blueVicar

The summer has been free and clear for K. Her only obligation thus far has been four days of driving school and three two-hour sessions of behind the wheel training. It helps that she is motivated to learn to drive. With no schedules and no commitments, she gets to set her own agenda, fill her time with her own interests. I remember the director of her elementary school encouraging parents to give their children this kind of freedom, “Let them get bored; they’ll find creative ways to entertain themselves. It’s good for them.”

We’ve taken those words to heart each vacation period allowing K to draw, to read, to listen to music, whatever she wants to do to fill her free hours. And she’s always seemed to enjoy it. Now she has her own computer and she spends hours reading, writing, watching programs…online. Is this the same as what would happen without the computer? I doubt it, but when we talk about her online life, she describes her queries and how she gathers information, how she looks at the art of others, how she finds the writings of others to read. It sounds good to me.

And she uses the computer to stay in touch with her pals back in France. School just ended for her former classmates since they completed le brevet. K is really glad she didn’t have to take those tests, but, of course, realizes that there will tests of her own here that she must face soon enough.

The really curious thing is that K has always enjoyed staying in touch with her pals using email and Skype. When we were in France, she regularly conversed with her pals back here in Boulder and now that we are in Boulder, she talks often with her friends in France.

The other day she asked, “Why is my best friend always in the other country?” and I had to wonder the same thing. Is it easier to open up to people who are far away? Can you more easily cut off a conversation online than in person? Is it more fun to talk over the ether than face to face? She even prefers to email her best pals here in Boulder; telephone is just too, too…too much like talking.

I don’t know, but I wonder if it is a characteristic of the Internet age. Relationships are virtual even when they are real.

Have you noticed any virtual relationships slipping into your life?

Today after I returned from my quotidian walk, I realized that almost every time I go out the door, I notice something that I would like to remember, something that I mention to J and K over the dinner table, something small but noteworthy.

So, I decided to add the category “On My Walks” to the photo images that I’ve been posting daily at my new blog. I hope you’ll take a peek at my notes on Attention to Life sometime…and feel free to add your own!

One year ago we arrived back in Boulder. One year ago last Saturday we left Antibes.

How can it be? The year has gone so quickly and yet I feel today as I did driving in to town after being away for two years; did I ever really live in France? In some ways it feels I have never been away from these foothills and yet my heart knows another world and still yearns for simple things in France…a hot baguette, chats with people on the bus, going to church in mid-week, having lunch that lasts for hours, standing and looking at the sea, walking through the ports, admiring little dogs, “meeting” other expats via blogs…

I don’t feel sad, but I do miss it. Life back there has taken on a kind of dream-like quality where my memories seem ethereal. I’m really glad that I took so many photos because they return me to the time and place in a much more realistic way than my mind can manage.

So, it’s an anniversary of sorts. A happy day flecked with remembrances.

Any noteworthy dates in your life about now?

I just got word this week from Loretta Feeney who has written a couple of stories (French Morning and A Good Studio) here on blueVicar.

Loretta reported that the The Barnstable Patriot published an online feature about her art work and teaching. Be sure to read it.

Also, take a look at her wonderful art.

Congratulations, Loretta! And thanks for sharing the news.

I was driving home from the airport on Thursday in the early afternoon. Having just picked up a dear friend who was spending the night in Northglenn before heading off on a family vacation/business trip, I was chattering on and on when I noticed that the “check engine” light was illuminated on the dash. “Uh, Bud, we might have a problem.” That was the understatement of the month, perhaps the year.
Since the car wasn’t making any funny noises and drove without any noticeable problems, we found a restaurant and went ahead and had a late lunch. By the time we emerged from our noisy restaurant, I was elated from the conversation we had had about vocation and its realization, not very concerned about the car. I mean our old Ford Escort used to have the “check engine” light come on and then go off with some frequency with nary a bad consequence.

I dropped my friend off and promised to call when I arrived back in Boulder. At the end of the street two blocks away, the car made a noise and that was all she wrote. Forget driving home, I was lucky it could limp across the street and into a parking lot. After many calls to J, the Saab service center, and back to my friend, I decided to have the car towed back to Boulder.

While waiting for the truck to arrive, I sat in the car thinking about the years that we had no car in France. This was exactly the kind of thing I feared while there. As difficult as it was to figure out a plan here, how would I have managed this kind of problem there? Oh, I suppose it would have worked out. I mean the time I borrowed a friend’s car in Antibes while he was back in the states and had a flat tire, I finally got the issue resolved, thanks to a savvy youth who knew way more than me about the secret life of Peugots (a secret tire-changing device). But still as I gazed out across the landscape of the vast parking lot past the Midas Muffler, Good Times fast food, and Kohl’s department store, I couldn’t help but ponder the truism, “no car=no trouble.”

The tow truck arrived, the driver hauled my buggy up onto the platform and we bounced back to Boulder. He took us right to the Saab service center and showed me how to fill out the form and place it with the key in the drop box. Since I was flummoxed by J’s description of how the bus home worked from there and it was after nine at night, I called and begged a ride from our friend who has rescued us from multiple sticky situations.

Next morning the fellow from the Saab dealer called. “Looks like it’s your throttle sensor that was causing the problem; it needs to be replaced. Oh and your temperature sensor is malfunctioning too so we recommend a new thermostat. We also noticed it could use some cleaning around the intake manifold.”

“Aha, and…how much?”

“Well, the throttle sensor is about $800, the thermostat is about $200 and the cleaning is about $200.”

Gulp.

Pause.

“Okay. Let’s just do the first two and leave the cleaning for another day.”

“No problem! We’ll call you when it’s done…should be just after lunch.”

And it was. I went about three o’clock and let them swipe my credit card. The service guy took me out to admire the shiny new parts and even gave me a tour of what is under the hood since I confessed to not knowing how to check the oil. He was very patient and gave me a good tip: “The ‘check engine’ light can mean any of about 200 hundred things, but if it is ever flashing, then STOP immediately. Don’t go another inch.”

I thanked him, buckled myself in and drove off to visit a friend. At about 4:45 p.m. I got back in the car to head home, went about two miles and what-to-my-wondering-eyes-should-appear? The “check engine” light! At least it wasn’t blinking. Disgusted I pulled over and called the service man. Back to the shop. “Hmmm…seems we failed to connect something properly, but now we’ve got it.”

I was incredulous, but they seemed so certain, so off I went.

On Saturday, I never went out in the car. Then just like the little old lady from Pasadena, I headed off to church Sunday morning confident that all was in good repair. Nope. On the way home, I drove on the entrance ramp to the highway accelerating to merge into traffic when the car lurched and faltered, kind of like a horse with a twisted ankle. The motor died and failed to restart. I tried to guide it off of the road but only made it halfway, the back-end of the car remaining in the lane of traffic. As quickly as I could, I turned on the flashers and looking in the rearview mirror watched the flow of traffic buck and turn trying to change lanes to avoid a collision.

Called J; called the tow truck; called 911 to get some traffic control. Back to the Saab service center. Put the key back in the drop box. Off to catch the bus.

This morning I arrived at the shop to the question, “Now what was the problem? You had trouble starting the car?”

I went through the entire description including the horror of all those weaving vehicles trying to avoid my stalled buggy. “Why? Didn’t the service tech have trouble starting the car?”

“Nope, started right up. No problem. What did you say…?” when suddenly the technician bursting into the lobby saying, “Well, I didn’t make it a block when it died right in traffic! I barely got it over to the side of the road!”

Hurrumph…they didn’t believe me…and again my car was dangerously close to being in a wreck…

After a long diagnostic, the verdict was that it was the ignition system. They are sure this has nothing to do with the other problems. It’s just a coincidence that within less than twenty miles of leaving the service center, another major problem would crop up? Both of these some kind of central nervous system issues that completely disable the machine, breakdowns; neither of them old-fashioned mechanical problems. Could they be unrelated? If this was a human body, the question would come up if they were symptoms of some larger, more systemic problem; scary.

But being all about service and knowing that I would find coincidence difficult to believe, the service center offered to split the cost of this latest repair with me, $300 each. And they loaned me another set of wheels while the part is being shipped in. And they will pay for the tow truck I took on Sunday. Okay. I have nothing to base another opinion on and they seem to want to do the right thing.

But will it end here? Surely three things won’t go wrong in a row.

Only time will tell. I’ll let you know.

How do you feel about car problems?

Reactions?

The last day of school was Thursday. It seems incredible that K’s freshman year in high school is finished. And what a year–whew! She really liked her courses, her teachers, her pals. In fact, she really, really liked being back in the USA.

Last June we were a little wary of our choice to leave France, but with a year’s hindsight, it seems like the right decision. Of course, we will never know how her year would have gone at her French school, but I’m betting that it couldn’t have been better than this.

Now there’s the summer to look forward to with a long stretch of time to hang around without exams or homework or projects or deadlines. She’ll be taking a weeklong driving course starting next Monday, and expects to have her learner’s permit at its conclusion; that’ll get us out and rolling for sure. And she wants to take some sewing courses…her Fashion Production class was a huge success with several sewing projects as well as a project that resulted in a line of clothing that any designer would be happy to sport. (Okay, mother’s get to brag…)

All this rapid year, K has maintained contact with the kids she knew in France…thank goodness for the Internet. Renewed relationships with pals here make it seem like she was barely gone. International life lives on in memories and in new experiences, even from opposite sides of the globe.

So we’re on the stretch to sophomore year or seconde in France. But no need to rush; there is plenty of time, plenty of time…

Anything wrapping up where you are?

For four years in France, we never had access to a drier; we
always put our laundry out on wracks. The designs were ingenious
with some working better than others. (I was never fond of lines that
hung outside of the windows as I feared tumbling out while reaching
for a sock.) Since we were in the southern part of the country, the
weather was not an issue; it was sunny most days.

When we returned to Boulder, I realized that I had not seriously considered
line drying when we lived here before, but the conditions are parfait.
The homeowners association does not support them, but we’ve gone
“undercover” since the wall around our deck is high enough to screen
our unsightly (not!) covers.

So we are on our way…Yippee!!

Any laundry you want to air?

Boulder has gone green. I’m not talking about being ecologically oriented; Boulder has been that way for a long time. I’m not talking about being envious; Boulder has some keeping-up-with-the-Jones issues, but probably less than many places. I’m not talking about being Irish; Boulder has no more emphasis on the land of shamrocks than any other cultural background. I’m not talking about being nauseated; Boulder folks are not more prone to emesis than others. I’m not talking about an influx of dollars; Boulder is pretty well off but fairly stable.

No, I’m talking about real green…green grass, green leaves. Boulder has gone green.

Continue reading »

Déjà-vous…all over again. The folks in the townhouse moved out today and held a yard sale on Sunday. Then yesterday morning they put out what hadn’t sold with a big sign that said “FREE”; by last night it was all gone.

How many times have we down-sized as we’ve crisscrossed continents? I shudder to think.

It all started when we prepared to sell our big house in Boulder and keep just what would fit into a European sized apartment. It seemed like we got rid of much of what we owned: home and office furniture, memorabilia, business papers, toys, clothes, kitchen items, yard tools, tchotchkes and books. Some went in yard sales, some to friends, some as donations to thrift shops. It was somewhat traumatic as much of the stuff had been with us for years and years. The funny thing that I didn’t realize at the time, was that even as much as we shed, what we put in storage would never have fit in a typical French apartment. It seemed like such a little bit, but it would have easily furnished two, or even three, apartments the size of what we eventually inhabited.

Then in France Continue reading »

This was a welcomed sight yesterday as I pulled weeds in the flower bed in front of our townhouse. It is an earring that I lost six months ago while spreading mulch in preparation for the winter. I went out with two baubles and came back in with only one. As soon as I spied it was missing, I went back out and poked and prodded the mulch hoping that I might find it, but alas it was not to be.

Then yesterday after a long walk I paused to dislodge a dandelion and some spurge, stood to go in, and my gaze wandered across the way and there within inches of the edge, right next to the sidewalk, just beside the crocus greens, was the earring half covered with dirt, the other half glimmering in the sunshine. I screamed with joy and disbelief, ran and got the camera, pulled the jewel from its hiding spot, brought it in and ran water over it. It looked exactly like the one that wintered in my jewelry box.

I had had imaginings of it being raised up, pinned to a tulip emerging from the ground, the earring dangling from one of the sturdy leaves, placed there for me by the garden gnomes. This was just as good.

“I must have looked in that spot a thousand times” was all I could think. But a thousand and one did the trick.

Have you lost anything lately that you can’t believe you can’t find?

Didn’t take long did it? Squirrels and birds seem to be taking turns…for now.

How quickly would you have figured out the trick?

Now that spring is here, I am trying to resume a schedule that includes daily walks. The cold and wind of winter in Boulder dissuaded me most days from poking my nose out of doors. But now, the sun is out, the world is becoming a palette of greens and it is time to get some fresh air.

We are very fortunate to live in a lovely part of Boulder having beautiful trails and neighborhoods that lead right up into the mountains. There is even a farm down in the valley with cows, peacocks, horses and who knows what else. It’s fairly quiet, not too much traffic. In many ways, it is idyllic.

So why with all of this beauty and nature do I mourn when I head out the door that I have so few options? I mean I can walk up the hill, down the hill, or across the hill, all lovely directions with trees, grasses, flowers, open space, gardens, sky.

But you know what’s on my mind? The Port, the Market, the Place de Gaulle, the shops, the beach, even the tourists. What an ingrate I am.

Why do I even think about those past alternatives when what I have is so good? It’s not like I’m pining every moment, yearning to be back in Antibes. Still, there’s something about stepping across the portal from inside to out that gives me flashbacks of the kinds of things that I used to see while walking.

I need a new attention setting, a shift from “urban splash” to “suburban trail.” I think it’ll just take time.

What is the setting of your attention meter?

So far so good, but we never know when these rascals will figure it out. They must wonder why we put those impossible to reach tasty treats out there for them. That is if they wonder at all…

And how about you? Had any baffling experiences lately?

I never saw anything like this in France. Oh yes, and nice license plate, huh?

K and I went to run an errand; she needed a fresh supply of face powder. We bought the perfect product in France last spring and we were optimistic that we could find it again since it came from Sephora. Incredibly, there are two of those French beauty shops within ten miles of our home.

We approached from the ideal parking spot right outside the door thinking the store here in our own 29th Street Mall looked very much like the one we used to visit on avenue Jean Medecin in Nice. Crossing the threshold, it felt quite familiar. The displays were very similar, only rearranged a little. All of the clerks were beautiful with perfect make-up, wearing black shirts and pants. The background music was the same sort of unrecognizable rock.

Yes, it didn’t take much imagination to believe we were back in France.

Smiling and friendly, a sales clerk approached us to see if we had any questions. Could she be the same young woman that helped us last year when we first bought this product? Same picture perfect face, hair, nails? She had the same porcelain skin as K, rare on the Mediterranean where it is difficult to find pale pink face powder, most skin there is darker in color with a browner tint so the beauty supplies reflect the population profile. Maybe Sephora encourages international exchange of clerks?

But no, as soon she opened her mouth, the spell was broken. She was definitely not French.

Still the experience was pleasant. We wandered through the perfumes to see if we could find Hypnose, a quite popular scent last spring. It didn’t appear on the shelf. We poked around the display of make-up brushes, finally wandering over to admire the awesome array of false eyelashes.

When there was nothing left to explore, we passed out of our new little France back into BoulderWorld, and I realized that this version of Sephora lacked one other feature of the store in Nice…at least three security guards wandered around protecting the premises there. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I don’t see those guys in the black suits in stores here.

It was an interesting interlude, visually if not auditorily, transporting. Now, if we can just get them to start baking baguettes…

Any “out of your world” experiences lately?

I’m spoiled rotten.

The other day I was driving off to a meeting across town. The snow was accumulating on the flowering tree branches but, thankfully, not the road. A damp cold was seeping into my bones.

I glanced over at the heater settings when my eye fell on that little roller button that sits low on the dashboard. I never had this particular feature in a car before, so I often forget about it. I rolled it up to “2” and within seconds felt the warmth spreading delightfully beneath me. Ahhh…a seat warmer. How did I ever live without this before?

Of course, there are other features on this car that I never had before: automatic windows, cruise control, remote door locking and opening, leather seats and steering wheel, a panel that tells me all sorts of things like the doors aren’t closed, the coolant needs checking, a headlight is burned out and any number of other messages that I haven’t yet needed. Once I was pushing various buttons investigating their functions and I rang up an emergency service that wanted to know if I was in distress. Yikes! I didn’t even know that was a possibility. After that, I read the manual before I pushed a button I couldn’t identify.

It’s amazing what cars can do these days. This one is truly a delight to drive. Our pal did us a great favor to pass it along to us when we returned from France.

Nothing like new-fangled technology to up the anty on “necessities”; I wonder if I can get a seat warmer for inside the house?

Have you found any new technological features that you can’t live without?

E. L. Doctorow once said that “writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” You don’t have to see where you’re going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard.

–from bird by bird, Anne Lamott, 1994