This post is not about France, but about my family's Christmas traditions. This year, going home for the holidays was not a trip squeezed in at the last minute between Christmas concerts and Christmas parties, but one planned for and enjoyed as a time to be with my family. Coming from France and watching the unfolding traditions in my new city, I was also much more aware of the things we do as a family, in our small New England town, that are meaningful in different ways for each of us. I will include a reflection on some of the French traditions in another posting, but below are my memories and take on what my family does to celebrate the Christmas season. (Warning: long posting!)
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Christmas Eve Memories
My grandparent’s home on the corner of Cornell and Weaver Streets in Scarsdale, NY is the site of my first Christmas memories. Their home was a mansion to me at that age, with its long driveway leading up to the three story structure, with its columned porch that faced the massive front lawn. The house itself was made for entertaining, with a large living room and dining room making up most of the first floor. A wide staircase bisected the two rooms, and was the first thing you saw when you came in the front door. But we always came in the back, through the kitchen, where we could find my grandmother fussing over the preparations for the meal and making sure that we all had something to drink. My grandparents had a maid in those days, Lucille, a black woman who prepared their meals (my grandfather’s gift to my grandmother). I can’t remember if Lucille was there on Christmas eve, but she was a lovely woman, and she always treated us grandkids with kindness.
The entire family gathered at my grandfather’s house for Christmas eve. It was an “event” – my grandfather was magnanimous (and could afford to be) in this way with the family, and everyone (brothers, sisters, cousins) took advantage of the invitation to come for the evening. There was always a table full of food in the dining room, and copious amounts of alcohol were consumed, I suppose, though I only remember drinking ginger ale at that age. The evening was marked not by the eating of food, but by the arrival of Santa Claus. Usually my great uncle Richard, who had no children, dressed up in the Santa suit, but it was some years before I figured that one out. When the tradition started, we kids (there were six grandchildren) were babes in arms, but as we became more aware of the figure of Santa, the appearance of a “live” Santa was pretty awesome. The entire family would assemble, standing and sitting, in the living room, and we would hear a tinkling of bells from above, and “Santa” would come thundering down the stairs (ostensibly from the roof) shaking bells and bellowing “ho, ho, ho” as he burst into the room. There was a time when he was quite scary to me, but there was also another reason to be anxious about his arrival. When Santa came into the room and was escorted to the large wing-backed chair set up for him in the front of the room, he (or my grandfather, more likely) would say something to the effect that before we kids could get our presents, we had to perform for Santa. I’m guessing that this was the brainchild of my grandfather, as he was an accomplished tenor soloist, and I imagine he very much enjoyed the prospect of his grandchildren following in his footsteps.
My parents, also singers and musicians, had made sure that my siblings and I were all involved in playing musical instruments of one kind or another. But ever the shy one as a child, I always remembered this particular evening as yet another opportunity to be embarrassed in front of a crowd. We each would tentatively get up to play on the baby grand piano or on our instruments, or even sing (my cousins were not consistent in their musical training, although my aunt was a very accomplished pianist). Sometimes even some of the older cousins would contribute to the evening’s performances. Afterwards we kids would be handed presents (from our grandmother, via Santa), and then Santa would take his leave, disappearing up the stairs as my great aunt would start playing Christmas carols for all to sing.
Santa Resurfaces
The Christmas eve tradition ended with the death of my grandparents in 1981 (actually, it was held in their home in 1982), but the Santa tradition was a strong memory for all of us in my family. My mother made sure to retrieve the Santa suit from my grandparent’s house to use again – which it was, after the births of my sister’s children. My sister’s family has almost always come up north to my parent’s home for Christmas, and for several years my mother found a friend, or sometimes one of us siblings, to dress up in the suit for Chelsea and Nathan, as we recreated the appearance of Santa coming down the stairs, and asking for performances from the children, after which gifts would be presented and Santa would disappear. The fear in my niece and nephew’s faces was amusing to watch, but I remembered quite well the same apprehension when the red-suited man appeared when I was their age. It didn’t matter that there were many other people in the room, there was just something about a character you only knew about from books appearing on Christmas Eve, in your own home, that was pretty awesome and awful at the same time.
After we stopped going to my grandparents in the 80’s, my family established some its own traditions, which have ebbed and flowed over time, but essentially have stayed the same as the next generation of the clan has grown (and now are nearly grown up!).
Today's Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve continues to be an important time for our family, and the Christmas Eve service at First Congregational Church has been the focal point since we moved to our town in 1974. We are a church-going family, and despite the fact that we have mixed feelings about the First Church service, which is always a children’s re-enactment of the story of Christ’s birth, along with the singing of Christmas hymns and the lighting of candles, we have continued to attend year after year. For many years, it was a time to reconnect with friends, after we had gone on to college, but it is no longer a reliable place to see old friends. After we were too old to participate in the play or light candles, we would sing with the choir, but more recently, my sister’s children (and Chris and me) have provided the prelude music for the service (ensembles of violins, cellos, recorders, and/or piano). The service begins early in the evening, 6 p.m. this year, so we traditionally have a quick dinner beforehand. Mom has made lasagna or manicotti many, many, many years in a row, so people have come to expect this filling and warm dish on what is typically a cold evening in December!
Forever, it seems, my mother has also enlisted our family to help her put on a fellowship hour after the service, so that families can see each other and mingle after the service. And frankly, the congregation does take advantage of the time and victuals offered; the kids are a bit pumped up after their performance, and it’s a good time for them to start the unwinding process. Punch and cookies are the menu for the reception, and the focus of the table is always the Gingerbread House.
The Gingerbread House
The Gingerbread House is a pre-Christmas activity led by my father for I’m not sure how many years now. The Gingerbread House recipe came from a cookbook given to us by my aunt when she was President of the Junior League of Washington (DC), and it is a recipe that I have used several times over the years myself, after wanting to have the same fun my dad always seemed to be having as he made the house. Dad tries to design and build (yes, it also involves design these days!) the house before we kids have made it home to Amherst, but sometimes we get to watch the building process, as he cooks sugar over the stove and then tries to swiftly put together the pieces of the house without burning himself on the hot sugar! After the house is stable, the fun of decorating the house begins. Non-pareils, M&Ms, licorice, red hots, NESCO wafers and other random small candies are among the candies that provide color and character to the house, attached using a egg-white/confectioner’s sugar icing. Decorating is a family affair, although my sister Chris has an artist’s touch when she is there to lead the effort. In past years, I would build a house for the Winter Solstice parties I held in Virginia, and let the kids in attendance decorate the house as they wished – it was often a happy mix of colored icing and random candy application. My dad’s house does not suffer from such randomness given the artists in the house, and there is an effort to make the edible decoration truly a work of art, which allows for its eventual ending. Shortly after Christmas the house is given to a family or individual chosen by my parents, for whom the gift may brighten their holidays in a meaningful way.
Christmas Eve Reflections
Post-Christmas Eve service is a quiet time for my family. Given the flurry of activity before the service (last minute arrivals of family members, last minute cookie baking and house decorating, last minute musical rehearsals for the service, the swirl of eating before heading to the early church service and finally dressing in time to get out the door and down to the church - only a 7 minute walk away! – in time for the service itself, and then managing the after church fellowship hour and cleaning up afterward), by the time we are back home, (almost) everyone is exhausted from the effort. We tend to gather in the living room of my parent’s house, a room not used often during the rest of the year, as that is where the Christmas Tree stands, in the sun of the southern window bay.
The activities that take place around the tree have varied over the years, but regardless of what we have done, I have always relished the time to just sit back and relax for a short period of time on Christmas Eve, before the frenzy begins again the next morning. My mother has made an effort over the years to make it a time of sharing and reflection on both Christ’s birth and our own lives. When we were young, we would light the final candle in the Advent wreath that, inevitably, one of us children had made. Sometimes my father would read us “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” or some other relevant story that he had chosen. As we got older, we were asked to contribute to an Advent “service” with readings from the Bible or from a three-volume Christmas traditions set that was brought out of the bookshelves for that purpose each year. When a Swedish exchange student gave us a traditional Christmas candle set (four candles set around a base with a fan of flat sticks overhead that, once the candles were lit, would begin to swirl, setting off the circular base with its Christmas characters), we incorporated the lighting of those candles into our evening as well. Once we had become young adults, my mother introduced another way for us to share: we were each asked to write down on a slip of paper our expectations for the year ahead. The slips of paper were stowed away in the infamous “gold box” until the next year, when we would read aloud our previous year’s predictions (often to laughter, sometimes with sorrow) before writing up our thoughts about the upcoming year.
A Sweet Tradition
Christmas eve was also a time for opening some special gifts. For many years, until her death, my mother’s aunt Marge would send us a two pound box of chocolates from a local candy shop in her hometown of Sykesville, Maryland. The box of Dolores Truly chocolates was a Christmas tradition for as long as I can remember. That box of chocolates would last far after the holidays, as my mother was sure to hide the box not long after Christmas Day, only bringing it out for special moments in the following weeks. My brother in law purchased the box of Dolores Truly the year after Marge’s death, so we would have it to remember her by, but I have continued the chocolate box tradition by sending to the house a two pound box from Godiva Chocolates – not quite the same, but still good!
Incorporating the tradition of some other families, we began several years ago to open one gift each on Christmas Eve. With the young children, this was a little difficult to manage, and I must admit, at my age, I’d rather wait until Christmas Day, and leave Christmas Eve as a spiritual time, rather than a time to focus on material things. But for a very special gift that you cannot wait to give, or get, the quietness of Christmas Eve is a special time to enjoy that pleasure with your gift-giver/receiver.
Post-reflection and chocolate eating on Christmas Eve, everyone goes off to bed. Everyone, that is, except my mom and dad. Dad typically has not wrapped a single package, and begins his arduous task that evening. My mom is the creator of the effect of Christmas morning – it is she who has hung stockings, and bought things to put in them for each member of the family. She continues her family tradition by placing an orange and a penny in each stocking toe. The new penny is for good luck; the orange is a reminder that there is something to eat for everyone (she is a child of the Depression). She distributes presents (all those she had in some back closet somewhere) under the tree, and sets the table for breakfast with festive napkins and candles. She no longer has to worry about making breakfast in the morning, but she likes to make sure that the table we sit at the next day will be eye-catching.
The Christmas Pancake
Decades ago, we received a Christmas flyer from our old church, First Congregational Church of Old Greenwich, in which there was a recipe for a “Christmas Pancake.” My mother insisted we have it on Christmas morning, and it has been a tradition ever since. We were already a pancake and waffle crowd, so it was an easy sell. The pancake has a bit of drama, as it is cooked (with flour, eggs, milk and butter) in a large cast iron pan in the oven. Once it has cooked for 20 minutes, one takes the pan out of the oven and drizzles lemon juice over the top, before returning it to the oven to brown. By the time the pancake (and a large one it is) is taken from the oven and sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar, everyone is ready to eat! When we were a family of five, it fed everyone easily. This year, with 8 of us, the portions were a little smaller, but no one complained. I made the pancake for many years (I was always the first one up, and I like to bake), but in the past several years my niece and nephew have taken over the cooking responsibilities. The breakfast almost always includes a fruit salad (my mother’s tradition – a fruit salad for breakfast is a staple for all special breakfasts) and sausage, for those who need a little something more substantial. When I was introduced to Starbucks Coffee in the early 90’s by my Seattle friends, I began a tradition of sending Starbucks coffee so we could have it for our Christmas breakfast. (My Dad had been an instant coffee drinker for most of my growing up years.) It’s not always Starbucks anymore, but the breakfast almost always is a good coffee day for those coffee drinkers around the table.
Bringing Gifts
Once the pancake has been consumed (which doesn’t take very long), typically the youngest at the table is dispatched to the next room to bring stocking gifts to the table. Long ago we found that the stocking gifts got lost in the shuffle of the major gift openings, and that extending our time at the breakfast table was a nice way to begin the process of opening gifts, while still extending the anticipation of the gift opening that would take place around the tree a short while later. One person at a time opens their gifts (you would think there were a limited number of gifts to be given – NOT the case!). When there are no more gifts in the stockings, the group decamps the few steps to the next room, each to find a comfortable place in the living room where they will spend the next hour or so unwrapping gifts and giving kisses and hugs to the gift-givers, eating chocolates and oranges and other assorted things that are unwrapped during the morning’s chaos.
We always say, fewer gifts next year. Last year, the adults took a different tack at my sister’s suggestion, and many of us gave gifts to the non-profit organization of the givee’s choosing. But that didn’t seem to stop the overflow of packages under the Christmas tree. Even this year, my niece exclaimed, “I thought we were in a recession!” as she gazed at the tumble of packages under the tree. But my mother loves to find little things and wrap them up, and we all seem to find that one thing that we wanted, given to us by someone else. A nice tradition.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Tell Me About the French (Continued)
For those of you who were waiting for additional observations of what makes the French French, your wait is over! I'll do some more of these, but here are three more topics in the continuing series.
Strikes – In “A Town Like Paris,” the author tells of a retired couple who live on his block in Paris who appear to attend whatever strike is going on in town – they describe it as their civic duty. I thought this was probably a caricature of Paris life. But after watching four months of the national evening news in France, I realize that this IS France – another part of life and culture that makes the French French. The French revel in their ability to protest (it is called a “grève”) on the streets of Paris. Almost always it is a union of workers protesting some facet of their work life or compensation that is about to be altered by the French government, but occasionally it is something more universal, like a protest against the war, or against a police action, or American oppression (OK, so I go overboard, but it has happened).
For those of us who live outside Paris, we only experience these marches via the quick quips on the evening news. But a march down the Champs Élysée is not the only type of action that marks the French “grève.” Transportation unions get particular mileage out of their strikes, for example, the southwest of France has been affected by a strike by SNCF (the national train system in France) conductors for the past four (!) weeks. Intermittent train travel occurs, but for most travelers and commuters, this is a royal PITA. In another example, striking Air France pilots, protesting proposed changes to their retirement plans, affected air travel intermittently for several months. And then there was the strike by school teachers back in September, which affected schools all over France. Interestingly, Sarkozy had put in place a provision so that such a strike would not close down schools, but apparently, the plan was not able to be fully implemented in all regions. For a socialist country, it is not a surprise that so many workers feel comfortable expressing their views to the government; after all, they probably won’t lose their jobs. The United States has lost quite a bit of this “strike” mentality to get things changed, but then again, it’s not apparent to me that the strikes actually change anything. But it certainly is good press.
Clothing – When I was first travelled overseas with my family in the 1970’s, I was 10 – not exactly clothes conscious. But I look back at pictures from that trip in 1972, and you can see me and my sister in bell bottoms, wearing clogs (we were in Scandinavia) and bandannas. Pretty typical American 70’s garb. Five years later, when my family headed for Europe again, I was much more aware of the fashions around me, but we were camping – it was August, and jeans and t-shirts were pretty much all I brought on the trip. But I was much more aware that you could identify my family as American by the clothes we were wearing – and how easy it was to identify other Americans just like us. By the end of the trip, we had all bought clothes (mostly shirts) from our travels around France and England, clothes that were less identifiable as “American,” our small effort to try and blend in with the natives.
When I moved to Nice, I took advice from Priscilla, and didn’t bring too many clothes. After all, who was I trying to impress? But I did not take her advice to leave my t-shirts at home, after all, they are my runner’s trophies (the French do not wear t-shirts like Americans, but I thought racing t-shirts did not count), but I did try to bring simple things that didn’t scream “USA.” But you can definitely tell that I am not from France when I go down the street in Nice. My Lands’ End rubber shoes, my waist high Gap jeans, my LL Bean turtlenecks, the primary colors of my clothes (mostly green these days), all pretty much mark me as not from France. I wasn’t planning on buying lots of clothes here (not in my budget), but I have made a few purchases that help me blend in to my community. My black high-heeled boots were my first purchase – women all over France wear high-heeled boots (short, mid-calf, and high); they are completely impractical from my point of view, but I wanted to fit in, and besides, they look pretty cool. My second purchase was a winter coat. Priscilla joked that I would only wear it a few times, predicting a mild winter. But I was glad I had spent a few days finding the coat I wanted; I wear it all the time these days! (The foot of snow in Marseille this week indicates that the Cote d’Azur temperatures are in flux, although we have maintained temps in the 50s pretty much this month in Nice.) My third purchase came this week: low-slung, tight-fitting black jeans. NOW I will completely fit in. With my jeans, black boots and black coat, no one will think I’m an American – unless they look under my coat and see the turtleneck and cardigan I’m wearing!
Quand Même – Learning a foreign language in a classroom and learning a foreign language on the streets in the country where you live is like learning to cook by drawing pictures rather than actually measuring out ingredients and watching your creation cook in the oven. You can get the idea, but you can’t actually know how it works out unless you are there. I had the verbs and nouns down pretty well before I got here, but it’s the construction of those two, plus all the other incidental phrases, which have given me the most challenge. And, of course, the French have their own particular phrases that they include in their language, much as American teenagers use “like” and “so” and whatever other phrases mark today’s lingo. The phrase that I was alerted to by a newsletter Priscilla forwards to me periodically (“Adapting in France” – I think it’s for English/American expats) in this vein was “quand même.” It’s not directly translatable, “quand” means “when” and “même” means “same”, but a loose translation is “all the same.” I commented to a French friend recently that I would count myself a French speaker when I could use “quand même” in a conversation. He said, “what’s that?” He didn’t know what I was talking about. And after I described it, he said, “I wonder if I say that without knowing it.” “Donc” is the other phrase that is used frequently in conversation, a kind of “so” or “like” in our American conversation. It has a distinct usage in the dictionary, but in conversation, is a word that you say when you have come to the end of your sentence, and before you start the next sentence or thought. “J’ai dormi hier soir, mais il y a beaucoup de bruit pendant la nuit, donc, je n’ai pas dormi trés bien.” Well, not the best example, but trying to replicate speech is difficult! And difficult to decipher as a non-native speaker too. But I keep trying.
Strikes – In “A Town Like Paris,” the author tells of a retired couple who live on his block in Paris who appear to attend whatever strike is going on in town – they describe it as their civic duty. I thought this was probably a caricature of Paris life. But after watching four months of the national evening news in France, I realize that this IS France – another part of life and culture that makes the French French. The French revel in their ability to protest (it is called a “grève”) on the streets of Paris. Almost always it is a union of workers protesting some facet of their work life or compensation that is about to be altered by the French government, but occasionally it is something more universal, like a protest against the war, or against a police action, or American oppression (OK, so I go overboard, but it has happened).
For those of us who live outside Paris, we only experience these marches via the quick quips on the evening news. But a march down the Champs Élysée is not the only type of action that marks the French “grève.” Transportation unions get particular mileage out of their strikes, for example, the southwest of France has been affected by a strike by SNCF (the national train system in France) conductors for the past four (!) weeks. Intermittent train travel occurs, but for most travelers and commuters, this is a royal PITA. In another example, striking Air France pilots, protesting proposed changes to their retirement plans, affected air travel intermittently for several months. And then there was the strike by school teachers back in September, which affected schools all over France. Interestingly, Sarkozy had put in place a provision so that such a strike would not close down schools, but apparently, the plan was not able to be fully implemented in all regions. For a socialist country, it is not a surprise that so many workers feel comfortable expressing their views to the government; after all, they probably won’t lose their jobs. The United States has lost quite a bit of this “strike” mentality to get things changed, but then again, it’s not apparent to me that the strikes actually change anything. But it certainly is good press.
Clothing – When I was first travelled overseas with my family in the 1970’s, I was 10 – not exactly clothes conscious. But I look back at pictures from that trip in 1972, and you can see me and my sister in bell bottoms, wearing clogs (we were in Scandinavia) and bandannas. Pretty typical American 70’s garb. Five years later, when my family headed for Europe again, I was much more aware of the fashions around me, but we were camping – it was August, and jeans and t-shirts were pretty much all I brought on the trip. But I was much more aware that you could identify my family as American by the clothes we were wearing – and how easy it was to identify other Americans just like us. By the end of the trip, we had all bought clothes (mostly shirts) from our travels around France and England, clothes that were less identifiable as “American,” our small effort to try and blend in with the natives.
When I moved to Nice, I took advice from Priscilla, and didn’t bring too many clothes. After all, who was I trying to impress? But I did not take her advice to leave my t-shirts at home, after all, they are my runner’s trophies (the French do not wear t-shirts like Americans, but I thought racing t-shirts did not count), but I did try to bring simple things that didn’t scream “USA.” But you can definitely tell that I am not from France when I go down the street in Nice. My Lands’ End rubber shoes, my waist high Gap jeans, my LL Bean turtlenecks, the primary colors of my clothes (mostly green these days), all pretty much mark me as not from France. I wasn’t planning on buying lots of clothes here (not in my budget), but I have made a few purchases that help me blend in to my community. My black high-heeled boots were my first purchase – women all over France wear high-heeled boots (short, mid-calf, and high); they are completely impractical from my point of view, but I wanted to fit in, and besides, they look pretty cool. My second purchase was a winter coat. Priscilla joked that I would only wear it a few times, predicting a mild winter. But I was glad I had spent a few days finding the coat I wanted; I wear it all the time these days! (The foot of snow in Marseille this week indicates that the Cote d’Azur temperatures are in flux, although we have maintained temps in the 50s pretty much this month in Nice.) My third purchase came this week: low-slung, tight-fitting black jeans. NOW I will completely fit in. With my jeans, black boots and black coat, no one will think I’m an American – unless they look under my coat and see the turtleneck and cardigan I’m wearing!
Quand Même – Learning a foreign language in a classroom and learning a foreign language on the streets in the country where you live is like learning to cook by drawing pictures rather than actually measuring out ingredients and watching your creation cook in the oven. You can get the idea, but you can’t actually know how it works out unless you are there. I had the verbs and nouns down pretty well before I got here, but it’s the construction of those two, plus all the other incidental phrases, which have given me the most challenge. And, of course, the French have their own particular phrases that they include in their language, much as American teenagers use “like” and “so” and whatever other phrases mark today’s lingo. The phrase that I was alerted to by a newsletter Priscilla forwards to me periodically (“Adapting in France” – I think it’s for English/American expats) in this vein was “quand même.” It’s not directly translatable, “quand” means “when” and “même” means “same”, but a loose translation is “all the same.” I commented to a French friend recently that I would count myself a French speaker when I could use “quand même” in a conversation. He said, “what’s that?” He didn’t know what I was talking about. And after I described it, he said, “I wonder if I say that without knowing it.” “Donc” is the other phrase that is used frequently in conversation, a kind of “so” or “like” in our American conversation. It has a distinct usage in the dictionary, but in conversation, is a word that you say when you have come to the end of your sentence, and before you start the next sentence or thought. “J’ai dormi hier soir, mais il y a beaucoup de bruit pendant la nuit, donc, je n’ai pas dormi trés bien.” Well, not the best example, but trying to replicate speech is difficult! And difficult to decipher as a non-native speaker too. But I keep trying.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
My 2008 End of Year Letter
Each year I write up the highlights of my year for my friends and family. I usually create this letter in Publisher, complete with photos, print and send it with Christmas cards via snail mail. I sent quite a few of them this year too (while I was in the States), but cannot possibly send them to everyone I know! (and most aren't so interested in all of this.) But, even though my blog readers pretty much know all of this, I include it in the archives here, of my year.
Ari's Adventure 2008
During my vacation to Germany and France in December of 2007, I came up with the idea that I wanted to live overseas (helped along by reading “Eat, Pray, Love”). There was something about Europe that I felt I hadn’t quite experienced yet, even with all of my travelling of the past several years (and decades, even). My family and friends enthusiastically supported what I came to call my Adventure, and after nine months of planning, I left the States on August 25th for Nice, France.
I bid adieu to Fannie Mae, my family at Western Presbyterian, my colleagues at the Washington Bach Consort, and my musical and athletic friends in Washington, and settled down in Nice. My friends Priscilla, Christiane, and Erick have provided me with a support network here in the Cote d’Azur, and served as continual councilors and translators when needed. But I am proud to have used my French to find an apartment, enroll in a gym, and find a doctor, and happy to have found a church and run my first official 10K in France. As many of you already know, I spend a good amount of time writing and posting articles to my blog (www.aribrose.blogspot.com) and travelling around Europe (so far, Paris, London, and Rome, also Brugges, Belgium and the island of Corsica, in France), and posting my pictures on the web (www.flickr.com/photos/aribrose). Also, keeping up with many of you via email! (aribrose@yahoo.com)
I can’t let the other year’s events pass without some notice: My niece, Chelsea, graduated 10th in her high school class in June, and in August became a legacy at my alma mater, Barnard College. In February, my brother-in-law Kenny marked his 50th birthday with friends (and roasted oysters!); in March, my mother passed yet another heart survivor anniversary as we celebrated her 75th birthday. In August, my Dad hosted nearly 40 of the Brose Clan at a festive reunion in Rhinebeck, NY. Musically, I had the pleasure of hearing an amazing Metropolitan Opera performance of Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde with my brother Eric in NYC in March and singing my third Bach B Minor Mass with the New Dominion Chorale in April. Sister Chris, Chelsea, Mom and I spent a ladies Spa weekend in Old Williamsburg in May, and in July, my friend Becky and her two boys, Reuben and Gabriel joined me in Norfolk for a lovely beach weekend. I had a great outdoor soccer season (even made some goals!) with my friend Tagrid and the Speed Bumps, and biked my second Century (100 miler) with my friend Tom the day before I left Virginia in August.
A supporter of Barack Obama since January 2007, I listened to French radio with great pride in the early morning of November 5th to hear the news that my fellow Columbia graduate had won our presidential election. And all of Europe—and the world—cheered along with me.
In the months before I left Washington, I was, happily, on a seemingly never-ending carousel of dinners and last lunches with friends and colleagues. I was especially touched by the parties given for me by the Choir and Deacons of Western, and by my colleagues at Fannie Mae. It was a lovely way to learn what a difference you make in people’s lives.
I haven’t yet decided what my plans are for the future (other than job hunting in 2009; am counting on the financial world still needing my assistance), but I am planning to be here in Nice until June. I found an apartment in the center of the city with extra beds; am still hoping to have visitors while I am here!
With high hopes for Change in the New Year and my enthusiastic encouragement to live out your dreams, whatever they may be.
Ari/Margarita
Ari's Adventure 2008
During my vacation to Germany and France in December of 2007, I came up with the idea that I wanted to live overseas (helped along by reading “Eat, Pray, Love”). There was something about Europe that I felt I hadn’t quite experienced yet, even with all of my travelling of the past several years (and decades, even). My family and friends enthusiastically supported what I came to call my Adventure, and after nine months of planning, I left the States on August 25th for Nice, France.
I bid adieu to Fannie Mae, my family at Western Presbyterian, my colleagues at the Washington Bach Consort, and my musical and athletic friends in Washington, and settled down in Nice. My friends Priscilla, Christiane, and Erick have provided me with a support network here in the Cote d’Azur, and served as continual councilors and translators when needed. But I am proud to have used my French to find an apartment, enroll in a gym, and find a doctor, and happy to have found a church and run my first official 10K in France. As many of you already know, I spend a good amount of time writing and posting articles to my blog (www.aribrose.blogspot.com) and travelling around Europe (so far, Paris, London, and Rome, also Brugges, Belgium and the island of Corsica, in France), and posting my pictures on the web (www.flickr.com/photos/aribrose). Also, keeping up with many of you via email! (aribrose@yahoo.com)
I can’t let the other year’s events pass without some notice: My niece, Chelsea, graduated 10th in her high school class in June, and in August became a legacy at my alma mater, Barnard College. In February, my brother-in-law Kenny marked his 50th birthday with friends (and roasted oysters!); in March, my mother passed yet another heart survivor anniversary as we celebrated her 75th birthday. In August, my Dad hosted nearly 40 of the Brose Clan at a festive reunion in Rhinebeck, NY. Musically, I had the pleasure of hearing an amazing Metropolitan Opera performance of Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde with my brother Eric in NYC in March and singing my third Bach B Minor Mass with the New Dominion Chorale in April. Sister Chris, Chelsea, Mom and I spent a ladies Spa weekend in Old Williamsburg in May, and in July, my friend Becky and her two boys, Reuben and Gabriel joined me in Norfolk for a lovely beach weekend. I had a great outdoor soccer season (even made some goals!) with my friend Tagrid and the Speed Bumps, and biked my second Century (100 miler) with my friend Tom the day before I left Virginia in August.
A supporter of Barack Obama since January 2007, I listened to French radio with great pride in the early morning of November 5th to hear the news that my fellow Columbia graduate had won our presidential election. And all of Europe—and the world—cheered along with me.
In the months before I left Washington, I was, happily, on a seemingly never-ending carousel of dinners and last lunches with friends and colleagues. I was especially touched by the parties given for me by the Choir and Deacons of Western, and by my colleagues at Fannie Mae. It was a lovely way to learn what a difference you make in people’s lives.
I haven’t yet decided what my plans are for the future (other than job hunting in 2009; am counting on the financial world still needing my assistance), but I am planning to be here in Nice until June. I found an apartment in the center of the city with extra beds; am still hoping to have visitors while I am here!
With high hopes for Change in the New Year and my enthusiastic encouragement to live out your dreams, whatever they may be.
Ari/Margarita
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas in the United States
I flew into Washington yesterday, after an uneventful flight, and got a little emotional as we descended onto the airport runway. Everything looked the same, but I was returning as a visitor for the first time in 13 years, and it felt different. I am staying with friends here in Washington for the weekend, and will see my church family and sing with my home choir on Sunday at Western Presbyterian Church and attend a concert of the Washington Bach Consort on Sunday afternoon.
Then I will take a bus to New York City and stay there for a few days to visit with my friends Vi and Joanne, and to do some Christmas shopping! On Christmas Eve I will take the bus to Springfield, where I hope Kenny and Chris will pick me up for the trek to Amherst and the Christmas eve service at First Congregational Church in Amherst.
I'll be with my family in Amherst and Boylston for the rest of my stay in the States, until I take off from Boston on January 2nd - arriving back in Nice on the 3rd.
I wish all my friends and readers an illuminating Winter Solstice, a festive Hannukah, a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! See you in 2009!
Then I will take a bus to New York City and stay there for a few days to visit with my friends Vi and Joanne, and to do some Christmas shopping! On Christmas Eve I will take the bus to Springfield, where I hope Kenny and Chris will pick me up for the trek to Amherst and the Christmas eve service at First Congregational Church in Amherst.
I'll be with my family in Amherst and Boylston for the rest of my stay in the States, until I take off from Boston on January 2nd - arriving back in Nice on the 3rd.
I wish all my friends and readers an illuminating Winter Solstice, a festive Hannukah, a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! See you in 2009!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Paris in Three Days
I just returned from three wonderful days in Paris. The ostensible reason for the trip was to attend a Barnard Club of Paris event on Thursday evening. But it was also an excellent excuse to visit Paris again (after my brief two days in September), and to spend a little more time with my Paris friends, Olivier and Jean Yves.
Day One: Eiffel Tower and Barnard Club
I flew up on EasyJet into Orly airport on Thursday morning, and took the train into Gare Montparnasse, which was in the same neighborhood as the evening's event. I checked my luggage into a consigne (luggage locker), and took off for the Eiffel Tower on the Métro. I had wanted to see the Tower on my last visit, but hadn't had enough time. So it was the first thing I wanted to do on this trip. It was a sunny and clear day, perfect to see the city. I chose to walk up the first two étages (floors), and then take the elevator to the top. The walk was pretty easy for me, and it was fun to gradually rise up over the city as I ascended the stairs. There were definitely tourists, but there were lots of open spaces to wander around on the platform and see the city. I spent almost two hours in the Tower; I bought a café crème to enjoy and warm up on the second floor – despite the sun, it was very cold!
After descending the stairs, I walked from the Tower east along the Seine, heading back in the direction of the Barnard Club event off of Boulevard Montparnasse. Along the way, I found the American Church in Paris (a nondenominational church), and lots of lovely views, including the rising full moon. I had lots of time before the 6:30 p.m. event, so I stopped along the rue de Rennes near the train station for tea and a citron tarte - and to warm up. It was still freezing!
The Club event was in Reid Hall, a university location for several American schools, including Barnard and Columbia, with undergraduates and graduate programs in Paris. The evening featured a Barnard professor, José Moya, who spoke on Immigration and its Discontents in the U.S. and Europe. The audience included Barnard graduates living in Paris, as well as a professor at Reid Hall, and the husband of a professor, and Professor Moya's wife and daughter. I had the fun experience of seeing, for the first time in 24 years, one of my former track mates, Ginny Power. She's been living in Paris for 19 years, and has a daughter currently applying to colleges. Her daughter loved Barnard, and will be applying, but Ginny is anxious, of course. I know the feeling! Professor Moya's talk was very interesting, and there were a good amount of questions and discussion with the professor afterward. Barnard women never disappoint!
I headed up to my hosts' home in the 20th arrondisement via the Métro after the club meeting ended, where Olivier was waiting to greet me. Jean Yves was working in Grenoble for the week; he would return the next evening. Olivier fed me, happily, and we caught up before he headed off to bed. The next day he would be working, leaving me to explore Paris on my own.
Day Two: Champs-Elysée and the Louvre
I slept in on Friday, worried about the extreme change in temperatures, and my body's acclimation thereto - and seriously worried about getting sick before the holidays and my trip back to the States. I got up around 10, went for a run in the nearby park (Parc de Buttes Chaumont), and once I'd had a shower and something to eat, it was after noon. I headed out to take the Métro to the Champs-Elysée, my plan was to walk down the avenue and end up at the Louvre, another place I hadn’t been inside for at least twenty years.
I got off the train at the Champs-Elysée-Clemenceau stop, and emerged from underground to see white tents/kiosks lining the avenue, part of the Marché de Noel downtown. These Christmas villages/shops are traditional in across Europe, but I remember particularly the Christmas markt I visited in Stuttgart last year. Hot red wine (vin chaud in France, gluwein in Germany) is a traditional drink for sale at these markets. There were plenty of artsy things to buy, but I headed up to see the President’s home, the Palais de L’Elysée, first. I am quite taken with government and politics, and I thought it would be fun to see one of the places I see on TV all the time here. There were plenty of guards around the Palais; and a large group of Asians taking pictures on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré at the entrance.
I headed back to the Grand Palais, which turned out to be a museum (this I did not know), and there was at least one exhibition I thought of visiting, but the line for the Pablo Picasso exhibit was long, and I decided that the Louvre would still be my destination for museum-ing. As I circled back to the Champs-Elysée, I passed the statue of Georges Clemenceau. It hadn’t occurred to me until then, but I live just off the avenue Georges Clemenceau here in Nice. From Wikipedia: “Clemenceau was a French statesman, physician and journalist. He served as the prime minister of France from 1906-1909 and 1917-1920. For nearly the final year of World War I he led France, and was one of the major voices behind the Treaty of Versailles. He is commonly nicknamed le Tigre (the Tiger) and le Père-la-Victoire (Father Victory) for his determination as a wartime leader.” I just learned something. ;-)
Back on the Champs-Elysée, I headed east toward the Place de la Concorde, with its large obelisk in the center of the roundabout. I took a picture of the obelisk against the Ferris Wheel that stands at the west end of the Tuilerie Gardens (Jardins des Tuileries). The sun was still out, and as I walked down the garden toward the Louvre, there were people sitting on chairs around a fountain, trying to get the most from the remaining sunshine in the freezing temperatures.
The Louvre was not very busy at 2:30 in the afternoon, happily for me. When I was in Rome, the tour guide told me that the tourists come back in mid-December; they clearly had not come back to Paris yet. It took seconds to go through security and then a moment to buy a ticket to the galleries. I chose to head for an exhibit of French sculptures. It was quite extensive, and filled some indoor gardens and several galleries. As it would happen, the famous Venus de Milo statue was in one of the grand staircases I went down; and I found Da Vinci's Mona Lisa on display along my travels as well. Again, some tourists, but not huge crowds by any means. A very pleasant visit!
I left the Louvre around 4:30, and headed out to find the magasin (shop) where Olivier had recommended I buy my paté. At Christmas time in France, champagne, foie gras and caviar are the traditional gifts for the Christmas dinner. I decided I would bring some paté back to my French-loving sister-in-law who will be making Christmas dinner for our family (and I’ll probably bring some champagne too). I found the small shop fairly easily, and with some pictures, and some basic understanding of the differences in patés (entier, morceaux, bloc), I bought a few for my trip home.
It was now close to 5, and the crowds were out shopping in the Paris streets. Many shops close between 2 and 4 and reopen until 7 or so. And of course, folks were heading out of work on their way home. I found a pedestrian way, the rue de Montorgueil, and wandered in and out of shops filled with chocolates, cheese, olive oil, wine and pastries. I decided to buy some petite buchettes (small bouche de noel pastries, chocolate, coffee and praline) for dinner (dessert) that evening with Jean Yves and Olivier. By then, I was exhausted from walking and being cold, so I got back on the Métro to the Jourdain stop and was able to take a nap before Olivier arrived home to make dinner.
Olivier made a lovely traditional dinner of vegetable soup, followed by pasta with tomato sauce, and of course, baguette and cheese, and then the buchettes I had brought for dessert. Jean Yves returned home around 9:30 p.m. from his business trip, so our dinner lasted until midnight. We decided we would sleep in in the morning!
Day Three: Musée Jacquemart-André
We did not get up until around 10:30 the next morning; we had coffee and breakfast, and then prepared for the arrival of another guest, Marie-Joseph, expected around noon. Olivier went off to do some shopping; Marie-Joseph arrived around 12:30. Jean Yves had suggested we head for a museum he liked very much, the Musée Jacquemart-André on boulevard Haussman. I needed to leave for the airport and my flight home around 4, we decided, which meant that we would head directly for the museum (bypassing lunch). And we did. And the museum was lovely, a mansion in the heart of Paris, built by a wealthy banker, and filled with art that he and his artist wife found around Europe and beyond. Take a look.
We had time for tea and pastries at the museum café before we left, which was a great idea – but then we had to scamper a little to make sure I got on a train to Orly…but it all worked out, and I made it back to Nice with no problems. And lots of pictures with which to remember my trip. I’ll be back!
Day One: Eiffel Tower and Barnard Club
I flew up on EasyJet into Orly airport on Thursday morning, and took the train into Gare Montparnasse, which was in the same neighborhood as the evening's event. I checked my luggage into a consigne (luggage locker), and took off for the Eiffel Tower on the Métro. I had wanted to see the Tower on my last visit, but hadn't had enough time. So it was the first thing I wanted to do on this trip. It was a sunny and clear day, perfect to see the city. I chose to walk up the first two étages (floors), and then take the elevator to the top. The walk was pretty easy for me, and it was fun to gradually rise up over the city as I ascended the stairs. There were definitely tourists, but there were lots of open spaces to wander around on the platform and see the city. I spent almost two hours in the Tower; I bought a café crème to enjoy and warm up on the second floor – despite the sun, it was very cold!
After descending the stairs, I walked from the Tower east along the Seine, heading back in the direction of the Barnard Club event off of Boulevard Montparnasse. Along the way, I found the American Church in Paris (a nondenominational church), and lots of lovely views, including the rising full moon. I had lots of time before the 6:30 p.m. event, so I stopped along the rue de Rennes near the train station for tea and a citron tarte - and to warm up. It was still freezing!
The Club event was in Reid Hall, a university location for several American schools, including Barnard and Columbia, with undergraduates and graduate programs in Paris. The evening featured a Barnard professor, José Moya, who spoke on Immigration and its Discontents in the U.S. and Europe. The audience included Barnard graduates living in Paris, as well as a professor at Reid Hall, and the husband of a professor, and Professor Moya's wife and daughter. I had the fun experience of seeing, for the first time in 24 years, one of my former track mates, Ginny Power. She's been living in Paris for 19 years, and has a daughter currently applying to colleges. Her daughter loved Barnard, and will be applying, but Ginny is anxious, of course. I know the feeling! Professor Moya's talk was very interesting, and there were a good amount of questions and discussion with the professor afterward. Barnard women never disappoint!
I headed up to my hosts' home in the 20th arrondisement via the Métro after the club meeting ended, where Olivier was waiting to greet me. Jean Yves was working in Grenoble for the week; he would return the next evening. Olivier fed me, happily, and we caught up before he headed off to bed. The next day he would be working, leaving me to explore Paris on my own.
Day Two: Champs-Elysée and the Louvre
I slept in on Friday, worried about the extreme change in temperatures, and my body's acclimation thereto - and seriously worried about getting sick before the holidays and my trip back to the States. I got up around 10, went for a run in the nearby park (Parc de Buttes Chaumont), and once I'd had a shower and something to eat, it was after noon. I headed out to take the Métro to the Champs-Elysée, my plan was to walk down the avenue and end up at the Louvre, another place I hadn’t been inside for at least twenty years.
I got off the train at the Champs-Elysée-Clemenceau stop, and emerged from underground to see white tents/kiosks lining the avenue, part of the Marché de Noel downtown. These Christmas villages/shops are traditional in across Europe, but I remember particularly the Christmas markt I visited in Stuttgart last year. Hot red wine (vin chaud in France, gluwein in Germany) is a traditional drink for sale at these markets. There were plenty of artsy things to buy, but I headed up to see the President’s home, the Palais de L’Elysée, first. I am quite taken with government and politics, and I thought it would be fun to see one of the places I see on TV all the time here. There were plenty of guards around the Palais; and a large group of Asians taking pictures on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré at the entrance.
I headed back to the Grand Palais, which turned out to be a museum (this I did not know), and there was at least one exhibition I thought of visiting, but the line for the Pablo Picasso exhibit was long, and I decided that the Louvre would still be my destination for museum-ing. As I circled back to the Champs-Elysée, I passed the statue of Georges Clemenceau. It hadn’t occurred to me until then, but I live just off the avenue Georges Clemenceau here in Nice. From Wikipedia: “Clemenceau was a French statesman, physician and journalist. He served as the prime minister of France from 1906-1909 and 1917-1920. For nearly the final year of World War I he led France, and was one of the major voices behind the Treaty of Versailles. He is commonly nicknamed le Tigre (the Tiger) and le Père-la-Victoire (Father Victory) for his determination as a wartime leader.” I just learned something. ;-)
Back on the Champs-Elysée, I headed east toward the Place de la Concorde, with its large obelisk in the center of the roundabout. I took a picture of the obelisk against the Ferris Wheel that stands at the west end of the Tuilerie Gardens (Jardins des Tuileries). The sun was still out, and as I walked down the garden toward the Louvre, there were people sitting on chairs around a fountain, trying to get the most from the remaining sunshine in the freezing temperatures.
The Louvre was not very busy at 2:30 in the afternoon, happily for me. When I was in Rome, the tour guide told me that the tourists come back in mid-December; they clearly had not come back to Paris yet. It took seconds to go through security and then a moment to buy a ticket to the galleries. I chose to head for an exhibit of French sculptures. It was quite extensive, and filled some indoor gardens and several galleries. As it would happen, the famous Venus de Milo statue was in one of the grand staircases I went down; and I found Da Vinci's Mona Lisa on display along my travels as well. Again, some tourists, but not huge crowds by any means. A very pleasant visit!
I left the Louvre around 4:30, and headed out to find the magasin (shop) where Olivier had recommended I buy my paté. At Christmas time in France, champagne, foie gras and caviar are the traditional gifts for the Christmas dinner. I decided I would bring some paté back to my French-loving sister-in-law who will be making Christmas dinner for our family (and I’ll probably bring some champagne too). I found the small shop fairly easily, and with some pictures, and some basic understanding of the differences in patés (entier, morceaux, bloc), I bought a few for my trip home.
It was now close to 5, and the crowds were out shopping in the Paris streets. Many shops close between 2 and 4 and reopen until 7 or so. And of course, folks were heading out of work on their way home. I found a pedestrian way, the rue de Montorgueil, and wandered in and out of shops filled with chocolates, cheese, olive oil, wine and pastries. I decided to buy some petite buchettes (small bouche de noel pastries, chocolate, coffee and praline) for dinner (dessert) that evening with Jean Yves and Olivier. By then, I was exhausted from walking and being cold, so I got back on the Métro to the Jourdain stop and was able to take a nap before Olivier arrived home to make dinner.
Olivier made a lovely traditional dinner of vegetable soup, followed by pasta with tomato sauce, and of course, baguette and cheese, and then the buchettes I had brought for dessert. Jean Yves returned home around 9:30 p.m. from his business trip, so our dinner lasted until midnight. We decided we would sleep in in the morning!
Day Three: Musée Jacquemart-André
We did not get up until around 10:30 the next morning; we had coffee and breakfast, and then prepared for the arrival of another guest, Marie-Joseph, expected around noon. Olivier went off to do some shopping; Marie-Joseph arrived around 12:30. Jean Yves had suggested we head for a museum he liked very much, the Musée Jacquemart-André on boulevard Haussman. I needed to leave for the airport and my flight home around 4, we decided, which meant that we would head directly for the museum (bypassing lunch). And we did. And the museum was lovely, a mansion in the heart of Paris, built by a wealthy banker, and filled with art that he and his artist wife found around Europe and beyond. Take a look.
We had time for tea and pastries at the museum café before we left, which was a great idea – but then we had to scamper a little to make sure I got on a train to Orly…but it all worked out, and I made it back to Nice with no problems. And lots of pictures with which to remember my trip. I’ll be back!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Christmas in Nice
Tonight was the opening of the Village de Noel in downtown Nice. Priscilla and I reached the festivities at dusk, and rather than wait to hear the politicians talk (they are pushing the candidacy of Nice for the 2018 Winter Olympics), we headed for the Ferris Wheel. We had a great view of the setting sun over the sea and the horizon. Then we checked out the vendor stalls (been there, done that), bought and ate freshly cooked gingerbread, bought and ate freshly roasted chestnuts (Pris), and bought and drank hot wine (Ari). We watched a "spectacle" as they call them in French, or an ice show, as we would call it, performed by local skaters. We wandered through the children's village and saw performers and face painters. And then we went back to the Ferris Wheel, for one more ride in the darkness. All of the holiday street decorations were lit for the first time tonight; the city sparkled. It's Christmas time!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Thanksgiving in Italy
Hey there, Readers. I'm back (well, it's been a few days) from my Thanksgiving Trip to Tuscany and Rome. It was fabulous: celebrating the holiday with a group of ex-pats in a small Etruscan town, exploring the Tuscan town of Montepulciano in the mist, attending an Advent service in St. Peter's Basilica presided over by the Pope, an excellent tour of The Forum and Colosseum, and a warm Roman afternoon for my wandering through the city. Even the long trip home on Monday on the train up the Italian coast was enjoyable. I'll write up more, but for now, enjoy the pictures! (you can see more on my Flickr site - see link at right).
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