Back to Burgundry, having loved the Loire

Health update: Jack did, in fact, have his sisters' bug, but weathered it fairly well and was back to his usual silly sweet self by Sunday afternoon (and in pretty good spirits the whole time). I do sometimes wonder about the competitive spirits of our children, though. There was a lot of comparing of who threw up how many times in France (Katie had the edge on the other two thanks to her earlier stomach bug the day of our French fiesta). Such pleasant, pleasant conversation. The good news is that all three kids appear fully healthy and are back in school this morning. It also appears that Jack grew two inches or so during his illness... seriously, his pants on Sunday morning were two inches too short!

Loire update: Oh my goodness. The Loire blew us all away. I don't know why, but I hadn't imagined it would be quite so.... big, magnificent, huge, beautiful, incredible, and (at times) excessive (makes you kind of understand how that whole French Revolution could have happened). I had (naively) planned for us to see two chateaux a day. Yeah, right! Even without slightly sick kids, the most we could have taken in was one a day... and even then, we left without examining every corner, every room, every masterpiece of art or architecture. There was just so much to see, and our brains could not process all of the beauty and awe. Nice problem to have, isn't it?

On Saturday, we visited Chambord, a "hunting lodge" constructed by King Francois I in the 1500s (to be near his mistress) which many consider to be the greatest of the chateaux of the Loire (what with its 440 rooms, 365 fireplaces, and 84 staircases, including a famous double-helix rumored to be designed by Leonardo Da Vinci). A bit of history courtesy of Wikipedia:

Chambord is the largest castle in the Loire Valley, but was built to serve only as a hunting lodge for François I, who maintained his royal residences at Château de Blois and at Château d'Amboise.

...The château was never intended to provide any form of defense from enemies; consequently the walls, towers and partial moat are purely decorative, and even at the time were an anachronism. some elements of the architecture - open windows, loggia, and a vast outdoor area at the top — borrowed from the Italian Renaissance architecture — are less practical in cold and damp northern France.

The roofscape of Chambord contrasts with the masses of its masonry and has often been compared with the skyline of a town: it shows eleven kinds of towers and three types of chimneys, without symmetry, framed at the corners by the massive towers. ...When François I commissioned the construction of Chambord, he wanted it to look like the skyline of Constantinople.

...One of the architectural highlights is the spectacular double-helix open staircase that is the centerpiece of the castle. The two helixes ascend the three floors without ever meeting, illuminated from above by a sort of light house at the highest point of the castle. There are suggestions that Leonardo da Vinci may have designed the staircase, but this has not been confirmed.

We all loved the staircase, and chased each other up, up, up and down, down, down, marveling at the beauty of the symmetry and design (well, we marveled... the kids simply thought it was "so cool!"). I loved wandering the rooftop and looking over the landscape, walking amid the towers and turrets and dream-like design of the place. I don't know that the pictures will do it justice... maybe it's one of those things you have to see yourself. If that's the case... well, I can solidly argue that this is worth seeing. It's incredible to believe that humans could have constructed such a thing.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, we happily drove about 75 minutes to our next destination... a chateau that has been converted into a hotel! This was mom's wish... to spend a night in a chateau. We sent lists back and forth, and settled on one she had found online, the Chateau de la Bourdaisiere. It dates from the 1400s, although its current look is much smaller (a more manageable size for a chateau, bien sur).

Although *not* a part of the chateau's general information, I just read that the beautiful building and its grounds were the site of the first Joe Millionarie television show! Oh my!


One better known (and better publicized) aspect of the hotel-chateau's more recent history is that it is owed by the same Prince who bought Deyrolle -- the amazing last taxidermy shop in Paris -- and helped ensure its survival both at the time of its purchase in 2001 and after the fire in 2008. The prince (apparently "just" a courtesy title these days) is also doing much to preserve and cultivate heirloom vegetables and plants. According to the hotel-chateau's website, the prince and his wife want to "transform the estate into a prime example of eco-renovation of an historical monument and lead the way to a sustainable management example for both the hotel and garden and the park. The Princess is in charge of the decoration, which will obviously be the transcended mix of Le Prince Jardinier, Deyrolle and their common curiosity."

Did I mention it was really, really cool? 

We lingered at our castle, watching the kids run around the beautiful grounds, until checkout time, then headed to our second "big" castle of the weekend, the Chateau de Chenonceau. If Chambord is considered the "greatest" of the chateaux of the Loire, Chenonceau is often considered the most beautiful. It was designed by women for women. According to its website, Chenonceau is known as "Château des Dames as recorded in the French history books, [and] owes a large part of its charm to women: it was built in 1513 by Katherine Briçonnet, then made even more attractive by Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Médicis, and saved from the rigours of the French Revolution by Mrs. Dupin."

The scale of this chateau was much smaller (and maybe more pleasing) than Chambord, and many of the rooms had the bedding and decoration of the different women who lived there. From the fabulous kitchens to the graceful views on both sides of the river to the incredible gardens (including a huge labyrinth the kids wanted to play in all afternoon), this chateau, too, was more ... everything... than we expected.

We took three tired but happy kids (and three tired but happy adults) back to our rental car at about 4 p.m. and headed home through many small rain showers, which had the unexpected benefit of creating at least a dozen rainbows along the road home (really!). John said it was a kind of relentless beauty... and it got even more beautiful as we came back to Burgundy. We decided we still do like it best here... but we would be happy -- very happy -- to return to the Loire one day.

I think I will upload the photos in four sections: the Abbey, Chambord, the hotel-chateau, and Chenonceau. Don't know how long that will take (we shot a mere 588 photos!) but hopefully sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we are going to head out to one last lunch with Mom, who leaves from Lyon tomorrow morning. It's been a wonderful visit, and we all will miss her so much. We are also starting to count down as it suddenly became May -- which means we have just 20 days left in our fabulous French home. Talk about people and places we will miss...

The lovely, lovely Loire

Health update: Kate is almost back to full health (her version of the Bug was faster but just as furious as Liv's) and so we took off this afternoon toward the Loire Valley, home of France's famous chateaux. After a few hours of enjoying the company of three nearly healthy kids, Jack started drooping at dinner and now seems to be battling a milder version of it at this moment (at least we hope it's a milder version!). Ah, kids. And germs. And the unpredictability of life. They all just kind of go together, don't they?

Loire update: Wow! We aren't even "officially" there yet, and all six of us are blown away. The drive here included some kind of bland countryside once we left Burgundy, but as soon as we headed off the autoroute down to Beaugency, a town along the Loire just west of Orleans, the superlatives started.

Tonight, we have the incredible thrill of staying in a former Abbey right along the Loire (although I have to tell you, if the monks who used to live here lived as well as we are living tonight... well, it's a pretty good argument for the monastic life!). We climbed up stairs where the stone has been worn away by hundreds of years of footfall; we walked down a hall toward our rooms ("Frere Victoire" for us, "Frere Perceval" for Mom) on sloping terra cotta-colored tiles. The huge wooden beams along the ceilings and the huge windows overlooking the Loire are all simply stunning. And the view... we threw open those huge windows and stared out at the lovely Loire.

Once we had a snack, we decided to explore the town a bit. As you probably know, I have become quite the fan of Burgundy in general and Beaune in particular. I was beginning to think that no where else in France could match it. But (I hate to say this), I *could* be wrong. Beaugency, a gorgeous town with its 14th century bridge, was freed by Joan of Arc in 1429. And its twisting streets and narrow lanes and flower-filled windows and soaring stone towers literally took our breath away. As Mom said, "There just aren't enough words".

I had planned to post some of the hundreds of beautiful photos we took today, but John's computer is uploading them sooooooo slowly that I am tempted to toss it out the window. In the interest of his beloved Mac, I will just leave you with a few.  I can't believe the *real* spectacular stuff still awaits us tomorrow...

Volcano update, and a short entry about things from home I miss

First of all -- it looks like my friend Janay will start to head back to Canada tomorrow (and should make it back for her son's first birthday), and thousands of people have been able to make flights today. Hooray... and whew... for the moment.

Second of all -- all of this focus on airplanes, travel, location, and talk of home, as well as the (fingers-crossed) arrival of my mom later this week, has gotten me thinking more about "home" than usual, as well as the things I miss or wish I could have here. They include:

* A few more of my clothes. You might wonder how long it would take to grow weary of four pants, two long sleeve shirts, three short sleeve shirts, two tank tops and a few sweaters. I will tell you... about three months. As of this week, I officially can't stand all of my clothes. I don't even like the kids' clothes! The up side to this is that I am amazed at how good John and I have become at packing light. We can fit everything we need for all five of us to spend four nights away in two carry-on pieces of luggage and two backpacks (and that includes necessary stuffed animals and dolls). When I think of how I used to travel (weighed down) and how I travel now (light and free)... well, it's a pretty great change.

* Some of the things in my own kitchen. It's weird to cook in someone else's kitchen. While parts of a new kitchen are wonderful (I have never used a food processor and now can't imagine not having one... it makes making crusts and bread SO easy), there are other things from home I miss. My big knife. My large red enamel pot which I use for everything from roasting to soups to Rice Krispie bars. My espresso pot. My spices. My own rolling pin. Weird, huh?

* A few more games and puzzles for the kids. While I am so pleased how well they are doing with so few toys, and while we were thrilled to see puzzles and games here in La Maison des Chaumes, there are moments it would be nice to have a few more up our sleeves. I *like* the lack of other toys, for the most part. Things are so nicely uncluttered. The kids make up games with each other and with bits of nature. And the toys they did bring -- Lego, a few ponies, and their favorite stuffies -- are so well loved.

* A few more English language "chapter books" for Jack. We have been BLAZING through books here and  while we were hugely helped by the books in this house, the care packages from Sara and Mom, as well as visiting the "May girls' library" of Lauren, Claudia and Penelope, there have been nights here when we have truly had nothing for Jack to read. So we reread the favorites, or have him read to Kate and Liv. But I think John and I both love snuggling in to take turn reading those chapter books to and with Jack... and having a few more on hand would be nice (or should I say "will be nice", as I think Mom has a few more packed in her luggage if she makes it).

* Bikes. Since the arrival of spring, I have REALLY been missing having bicycles for all of us, and the lovely trails around our house in Lethbridge. We decided we aren't in France quite long enough to merit buying bikes here (plus it's soooooo much hillier), but with this great weather and the lovely lingering sunsets, there have been many moments of wishing we could all take a quick spin on bikes. Soon enough, I suppose.

But what I think we all miss most of all from home are the people (and as much as I love the wine, cheese, bread and market here, I am sure the same will be true when we head back home). I know it will be hard to leave, but we will be able to do so knowing we are going back to good friends and family a drive away. And that is quite a good thing for all of us, I'd say.

Watching, waiting, wondering

Still on Eyjafjallajokull watch here in beautiful Burgundy.

Although some planes made it back to the skies from European airports this morning, many more flights are still canceled. There is news that after a bit of a pause, a bigger eruption (and cloud of ash) is in the works in Iceland. It's such a huge storiy with far reaching implications -- although I am wondering if the news would be even bigger in the U.S. and Canada if the winds were blowing to the west and covering New York and Toronto's airspace instead.

At any rate...I put on my journalist hat for a bit yesterday to help get out the word of the plight of those stuck in Europe (particularly Canadians, who feel they have received little guidance, much less help, from the government). As a result, Janay (my friend who is stranded in London) did interviews with the Globe and Mail, the CBC, and the Calgary Herald. You can read the G&M story here, the CBC story here, and the Calgary Herald story here.

Some of the negative comments are hard to read. Yes -- there are certainly worse places in the world to be stranded, and Europe in the springtime is, I can fully attest, quite lovely. But the people who are stranded can't really just go and sit in cafes and wait for the wind to change. They might not have enough money left to do that, for one thing (hotels are raising their rates each night). Some are running out of their medication as well as their money. Others are missing family events, work deadline, weddings, funerals, and more. And instead of being able to take advantage of an unexpected extra week in Europe, most are tied to phones and computers trying to reschedule, replan, rebook, and reorganize as they search for ways home.

And the financial implications go far beyond the airlines (although truly they are suffering, too). But Laura, our wonderful landlady, wrote about the hundreds of little business people like her who are losing bookings -- and their income -- because of the ash. If my mom isn't able to make her flight over on Saturday night, we will not be heading to the Loire -- so that means two hotels, a half-dozen restaurants, four chateaux, and countless cute little shops won't be getting our business. Even John's aunt in a tiny town in Montana is feeling the effects... they had a bowling championship playoff canceled because some people on one team had travelled to Germany and have not been able to come home yet. That means lost food, lodging, and other business for one small Montana town, too. Scenes like this are playing out in villages, towns, and cities throughout Europe and -- because the globe has become so much smaller as a result of air travel -- throughout the world.

Many people are struggling through this, and I think it will take quite a long time for things to settle down, even if the volcano quiets tomorrow. (And in the meantime, if you are in Europe and looking for a terrific place to stay -- contact Laura! Her rentals are wonderful!)

A friend of mine here in Burgundy just sent me a very thoughtful essay about this whole experience. It's worth reading the whole thing, but I especially liked the conclusion:

It is commonplace to acknowledge that people so often only grasp the full value of something when they lose it ... but the events of the past few days remind us how it is true. Well, some of us have for a while at least lost the ability to get home. And all of us right across Europe have lost air travel for the time being. So when that comes back, let's try and use that wonderful freedom more thoughtfully, sensibly and wisely.

And with that thought...fingers are crossed here for a safe and available flight for my mom and Sharon on Saturday, too... and that all of those stranded here will soon be able to make their way home.

GUEST BLOG: Mr. Harper, please take notice!

My friend Janay-- the one struck in London who is trying to get home for her son's first birthday -- just posted a persuasive call to action for the Canadian government to respond to those trapped abroad because of the volcano. It was so well-written and moving, I asked if I could post it here. She said yes -- especially if it might somehow help get her (and others like her) home.

By Janay Nugent-Moulton  

I was at the high Commission of Canada this morning and there were close to 200 with me (I have great photos, but can't get them off of my camera). It doesn't sound like hardship to be trapped in London, but there are real reasons people need help. I spoke to people who are running out of medications, one was insulin dependent and another had run out of her blood pressure medication (I'm sure she won't need that right now!). Currently there is absolutely no support for us. The people at the High Commission were quite gracious and sympathetic, but they can do little without Ottawa's approval. As of this morning (5 days after this all started), the federal government didn't even have a note of direction to Canadians on their main website. Our plight (and this is that of thousands, and probably tens of thousands of Canadians) has not even seemed to really grab the attention of Canadian media.

We have been patient and quiet Canadians, but it is important that people realize the hardships that are happening here. One couple I spoke to this morning stood in line to renew their hotel reservations and the prices of the room rose with each person in front of them, 119GBP, 129GBP and then 159GBP by the time it came to them. A young family I spoke to is virtually out of money, they have used up all of their vacation time and are almost out of sick days - so they face losing their wages from work as well as paying all of the expenses piling up here. Another person I spoke to called Aeroplan to book the hotel on their points and the hotel charged them 500GBP to make the call. Many people are running out of money and don't have options. Where will they sleep and what will they eat? I spoke to a retired man who was terrified by the prospect of trying to stay off of the streets. There was another woman who was trying to get to her father's deathbed and others who wanted to make a sister's wedding and a grandchild's baptism. I am desperate to make it home for my son's first birthday and my 3 1/2 year old just doesn't understand why I don't walk home or take a boat. The reality is that it is incredibly difficult to get out of Europe or to know what to do.

Should we stay put in the UK and hope that once Heathrow, the major airport gets going we will have some hope of getting home? Or should we undertake our own Amazing Race? There are many stories of people paying cabs to drive across entire countries, buying bikes just to get on ferries as commuters, buying cars to drive to the Mediterranean and catch cruises to places where you can fly from. It currently takes days and hundred (usually thousands) of dollars to take public transit to places where there are flights like Lisbon and Madrid. But this is not feasible for many people financially, and many others who are travelling in Europe for only the first or second time do not have the travel literacy to make it across multiple countries, in many languages, with many forms of transportation. And this all comes at a risk anyhow, after you have spent hours (probably days) and untold financial resources getting to a southern city, will there be a flight for you? how much will it cost? Will the airport be shut down because the ash cloud has moved?

The Canadian Government needs to give us some direction, and they need to help us find a way out. At the high Commission today there was a very concrete solution offered which got huge applause - charter buses from around Europe to take us to Madrid and fly a Canadian armed forces transport plane to take us home. The ability is certainly there, but there needs to be a will. I ask that the media and government take notice (if you could contact your MP or local media that would help) and help us out. And please do it soon before personal hardships become financial, medical and familial tragedies - and before the cloud gets bigger and our window of opportunity closes.

Janay Nugent-Moulton is a professor of history at the University of Lethbridge. She can be reached by contacting me or by joining the Facebook group "Canadians Abroad Trapped by Volcanic Ash". Reprinted with permission of the author.

I want my mom (to be able to make her flight to France)!

We are watching the volcano drama unfold closely. It appears our family friends Kathy and Alex made it out on one of the last planes to leave France on Thursday, just before they put the air space restrictions into place. Quelle chance! Now I am hoping for the winds of change to arrive in time for my mom's flight on Saturday night. She is calm about it and hopes the flight will still happen (although she acknowledges that it might not), so I am trying to be, too.

But it's hard -- because I *really* REALLY want her to be able to come. We have been talking about her trip here for so long, plotting, planning, dreaming, and exchanging countless emails. I have our hotels in the Loire booked (one former abbey, one former petite chateau), I know which days we will go to market, I know just which walks and restaurants and shops I want to take her to, and John has a great rental van booked well in advance.  The kids are SO excited to see her, too. I know it will not be the end of the world if she is not able to come...but oh, I hope she can.

And I'm not the only one sending all of my energy to the skies, hoping for a shift of the winds. We have several friends on both sides of the Atlantic who have already been caught in the travel nightmare. One friend from Lethbridge came to Oxford to give a paper... and now is worried she won't make it home for her son's first birthday. Another friend from Burgundy took her kids to Calgary for les vacances scolaire and now won't be heading back for at least nine more days. Other Lethbridge friends flew to England for her father's birthday... and haven't been able to get through to the airline for days to even ask about when or how they might be able to reschedule. All of these people are missing school, work, family, milestones and more. And these are just the people I know... there are hundreds of thousands of others with stories like this around the world. Kind of mind-boggling, isn't it?

When I read about how this volcano has, in the past, spent more than a year spewing its ash and steam, it also made me wonder what would happen if Europe remains a no-fly zone for a longer term. How would we get home if the volcano is still active in June and the prevailing winds are still, well, prevailing? Would we try to catch a ship back to North America? Drive to Portugal and leave from there? Since our big return is still two months off, I haven't spent a *lot* of time dwelling on this (in fact, I have been madly using my internet travel agent skills to search for the friend trying to get home in time for her son's birthday -- this morning I found a train to Rome and flight to Toronto for her next week if she can wait that long)... but the thought has started to cross my mind.

I have spent a bit more time thinking about how reliant we are on air travel for more than moving tourists and business people. One article I read mentioned that injured U.S. soldiers are being sent straight to Andrews AFB in the U.S., instead of being taken to a base in Germany. That one change involves so many people and places... and there are thousands of similar changes that must be made in the midst of this natural crisis. And what about the mail? What about the fruit, the food, the clothes, the cargo that are regularly shipped from one part of the world to another?

The only silver lining in this ash cloud that I have seen is that it's a natural phenomenon, not man made. There is no one to be angry at. It just *is*. So all you can do (at least all I am trying to do) is shrug your mental shoulders on all of the uncertainty, in that French way. And all you can say is on verra (we'll see).

Well, you can also wish wildly, pray passionately, hope whole-heartedly (and when needed, check out this handy New York Times site of open and closed airports). It might not be as French of a response... but it certainly can't hurt either.

Bits and pieces (and feeling a bit grumpy)

I think there comes a point when you are traveling (whether for a week or a month or more) that you just get grumpy with everything in the new place.For me, anyway, the moment comes once I am past the jet lag and culture shock -- after letting my guard down a bit and having had the luxury of settling in.

Well, I reached that point today.

It's my own fault, really. We are having Geraldine and Thomas and their family (and some of their friends we want to meet) over tomorrow night. Geraldine had suggested having just appetizers at her house, but we wanted to have them to our place.

But then, what to cook? After having been treated to this, well, I wanted to bring out more than chips and beer (although these friends are such kind people, I don't think they'd complain! Clearly, this is my issue).

But there is the minor fact that I have had disaster after disaster when baking (but not when cooking) since arriving in France. It might just be the universe's way of saying "Lisa -- there are 42 amazing patisseries within a 10 minute drive... why bother baking in this country?" But as I wrote to a Lethbridge friend earlier (the same friend I turned to for advice on what to cook for this little party), I foolishly continue to try baking, and so far have made: terrible, heavy, tasteless chocolate cake; flat, brittle sugar cookies (not just once... but three times); and banana bread that feels like it weighs 3 kilos! At this point, my confidence in the kitchen is not quite where it should be.

This good friend recommeded cooking something I do well, and mentioned some of the favorite things she's eaten at our house. With this advice in hand, I decided on something they can't usually get in France (and something our family loves): Mexican food.

This seemed like a good idea at first. What better than a nice limey-tomato salsa, or a lovely garlicky guacamole? But today, as I trawled the grocery store in search of frozen corn (what kind of country only has canned corn? How hard would it be for them to bring in some frozen corn?), as I tried to find something akin to cream cheese (what kind of country has 1,000 cheeses but nothing with that lovely gray Philadelphia label?), and as I helplessly read labels to see what might be cumin (I didn't have my electronic dictionary, so made my best stab and bought what I thought was cumin -- something called curcuma -- but it turns out to be tumeric), I realized this could well be a foolish undertaking. Oh, and did I mention I am going to try to make tortillas (and can only hope that it will go better here than it did in Japan)?

I guess we'll just have to see how it goes Friday night.

John has been laughing at me all day -- saying how much I must be suffering with my cheese choices here in this godforsaken land, how maybe we should go back to Japan because at least THERE, I could get Philadelphia cream cheese.

I think in terms of food, I want the best of France -- the rich cheeses and pates and sauces and desserts -- but I also want (at my convenience, of course), my favorite things from around the world: fresh Mexican food, savory sushi, aromatic Indian. That's not so much to ask, is it? (And don't worry. I am not expecting anyone to feel too sorry for me. I realize this is a fabulous problem to have...). I also think my frustration at the search for ingredients is probably linked to homesickness in a roundabout way. I clearly love everything about France. But it *is* still all foreign, and there are times it would be nice to have a bit of a break and a return to the familiar.

At any rate. I have the tortilla dough "resting" right now, and I will keep you posted on how it all goes (and anyone in France need a BIG bottle of tumeric?).

In other, less grumpy, news:

* We had Lauren, Claudia, and Penelope over yesterday afternoon so their parents could have a lunch date. After feeding the six little ones lunch, and a lot of playing, we took a big walk up to Les Chaumes, and everyone had a blast. At the end of the visit, they looked like this:

The one terrifying thought that went through my brain during the visit was that, in theory, a person *could* have six kids of these exact ages (8, 7, 6, 4, 4, and almost 2). While these certainly were six well-behaved and delightful children, it was not a pleasant thought!

* We had been waiting for more than two weeks for a shoe sale to start at a place I think of as France's Famous Footwear (higher quality shoes than Payless, but not a store that will break the bank). I was disappointed to arrive this morning to find that none of the leather, sturdy, beautifully made shoes were included in the sale. We did find a good deal on two pairs of these:

While not the kind of shoe you'd want to wear every day, they are adorable (and fast, super-fast, Livie declared).

Anniversary story, the conclusion

The morning that John left Dijon remains vivid in my memory. I sobbed and sobbed as the train pulled away, waving my kleenix and wishing it were a lace handkerchief instead. I knew it would be another four months before I would see him, as he had found out he received a grant to go to Japan, and was to leave just before I came home. At 20 years of age and newly engaged, that felt like forever.

I did the only thing I could think of doing in such a sorry state. I went to a telephone booth and called my parents. It was 8 a.m. in France, midnight in Colorado, and I clearly woke my dad up.

"It's Lisa, Dad," I sobbed, not even trying to contain the tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"He left!" I gasped.

"Who?" my dad said.

"John!" I replied, horrified that he had forgotten (and not thinking much about the fact that I had just wakened him from a deep sleep.)

"Oh, that's right," he said, recovering quickly. "How was your visit?"

"It was great, Dad," I cried. "We went to Paris the first weekend. Then we spent the week in Dijon with my host family, and we went to the south of France the second weekend. And," I added, sputtering, "he took me to Italy for dinner!"

"Really?" my dad said. "You know, I took your mother to Wisconsin once."

(That is one of my all-time favorite Dad quotes ever. Ever. Apparently this great trip took place when he and my mom were living in Minnesota many years ago.)

"That's great, Dad," I said, still sobbing. "And... while we were in Italy... he asked me to marry him!"

Silence. The next thing I heard were covers moving, and my dad saying to my mom: "Anne, Anne, it's Lisa. John took her to Italy, and now they're getting married!"

My mom got on the phone, thinking that the marriage was about to occur at that moment (yes, I owe them big time for this middle of the night call), and it took a second phone call 12 hours later to assure her that I had not, in fact, gotten married in Italy without letting them know.

Once we straightened that out, they were so happy for us. John's parents were too, as were Denys and Christine. The actual wedding wouldn't take place for almost two more years... but we celebrate March 20 as the day the commitment really began.

The other interesting story is this: after John returned to campus (deeply in debt at this point), he ran into his favorite professor. The professor said he was so happy to see John -- for he had just learned John would be awarded a special scholarship for his excellence in Asian studies -- one that hadn't even existed until this point. The award was more than twice the cost of the trip and would offset other living expenses and tuition -- and allow John to pay for every penny spent flying to France to see me.

John has always been a believer that when things are right, all the pieces fall in place. He has a lot more faith in the universe than I do (I am more likely to think if things are going well, something terrible must be lurking around the corner).

This France trip has much of the charmed feeling of the earlier one. The pieces have all fallen into place. We are all so happy. So I am trying keep the worry at bay, and instead just figure that this is the right place for our family to be right now.

And on that note -- I'd like to say happy anniversary, John. I hope the next 17 years are even half as good as the last 17 have been. Thanks for all of the adventures, large and small. I love you.

Anniversary story, part III

The morning of March 20, 1993 was full of sunshine. We decided to buy a train ticket to the first town in Italy, a city called Ventimiglia, because John wanted to take me to dinner in Italy (what better reason do you need?). And we set off.

The train we took hugged the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. We were able to hop on and off the train at will, and explored little beach towns we had never heard of (Cap d'Ail, Antibes) and big beach towns we had (Nice, Monaco). It was a charmed day (if you can call a day such a thing). We didn't pay any attention to the schedule and would get off the train when it looked pretty. We'd head to the beach, walk or read or talk for an hour or two, meander back up to the train station, and a train would pull up. We'd get on, and only later realize it had been (and would be) the only train for hours.

We hiked around the hills of Nice, had a snack in Monaco, and soaked up the sun and blue skies. On the last stretch of the train ride, I changed into the little black dress my mom helped me buy before I left for France. It was perfect.

We arrived in Italy and realized three things: we had no Italian lira, we knew almost no Italian, and we had no idea which of the scores of amazing looking restaurants we should head to for dinner. The first problem we took care of at a bank machine. The second and third problems we decided we would take care of by asking someone. I knew enough Italian to ask if someone could speak French or English.

So we headed off toward the beach, looking for the perfect person to ask. We passed many, and then John saw a young man sitting on a bench. "Let's ask him," he said. So I asked him in Italian if he spoke French or English. He said he spoke French. I asked him in French if he knew a good Italian restaurant.

"As a matter of fact," he said, pulling out a business card, "I own a good Italian restaurant."

His name was Tony Guido (really). His restaurant was called Pasta e Basta. And if we liked pasta, he said (we nodded that we did), his was the best in all of Italy.

He said he was heading there right now and would show us the way. On the way there, he asked if we were brother and sister, cousins, friends, boyfriend and girlfriend (John thinks he was wanting to know if it was worth hitting on me. I think he was just making conversation). When he got to asking if we were engaged (after a week of waiting for John to ask me back, and feeling sure it'd be a repeat of junior high dances where I would ask a boy to dance, and he would never, ever ask me back), I just shrugged my shoulders. Heck if I know, I wanted to tell him.

And then we arrived. Tony Guido pointed out his restaurant, said to come back at 7:30, and promised to reserve us the best table in the house. He left us next to the beach, looking out over the Mediterranean, at sunset.

And it was there and then that John asked me back.

He held my hands and looked in my eyes. "Lisa," he said, "will you marry me? Will you stay by my side for the rest of my life?"

I said yes.

And then we kissed. We kissed on that boardwalk of the beach, with the Italians just walking around us, like it was no big deal that these two people were kissing and ignoring everything else in the world around them, like it happens all the time in Italy (and maybe it does).

We kissed for a long time. No one seemed to mind. When we finally stopped kissing, we held hands and walked up and down the boardwalk, watching old men play bocce ball and young children ride bikes and the sun set over the sea. We were right on time for our reservation, and Tony Guido had, in fact, reserved the best table in the house for us.

We had an amazing meal. At one point, a little dark-haired Italian girl came by selling roses. John bought one (again, the student who lived on $5 a month shelled out more than that for one rose). We finished our meal leisurely, but did have to walk quickly to catch that last train back to France.

As I said, it was a charmed day, that sunny Saturday in March seventeen years ago.

Unfortunately, John would have to leave France, which he did three days later. And that would lead to two of the best stories of all: one that was funny (telling my parents) and one that showed the interesting way things work in this universe.

Anniversary story, part II

"Wouldn't MIND being married to ME?" I may or may not have shouted along the sunny banks of the Seine that Sunday afternoon. "Oh, let me write that on a Hallmark card. I wouldn't want to twist your arm or anything!"

We started laughing at this point. As John explained later, his statement was actually a huge revelation. Neither of us had planned to marry young. We were going to travel the world and have interesting careers (I had planned to win the Pulitzer Prize at the very least). While marriage and family may have vaguely been in the cards at some point, we weren't in a hurry to get there.

So (as he would later explain), realizing that a lifetime commitment (much sooner than ever dreamed of) didn't sound so bad... well, it was quite a big deal.

Still -- at the time, I was not impressed. So, I said, quite sarcastically and with no serious intent at all: "John H., will you marry me?"

And he looked at me with all seriousness and said "Yes. Yes I will."

Well. I didn't know WHAT to do with that. I had been joking. He was quite serious. And then... he didn't ask me back.

We returned to Dijon that night, and had a wonderful week with my host family and friends. Christine and Denys did in fact like John right away. The fact that he spoke fairly good French probably helped. Near the end of John's visit, Denys took me aside and said John was a rare catch, and that I must (il faut) marry him. I didn't have the heart to explain to him at that point that I had, in fact, asked him already, and was just waiting for him to ask me back, and that once I had any news on that front I'd be sure to tell them. Instead, I just agreed that it would be a great idea to marry John.

I attended my classes all week and we toured the city in between lectures and lessons, leaving John with plenty of opportunities to propose. But as we walked past the palace of the dukes, as we sipped coffee in my favorite coffee shop, as we took leisurely strolls through city parks... he didn't ask me back.

One night, we took a train to Beaune for dinner, and shared what seemed to be a very expensive half bottle of wine (which has survived the dozens of moves we made since then and can still be seen in our house in Canada). Although he had many great opportunities to ask me that night (as we sat on a bench in front of the Hotel Dieu, as we wandered down the cobble stone streets, as we shared that tasty small bottle of wine)... he didn't ask me back.

He could have asked me the first night in the south of France too. But he didn't -- although that was probably for the best. We had taken an overnight train and I had slept poorly and woke with a terrible headache. We were able to check into a hotel early and I slept most of the day away. John found a pharmacy and returned with France's version of Tylenol and some food. And that's about all I remember of March 19, 1993.

John said he was waiting for the right moment to propose. He said he would know it when it happened. And the next day, he would be right.

Anniversary story, part I

I met John the first day at university, the day before my 18th birthday. We both were living in a house for students in the honors program at our university (please keep any snarky comments about all those geeks and nerds living together to yourself, thank you very much) and I was going around, as I was wont to do, introducing myself to everyone.

I knocked on John's door. "I'm Lisa K. from Colorado," I said, beaming at him with my bright smile and very big hair. He shook my hand, and said "I'm John H. from Montana."

Years later, when we were telling someone the story of our engagement (which I want to write about today), we both remembered feeling quite a spark, or a thrill in the belly, or something truly extraordinary at that moment when we first shook hands. But we started as great friends. It would take two years before that friendship grew into romance, and that romance blossomed, of all times, during the half year I spent in France.

John is the one who drove me from our university to the airport to leave for my semester abroad. It was a rainy night (big surprise for the Pacific northwest in January) and it felt like I was leaving forever. We had both agreed, with all the seriousness and wisdom of our 20 and 21 years, that six months was a LONG time to be apart. It really would be best, we decided, if we dated other people while I was away.

But we both cried when I said goodbye as it was time for me to board (in the days when loved ones could actually walk you to your gate), and within weeks, we had both written letters that crossed in the air saying that while we appreciated the freedom of being able to see other people... neither of us particularly wanted to.

And those letters. We have real love letters, pages and pages written to each other three or four times a week, letters you can reread, letters with a few tears, and coffee stains, and smudged ink. The semester after I returned, all of the students at our university received email addresses -- and I think how lucky we are I made the trip before that happened -- because these letters wouldn't have existed, and they are such a wonderful chronicle of a wonderful time.

In one of those letters, John wrote that he wanted to come and visit me during his spring break. Those who knew John during his university years understand just how ridiculous this would have sounded at the time, coming from someone who survived a whole month on $5 (his meal plan having already been paid for...but his laundry perhaps not overly washed). But John said he was sure things would work out somehow, and he put the plane ticket on his emergency credit card (which I had never seen him use before) and planned to come to France from March 12-23, 1993.

My French host family was not so sure what to make of this. "But Lisa, he has long hair," they said. "I know," I said. "And Lisa, he has a BEARD," they said. "I know," I replied. "But Lisa... he has an EARRING. Are you sure he is a NICE boy?" they asked. "Yes," I said, "you will love him." After hearing that my parents knew he was coming and approved, they agreed he could stay at their apartment (although I was to sleep far away in another bedroom with their daughter).

I took the train to Paris to meet him. The city was in the midst of one of its strikes, so I had to walk, and walk, and walk to our meeting place at the Hotel Jean-Bart, where the study abroad students had stayed before heading to Dijon. He, too, was walking, and walking, and walking (bringing a care package of many clothes and gifts from my parents) from another train station. And none of that mattered, of course, as soon as we saw each other.

Being young and in love and in Paris is about as good as it gets. We spent the weekend wandering through the city, ducking into museums and coffee shops, eating "street" food like crepes and croque monsieurs, drinking coffee and wine and talking and laughing. One afternoon, walking along the Seine, we started talking about how our parents met. John's parents were high school sweethearts who started dating when they were 14 and 16. My parents met while in university and my dad may have proposed the first night he met my mom (or so I've heard in stories over the years).

And as we were walking along the river, talking about love, marriage, family and more, John said one of the most UNROMANTIC phrases ever uttered in the history of romance.

"You know," he said, "I wouldn't mind being married to you."

Anyone have recommendations for the Loire Valley?

My mom and a friend from Lethbridge are coming to visit in late April and early May (we are all counting down the days), and we would like to make an overnight trip to the Loire. I've never been -- so if anyone has recommendations (the top two or three chateaux to see, a place to stay, a kid-friendly place to eat) please send them my way. You can reply in the comments, and make a note to let me know if you don't mind having the info published, or if you'd rather keep it a private comment.

Merci!

Paris in a different light

It's hard not to love Paris, and being there fills your mind with so many ideas, plans, and thoughts. It is everything everyone says it is -- beautiful, romantic, dreamy, inspiring, vivid, bustling, gorgeous. Katie, for one, didn't want to leave. She told me that in between visiting Jack in Alaska (where he is going to raise sled dogs) and Olivia in Hawaii (where she is going to be a surfer girl and never, ever wear socks), she plans to live in Paris and be an artist.

What is a little surprising to me, though, is that the thought that raced through my mind the most often throughout our brief stay in the city of lights last week was this: I am SO glad we are not living here.

Paris with children is a wonderful place to visit. Paris with children can be full of jaw-dropping, take-your-breath-away kinds of experiences. Our children saw so many things they had heard about, and read about, and thought about -- and they got to see it all, for real, right in front of them: the Eiffel Tower, Degas's Dancer, all of Ancient Egypt at the Louvre. I am so glad we went, and so glad they got this experience.

But I am also so glad we ended up spending this sabbatical in tiny Villers-la-Faye and not the monstrous metropolis to the northwest. Navigating the wine roads of Burgundy is so much more manageable than keeping track of little ones on a subway or crowded city street. Being able to live in a stand-alone house with three children whose voices have never been what you could call quiet and who have room to run around outside makes our own life so much easier than if we were in an apartment or shared dwelling worrying about the pounding of footsteps, the cries of bad dreams, and the shouts of excitement that can occur at any time of day or night. And then when you factor in the high cost of everything, the crowds, the lines, the traffic... the trip reaffirmed many times that we made the right choice for us.

So while I still (and always will) love Paris, and while I am glad we went (and will go again), I was so glad to get home. Being close enough to visit (we can even go there for a day -- it's just over 90 minutes on the fast train from Dijon) is probably the best of all worlds for us.

And all of that said -- we still had a great time. We stayed in the first arrondisement in a fifth floor mirrored "studio" which had a little loft for the kids (which they LOVED). It was a long walk up the rickety wooden stairs, and I tried to not dwell too much on the fire hazard those stairs presented -- but it had a little kitchen and best of all, it was two blocks away from the Seine and we walked easily to the Louvre, the Musée D'Orsay and more.

Our first stop Tuesday morning was the Les Tuileries, the most central park in Paris.

We then headed over one of Paris's 36 bridges to the Musée D'Orsay, a former train station that was transformed into a museum in 1986.

First on the list of things to see (once we stopped looking up at the incredible ceiling and giant clock and maneuvered past dozens of marble statues) was the Petite Danseuse de 14 ans by Edgar Degas. We have been reading about her a lot (as well as about some of Degas's kittens in another children's book) and she was the one piece of art that Katie and Livie knew they wanted to see. In the third picture below, you can see Liv trying out the little dancer's moves.

There are great long benches in the museum where you can rest, observe the art, and check out your pictures for a bit, too.

This was Jack's favorite piece -- a young prince of France and his loyal hound. It made us all miss Kaia very much.

We decided to splurge on lunch at the VERY fancy museum restaurant. They had a great children's menu (as well as an amazing regular menu) and it was one of our favorite meals and restaurant experiences so far.

After leaving the museum, we headed in the sunshine to what is probably the most memorable (and unusual) store any of us has ever seen. At our friend Alli's recommendation (and with help from a kid-friendly Paris guidebook sent by my oldest friend, Suzanne), we found ourselves at Paris's last taxidermy store, called Deyrolle (you must read more about it here and here.) 

Nearly destroyed by a fire in 2008 (as one writer explained, it was quite creepy to think of those dead animals having to go through it all over again), the store was rebuilt to its magical splendor and we could have spent a whole day there, examining the butterflies, bugs, fowl, furry creatures and more.

We did not purchase any of the multi-thousand euro stuffed animals at the store -- but we did walk away with one North American-approved, well packed and preserved bug that Jack plans to give to some bug-crazy family friends.

We then walked back to our studio and had a bit of a rest. Kate and Liv said they wanted to stay and have a tea party, so Jack and I struck out again at about 4 p.m. for the Eiffel Tower. The line to ride up the elevator was long, and it was cold, but Jack did not complain a bit. He just couldn't wait to get to the top.

We were exhausted when we finally got home -- but thrilled, too. Because of the long line, by the time we took the elevator down from the top and stopped to see the view on the second story, we were able to enjoy hot chocolate as the sun was setting. Talk about a memorable moment.

The next morning, we slept in and John went out for baguettes and croissants at the neighborhood boulangerie. We then packed our bags, left them with the front desk, and headed straight for the Louvre.

Again, there was a huge crowd but we made it in eventually and decided to check out Ancient Egypt.

In this section, Katie and Livie liked the ancient jewelry best. They picked out their favorites and wondered if we could get some jewelry like that some day. Um, no, I said. Probably not.

We also faced the usual run of four-year-old non-stop questions. Why does that man have a tail (I think he's a merman). Are mermen real (no, I don't think so). Then why did they make a sculpture of one? (Because someone thought it would be beautiful or interesting?). Katie's other insightful comment was that a lot of those sculptures (including the Venus de Milo and one of my favorites, The Three Graces), would look prettier with clothes on. Well, à chacun son gout, I thought (to each her own).

At Jack's request, John and Jack did a high-speed detour to head over to the Mona Lisa (which Jack said he liked -- although it wasn't a favorite) while the girls and I made our way through the palace-turned-museum at a bit of a slower (and more direct) pace. Eventually, we met up with John and Jack again and said goodbye to the Louvre. We picked up our bags, took the subway to the train station, and within minutes of settling into our seats on the fast train home, the kids were all asleep -- dreaming of Paris, maybe, or of other adventures to come.