I have to ask questions. Ok?  Ok.)  my considerate husband will click around in the evenings for something to watch in English.  There’s not a huge variety. Mostly shows like Dallas and McGuyver.  Sadly I’m not kidding folks. However,  we did come upon My Name is Earl and it was love at first site.  Luckily he enjoys it, too.  Maybe he just likes watching me fall of the couch laughing and knee slapping myself so hard I have to wear a pillow!  (This is true, my Father’s cousin, Diane, actually made us all knee pillows one year because of our habit of knee slap laughing.  It’s a hereditary thing I suppose.  She understands.)  There’s a new spring in my step.  Smile permanently worn.  Life is great! 

Didn’t think it was going to get any better than Scrubs.  How lovely it is to be living over here, soaking in European culture, AND having the chance to see a great current American television series destined to be a classic favorite for years and generations to come, like My Name is Earl!  AKA around this house, My New Love.  Ha ha ha  Well all adjust, we’ll figure out the schedule, and the guys will plan around my twenty minutes a week mania.

Karma Exists

Karma Exists

Yes it does!  Karma does to exist.  I’m living proof.  Here’s the scoop.  I left a little message, went something like this:

Thanks for playing my favorite American Tunes on Thanksgiving.  I had been sad and was missing my family back home, when I hopped in the car and heard your  Thanksgiving special.  You guys really made me feel good and we all sang outloud and had our spirits lifted thanks to you.  Bla bla bla.   

And it was sincere and heartfelt AND OK, so I did want to hear my voice on the radio, too.  Who doesn’t?  When I did voice overs back in the states I’d practically crash my car everytime my ad was on.  I love it.  It’s fun.  But seriously, I called them just to give them some positive feedback.  I did think it was very sweet of them to consider Americans living over here.  I had never heard a station back home do anything like that all day on the air.  So I called, and left a message.  Not expecting anything back.  No need to leave a phone number or address, right?  Wrong!  Now here’s Karma at work folks.

I thought that good deed was over. Done.  What I experienced was a satisfying tingle as I hung up the phone.  That’s it.  UNTIL, the next morning I woke up, walked Haven up to school, came home and saw that I had a message.  Ooh.  Somebody called pretty early.  Gee I wonder what this is for…..it was my friend, who thankfully listens to Riviera Radio 24/7.  Her message stated that they had not only played my thanks on the air…  Yahoooo.  (But secretly I was upset that I missed it.)  but guess what?  They have a joke line where each week the best joke wins.  Get this….they thought that my little message of thanks was better than any of their jokes!  And I won!  So, I actually won a game I wasn’t even playing!  How cool is that?  I had to call them to give them my address because…oh yeah….I won NINETY Euros to spend at the Gallery Lafayette at the Cap 3000 mall in Nice.  What fun!!!!  All because I decided to take 5 minutes out of my day to call a company that well deserved a big fat thank you. 

Who are you going to thank today?  Thanksgiving should just be a yearly reminder for us to be thankful everyday of our lives.  Can we start a Karma day?  Maybe it would be celebrated by doing a good deed.  You could get off work for the day just to do a good deed.  People would want to a deed better than their neighbor’s deed.  Kid’s would compete in school for best deed idea.  Towns would want to out deed the other towns.  This could really catch on and imagine the positive consequences!  They’re infinite.

Hum, now should I call Riviera Radio to thank them for thanking me for thanking them for Thanksgiving?   I could use another 90…..  JUST KIDDING!!!!! Ha ha ha  (but I could.)

Happy Karma Day!!

A Brush With Fame

Living on the Riviera can sometimes feel like you've gone back 50 years, with the stores all closed on Sunday, during the week they close at 7pm, little separate markets for each of your dinner portions: the cheese store, the meat store, the bread store, etc. You get the picture. I'm not complaining, but it's different from back home. Then you get days like these, where I know I'm in the same year as the folks in Hollywood making all those block busters. Today I'm going to Cannes. (Of course, I mentioned Fame didn't I?) I'm going to Cannes to buy a book and have it signed. Ok, doesn't sound too thrilling yet, huh? By a Carol Drinkwater! Yes. That is exciting. She's an actress, and an author. She's written for TV shows and has four books out. I've read two of them. I like her. She seems really normal. I know, a famous normal person- it's an oxymoron. But today I'll see her with my own three eyes. (It's a joke, get it? I'm not normal so therefore I must be made for fame! ...ok, too much of a stretch, huh. sorry) Anyway, I'm going to meet her and give her a letter. Yeah, I really want to just take the big screenplay I've written and drop it SLAM right in front of her and say , "Have your people call my people." and walk away really cool dressed in all black complete with black shades. But it's overcast, and a bit rainy. So I think I'll be wearing yellow. I like to do that, add a bit of sunshine on days that especially need it. And NO, I don't think slamming down a screenplay infront of anyone you actually want a reply or anything that resembles a reply from, is a good idea. Except a reply that is made with one little middle finger...that might have happened. Ok, so that's out of the question. I will however be politely handing over a letter kindly begging her to read my screenplay that I would happily send her way.
Just think, you can all say, I read her blog back then, oh yeah, I knew her when, we were close, we were like this. Boy you're so lucky! ha ha, hey doesn't hurt to dream. Yes I'm exaggerating your reaction, just for a bit of humor. I just hope after my screenplay gets produced I'll still have the time to write to all the little people...Ok Ok, just kidding again. Of course I'll keep blogging! I love you guys! Now go out and have a great day- I am!!

Warnings Abundant

Yikes! I'm being bombarded with warnings. Actually I don't mind a bit. A handful are about this storm we're getting here. The winds kicked up again today, knocking over a plant. (I've been after my husband to help me inclose a good portion of the terrace- sooooon!) I love watching a storm coming. The wind is actually helping the leaves fall, making a beautiful patchwork of colors to warm the ground. Gotta love Mother Nature for that. (But not for making us eat and breath through the same tube, I have a big beef with that flaw in our system! Well, makes sense, I've had the heimlick manuver done to me three times- pretty scary stuff. No no, I wasn't pigging out- I was actually laughing each time. Oops) So anyway, the weather is changing here from the long Indian Summer we had to a mighty powerful chilly autumn season. And just in time. Thanksgiving is around the corner!

Which brings me to the other reason I've been bombarded with warnings. You see, we have been invited over to our friend's house for Thanksgiving dinner. They are French and Scottish. Last year we had them over and treated them to their very first proper American Thanksgiving dinner. They loved it. It was fun. We thanked. And so, being the good friends that they are, and the culinary lovers that they are, they thought it would be a fun challenge to reciprocate. They've even gone through the trouble of buying a book on how to make a proper thanksgiving meal. But much to my surprise, when I tell this story to friends and family back home, a plethora of warnings fly my way. Watch out- you better bring the turkey yourself, and silly jabs like that. Yes, all in jest, but warnings none the less. I don't mind. I'm sure it will be just as great to eat over there for Thanksgiving next Thursday than it it will be for me to watch this storm come in. Yeeahaw!!!

Now if only somebody could warn me that a billion dollars is in the mail coming my way and I have to start making my mind up, do I want to buy the Pink Jet or the Purple helicopter? hum...

ha ha just kidding. I"m very thankful for where we are in life, for life in general, the miracle of it all, for nature, for friends and family and all who and care enough to give me warnings. Thanks!!

Learning to Live French

Yeah, the other day I did a dumb thing. Living over here makes one miss the hard to get food.  We were really spoiled in Fort Lauderdale.  Just a walk down the street and we had ginger dressing salads with our sushi, and sometimes we'd even skip the sushi and pig out on the ginger dressing.  Well, we finally made some awesome ginger dressing over here- after three years!!!  and I went nuts, ravenously disgustingly nuts,  and had been eating it, more like drinking it, with every vegetable I could get my hands on.  Red cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, red cabbage, lettuce, cucumber, tomatoe, and more red cabbage. Did I mention the red cabbage? Each time the veggies were swimming in the dressing.  They weren't wading, weren't knee deep, weren't up to their little veggie belly buttons- they were over their heads swimming!  The dressing is made with more raw veggies: with raw onion, ketchup, tons of oil, blanched carrots, rice vinegar, (and some more but it's a secret and I'd have to kill you if I told you so I'll spare you the death) all blended together.  It really was awesome!!!  But.  Then. Then I paid for it.  I could hardly stand up and I was on the toilet for hours at a time.  I even had Chris drag out the old heater and plug it in to an extention cord near me because I couldn't move and I was getting chilly on the thrown.  Luckily the toilet in the living room faces the tv.  when the door is ajar.  So I insisted it remain that way and at least was mentally entertained when physically I was being so brutally challenged.  It's great when we can make something hard to find here that was so accessible in the states, but it's so not cool when I over do it and have to pay the price.  I must remember to live like a French lady, everything in moderation.  Especially raw veggies and ginger dressing.  Whew.  Hard lesson to learn!

Holidays come in the mail

Living in France is a trip- and I don't think it's just with us. I try to imagine how the locals see us. For example, last April we got our Christmas presents from my parents because one fine early December day when my mother sent my father to the post to "ship these boxes to Randy", he did just th at. My father shipped them. They sat at a dock for a few weeks till the boat was fully loaded, then they floated over the Atlantic and sat again, at a French port, and waited for a truck to come, then sat at the customs, and finally another truck, and then arrived at our home...in April. Needless to say, my child was the only one in April to be carrying around a talking Santa at the Super U. It wasn't strange enough the Santa spoke English, actually lots of the talking toys here do speak English I've found, but the fact that it was in April....APRIL. We didn't mind. We had Christmas again when the mail came….in April.

Much like now. November 12, 2006. We're having Halloween. Granted it hasn't been months passing, but a week or two, right. Yesterday we received another package from my mother. This time airmail. And in it was a very well built Superman costume- yes complete with bulging muscles and a large blinking “S” on the chest. Haven immediately put it on. Then I had to go to SuperU, our local grocery. The store would be closed in the afternoon and the entire following day. After all this is France, land of holidays. I have grown accustom to shopping for our daily needs so this shopping spree was a bit more urgent because I was not only shopping for lunch and dinner but also for the following day’s meals. I had to go. There was also no way I was going to get Haven out of his new costume. I would have had more luck getting myself into a size 5 pair of jeans! HA, and that’s far fetched to say the least. But I digress. And so, I took my chubby self, and my little fit superman, and walked out the door to the SuperU. Cars passed. And of course you know you will run into somebody if you look your worst right- it’s Murphy’s Law. Well double that if you’ve got a miniatures Superman tagging along behind you! It was really hilarious. And I haven’t learned yet how to say in French, “My mother just sent this to us and it’s really impossible for me to get him out of it so just for this day, in our house and where ever we go, it will be Halloween.” On top of that, Halloween isn’t even a much celebrated holiday here. They probably just think we’re nuts. So it’s also a good thing I can’t understand in French, “Oh that’s the boy who was carrying around a talking “Papa Noel” last April!! Look at him now…figures. Silly foreigners!”

Hey, when you live in another country, holidays don’t fall on the dates, they come in the mail.