Posts from the ‘best time of my life’ Category

When Taking a Taxi in Paris Saves Your Marriage Bigtime

TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN TO TAKE YOU HOME

Ahhh, the evening has been crisp, cool, lively and we strolled for hours.  Then  we found a darling Bistro that wasn’t expensive and had been in that same location since 1902.  Belle Époque? No, later. Anyway, it’s a lovely and romantic evening and we’re starving.   Afterwards, we stroll  a bit more and there – just in front of you is the RER entrance (way below – in the sewers of the city),  almost exactly where you are standing!  (How lucky can we get?) as it’s only been a short walk down the tiny street and voilà!   This means that we will  get to Gare du Nord where our ever-present “Enghien Train” is waiting for us  – always.  EXCEPT  TONIGHT!!   We can hear the whirring sound as I hobble up the steps as fast as I can possibly go, my husband virtually lifting me by tangling my  elbow into his – and as I reach that last step, huffing like a steam engine – –  – it’s GONE – and – it’s the LAST train!! The very last.  You look to see if there might be any other possible way you could get close, to your home, to your BED, and you see the board turn over the times….. Yes, 4:00 in the morning!!!  The train to Enghien, not till 5.  It’s 11:30pm now on a Wednesday and you are so screwed.

So, you look around and see quite a few couples sitting there – untouched by this “no trains pheonoma “    and think ahhhhhh amour – it is lovely is it not?   They have each other close by, tight, with lovely smells of each other and it just doesn’t matter to them.  Not in the least.    I love my husband, but I am at the age where my body dictates to me that the BED is the next thing you want after a full day of walking, and a lovely romantic dinner with vin – it is just time to get in your car and go home!!! But alas, we have no car, and will not have one, ever,  here and – it’s trains or nothing to get you from point A to point B.  Just like that.  Your body dictates, “Your day is done.”  I do not want to sit in the wee hours of the morning smelling my husband in the train station.  I want to go home.   Now.   David knows this, but we ‘re on a budget here and the next budget step would be a BUS.   A bus from Gare du Nord to Enghien-les-bains.  We’re talking a bus that makes at least 30 stops just from one town to the next……not to mention the next 5 (FIVE) towns the driver would have to go through.  Oh, !! SO what to DO?   We do not take a bus, that is for sure.

We go out the front of Gare du Nord and find a taxi stand.  “To Enghien?” he says.  We say, “Yes, to Enghien!”   “It is 40 euros”  he says in almost perfect English.   Oh – I just walk away wanting to just go far far far away – from the sound of that and the thought of that.  David calls me back and he says “He’ll do it for 30”!

I’m thinking, “hmmm, I’ve always wanted to see what it would be like to go to from Paris’ North train station (Gare du Nord) to Enghien-les-Bains – it could be interesting”…….(not very)…..so we, out of a weak, tired, searching for sleep moment, DO IT.    Oh, Marti, Marti!!  DO not think about what this day has cost…..because you will not be in a good mood the rest of the night.  You have learned something extremely important tonight, I say to myself.  And that is,  that if you go to a movie, and then have dinner, like most French people do (late)  – you will have to carry schedules with you at all times so you know when you must LEAVE the restaurant to catch the metro, or RER to get your very last train back home and not spend a fortune taking a taxi!!!

That being said, the taxi driver was most interesting, spoke English, slammed the “suburbs” of Paris cause “people don’t walk there and drive everywhere” (which, for sure, hurts his business) and extolled the virtues of his wonderful Paris, although he, himself,  is  Lebanese.  Such a talkative feller.  He might have (almost) been worth the 40 EUROS it cost us to go home last night. Almost.

We got out of the taxi  in the cold darkness, smack in front of the apartment, which was a luxury,  in the wee hours of the morning.  We had to laugh and forget the cost. This time.

“The cool crisp white sheets felt mighty fine……..she got to her bed just in time to fall fast asleep….and dream a little dream of  never ever missing the Last Train to Enghien again.”    TRAIN SCHEDULES GIRL!!!

THE CACKLING WOMAN AT THE PARTY DOWNSTAIRS

Saturday night.  Night for parties.  In my apartment building. I wasn’t invited but I went vicariously anyway.  How could I not?  The laughter was so loud that it prompted me to open my sliding balcony door and peek over the side to see exactly what was so funny.  Ofcourse I wouldn’t understand why they were laughing because i don’t understand French jokes, or french anything for that matter, but it was fun to listen to, for an hour or so. After that, it became quite annoying.   I mean really.  At one point, the woman who was cackling was so taken with her laughter that she had to cross her legs in order not to pee (I presume) because that’s all I could see from my vantage point above and from my balcony.  No heads, only waist down – and that’s where she kept crossing her thighs hard, which I’ve had to do to keep from peeing when I sneeze.  But she wasn’t sneezing, she was cackling.  Good, I thought, someone over 40…….no one under 40 has to cross their legs when they sneeze, I dare say. I closed the patio door and the laughter came straight up from below….I mean honestly – what could have been so funny?   I turned the radio louder to drown her out as it was really irritating by now.

Then, it settled down a bit and I went out on the balcony to check on them.  Were they dead drunk, dead, awake, what?  The madame had the kitchen window wide open and was flicking her cigarette butts out into a tiny ceramic planter while she washed the dishes.  Her hands were so red that it must have been really hot water.  I thought, “I’m going to be a voyeur now and see how French people wash their dishes to see if I can learn anything”.  But it was virtually the same as what I do…fill the sink with water, squirt some soap in, swish the sponge around on the dishes, first the top of the plate, then the bottom of the plate – oh okay, boring, they do it like “us”…….with the exception of the cigarette while washing….that was tricky.  How did she not get the cigarette wet?  The cackling woman must have passed out.  I didn’t hear her anymore.

Arriving in Enghien after Christmas Vacation in Saint Louis

The photo at the top (if you can see it) is Enghien-les-bains, our little village. (You might have to actually click on the blue lettering of the title of this piece.) Anyway,  It’s a lovely spa town and really came into its own at the turn of the century. I will share a link of it at the end of this story. It’s also connected to Montmorency, which is our actual address and that has even more wonderful and very interesting history.

When I arrived after my Saint Louis vacation it was a balmy, breezy, overcast morning and very quiet in Paris.

While putting on my socks after a really good sleep up front,   in this speeding fuselage, with way  too much wine with dinner,  I looked at the GPS and saw  7:20am. I searched out my village, from the window,  though impossible, because it was dark.  But every morning – from my little bedroom, I hear the sound of the airbus and wonder if it’s USAirways or not.  This is a peculiarity of one born in the airline business.  We tend to listen, watch, even crane our necks to see what is flying above us, even if it means stepping out into on-coming traffic while  gazing above.  It’s a disease.   So, now I know, that at around 7:20 or – 7:40  approximately, my airline, the one I’m officially retired from,  is making its way over  Enghien, jet engines soaring – as we are in the direct line of Charles de Gaulle airport.  It’s due east of our apartment.

Good landing, windy, a bit hard with nose wheel though.  That big round Terminal 1- comes into view – the circular lights streaming round and round.

I love  coming into that terminal early in the morning…..the stores, the clerks, getting ready for the day, the L’Occitane, the gift shops, perfumeries, all so still, quiet, waiting for the onslaught of people making their way through in a few hours and jamming the corridors, grabbing last-minute souvenirs.

They gave me a special customs pass to get into and out of customs quickly. I felt like a diplomat.  What fun was this!?!   There was only one other gentleman ahead of me and then it was my turn, and an official puts my card into the stall (like a train ticket) and off I go to the customs window. It’s just me and this guy. I’m thinking where are the other 296 persons behind us? Or in front of us? It’s so unimaginable to be going through customs so quickly and just TWO of us!!  Went forever around that circle, knowing it so well as I lived there one entire day , in 2000 while David flew by taxi back to the city to get a new passport!  I had inadvertently “washed” it in the  gite washing machine, and of course the airport officials  wouldn’t accept it!  A whole other story!  Saw signs to baggage – went there, so quickly,  – and then the signs to the tram/shuttle where I would go to the Roissypole to get the RER. As I got down and off the elevator – there was my honey waiting there for me!! It was majorly fun to see him!!!! A big huge hug!!!!

Saint Louis has a HOLD on me……..

Okay, Not meeting my husband in Paris afterall,  not riding the train back to my cute little apartment,  not feeling the cold damp air, whispering fun stories to my husband on the RER,  no unpacking the two huge suitcases in the apt and filling it with all our meaningful STUFF, no baguette with brie in the morning.

And I was 1 hour and 40 minutes early!!. So I (mistakingly ) thought it should be enough time to do all that ticket counter/security junk.  Wrong.

I could blame it all on Jan 2nd being the day EVERYONE returns to their homebase. Or, it could be from the stupidty of that guy that caused a breech in Security somewhere this weekend, which then in turn caused the TSA agents to be extra slow and cautious. Yeah, I  could so blame them, because it took everyone incredibly  long to get through security, after being in an already 45 minute line at Ticket Counter because they were x-raying a lot of bodies and doing the “pat down”,  moi included.  I mean, really, what? Why?  So it’s all their fault. But it’s not. It’s mine and mine alone, I suppose.  My passport and ticket and upgrade were all in my hand which I shoved into the little red and green Christmas bag when my flight was announced in security as the “final boarding call”.  I did what the French people do, and  said, “I’m on that flight they just announced may I go ahead of you?” Which I was sure would be looked upon, from the Americans in my midst,  as horrendous and ofcourse they wouldn’t let me through, but I was surprised and they actually made way for me, and then the person behind me, and then the person behind them. (All going to PHL.)   Whew. No ugliness, I was so relieved.  But then after tearing off my boots, placing my Mac in the bin, the small carryon, my satchel, which had the little Christmas bag stuffed in it along with the passport and the ticket  – It was another 10 minutes AFTER those things were put on the belt that I finally was able to get “body screened” and then had to wait for the results of THAT, and I’m thinking….”I’m practically naked……I have a simple turtleneck, stretch slacks, socks, underwear, no belts, no metal, no underwire bra, no barretts, no  nothing, just my skin under this and it took so long for the body scan to produce the results that I was “a- okay”.    I kept looking at my stuff over on the other belt because it had been sitting towards the end for quite sometime with a whole lot of other stuff piling up behind it.    It all looked to be there, but it was still far away.  Finally, yes, FINALLY, they “released “ me and I dashed over to the belt to retrieve my stachel, my boots, my small carryon and looked up and down for “something else” but didn’t see it and I don’t know why I didn’t think “CHRISTMAS BAG”, but I didn’t and off I went. And I do mean OFF…….as in running.  If any of you know me, it might be obvious already that I do not run.  My knees are shot, I am lucky to do all the walking I do , especially steps, without so much as a cane.  The Agent made the announcement at the gate that the flight was closing in 3 minutes.  When I hear this I am all the way at the other end and start to run.  But I can’t run. So it was sort of a hobble and my heart started racing and I was breathing like an asmatic, and thought, “there is just no way, as my computer bag kept falling off my back……along with my coat because the computer bag was dragging it off of me.”  When I arrived at Gate 17,  Nancy, the sweet agent dashed my seat in my hand and off I went down the jet way.  When I got to my seat, I started coughing uncontrollably and was still gasping for air.  The water helped, but I just could not control the coughing and would cough into my down coat so I didn’t piss everyone off.   When I looked down to make sure my phone was off, I looked for my little Christmas bag with my passport and ticket and  – well, it wasn’t there, and it was too late to get off the plane as they were pushing back.

Oh Mon Dieu!!!!!
The coughing was really bad now and I coughed and sputtered and cried all at the same time.  My fate was clear…….I was not going to Paris today either and I would have to fly back to Saint Louis and hopefully retrieve my passport, unless someone else picked up that little bag, (which if that was the case,  is another huge security breach!)

This is the SECOND time that I’ve tried now to get to Paris in 3 days.  David had to leave without me on United the other day cause flights were full.  (We’re always on standby for all you non-airline people who don’t know this about the way we travel.)

But, hey, these non-rev passes are my only BENEFIT after 19 years, so hey,

you just roll with the punches, I suppose………

So, dear reader, THAT is where I am now……God only knows what is really going to happen next.

Well, looking at the bright side – I’ll be in a lot of cafes and bars today all day – and I’ll collect all the free napkins to put in my satchel – cause once you’re in EUROPE, you need a lot of free stuff like – NAPKINS!!!

Life is such an adventure, and so many times I wish that it were not.

Okay. You will not believe how this ended…………………………….

As I was getting ready to step aboard my USAirways flight back to Saint Louis.……….up walks  Susan, the Flight Attendant from my STL-PHL

flight  and she is  – holding – HOLDING the LITTLE GREEN CHRISTMAS BAG with my PASSPORT, my F/C UPGRADE, my Life…..so to speak…and

I almost fainted.

I  am now  very visibly drunk (forgive me God)……..and now am sitting resolutely in a white rocking chair looking at the sky and the concrete of massive parking garages in Philadelphia Airport waiting for my check-in time at the gate for my flight to Paris.

My life is SO not boring.

WHAT AM I DOING HERE IN MISSOURI!?!?!

Oh! That’s right! I live here. Or did. And I have a home, a very cute “cottage-y home” in Overland Missouri, actually it’s Saint Louis.  We have been here for as long as Gracie has been born…..almost 13 years.  She just turned 12.  It was so beautiful to see all of the family, all who reside in greater Saint Louis.  I could tell you that my family is the greatest and the most talented and the best looking and shower so much love to the offspring that they have been blessed with, but all that’s a given. And then you would tell me that, “Sorry Marti, but mine fits that description and it is not possible  that more than one fits that description so I’m afraid it’s my family.”  HA!  And that is fine, because that, actually is the way it should be.   We all have a very special and individualistic place in our hearts for our children and grands and nothing and no one can change our minds about our very own.  

So, with that said, I am blessed – blessed – blessed to have the family that I have, and though I will miss them immensely when I return to France, we are all “techi’s” more or less and with e-mails, Skype, i-movie, Facetime, videos, etc – we stay firmly connected – even 6,000 miles away.  PLUS, 5 of them are coming to the Oldfield Apartment in PARIS this Spring.  How lucky is that?!?! 

Till my return to France and resume my blog –  – – – – – – To All – a Happy, Glorious, and Prosperous New Year!

MG

The Story of the RED BOOTS

Relaxing before shopping

THE STORY OF THE RED BOOTS – how when you think you’re not suppose to have something – and you actually PRAY about it – stranger things can happen……

Several weeks ago my friend Amy came to visit me in Paris.  It was the most wonderful time having “girl time” with her and her BEAUTIFUL daughter Sarah.  Amy is full of devilish playful behavior and sometimes at the most unexpected times.  She can also be, amidst the humor, very psychoanalytical to the point it makes you think — Hard.  I don’t know where she get this from, oh yes, maybe it was all that therapy.  LOL.  Well, towards the end of her stay we went shopping in the Marais.  We hadn’t gone there for shopping per se, we had basically wanted to have a really good, tasty,  filling and inexpensive lunch, which doesn’t exist in Paris, except in the Marais at L’as du Fallafel

– the place I’ve been trying to get a falafel pita for several years now but the first time I went years ago, David ‘s uncle nixed the idea, I’m not sure why. Now we were here, it wasn’t the usual super long line that it is on Saturday and we had our fabulous lunch with some red wine.  I read that you’re suppose to try their famous lemonade with it, but I didn’t know that so,  next time!    After we ate,  Amy went to look for a New Year’s Eve dress that she would need because she was going to a wedding in Buffalo for New Years.  I am thinking….there is no way that Amy is going to find an affordable dress here in the Marais, but I won’t dampen her enthusiasm, and let her do what she needs to do.  She found this shop , she goes in and David and I hang outside in the cold waiting for her to try on several dresses.                          

Several times I went back in and saw that she had actually found a striking dress that was not that expensive and was something that she would not have gotten back in the States, for sure.  While she was doodling about with this dress – I went next door and looked at these awesome red boots in the window.  I went in and priced them and decided, there was no way I could ever get those boots.

Then, I went back to Amy and she was getting the dress  and they were wrapping it so beautifully.  It was a  joy to see  she found something so special and glad too that she was DONE!  Now we could move on.  I went back to the boot store a second time, showed them to Amy, and we moved on.

As we continued our long walk back to metro and then train we shared more fun stories and were louder than anyone else on the train because NO one talks loud on the metro or the train.  If they talk , it’s in whispers.  I’m sure we gave away that we were A M E R I C A N S because we talked and laughed LOUDLY.  It’s embarrassing actually, when you realize that you’re the only one doing this and then it’s like being in church where everything  strikes you funny and then you start laughing even more than normally.  It’s vicious!  Well, Amy  left me to go back home a couple of days later.  Several days after she left I went back to the Marais and looked at “my” red boots again.  I wasn’t going to try them on, even though she asked me to – and I was sure they wouldn’t have my big size anyway.  I just wanted to “feel “ them because they were so luscious.

Now, this being said, it is not that shoes play a particular importance for me.  I usually get one really nice pair of walking shoes a year because I have super bad knees and if I have good walking shoes it makes a huge difference in how your knees feel at the end of a long walking day.

I don’t walk much in the States, but here, I walk plenty, usually 2 or more hours a day.  Some days it’s an all day long affair.

But, there was something about these soft leather red boots that just didn’t leave me and I knew that they would probably be good to walk in all day because of the way  in which they were constructed, the low heel and the baby soft calf leather.  They were also a name I had never heard before so later I googled the name and realized they were a particular designer shoe and there was no way in the world I could or should buy a designer shoe.  That just wasn’t me.

Another week goes by and I have not only mentioned the red boots as a barometer for everything that I will need in the rest of my living days but nothing, absolutely nothing goes past the gauge of the “red boots”.   “Yeah, well, it would be nice to upgrade the iPhone but that would be a pair of red boots.”     No, if we went to eat at that restaurant tonight, I could almost afford my red boots”.  If we don’t go home for Christmas, I could afford my red boots.”  It just became a joke – and we laughed and laughed about this.  The red boots became great fun fodder.      They had a hold on me.

The next week I had a knitting class but decided to go to the Marais  first and “check” on my boots.

That was the story I wrote about waiting as 5 trains past me by because I couldn’t read the metro map as there were so many changes in getting from Gare du Nord to the St Paul Metro, the exit for the Boot SHOP!  Well, I got to St Paul so late, I had to completely nix the boot “check” and go back to the church where I could knit.  Long story short, I never made it because I got totally lost on the streets.

Well, last night was the last time I could do any shopping for anyone in my family before going home.  Then we heard that there was a strike going on at the Paris airports and it looked like we would not get out when we wanted to so this would be a disappointment, but there’s always Christmas day.  (Usually strikes and whatever else are OVER by the time Christmas actually comes around) and if we had to go on Christmas,it was better than not going home at all –  so we would do it. ) Therefore,  last night was the last time to really shop.   I went thinking,” this is the last time I can find a few things and I’ll go check my boots out! “

SOLD OUT OF RED BOOTS!

RED BOOTS

Yes, my boots were still in the window.  The long ones, the shorter ones.  She greeted me as she always does, with such a pleasant smile and motioned me to sit down and to please try them on.  “SIT DOWN! – On THAT tiny stool practically equal to the FLOOR, are you KIDDING me?” Well, I did NOT say that, but was so thinking that because truth be told, my KNEES, they do not bend that far.  What is this arthritic BABCIA  doing in this mod place with cool boots in the FIRST place?  Ah yes, Most of the time I feel 33, not 63, so ” sit your butt down Marti and  just DEAL WITH IT!” I tell myself this.     Then I told her my size.  “Oh”, she said sadly, “we only have a 36”  I knew a 36 would not even fit my big toe, so I said, okay, well, can I try on a 40 in the other color.  She hands me a brown boot, the low-cut and it fits beautifully, but it’s wrong.  It’s the wrong color.  I just bought a pair of (cheap) brown boots at the flea market the week before.  They kill my feet, but I take another pair of shoes with me if my 2 hours of walking turns into 4 or 5.  It works.  Well, she checked one more time and said, “I’m so sorry, I do not have your size. I know what you need, and ..” I interrupted her and said, ‘BUT!  You will have more of this designer boot in the spring, right?”  And she sadly shook her head and said in her broken English  “I am sorry, we change designers every season and  feature a new one, – This boot is finished.”   “Oh. Okay”, I say.

Well, I got up , thanked her very much for all her help as they really do go out of their way to make things work and try to help in a way that I’ve never been helped buying shoes before.  Then as I started walking the streets of the Marais, I decided to just enjoy the  lovely shops everywhere.   I did find some lovely little things for my family and it was fun to check out colors and styles…..Thinking, when I get back home, this is the style and this is the color, and maybe, just maybe, KOHLS or  JC PENNEY will have SOMETHING similar and 1/2 the price?  (Doubt it. )  I checked out 4 or 5 more shoe stores, all with the most lovely of shoes – but never did I see another pair of red boots like I had seen in that little shop.  They were no where. And the ones that were there – were gone.  Finished.

I checked in with David on my cell phone and he said that the party was on – that spouses were invited (when originally  – partners  – spouses were NOT to come) so I headed out. I didn’t tell him that the boots were FINI  that would be later.  As I walked, I thanked God for the opportunity to just W A L K.  And for WALKING in this city, and for the lovely things that were always meeting my in the eye and beholding lovely creations, lovely architecture, lovely lovely people, everywhere I went.  I was grateful for EVERYTHING that was coming down on me like a warm sensuous shower even as I walked in cold windy outdoor weather.  Then I said something to God….and it was this.  “God, I know that if I’m suppose to have a pair of boots like I’ve seen and  fallen head over heals for – that if I’m to have them, something will happen and you will see that I get them. I’m grateful for what I do have, and I feel just fine without them because if I was meant to have them, it would have worked out. Thank you Thank you Thank you for what you have given me already.  Just being here is the best gift.”  Now, I know some of you reading this will definitely think that praying to God in this way is totally ridiculous and inane.  That God has no time for deciding whether a person gets a pair of boots or not, he’s very busy with WARS and Children and  people with no hope and natural disasters and on and on.  But I don’t believe that He doesn’t care about the most minuscule thing in a person’s life. Especially a person that believes in Him and knows that He is the owner of their salvation.  That is my belief and I know it to be true.

When I told David after the party that the boots “were finished” as she put it,  he felt bad but I told him I did not,  and not to worry. I was fine with it.

Today when he went in to do his teaching, he said that something just came over him – for him to go to the Marais afterwards and try to find me those boots.  He remembered that I said they had sold out – all finished, but he went anyway.  When he entered that little shop, the sales clerk remembered him (but of course, we had been there how many times?) and she said,” I know, I saw your wife last night.  We do not have a 40 and she needs a 40.  I had the brown but she said she had already bought a pair of brown boots.”  Then David looked at her and she looked at him, like there was nothing more to say, but sorry again, which she did, and then there was silence.  All of a sudden, she takes her scanner and goes under the counter and starts frantically scanning every pair under there.  All of a sudden she looks up – and her face goes almost white and she says, ‘Oh, I’ve made a mistake !!!  I have a 40 here, in red, the cropped boot….I didn’t know I had anymore!   is that okay?”  And David says, UH, YEAH!! I THINK SO!!!”  And she just shakes her head like she cannot believe that, voila – here, right here is this box with a pair of red boots in it – 40 – (my size,)  and she looks at David like she can’t believe this is happening – either.  David said it was just he and the sales girl in there and it was an almost surreal moment, because she honestly was so shocked that there was a pair left and that it was going to  fit me and David was also shocked that she was even telling him all of this.

So, long story short, I had my Christmas early, because had he tried to take them to St Louis then the Vat Tax guy would say, “Show me the goods” and then the “SURPRISE” would no longer be a surprise, so instead, he gave them to me tonight.  That is my story, and it is a story of giddy happiness, and surprise and wonderment, that this ‘ole BABCIA/grandma can still end up with a total lovely gift, surprised beyond surprised, thankful and not quite sure how it all came about, but also knowing that this thing called “prayer” works in so many mysterious ways  and it isn’t the first time!

🙂

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My son, The Miami Dolphin’s Fan has Found the Perfect Gift for his Lovely Wife

Never need to ponder what to get your gal for Christmas……it’s all right here at your local Bon Marche, the oldest department store in Paris – (1852)

Here it is – glimpse  and weep……….  THE DOLPHINS ENSEMBLE!!  STRAIGHT from BON MARCHE, in PARIS!!!

Miami Dolphins Ensemble

The Miami Dolphin's Ensemble

because it’s only 690 euros for the Dolphin Colored Orange Dress AND 690 for  the Dolphin Colored Turquoise Sweater making it a total of  1, 380 euros or

Gulp, $1.794.00

WHOA, such a bargain!!!  I’ll take one of each!