NEW YEAR'S EVE - DAY 6

The chateau is hoppin’ with friends, friends’ kids, family, French, English, some Spanish, a dog and FB’s mother cooking up a storm. His father has made rabbit paté from a hare he ran off the road a few days before. Apparently he has a habit of accidentally running down hares and turning them into roadkill paté. He has also made an astounding fois gras that my own liver will remember for the next two weeks.
There is a local chef down the road who will be roasting a suckling pig for our dinner.

Night falls and a group of us head out to make the trek to the next town to see the pig being roasted. I decided that since the thought of walking through the pitch black to see a pig on a spit terrifies me, I must go immediately. We set off down the road into the darkness, my hand clutching the flashlight and hoping there are no Viking ghosts. Wait, were there ever actually Vikings in France? My American public school history education seems to be getting more questionable by the moment. Just concentrate on your ruined Jay-Z Roc-a-Fella sneakers covered in manure making one step at a time. Somehow on dark walks through the night, I always end up walking alone between two groups. “Always”…. as in the two times in my life I have trekked through the pitch black, one being the previous night and the other being the current one. The first group sprints ahead and the group behind me lags, leaving me alone in the darkness. I decide not to turn my flashlight on and face the fear. I think of Newark and other tough places I have never walked through but because I am from New Jersey I can claim them as my roots.

I walk by a herd of cows, which in the dark I couldn’t see and which make loud grunting noises as I go by, releasing the terror flood within me. I am suddenly convinced it is a pack of wolves and Camden and Newark aside, I am their next meal. My breath stops, the tears come and I fumble for the flashlight. As I shine my feeble light into the field, I see that in darkness, even cows look menacing. EVIL, EVIL COWS! I run to catch up to the first group. We make it to the town and I realize I am very good at looking cool while silently vomiting inside. This is a skill that will come in handy time and time again.

There are two pigs kissing on a stake, in one end, out the other over an open fire. The chef slowly spins them, their skin turning a golden pinkish brown and I am mesmerized and also grateful that I am not a vegetarian. I think briefly of their short life and how awful the word “dead suckling pig” is before I decide that smoking another cigarette instead and looking cool would be a better idea as my imagination has already gone to “dead suckling babies”. I shake it off and on our walk back through the night, I feel a little lost in a foreign world and suddenly I want my Mom more than ever. I kiss 2007 goodbye and wonder what 2008 will bring my way. And least I can say and the……et le……et le….et le…..et la…..et la…..eh eh eh

YOUR HIGHNESS - DAY 5

Our bed is small and has an ornamented frame. I lay in bed an extra two hours, my feet touching the bottom frame and my head propped against the back. I close my eyes and pretend I am both short and I am the Queen of France. I hear the cows outside mooing and a bell ringing and I decree the farmer shall be rewarded for such a fine bounty. I will give him four virgins and a flock of geese. Oh when oh when will those blasted servants come with my morning coffee? My eyes are watering and I am overcome by another sneezing fit. I wonder if the Queen of France was allergic to wool blankets too? I suddenly realize I cannot name one single Queen of France except for myself. NOTE TO SELF: Must wikipedia “Queen Of France” asap.
FB comes in and asks when I plan on getting up as it’s 2PM.

LIL' BIT COUNTRY - DAY 3

Three English speaking friends come into town and we are off for a week to Burgundy for New Year’s Eve where 18 of FB’s friends will be joining his family there for a celebration. My mind is happy with the familiarity of English. I suddenly realize that it might be a little more difficult to learn French in just two weeks as originally planned. NOTE TO SELF: maybe should have taken some French classes before leaving as “immersion” technique seems to only give me a serious headache and make me want a cigarette. Recognizing the words “the” and “and” is not giving me a good enough sense of what the conversations are about and I see no end in sight.

We drive up to the chateau and I am in awe that this 15th century house actually belongs to FB’s family. This definitely beats a week at the Jersey shore. The fog is heavy and I feel like I’m in a medieval play. I enter the main room through heavy wooden doors whose small frames don’t fit my tall Germanic roots and I am dumbstruck. Am I in a movie? I fight the urge to mutter “Dost though taketh thy dinner is this hereth chamber of fancyeth ornaments?” in my worst English accent and instead just stare at the 19th century wild boar’s head hanging from the wall next to the armor and the deer’s antlers. This DEFINITELY beats the Jersey shore. I am shown to our room at the top of some windy stairs through more doors. ‘Man, these people really loved doors’, I think to myself but then I realize it is my central heating, idiot American self speaking and I decide I actually am as retarded as I think.

WHY I SMELL LIKE HORSESHIT - DAY 2

Today I went with FB to visit his horses for the first time. He failed to warn me that we were going to mudfields to carouse with two huge dogs that looked like Cujo twin killing machines who immediately jumped at me and destroyed my $250 "cutest hoodie ever from an overpriced Park Slope boutique" with mud while also rendering my ONLY pair of sneakers I brought completely useless as I sunk six inches into the brown quicksand. FB wore his wedding shoes, by the way, which now resemble an adobe.

The woman who takes care of his horses is cool but speaks no English and I failed to mention that I am actually REALLY afraid of horses so I stood silently by while he brought one in from the field and just pretended to the everyone that I was not, in fact, about to run for cover from fear of getting kicked in the head by the beasts who DEFINITELY smelled fear on me. I tried to stay out of the way while they cleaned the horses in the barn. She boards lots of horses there so people were coming and going, all of whom I tried to avoid.

I quickly realized that trying to avoid French people for fear of someone actually speaking to me in French is pretty useless at this point. Still, I insisted on sitting alone in the freezing cold, off to the side, pretending to go over my "flashcards" (which I now carry in my pocket). The boyfriend of the horse boarder finally saw me and came over to say in perfect English "you know, you can come inside if you want, it's freezing out here and it's dark now" to which I breezily responded "oh really? I hadn't noticed".

I'm totally pretending to be cool. Fake it til you make it. Off to wash my stank ass ruined city clothes.

Je Suis La

A hurricane of goodbyes
Tears creeping out of every corner
Pulling the stakes up and out
Stickier than syrup on my bitten fingers
Lift me up and over
Too much is too much is too much
Roll into the other side
Launch into silence
Sounds like music
A new window onto old songs
Be quiet and dream of corners
Where everything is soft and fluid

GOING GOING GONE - DAY 1

An Air India flight (whose food RULES by the way), tear stains on my face, the image of my mother's crying face emblazoned on my conscience. My father's voice as he called right before the plane took off, cracking with emotion and telling me he is proud. FB's father sweeping us up from the airport to do a whirlwind drive through Paris...falling into my seat at a crowded restaurant and causing a stir followed by my bright red face, a visit to the fois gras shop, the sights and new smells, sounds making my already dizzy mind spin like a top. The apartment....a piano overlooking a crowded Parisian street, I don't care about the rest. The piano greets me and begs me to play.....not yet.....whisked off to FB's parent’s place and now I sit alone in a foreign house in a foreign land while they go shopping to feed me. Off to another new place tomorrow....Burgundy......everything is a blur. Talked to Mom on the phone whose voice cracked with emotion and sent me creeping outside to let my own tears out.......lonely, tired, sad, anxious, excited.......the new chapter begins.......

October 1st means.....

Two years since I started Kung Fu Dana and met French boy.
Two more months until I move to France.
Two windows I had to close tonight because I got cold.

Summer is officially over.
Yikes.....

Paris premonition

Last night I dreamed that my husband took me to a French island off the coast of Normandy (and no, it was not England). It was warm and beautiful and everyone had cocktails with umbrellas in them. We had to buy stamps so I confidently marched up to the post office desk (cocktail in hand) and requested stamps fearlessly and fluently.
"C'est possible que j'ai le postage?" (translated roughly from retard French..It is possible that I have the postage?) I said alluuuuuuuringly...all the right words magically spilling from my suddenly fluent tongue. And in the glorious world of my dream where I am fluent in French and tropical islands exist off the coast of Normandy, the jovial postal worker replied "OUI! BIEN SUR!" and proceeded to jump across the desk to give me a hug along with my stamps. My husband immediately did the old school/over-exaggerated movie laugh and was so impressed with me that for the rest of the dream he spoke to me only in French. I didn't have the heart to tell him in my dream that the "magical fluency" apparently did not extend to actually understanding French. So we walked along the beach hand in hand, sipping cocktails and marveling at the waves as I listened to the music of his French sending me even further into dreamland.

It was nice for just a moment to drop the panic of moving to Paris and let the joy in. If only for a moment in my dream.
Today I woke up smiling.

Mon mari

J'aime mon mari if you were curious.
He rules and just told me stories about the beautiful French Alps to make me feel better about uprooting my life and he promised me I won't be the quiet girl cause everyone likes to talk to me, even if I don't understand what they are saying.
And then he smiled at me and kissed me and suddenly the world was a little brighter and a baguette and some cheese sounded better than Spaghetti-Os.
Hm.

Realite

Four cups of coffee, restless sleep, stomache ache for two days, head spinning, overwhelmed and freaked out.

I bought a non-refundable, no exchange, no change one way ticket to Paris. And it hit me like a ton of bricks to the face. I am moving December 26th at 9:10PM via Air India. Carry me away from my home, family and friends amidst saris and curry. Note to self: bring a sandwich for the plane. Curry might not be a good idea that day.

I cleaned everything in my apartment and put it all at right angles. Order is good. Impending change...change is bad change is bad, no, no change is good change is good....breathe....just because you went to a dinner party with French friends last night and understood nothing doesn't mean that you will understand nothing in France. Um, actually, yes it does. Ok, ok, ok, ok....breeeeeeeathe. So it will take you a while to learn an entire language. Maybe years. Maybe a lifetime! I'm from New Jersey, how can I possibly learn an entire language? What if I'm suddenly the QUIET girl, the girl that doesn't speak because she can't communicate. My mouth has been going since I was born, now I will be silenced? That girl in the corner no one talks to whose husband works all day while she slowly goes insane in a one room apartment with a bitchy French cat who can't stand her cause she renamed her Snowball and tried to hug her while she fell apart crying cause she missed her friends and instead got a claw to the face. The hungry girl in the corner who hasn't eaten in three days cause she's too scared to try and order a sandwich again cause the guy behind the counter was mean.

But I'm not afraid. Yes I am. Today I am afraid. So I'll feel afraid right now and then let it go cause maybe tomorrow I will wake up and feel like my bad ass self again. The wonderfully charming musician who loves people and loves to throw a party. The self confident artist who is curious about the world. Not the freaked out Jersey girl who just wants her Mom to make her a Spaghetti-Os sandwich on Wonder Bread and call it a day.

Breathe.

And just like that......

it was over. A beautiful wedding on a clear day in the Catskills, surrounded by family and friends, a vision of joy and the happiest day of my life. A week of bliss, a gift of every moment spent beside my new husband. Playing absentmindedly with the ring on my finger while staring at this man who now calls me his wife. Sigh.

Then the stiff slap of Monday morning came, I packed my bags grudgingly and came back into the city to go back to alone life/see him once a week life, but somehow it all seems different now. It's only for four months until we move to Paris, but it just seems like an eternity. I just married the best man in the universe and I can't come home to him yet.

Now I sit at my desk absentmindedly playing with my ring, and dreaming of a field in the Catskills. Double sigh.

And cut to 2007.......

I am marrying French Boy in 3 weeks and moving to Paris in 4 months.
How's THAT for an update?