tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-111002362024-03-23T11:52:27.023-06:00jenincojenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.comBlogger250125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-9940263538177407232019-01-19T09:38:00.000-07:002019-10-31T16:58:37.637-06:00How to: sew a bento bag<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<img height="281" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/gBm2Zbq3hx1HyGSBwXzTtp35cSB5l7_h5VodnTFtvy-xl797VLoLXF6GzKdal6AeZpXoZf3NJOb9swc60YatK71eN_AIWvcaPpXjIz1IUlnOo2hPRTaAuVOiOiKDEGah9uEgGgwG" style="border: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; transform: rotate(0rad); white-space: pre;" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial;">Every year I like to make something quick and fun for friends. Last year, it was bento bags—little <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furoshiki" target="_blank">furoshiki</a><span id="goog_1973411442"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1973411443"></span> tie bags that can carry a bento box, a sandwich, or a tupperware or pyrex container with your lunch. They also make good produce bags. And a knitting friend uses hers to carry her yarn around her wrist while she knits.</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a>A while back, at a crafty retreat with <a href="http://www.themakerie.com/" target="_blank">The Makerie</a> (highly recommended, check them out!) , I received my lunch in a sweet little linen sack that tied at the top.<br />
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I enjoy taking my lunch to work in this bag. It is easy to pack and easy to throw in the laundry.<br />
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It looked like it was made of one piece of fabric—a long parallelogram—wound around into the shape of a bag with ties. <br />
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I found several patterns online that were made of triangles and a square with two layers of fabric. <br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><img height="285" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/H1qEMJ7YjzTyvfPET0XCd7l1Iduew5J2wJ_8fMTy4LXps1q4qhOPfEajSeGSmew9X-yHQoXfh030qFJQMiMpDrcfVfOjw-5xAt3lIOxdzg0_9SSillR4M5EJQJMBK09Uf-_VzZ4E" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="428" /></span></div>
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But that wasn’t quite right. These were 45° and 90° angles and thicker. Not as slim and elegant.<br />
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I found this pattern that looked more like what I wanted, with 30°/60° angles and one seam:<br />
<a href="https://ramonaclothing.wordpress.com/2013/08/02/tutorial-for-making-an-azuma-bento-bag/">https://ramonaclothing.wordpress.com/2013/08/02/tutorial-for-making-an-azuma-bento-bag/</a><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><img height="373" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/FBVqk0LTyCAlGDaqtpFEcZzrZws7RLLzVYAd-P4YvkVrgWhzIcEIJRxt5F13Wr2ZQiNTgMyJZGoxUJAEalg2S6QxmXKK9RJ_iZhxQA5FQGG0scMWz-KBCbCAo1kUZI_aE43irSHZ" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="345" /></span></div>
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But the dimensions were still a mystery to me. After some experimentation, I whipped up a few bags. <br />
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Then, with my son Kadin’s help, we worked out the geometry so the bag could reliably be made in any size.<br />
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<h3>
THE PATTERN</h3>
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You start with the length you want the bottom of your bag to be. This we will call <i>n</i>. Your bag will end up being <i>n</i> inches wide and a little less* than <i>n</i> inches tall/deep at the join before the ties.<br />
*86% as tall/deep as wide<br />
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To make your bag, you cut a rectangle with these dimensions: </div>
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(3<i>n</i> + <i>n</i>/2) by (squareroot(3) / 2)(<i>n</i>) </div>
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Luckily, squareroot(3) / 2 is just a constant, 0.86602540378.<br />
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That makes our dimensions: <br />
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3<i>n</i> + (<i>n</i>/2) by 0.86602540378(<i>n</i>)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8jMDqi2mfHuWkkpG7c0zR2uBuwAx9mZk7EOsWJkxgNTJVimqTotW4PO2CrKrbKujpB5h6TKR5r5atlNIDfHGn8fOUs2pOVCo7StH0fS3oFJo2RMskjte79snK7psKQSYbfpw/s1600/bentobag1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="388" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8jMDqi2mfHuWkkpG7c0zR2uBuwAx9mZk7EOsWJkxgNTJVimqTotW4PO2CrKrbKujpB5h6TKR5r5atlNIDfHGn8fOUs2pOVCo7StH0fS3oFJo2RMskjte79snK7psKQSYbfpw/s400/bentobag1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here is a table, feel free to add your own rows for other dimensions. For example, if you want a bag 10in wide, cut a rectangle 35in long by 8.5in wide:<br />
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<table style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; width: 468pt;"><colgroup><col width="*"></col><col width="*"></col><col width="*"></col></colgroup><tbody>
<tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Bag width (</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">n</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">)</span></div>
</td><td style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Rectangle length (3</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">n</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> + </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">n</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">/2)</span></div>
</td><td style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Rectangle width (0.866)(</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">n)</span></div>
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<tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">8</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">28</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">~6.9</span></div>
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<tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">10</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">35</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">~8.7</span></div>
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<tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">12</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">42</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">~10.4</span></div>
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<tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">36</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">126</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1pt; border-left: solid #000000 1pt; border-right: solid #000000 1pt; border-top: solid #000000 1pt; padding: 5pt 5pt 5pt 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">~31.2</span></div>
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If all those numbers confuse you, here is an example rectangle that makes about a 10in wide bag that works great for a lunch box:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FazranMhAfG306DMxYmzvhuavleTlPQgIsJOg5WLfrOh6mLg6XxDAdBEumfyPYEoMk_MMLnfYm3dk4XzCx25F1TeMUtoEJK6allB8-kZn08egnUFUFvt9V1vDt5SOJde5PXt/s1600/bentobag2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="388" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FazranMhAfG306DMxYmzvhuavleTlPQgIsJOg5WLfrOh6mLg6XxDAdBEumfyPYEoMk_MMLnfYm3dk4XzCx25F1TeMUtoEJK6allB8-kZn08egnUFUFvt9V1vDt5SOJde5PXt/s400/bentobag2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Fabric is pretty forgiving, so feel free to round up and allow for seam allowance, etc. </div>
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From your rectangle, you will want to cut a parallelogram with 60° angles like this:<br />
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<span style="text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial;">Measure in <i>n</i>/2 from one side to make your slanted ends, each slanting in the same direction.</span></div>
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For the 35in x 8.5in example rectangle above, this translates to:</div>
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The long points that have acute angles will be your ties, the oblique angles will be your joins.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-Jz5N9pCGo5HBXnsYlVmL9ngRl216ZpcoHsiD7aAK23V5w2cNw3lV2q2sd1ZRQDOQPOh1Z1powzlEiLM-pD9c8I7qiynzxF930q775AsB0Mi8wBQp7DGssiX52zDTTBYXRaH/s1600/bentobag6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="624" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-Jz5N9pCGo5HBXnsYlVmL9ngRl216ZpcoHsiD7aAK23V5w2cNw3lV2q2sd1ZRQDOQPOh1Z1powzlEiLM-pD9c8I7qiynzxF930q775AsB0Mi8wBQp7DGssiX52zDTTBYXRaH/s400/bentobag6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<br />
<h3>
<b>PREP WORK</b></h3>
<br />
Before you do anything else, finish the slanted ends of the parallelogram shown in red:<br />
<br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
Iron the slanted ends (short ends in red) folded over twice, then top stitch to hem/finish the edge. <br />
<br />
Once the slanted ends are finished, you will want to prepare your tie by prepping the other side of the tie with some more ironing. From the other side of the acute angle (your tie), fold over twice and iron to about 2/3rds of the way down towards the oblique angle. The areas to prepare with ironing are shown in orange-red:<br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
Here is how to iron the point so that you do not end up with any raw edges:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><img height="389" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/5pzDYx27A9oN5fZLJDjGHePqRxUjoSWLoILADVf0F-UXQZj__JY8SeslC45mFNknv7zScS3AVw1EBhCEiptVKDjFBOc-TDs-3dZWBgJDYU9x7eofBG2B7-bgQI8x1qWnyRoV_gOo" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="389" /></span></div>
</div>
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<br />
Trim it flush with the raw edge:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="395" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/B7RUuatMWxYBk4c4iUKJHzgh9OCss3cdfenIZ7tejVxgoWRsGVXQBtA26j7qxqt_WKeWTLflMMoI5mh2jJqbkEU98RKDt_GmI_7XBMVrL8EAkR42rghh6d5vqRbgCKH1HmmGurVg" style="border: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; transform: rotate(0rad); white-space: pre;" width="383" /></div>
</div>
<br />
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Fold the point down and press (this is the key step!):<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="366" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/3LkCypeHi0TwPrm8xLDInuyvsI-_zid-qC2Zs-7Hcszo6hP8yRTjJHrOQagBrkP6-Iz2jDX-qRmFL5zLWCvhUcBL-6-2jZ_4LRehSQUmF6HpAqtu7yX1nVmFvzR0GrmXABgOA6RX" style="border: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; transform: rotate(0rad); white-space: pre;" width="366" /></div>
</div>
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Iron the edge over:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="368" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/wV7g-eqmbGi2OvDaaE8yvvE3_Ca2trU6sA0rOWbGdZi7rHhqQC6hsxv1Kd3AW88TXsFnUB930Ex6gkrFqjB_k1a1rHgNC4lf7ulH-YwxJOnruG3zFGFBj05ROX84fGXtYQ4zY0jd" style="border: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; transform: rotate(0rad); white-space: pre;" width="368" /></div>
</div>
<br />
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Iron the edge over again:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="388" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/dTy7Jj0ZJT2Z_gt5-5xC0heR1KPed3nhUrXb1XRMCvSMaBZ79_bmZK3MkbbNS2vkiwg9XdP6hKnUsWwOjdHtAZZG-FodlJdEUpjFPB2ZIYJQUeT_mjoLCR9l8Rh3G2GJeZnCdxZM" style="border: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; transform: rotate(0rad); white-space: pre;" width="388" /></div>
</div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<br />
You have a parallelogram with two finished edges and two edges that are folded over and pressed, about ⅔ of the way down.<br />
<h3>
<b><br /></b></h3>
<h3>
<b>THE FUN PART!</b></h3>
<br />
The acute angles will be the ties. Each tie should have two sides of matching length. Starting from the acute angle, measure <i>n</i> inches down the long side (you can use the finished, slanted edge as your ruler, it is <i>n</i>!). This spot, <i>n</i> down from the acute corner, is where your join will be. <br />
<br />
Fold up from the <i>oblique</i> angle to this place <i>n</i> inches down from the acute angle. Fold the rectangle with right sides together and sew from the fold to the point. Like this: <br />
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<br />
Sew down the entire edge. By the time you get to the join (the corner of the oblique angle), you will transition from sewing two layers together to sewing on only one layer of fabric, but sewing on top of (top stitching) your prepared and ironed double-folded edge. This will finish this edge of your tie. You can zip right through the thick point at the end with all the raw edges folded and ironed inside.<br />
<br />
Half done!<br />
<br />
Find the other acute corner. Measure n inches down, fold the corner from the oblique angle up to this point, and sew down the entire side from fold to point. Once you get to the join, transition to top stitching along your double-folded edge to finish the last tie.</div>
<div>
<br />
Voilá! You have a bento bag with all the edges finished!<br />
<h3>
<b>FINISHING TOUCHES</b></h3>
<br />
I like to miter the corners. You can do it opened up or leave it closed. I’ve been doing them closed. Just run the corner of your bento bag through the sewing machine at a 45° angle:<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><img height="360" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/qeS_wHhFN2na1j2EotPxzChIOCw4g7dPtd3Q2hWezO4C5UEvsxJiB1TU8EavryBnd-mTkKA-GSubcOIGGy1voI6WxQ9mvgogRHO30Qo6RSxzBXTAzOJq-C8VPOpQj4BaRHzNowdx" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="360" /></span></div>
</div>
<br />
Opened up corners—where you press the seam open and flatten the corner with the seam in the middle on top—would make the bag a little more symmetrical, but the asymmetrical feel is also nice. <br />
<br />
And finally, you can reinforce the join with some fancy hand stitching, or do it by machine.</div>
<div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><img height="446" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/U-qXCmjL7CyqAeOgcuaWn2_DDaGfAG4ExTzKv-tH1qXbHv_mI_98A6Toe1_bu5AtUkRdWThTzUiKbeE-YD8wmYtWUB-blk9aArIt6dpS6SA5t_eCIZyq3mkiCSD-c0Ybg-MuH6Pl" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="446" /></span></div>
</div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
But if you’ve sewn through the join and transitioned to top stitching, your join will be pretty strong.<br />
<h3>
<b><br /></b></h3>
<h3>
<b>ENJOY!</b></h3>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
Map of a bento bag’s six equilateral triangles:<br />
<br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-68314799339727021232015-12-18T11:23:00.000-07:002015-12-18T11:26:52.290-07:00How to wrap<style>
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Last year’s wrapping went so well, I wanted to share.<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe you enjoy wrapping. Maybe you enjoy a little bit of
wrapping? Great. But if it becomes a chore, here is a foolproof method that, for
me, makes even a large amount of wrapping sort of enjoyable. The key is to automate the process, <br />
<a name='more'></a>get on the assembly line
and make some progress, no need to think or reinvent the wheel. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Automation eliminates one of the pain points in wrapping:
making a thousand little decisions. What kind of paper? How much? Which ribbon?
How much? Where are the scissors? Where is the tape? Where is a pen? How do I
attach this gift tag? Aarrrghhhh!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, it also has to look nice in the end, and I was
pleased with the outcome. Here is what worked:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used one big roll of recycled/recyclable paper and one
big, inexpensive roll of ribbon, twine, or yarn. You could combine a few
mix-and-match papers and ribbons. But the goal is no decisions: everything goes
with everything. </div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
DIVIDE AND CONQUER</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sorted my items up by recipient. Each recipient got a
designated pile/bag.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have your paper, ribbon, scissors, and tape to hand. That’s
all you need. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tags are a problem that can confuse the process and slow it
down. They are just another thing to keep track of, another decision to make, so
I suggest you do without them at first (see below for an alternate method). If
you opt for tags, add them in after you get the basic system down. You can
streamline your tag system later. (In other words, if you opt for tags, yes,
you will need a tag SYSTEM.)</div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
HARDEST FIRST</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Start with the recipient who has the biggest pile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Start with the biggest item in the pile. Why?<br />
Well, best to
just do, not think too hard about it, but the reason is that the big pieces of
wrapping paper are the hardest to come by. Use the big pieces first and you will
have scraps left over at the end that are the perfect size for the smaller
items. It’s fast, efficient, and the best way to save paper. Also, if you start
with the biggest, it gets easier and faster as you go. Bonus!</div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
PAPER</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For this step you will need only </div>
<ul>
<li>paper</li>
<li>tape</li>
<li>scissors </li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How much paper? An age-old question. Here’s how I solved it:
Take the item and unroll plenty of paper. You will want to make it so that the
paper goes all the way around one circumference of the item. Leave enough room
at top and bottom to cover the sides of your item (visualize the width of the
item cut in half) and cut your paper from the roll in one swift move. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cut your paper ALL THE WAY ACROSS. I give you permission.
This is the ONLY way to go. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
there is one thing you take away from this article it should be this: ALWAYS CUT
RECTANGULAR PIECES OF PAPER. None of this “L” shaped stuff! Ever! CUT STRAIGHT,
NO SHAPES!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keeping rectangles eliminates another pain point: having
weird sizes of paper. Nothing is every wrapped in an “L” shaped piece of paper.
Nothing. Cut it all the way across. Zip! No wrestling, no turning corners with
the scissors, just cut once and conserve. Just do it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If your resulting paper is too long, cut again to trim. Use
the smaller rectangle later for a smaller item. It’s freeing and it feels awesome.
You’ll love it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now place your item upside down on your appropriately-sized
paper, join the sides of the paper at the middle of the item, and tape. Fold
down the ends and tape (there are really cool ways to do these ends, but style
doesn’t really matter here, just do your best and move on). Done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For odd shaped items, just PRETEND that they are
rectangular, carry on by ignoring the rough edges, and do the best you can.
With plenty of paper and tape, anything is possible! (Or use a bag, see below.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now do the same for the next biggest item. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so on. Bam! Do all your paper at once. You have just
wrapped a whole stack of gifts. Be sure to keep your wrapped gifts sorted back in each recipient's bag since now you can't tell so much what they are anymore. IMPORTANT!</div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
TAGS</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now the to/from part so you know whom each package goes to
(they will probably be able to tell from the wrapping who it comes from). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For this I used large letter stamps. You could use
traditional to/from tags if you figure out a way to mass-produce your own: count
the number of gifts, make that number of tags, and attach. You could even make
the tags first and attach them in the same step as tying the ribbon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But here is what I did: I took my large letter stamp and stamped
each package with the initial of the recipient. Stamp, stamp, stamp. This is quick!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSW1ToVbop4MgKPuVoAq-IR71wyxvLK1s1Jsurp0jBI5bgY1Gwbfd98qyJxG2SsAqVDWkhGCJscX0VQRz3yEMo-403BwMg2z_b-uSJwCGcP5Y3wzgKLQyjj-RUAXf5P_tWjWv/s1600/JenincoHowToWrap-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSW1ToVbop4MgKPuVoAq-IR71wyxvLK1s1Jsurp0jBI5bgY1Gwbfd98qyJxG2SsAqVDWkhGCJscX0VQRz3yEMo-403BwMg2z_b-uSJwCGcP5Y3wzgKLQyjj-RUAXf5P_tWjWv/s320/JenincoHowToWrap-8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUHkzI3Yr7-4t7kjkIOW1-b5PPDA4KzDG8G4Ny2nwn8ZINLjGKhgTZLgSJvnuI6oIgzBsrSWlY5Z0Pr0c-AzY00zGl4IgrSRXXgXjn7nVMzNY3bL-G-2B7SpLYGHJKYJrwQaG/s1600/JenincoHowToWrap-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUHkzI3Yr7-4t7kjkIOW1-b5PPDA4KzDG8G4Ny2nwn8ZINLjGKhgTZLgSJvnuI6oIgzBsrSWlY5Z0Pr0c-AzY00zGl4IgrSRXXgXjn7nVMzNY3bL-G-2B7SpLYGHJKYJrwQaG/s320/JenincoHowToWrap-6.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMryhFiJKQCpzPa4Voei3Tzd2r2LXYf6Xoxnp5jI6zglsOs1gdjcKbcasfuQj1WP3qg4aiwAnd_ZaI_3v-MAzbqsXOhgAsdBZ6NatdaiFgr5tCDVxaTVwU7rNnIYdPbUVkL0d/s1600/JenincoHowToWrap-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMryhFiJKQCpzPa4Voei3Tzd2r2LXYf6Xoxnp5jI6zglsOs1gdjcKbcasfuQj1WP3qg4aiwAnd_ZaI_3v-MAzbqsXOhgAsdBZ6NatdaiFgr5tCDVxaTVwU7rNnIYdPbUVkL0d/s320/JenincoHowToWrap-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I am stamping the packages I also stamped a couple of pieces
of cardboard so I had tags to attach to presents that were not wrapped with
paper. For example, presents wrapped in reusable <a href="http://horseshoemarket.com/2012/03/22/diy-fabric-giftbag/">pillow-case gift bags</a>. Stick
the odd-shaped item in the bag, attach a reusable letter tag, and done. Use the
same tag/bag again next year. Yay!</div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
RIBBON</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now the ribbon. Similar deal to the paper. Take the largest package
first.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For this you will need </div>
<ul>
<li>ribbon </li>
<li>scissors</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
no tape
(one less thing to keep track of). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How much ribbon? Here is my quick and dirty way to determine:
take a length of ribbon and run it along the longest side of your package. If
your package is a cube, or close to it, run out enough to cover that length 8
times (being generous so as to leave enough for a bow). If your package is
flat, 4 to 5 lengths should be enough. You can visualize each side of the
package and estimate the length as you go. Count out loud if you’d like: front,
back, side, side, bottom, top, side, side. Be sure to overestimate and be
generous and you will have enough for a bow. If you are not sure, add another
length’s worth for the bow. The amount of ribbon wasted will pale in comparison
to time saved. Your estimation abilities will improve with practice. Having too
much is always better than too little. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Find the center of your piece of ribbon. Place the center of
the ribbon on the top, center of your package. Wrap around to back, cross, and
return to front. Tie a bow around the starting point. Done.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtK2bYRrDeUgYDMyOcUKgo1vJYOxT-5-x5iBnxbj_I8ZW1dLoqsm_Moz2_eJI7vnpcjCsSVZkTRZYgfy2_5a7607bKa0nTa7lS0LHOeF9N6lzjbUtbATAWXRsp44wdSkggtT42/s1600/JenincoHowToWrap-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtK2bYRrDeUgYDMyOcUKgo1vJYOxT-5-x5iBnxbj_I8ZW1dLoqsm_Moz2_eJI7vnpcjCsSVZkTRZYgfy2_5a7607bKa0nTa7lS0LHOeF9N6lzjbUtbATAWXRsp44wdSkggtT42/s320/JenincoHowToWrap-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Before you know it, you have a stack of presents stamped with initials and wrapped
with ribbon. Voilá! Now isn't that festive?<br />
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<br /></div>
jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-59917645283783514312015-03-18T20:30:00.002-06:002019-01-19T09:40:49.282-07:00Reheating without the microwave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoooejGGJJLV3JDby5qibqJry5CgGfbrTliFmkf9WiXGELPKYhJt3H_WW_uxlaszm_fx_JjFXX3kTtLrzQrpP6BujZxW_CSd1HfUXUgF49oKjGRlXsAUaQuYm6reI4Yn6wehq/s1600/silicone-lids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoooejGGJJLV3JDby5qibqJry5CgGfbrTliFmkf9WiXGELPKYhJt3H_WW_uxlaszm_fx_JjFXX3kTtLrzQrpP6BujZxW_CSd1HfUXUgF49oKjGRlXsAUaQuYm6reI4Yn6wehq/s1600/silicone-lids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
One of my favorite uses of the microwave is to reheat food. Since it works by heating up the water molecules, it doesn't seem to dry out the food. Also, you can heat it up right in your bowl/plate. And, since your plate/bowl can then go right in the dishwasher, it is one less plate/bowl to wash. And it is fast.<br />
<br />
Heating leftovers up on the stove usually requires washing a pot and eating out of a different dish. Which, lets face it, is a pain. <br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
While I don't know that microwaves are an unmitigated evil, I have been reading about how <br />
<a name='more'></a>the super heated water molecules can render the food less nutritious. Since my gut has been having difficulty absorbing nutrients, I'd like to avoid the microwave to get as many good nutrients as possible with my calories. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b>Advantages of microwave:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>moist</li>
<li>fast</li>
<li>one dish</li>
<li>energy efficient </li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Advantages of stovetop:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>more nutritious food in a more natural state (<b>this is my current priority!!!</b>)</li>
<li>gently, evenly warmed food that doesn't explode</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Design Problem:</b><br />
<br />
How to get all the nutrition of stove-top rewarming with the easy clean-up of microwave rewarming.<br />
<br />
<b>Design Solution:</b><br />
<br />
I found these wonderful small pots that are about the size and shape of a large bowl. They have a nice enamel coating that cleans up easily. Combine this pot with a silicone lid, and I have most of the advantages of a microwave back.<br />
<br />
My new microwave oven:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoooejGGJJLV3JDby5qibqJry5CgGfbrTliFmkf9WiXGELPKYhJt3H_WW_uxlaszm_fx_JjFXX3kTtLrzQrpP6BujZxW_CSd1HfUXUgF49oKjGRlXsAUaQuYm6reI4Yn6wehq/s1600/silicone-lids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoooejGGJJLV3JDby5qibqJry5CgGfbrTliFmkf9WiXGELPKYhJt3H_WW_uxlaszm_fx_JjFXX3kTtLrzQrpP6BujZxW_CSd1HfUXUgF49oKjGRlXsAUaQuYm6reI4Yn6wehq/s1600/silicone-lids.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I put my portion of food from the fridge into the pot, put the pot on the stove, place the lid on top to increase energy efficiency and keep moisture in, and in a few minutes, I have a nice, warm meal. I don't find waiting 5 minutes instead of 2 to be that much of a problem. And my food is gently and evenly warmed, not burned and sputtering (as can happen in the microwave). <br />
<br />
I place a hot pad on the table and eat directly out of the pot. (I know my grandma said never to do this, but it is a pretty cute pot—just a metal bowl with a handle…)<br />
<br />
Then I put the pot directly in the dishwasher, just like I would with a plate or bowl.<br />
<br />
And no microwave to clean.<br />
<br />
All of the warmth and nutrition—without the mess!<br />
<br />
I am also enjoying my silicon lids for other leftovers in the fridge, like this chicken salad in my hand-thrown bowl by my friend Melissa Beckwith of <a href="http://coclay.com/">CoClay.com.</a> <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3wQ0Gjg7oQZrRwLIokFHFMMfD5Xwwb4jMqoZU1CL4QkzuUHAoaXeQo5xS4ai-2UBlewEkTEQPb6bPdBDrxSvFKxiMh_kcNFt5foJf6E-lSuitQ3ELv9bCmbTSr9zJmjWX9o1/s1600/silicone-lids-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3wQ0Gjg7oQZrRwLIokFHFMMfD5Xwwb4jMqoZU1CL4QkzuUHAoaXeQo5xS4ai-2UBlewEkTEQPb6bPdBDrxSvFKxiMh_kcNFt5foJf6E-lSuitQ3ELv9bCmbTSr9zJmjWX9o1/s1600/silicone-lids-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-18089248391610308552015-01-12T13:54:00.000-07:002015-04-02T14:11:54.753-06:00The omnipresent (yet ellusive) Silver Fern of New ZealandThe silver fern has become the iconic symbol of New Zealand. Here are a variety of representations I found at the Aukland airport alone: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v-Omu2_gbxuBgf1jsVznrF5bQSjZ6B8s0Pmoekg5cbB9DrGxryvSFCHs9vse7u1qf-YoZtHNIrPJkZQ5oz3XoEDU5flLJXr3H17CihXCrt4fjzq6nTqDu190nhGuCavhOONM/s1600/Silver+Fern+ImageQuilt+.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v-Omu2_gbxuBgf1jsVznrF5bQSjZ6B8s0Pmoekg5cbB9DrGxryvSFCHs9vse7u1qf-YoZtHNIrPJkZQ5oz3XoEDU5flLJXr3H17CihXCrt4fjzq6nTqDu190nhGuCavhOONM/s1600/Silver+Fern+ImageQuilt+.jpeg" height="404" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I love it's graphic black-and-white abstraction, the use of positive and negative space, and how the design melds well with <br />
<a name='more'></a>traditional Polynesian and Maori styles. The stem is almost always to the left, the tip to the right. It is simple and distinctive and yet has endless variations (some more artful than others!). <br />
<br />
But when we went to find a real silver fern at the Christchurch botanic gardens, it was hard to find. We finally found it, and surprisingly, it looked like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYs2lTSF0GBug0ZtHw1ltFIOstw8NoEEVVePY18BaJa86wjA54Twdy-n66Hs-7QP43c9L-eL7ENjI0wITEbUQfkVaV9jzHjTlxbEU1Pb3VD_dHm8zQyDKoJvZepNfT6utV2gTi/s1600/SilverFern-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYs2lTSF0GBug0ZtHw1ltFIOstw8NoEEVVePY18BaJa86wjA54Twdy-n66Hs-7QP43c9L-eL7ENjI0wITEbUQfkVaV9jzHjTlxbEU1Pb3VD_dHm8zQyDKoJvZepNfT6utV2gTi/s1600/SilverFern-2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span id="goog_548863275"></span><span id="goog_548863276"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VSo4UCY2JXx2fSYm04_Hz_VtNRv-eDYhjnUnxYaRZFqhOH6tGpD_tUn8pVP5LZXdE7SAKSxYTG4KsDnsiKvrTzK0kD_0aqvHvM1-i1jX7gfmrNPjZ7ggoVeo8nfYBFYCz2Lm/s1600/SilverFern-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VSo4UCY2JXx2fSYm04_Hz_VtNRv-eDYhjnUnxYaRZFqhOH6tGpD_tUn8pVP5LZXdE7SAKSxYTG4KsDnsiKvrTzK0kD_0aqvHvM1-i1jX7gfmrNPjZ7ggoVeo8nfYBFYCz2Lm/s1600/SilverFern-3.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sE_4hcNOmb_Btc3pXprSakgHzUEqANkeqwumDzjmasy8QaPcpR1I5nGrqCeYRIgVSoTXa85-1a65tvJZqRdHJEDxqG4JoWm-Y08nBCmFrJJ9VdDY86tDWIx9FP5DljJhjCzV/s1600/SilverFern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sE_4hcNOmb_Btc3pXprSakgHzUEqANkeqwumDzjmasy8QaPcpR1I5nGrqCeYRIgVSoTXa85-1a65tvJZqRdHJEDxqG4JoWm-Y08nBCmFrJJ9VdDY86tDWIx9FP5DljJhjCzV/s1600/SilverFern.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The silver fern is beautiful, but I would not have recognized it from its symbol. The symbol has taken on a life of its own. Go All Blacks!jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-20934509463074575482014-07-20T14:08:00.000-06:002015-03-18T20:41:48.246-06:00Yellowstone<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrCO4zxFB68TF3SmZXxG_G-fjZkbY8VrrBOTtuLU66fFpxgcBDSKDP3IGNVvJZAiSrRqisMds-crfwmHBIGOmbgwjPMr5V38o-r0zsBl5speQwHFa-8dIzOs3cnqT7D0aEfv-/s1600/yellowstone2014-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrCO4zxFB68TF3SmZXxG_G-fjZkbY8VrrBOTtuLU66fFpxgcBDSKDP3IGNVvJZAiSrRqisMds-crfwmHBIGOmbgwjPMr5V38o-r0zsBl5speQwHFa-8dIzOs3cnqT7D0aEfv-/s1600/yellowstone2014-9.jpg" height="93" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We are not planners so that is one reason we got the van. No
need for reservations or tickets. We did block out a week for a family
vacation (I had “go somewhere” in the calendar) and we looked to Yellowstone as
a destination. It’s about a 9-hour drive from Boulder. <b>You</b> might want to plan
your trip, but your itinerary <b>could</b> go something like this: <br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Day 1:</b> Leave a bit later than hoped and run a couple of
errands on the way out. Opt to not stop for lunch, get really hungry, and
picnic at a rest area near Chugwater, WY (all Wyoming rest areas have the same
distinctive architecture), where one child declares that “this” is a bad idea,
that they feel sick, and that we should turn around and head home immediately.
End lunch stop by breaking glass coffee press. Carry on driving.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Find a mall and buy a new coffee press and a soccer ball.
Dine again en route near Hell’s Half Acre (same style rest area, different
location), but this time BEFORE dire hunger sets in and with a soccer ball that
runs off much of the children’s energy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Camp north of Shoshoni, WY, in Boysen state park (spotted by our
chief navigator on the one small map we had) along a river in a canyon in the
Absaroka Range.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Day 2:</b> Breakfast in the state park includes the company of
three horses from the adjacent site who are enjoying grass along the riverbank.
Three horses and three people (two bearded) share the trailer. Truck door says:
“<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/THE-LAST-CIRCUIT-RIDING-PREACHER/321054852185">Dan Boyd</a>, the last circuit riding preacher, riding for Jesus.” Feels timeless.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XvjFIhVUzjW9Cqz-5DEEd5-B4NkdjzpxQAtVnrev_JUp3CaDgWYs46WOYmVaA5IIY-AaEDFlelj6m55iCSbwU_tHKUp7vtNoY_X0BPVugvjD-kNS8ZELtEjVrBTcQO0Ifswg/s1600/yellowstone2014-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XvjFIhVUzjW9Cqz-5DEEd5-B4NkdjzpxQAtVnrev_JUp3CaDgWYs46WOYmVaA5IIY-AaEDFlelj6m55iCSbwU_tHKUp7vtNoY_X0BPVugvjD-kNS8ZELtEjVrBTcQO0Ifswg/s1600/yellowstone2014-18.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petroglyph sign in Thermopolis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drive an hour to Thermopolis, WY, home of hot springs and
another state park. Spend some time in the park, in the pools, on the water
slides, in the vapor caves, on the high dive, and of course in the hot tubs. Showers!</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTwaS4dVkuS29wQJu0DYdp_-_I8ZWysBUDTs6Wp1CmrX0iyHjYFKw2X8EwONbzQ5KHqzSeEyf4TE8aMvFJYJtuJPsNPyjItiTBIppvepj7QxQNnFWFT70P-DZn9JAihAso0Mh/s1600/yellowstone2014-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTwaS4dVkuS29wQJu0DYdp_-_I8ZWysBUDTs6Wp1CmrX0iyHjYFKw2X8EwONbzQ5KHqzSeEyf4TE8aMvFJYJtuJPsNPyjItiTBIppvepj7QxQNnFWFT70P-DZn9JAihAso0Mh/s1600/yellowstone2014-19.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rees, soaking in Thermopolis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Lunch in Thermopolis, visit a bookstore (get map of Wyoming
and book about camping in Wyoming) and the post office. Chief navigator now has
the tools to plan our tour of northwestern Wyoming and our nation's first National Park.
Head on to Cody were we stop to buy a remedy for the child whose ear became
painfully plugged on a deep descent after jumping off the high dive. Shop at
Sierra Trading Post. </div>
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Carry on towards Yellowstone! Almost there, but get stopped by a landslide.
River has suddenly turned muddy with red dirt, large trees floating down, road is blocked. Turn around and
camp in a nearby state park with other slide refugees. Campgrounds here require
“hard sided” vehicles—no tents or pop-up trailers—because of problems with grizzlies (!). Watch big earth
moving equipment pass by on the road before we turn in for the night. </div>
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<b>Day 3:</b> After a quiet night with no traffic on the road, we
wake to hear cars passing through in both directions. We hightail it to
Yellowstone's East Entrance (Park has 5 entrances, one in each cardinal direction and an extra one in the northeast) and after passing many a bison on the road, secure a (somewhat
cramped but adequate) campsite at Norris in the center of the park for two
nights (campsites here are first-come and we arrived just in the nick of time,
about 9:30am). </div>
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Eat breakfast at the new campsite and drive the northern
loop of the park (Park has a main, central road that is shaped like a figure 8. We're camped near the center of the figure 8, on the west side. On the first day, we drive around the top loop of the 8.) to see more hot springs at Mammoth. Sadly, you can’t swim in
these, but we have a nice lunch at the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel and learn we
can go in the Gardiner river just up the road where it is joined by the Boiling River. Fun, but
also unsatisfying as it is either scalding hot or freezing cold. Like a
body-sized mixer tap. Ugh. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDYGDwwBf69KUC97elEUyhETOT_CCicm7qUioa-V6jcsmHADNovbSyPifkzl7RYNbfKHaO5NH-EiKZ6a_B5A56hQk9eInCirBZhN3LPFucFxyjBuId_48G8m0Io8RQMLb_Yqu/s1600/yellowstone2014-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDYGDwwBf69KUC97elEUyhETOT_CCicm7qUioa-V6jcsmHADNovbSyPifkzl7RYNbfKHaO5NH-EiKZ6a_B5A56hQk9eInCirBZhN3LPFucFxyjBuId_48G8m0Io8RQMLb_Yqu/s1600/yellowstone2014-17.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mammoth Hot Springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Carry on driving clockwise around the northern loop of the
park back to the campsite. Takes all day. We hike a bit and see much lovely scenery:
horse-drawn carriages, pronghorn, a moose, and a petrified redwood. Also, right
in the middle of the park, a dead bison with a huge flock of observers waiting
to see the predators (wolves, bears) descend at dusk. </div>
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<b>Day 4:</b> Geyser day! We head counter-clockwise around the
western side of the southern loop into the heart of the caldera. Unbelievable
spurting, spouting, bubbling, breathing places, each one unique. Unbelievable
that we are in an active volcano, peering down into the boiling depths. There
are roads that are melting. All these people flock here and it is such a draw
and so fascinating and at the same time seems like such folly, like it is
perhaps tempting fate. And it stinks—with sulphur. This is a supervolcano. This is crazy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhYhZef-FPusGxXH1eh29mdDdiWZ4YmM7dwrC-sfamXssLWp9DLlXuu8fUBTcnsva13dbnR2WmKq5IgzBIM8IPDVcs5hoR7PoSAUu634JYhXkMyC-qYFSgs_HsxuRt7oIudA-/s1600/yellowstone2014-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhYhZef-FPusGxXH1eh29mdDdiWZ4YmM7dwrC-sfamXssLWp9DLlXuu8fUBTcnsva13dbnR2WmKq5IgzBIM8IPDVcs5hoR7PoSAUu634JYhXkMyC-qYFSgs_HsxuRt7oIudA-/s1600/yellowstone2014-8.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxs1o6acWTz638deTkZeGlj8LC5fTtnc-HYHS917qkfOLdZiaDMCzB0MGz-2sUqE9KLdX2Z2kfY2XP2aUj3FXr_Gc5ATKrAx0l9dssPrbPsyJMkyM-8-pdiqePIp9-iDRmmj4Q/s1600/yellowstone2014-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxs1o6acWTz638deTkZeGlj8LC5fTtnc-HYHS917qkfOLdZiaDMCzB0MGz-2sUqE9KLdX2Z2kfY2XP2aUj3FXr_Gc5ATKrAx0l9dssPrbPsyJMkyM-8-pdiqePIp9-iDRmmj4Q/s1600/yellowstone2014-12.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEF1Bf9X7WHYcbVpwOkad2MjIniRZ7T6x2WHR_1vPWNuM__h3ZBs3xs2PUCxklHGVJQU5q_ACXQZd5oYfpwn6Inm1Q-_Y8xxSe9tMTzidl_CagL2UQkC7ZLnOcB6EsPVzkzrZ/s1600/yellowstone2014-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEF1Bf9X7WHYcbVpwOkad2MjIniRZ7T6x2WHR_1vPWNuM__h3ZBs3xs2PUCxklHGVJQU5q_ACXQZd5oYfpwn6Inm1Q-_Y8xxSe9tMTzidl_CagL2UQkC7ZLnOcB6EsPVzkzrZ/s1600/yellowstone2014-13.jpg" height="320" width="49" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUARGgbuV9DL1clLs1mpLYC4hKHjWgmK7Pqgnlu40E20ufovC2WCf3-IK0X4ymcrfNTKuNhsV0rIPbIIwivY1YERnaLDICO_Rzum_nggNjgEAymWH_ow2KUL8dloFaQUM40vpL/s1600/yellowstone2014-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUARGgbuV9DL1clLs1mpLYC4hKHjWgmK7Pqgnlu40E20ufovC2WCf3-IK0X4ymcrfNTKuNhsV0rIPbIIwivY1YERnaLDICO_Rzum_nggNjgEAymWH_ow2KUL8dloFaQUM40vpL/s1600/yellowstone2014-16.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Even the teenagers think this is mildly interesting. </span><br />
<br />
Lunch is at Old Faithful which is such a phenomenon. Quite
the marketing success: do something that lasts about 10 mins, repeatedly, every
60 to 90 mins, for decades, and people will come—boy will they come!
Fascinating on so many levels: geologically, historically, socially. The Old
Faithful Inn is spectacular too, but I couldn’t help but think about all the
floral suncatchers in the gift shop window that would be suddenly gone in the impending
blast. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcsvKENFJOjAr6Oyb7Sf0hpF19yi7jUCXVr_B6XeJrHQswcm9Cyc2vIiI7jIBaNxi7BcgWGs5tpDzhKEowiDCJa_qqP6XTK7bsj5UYrCIKHPAxfEacHjJoqoVMlvdJ6wOiiNM/s1600/yellowstone2014-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcsvKENFJOjAr6Oyb7Sf0hpF19yi7jUCXVr_B6XeJrHQswcm9Cyc2vIiI7jIBaNxi7BcgWGs5tpDzhKEowiDCJa_qqP6XTK7bsj5UYrCIKHPAxfEacHjJoqoVMlvdJ6wOiiNM/s1600/yellowstone2014-14.jpg" height="274" width="320" /></a>For the rest of the day we see endless holes in the ground,
each with its own features and colors and rhythms.<br />
<br />
We find a nice place to swim
in the Firehole River, except that it is 5pm and 68 degrees and so we pass (if
it had been 1pm and 90 degrees…). See another moose (with attendant swarms of
cameras), and add bald eagle and elk to the list of animals. </div>
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Dinner at camp and a sound sleep. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEvEvqPCnHbqy4M5kO2IY-YOW4ge7OO672hPS1qq48wqK6KVnd395rDUBRDTXmSlVT2fg5ibrCSIur5WI21KJGpwexovFPs-voa5Sy1lBHdgZ4bppkT4f-UBocUiCYryDNU2C/s1600/yellowstone2014-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEvEvqPCnHbqy4M5kO2IY-YOW4ge7OO672hPS1qq48wqK6KVnd395rDUBRDTXmSlVT2fg5ibrCSIur5WI21KJGpwexovFPs-voa5Sy1lBHdgZ4bppkT4f-UBocUiCYryDNU2C/s1600/yellowstone2014-7.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is he paid to sit there?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Day 5:</b> Leave campsite heading around the eastern side of the
southern loop this time. Pass the dead bison again and see that it is much reduced
and scattered. Just miss a view of a pack of wolves (according to the paparazzi
frenzy we enquired of), and, after a couple more geyser basins (lunch at the
lovely yellow and deco Lake Hotel), head out around the lake (elk!) and the
south gate of the park towards the Tetons. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzwPU0_U9lLq4Yxm82YGLYHkZ4A3sRIkTV2clGF0OzSnMxGR95kN4XP3WFcCPrkIk72hSmfLBcl8YJRsflBKJROkMhUx0eJ0hkv6YSVOQzxgWp7whHI1LsSZ31WqLWoqRCM0A/s1600/yellowstone2014-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzwPU0_U9lLq4Yxm82YGLYHkZ4A3sRIkTV2clGF0OzSnMxGR95kN4XP3WFcCPrkIk72hSmfLBcl8YJRsflBKJROkMhUx0eJ0hkv6YSVOQzxgWp7whHI1LsSZ31WqLWoqRCM0A/s1600/yellowstone2014-6.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcWNeQnDetlo2r5SRUmlXz6ZqKAw6gEcsvwbHBbxcSpGSYXTCmCK8UUQVPL08SvOhb09fKH7gIcHr-mAC2nt4jgeR74p_67dhV0TeTTdvSOWfPYQX63gndKLa3AnP-iiJzVe5/s1600/yellowstone2014-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcWNeQnDetlo2r5SRUmlXz6ZqKAw6gEcsvwbHBbxcSpGSYXTCmCK8UUQVPL08SvOhb09fKH7gIcHr-mAC2nt4jgeR74p_67dhV0TeTTdvSOWfPYQX63gndKLa3AnP-iiJzVe5/s1600/yellowstone2014-5.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Only glimpse the Tetons before heading diagonally SE across
Wyoming again, through the Wind River Range, slightly south of our path on the
way in. Ranches and the great outdoors: big sky, horses, cattle, fish, game. Spend
the night at a gem of a campsite on Green Mountain, a refreshing oasis between
Lander and Rawlins with wildflowers, aspen trees, and a babbling brook. </div>
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<b>Day 6:</b> Within striking distance of home, but opt for one
more hot springs en route in Saratoga south of Rawlins. Free pools (hot, hot,
hot!) and a much more satisfying junction with the river where the water is evenly
warm (and the pools are in the shade!). First shower since Thermopolis. Ahhh! The
Red Box at the gas station signals salvation for one in our party—a movie to pass
the time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1_H8CthxHUUl3fqZbtNVGAhyo05KHEvOPabbN1p3dRf1MoBzaD8_4IafNPELFYFeFoRuvzSxSYauEeWcRc8dex62rWX1SNZTvZF6KaArS_fnprYUuZWG6pzAchfBQ3uHpvVi/s1600/yellowstone2014-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1_H8CthxHUUl3fqZbtNVGAhyo05KHEvOPabbN1p3dRf1MoBzaD8_4IafNPELFYFeFoRuvzSxSYauEeWcRc8dex62rWX1SNZTvZF6KaArS_fnprYUuZWG6pzAchfBQ3uHpvVi/s1600/yellowstone2014-3.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>The drive east through the Snowy Range is chilly and steep.
It looks like a magical fairyland with its emerald green grass, blue sky, puffy
clouds, alpine lakes, wild flowers, and striking white boulders. How have we
never been here before?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaFyXk6o9GQuZkBhuxDLFP8jnRIslYEQu9VGid-f1_6yfqyYDbGIVuBayWtsSFUkdTlSYahX1CGP2fc2FCsk2rWuRxOB8LDknAgG0muFwWmHAOyVc73K3JvYPwcG94q9kGuVOc/s1600/yellowstone2014-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaFyXk6o9GQuZkBhuxDLFP8jnRIslYEQu9VGid-f1_6yfqyYDbGIVuBayWtsSFUkdTlSYahX1CGP2fc2FCsk2rWuRxOB8LDknAgG0muFwWmHAOyVc73K3JvYPwcG94q9kGuVOc/s1600/yellowstone2014-4.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq8_DslnOkmGy8iCS-yxUceEPlFoeS44eETYUGVnKn7UAPU4yLirfsS_hCWmhe7mfLFBLNt_1xh1J3uzvPrj56zCg5ndlEn_zNVCzVefGDTZeSjlrK6KOEOqcarGBzhkUA88W/s1600/yellowstone2014-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq8_DslnOkmGy8iCS-yxUceEPlFoeS44eETYUGVnKn7UAPU4yLirfsS_hCWmhe7mfLFBLNt_1xh1J3uzvPrj56zCg5ndlEn_zNVCzVefGDTZeSjlrK6KOEOqcarGBzhkUA88W/s1600/yellowstone2014-2.jpg" height="320" width="166" /></a><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Late lunch in Laramie where
we visit a bookstore and a cowgirl yarn store and then drive the last stretch
home….a good week.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEVXHWIGEwEDFX7U1yIeAdvGf0bg0UKvTU-EVnnnZBnGxqC1Ek9T5Eld2ocefFiWVeJE0LUD-eCPcq1i-KeXCF6dxKmv0GkCgRXwa9tySuYUOvvrJ1MLKus1W0rTNjRNCfO-C/s1600/yellowstone2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEVXHWIGEwEDFX7U1yIeAdvGf0bg0UKvTU-EVnnnZBnGxqC1Ek9T5Eld2ocefFiWVeJE0LUD-eCPcq1i-KeXCF6dxKmv0GkCgRXwa9tySuYUOvvrJ1MLKus1W0rTNjRNCfO-C/s1600/yellowstone2014.jpg" height="320" width="143" /></a><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>
jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-56459604876765570182012-09-20T16:18:00.000-06:002019-01-19T10:13:10.404-07:00How to: DIY disposable cloth napkins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-0RZLUPeuHijynE7E5J6m8z6PKrtiMXaRHpROiPjFRjemdlovBhS-dLI5beq9vwEa41iRNkVlN4PM7iFuvvLXMU72BxY-gF4hbBoWngF07s9TKYglREZLfPzZj2x7AKwH2ts/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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Have to share this idea.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-0RZLUPeuHijynE7E5J6m8z6PKrtiMXaRHpROiPjFRjemdlovBhS-dLI5beq9vwEa41iRNkVlN4PM7iFuvvLXMU72BxY-gF4hbBoWngF07s9TKYglREZLfPzZj2x7AKwH2ts/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-0RZLUPeuHijynE7E5J6m8z6PKrtiMXaRHpROiPjFRjemdlovBhS-dLI5beq9vwEa41iRNkVlN4PM7iFuvvLXMU72BxY-gF4hbBoWngF07s9TKYglREZLfPzZj2x7AKwH2ts/s400/IMG_0883.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The other day I went to my happy place, Anthropologie, and in the sale section they had a sort of cloth napkin that was disposable and that you could tear off a roll. Not with snaps or anything, just a roll of cheap cotton fabric in cute gingham prints that you could tear. Kind of like an upscale picnic item. I was intrigued but I didn't bite. But at home, I did have, waiting for me to do something with them, two worn out pillow cases. <br />
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You know when sheets or pillow cases get so thin there is no point in mending them? A sheet might become a tarp for spray painting or a pillow case might become rags for cleaning. Once I made waxing strips out of an old sheet and and old pillow case. But we currently have enough rags and tarps and waxing strips so these pillow cases were just waiting. I couldn't throw them away, but I didn't have much time to deal with them either. <br />
<br />
Soooo...idea! I quickly tore each pillow case <br />
<a name='more'></a>just to the side of each seam. With the seams dispatched (no cutting needed), I had a nice long rectangle of fabric. That tore easily into long strips about 9 inches wide. I think I tore it in half, but any multiple will work: thirds, fourths. The width doesn't matter, just make all strips roughly a similar width and a width that is a good for a napkin. (You can keep the hems/casing, that part is just fine). <span id="goog_1410351160"></span><span id="goog_1410351161"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhpFhKi-sJcCfVcjkSFlss_3NqYs2_lgbhKKYyaHhXVrs1NWd7MUzsAIVTXwd1EyLMZRWkO_M_8UMLHVICrZkhgUrnzC89Q-4bjk8arLGfnY0oCbsjrWVRzETE57hxtOTvxKKF/s1600/IMG_0879.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhpFhKi-sJcCfVcjkSFlss_3NqYs2_lgbhKKYyaHhXVrs1NWd7MUzsAIVTXwd1EyLMZRWkO_M_8UMLHVICrZkhgUrnzC89Q-4bjk8arLGfnY0oCbsjrWVRzETE57hxtOTvxKKF/s200/IMG_0879.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roll of disposable cloth napkins</td></tr>
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Then, I wrapped my strips onto a dowel and voila! A roll of cotton cloth napkins! <br />
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The beauty is that the fabric is so thin it tears super easily and it tears straight. Maybe I've just reinvented the wheel here (was this the original inspiration for paper towels?), but I'm pretty excited about this new use for worn out bedding. (And now that it's on a blog, I can "Pin" it! Yes!) I really enjoy using a cloth napkin and these don't seem so "precious," you know? <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-0RZLUPeuHijynE7E5J6m8z6PKrtiMXaRHpROiPjFRjemdlovBhS-dLI5beq9vwEa41iRNkVlN4PM7iFuvvLXMU72BxY-gF4hbBoWngF07s9TKYglREZLfPzZj2x7AKwH2ts/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-0RZLUPeuHijynE7E5J6m8z6PKrtiMXaRHpROiPjFRjemdlovBhS-dLI5beq9vwEa41iRNkVlN4PM7iFuvvLXMU72BxY-gF4hbBoWngF07s9TKYglREZLfPzZj2x7AKwH2ts/s200/IMG_0883.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tears easily!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Of course, I still can't throw them out, so they've gone into the laundry. They will either be used again as napkins or as rags until... <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkA9x2C6YU79ZRMPN-ag8hR5RXXmpWfRsiqRqA8Ffy-fLj_AOKuKWL-ZKoHa6HsfWgf1H4DEmNcMcACDPjCHqsQbjIiXyok0d6WLJmqfs9j8CXI7nyNxwFbQCk9EI8Zl7GU5X/s1600/IMG_0886.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkA9x2C6YU79ZRMPN-ag8hR5RXXmpWfRsiqRqA8Ffy-fLj_AOKuKWL-ZKoHa6HsfWgf1H4DEmNcMcACDPjCHqsQbjIiXyok0d6WLJmqfs9j8CXI7nyNxwFbQCk9EI8Zl7GU5X/s320/IMG_0886.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rustic/minimalist table setting with "disposable" cloth napkins</td></tr>
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-66791875907019752522012-09-20T16:02:00.001-06:002015-04-02T14:09:12.500-06:00GeniusKadin was working on a math problem for his homework and asked for my help. He actually didn't bring the problem home but said he remembered it. He tried to explain it to me and it was something like this: <br />
A jail has 100 cells. The guard comes in the first day and unlocks all the cells. On the second day he locks all the cells that are multiples of two. On the third day he unlocks all the cells that are multiples of 3 (or something like that, Kadin wasn't exactly sure) and so on. The question was, on the 100th day, which cells would be unlocked?<br />
<br />
So we agreed there must be a pattern. Kadin had gone through and figured out <br />
<a name='more'></a>a few of the first cells and seemed to have a good grasp of how the problem worked. We decided that it had to do with how many factors a number had. It turned out that if a number had an even number of the factors, the cell would remain locked, but if it had an odd number of factors, it would be open. That was the pattern that emerged.<br />
<br />
So then the question became which numbers have an odd number of factors? At first we thought it might have something to do with prime numbers or prime numbers multiplied by 2. Kadin kept testing out various ideas and theories. Until finally we got it: the only numbers that have an odd number of factors are squares. Squares seem so square that it is strange to think of them as uneven, but it turns out that the only way a number has an odd number of factors is if one pair of factors is the same number twice. Get it? Anyway, Kadin did. <br />
<br />
I was so impressed how Kadin stuck with it and kept thinking and testing and following the logic. Rees is not like this at all and would never have the patience to mull over a math puzzle. All this time, Rees was off snacking and watching TV—he has a very easy load this year and not much homework. <br />
<br />
Later that night, Greg and I were watching an episode of The Office when Rees came in to say goodnight. We pause the episode to chat. "What are you watching?" he asks. The Office. "Which episode?" He glances at the screen and says, "Oh, 'The Garage Sale.'" Then on his way out he adds, "the best pesto." The best pesto? Greg and I look at each other quizzically. Did he have pesto today? What is he talking about? We go back to the computer, press play, and the next line? "The best pesto." <br />
<br />
Wow. My kids are so different from each other, but each one a genius. jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-2404285811085840242010-12-24T15:41:00.004-07:002015-04-02T14:14:07.801-06:00Final grand theory (France’s gift to me)What did I learn in France? The big take-away for me was the relative lack of shame. And I am surprised by how revolutionary this is to me. <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/limbic-system.html">All the functionality and sense of entitlement </a>shown by the French could very well come from what I see as a lack of desire to make people feel bad. Or, put another way, a great desire to shore people up, let them feel good, appreciate them for who they are, and protect them from humiliation.<br />
<br />
And it could all be in my head—is probably a theory that says more about me than anything about “the French”—but I am enjoying the fantasy and finding it really helpful. (I chose not to watch <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/tv-and-radio.html">French daytime TV</a> just to keep it alive.)<br />
<br />
In the US, and even more so in England (and perhaps in other northern European countries like Germany and Scandinavia), I find there is a<br />
<a name='more'></a>real sense that when you do something wrong, people want you to feel bad about yourself. The correct response is to show that you feel bad, that you are humbled. Feeling remorse, putting yourself down, is the polite thing to do. Nothing is more infuriating in these cultures than a lack of shame. Pride goeth before a fall and all that.<br />
<br />
And England has perfected the art of the put down. They do this brilliantly. They don’t just say, “Take your feet off the table.” They add some shame and say, “Who do you think you are? Have some common decency and respect for humanity. How could you even consider putting your feet on the table?” The idea is that a poor choice comes from a fundamentally flawed personality. Make a mistake and it reflects on your inner character.<br />
<br />
In England (and America too, but most strongly in England, I think), there is a huge premium placed on not losing face. It seems that many of the news stories on public figures are about embarrassment, how they were shamed. Sometimes it seems that the whole purpose of public figures in England (and America) is to watch them be taken off their pedestal. It is so common to have someone try to “put you in your place” that one strategy is to simply do it for them, and put yourself down first. Make it a joke. Much of British and American comedy is self-deprecating and about humiliation.<br />
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I just don’t see this in France. There is not this strong shame/embarrassment/self-deprecating side to the culture. Sure, the French are seen as having big heads as a result, but do they care? French politicians and public figures are rarely embarrassed. They make mistakes like everyone else, but there is very little “outing” or shaming. Soccer phenomenon Zinedine Zidane’s head-butt at the end of his career would have ruined him if he had been English. In France, he is still a popular and respected figure.<br />
<br />
Imagine a place where no one wants you to feel fundamentally bad about yourself! This is the most foreign thing to me yet. Sure, they might get irritated, want you to change your behavior, but they don’t want you to be humiliated. Putting someone down is not a habitual reflex.<br />
<br />
In France, if I wear the biggest size in a store and something doesn’t fit, it is not that I am somehow the wrong shape or size, it is simply that the right clothes haven’t been designed yet. Wow.<br />
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And people in France are willing to go out of their way to protect you from humiliation. In fact, if you act humiliated or embarrassed when you make a mistake, I think it’s more your embarrassment than the initial mistake that irritates them. The cover up is worse than the crime. They are infuriated by humility.<br />
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I love this. If you let it in, stop taking criticism to heart, you might just find a whole culture set up to defend your basic feeling of goodness. It’s a pretty fundamentally different way of seeing things for me, not something that I am used to at all. Imagine a place where you don’t need to be defensive. Where instead of people looking for a chink in your armor, the hole in your façade, you feel the people all around you wanting to build you up, enjoying the artifice you’ve created. They want to appreciate the persona that is you, they don’t want to tear it down.<br />
<br />
And this sort of inner confidence is very appealing. Could it be why the French seem to have an inner glow, why they are so attractive? It’s not just the food or something in the water (or wine).<br />
<br />
Perhaps this lack of a burden of shame is what gives them the confidence to <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/limbic-system.html">glide over ice and seemingly effortlessly avoid collisions</a>, how they can walk all day in high heels, feel they deserve<a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/11/does-not-compute.html"> leisurely two-hour lunches</a>. It might explain why it is no problem to<a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/ofii-not-that-awful.html"> undress if front of a doctor</a>---there is nothing to hide. And this is perhaps why the <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/09/laws.html">burka</a> is so infuriating---it’s wearing humility and shame on your sleeve (or whole body, really).<br />
<br />
Imagine there being no original sin, instead just a fundamental feeling of rightness, a whole culture set up to defend a basic feeling of goodness inside. This could even explain the “French paradox” of how they smoke, drink, eat high fat foods and have one of the longest life expectancies in Europe.<br />
<br />
Maybe I only see this idealized side of French culture because I’m<a href="http://http//jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/tv-and-radio.html"> peeking through the fence</a> and only taking in what I choose to take in, but I still think it’s possible…and what a gift that is.<br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-43150840807646570532010-12-23T07:04:00.003-07:002015-04-02T14:10:50.503-06:00Words that suddenly sound weird<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style>For examples of my habitual train of thought about language and how my brain is slowly able to put the pieces together, over a couple of days, I kept track of words that stood out for me. <br />
<br />
At a café, a sign saying service is only at the “<span style="font-style: italic;">comptoir</span>.” <span style="font-style: italic;">Comptoir</span>, a word I associated with banks and accounting. A <span style="font-style: italic;">compte</span> is an account. So why at a restaurant? And then, of course, the “counter.” Same deal: account, counter. Just the same in English. Only it doesn’t sound weird to me at all in English because <br />
<a name='more'></a>I <span style="font-weight: bold;">never</span> made that connection. <br />
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Stores here have <span style="font-style: italic;">rayons</span> or departments (<span style="font-style: italic;">rayon</span> not a type of fabric). Then I get to thinking about the word Department Store. I guess it comes from when stores used to specialize in one sort of thing, and a bigger store, with many different sections, was a department store. It is not a place that sells departments. <br />
<br />
Searching the fabric stores in Paris I realize what I am interested in is the beads and the buttons, or what I discover is called “<span style="font-style: italic;">mercier</span>.” In the US, it would be called “notions.” Try explaining that one. <br />
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After ordering two French textbooks for Rees, I realize that “<span style="font-style: italic;">commander</span>” does not mean to abruptly tell someone what to do. It simply means “to order.” It’s the same! But “command” sounds so much harsher than “order.” And then how to explain ordering a room. It’s all connected, but tricky. You need to know the connotations. <br />
<br />
And there is <span style="font-style: italic;">quartier</span>, or section. In English "quarter" can be housing, a fourth part of something, or a coin.<br />
<br />
A<span style="font-style: italic;"> journal</span> is a <span style="font-weight: bold;">daily</span> paper. Day/<span style="font-style: italic;">jour</span>, that's where it comes from. Duh!<br />
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And this thing in yoga class that sounds like "onches" is actually "<span style="font-style: italic;">hanches</span>," or hips, those things that you might sit on when you are being lazy out in the old west. I think we actually add a "u" and make it "haunches."<br />
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A store I visited that had a whole aisle of the little shop signs with changeable clocks for opening and closing times and the perfect red jewelry boxes for my necklaces, did not, I found out, sell to “<span style="font-style: italic;">particuliers</span>.” Particulers? Turns out that’s me. Darn. It means an individual, the opposite of a collective or a wholesaler. <br />
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An early noun I came across was an “<span style="font-style: italic;">avoir</span>.” From the verb “to have.” The context was a store giving me an “<span style="font-style: italic;">avoir</span>.” And there seemed to be very few synonyms for this noun about having. It turns out it means store credit, like a gift card. <br />
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And homework is called “<span style="font-style: italic;">devoir</span>” or duty, from the verb “to have to.” <br />
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I saw a transcription of "Friends" (the TV series, no it is <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> called "<span style="font-style: italic;">Amis"</span> it is called "<span style="font-style: italic;">Friends</span>") and they were always talking about whether two people would “<span style="font-style: italic;">sorti ensemble</span>.” Exit together. No, wait, “go out together.” What a funny expression, but it’s exactly the same! <br />
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We live on the four<span style="font-weight: bold;">th fl</span>oor. Now that is easy for me to say, but I think that <span style="font-weight: bold;">–th fl-</span> combo would trip up a lot of non English speakers. <br />
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I was hopeless with vowels, double letters, and spelling before. Sucess here, success there, sujet, subject, centre, center. Now I am forever confused. <br />
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My brain hurts from thinking like this…but it does keep the neurons abuzzing…<br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-27010590721210740272010-12-22T04:51:00.003-07:002015-04-02T14:11:17.170-06:00Big fat black pen revisited<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style>I had one more trip back to the Mairie to pay Kadin’s school lunch bill. I had recently received the bill for September and October, but needed to pay for November and December as well. They would normally bill me for this in March, but <br />
<a name='more'></a>we’d have no French bank (<span style="font-style: italic;">banque</span>) account then. So I went to visit <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/09/big-fat-black-pen-french-bureaucracy.html">Mrs. Black Pen</a>.<br />
<br />
Maybe I had been too harsh on her before. She really had done nothing wrong. She was not rude, she got the job done, she was just a bit abrupt. <br />
<br />
So, with a new “<a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/she-got-ce-nest-pas-grave.html">voila!</a>” attitude, I arrived right when they opened. This time I was second in line and there was even free coffee, tea, and juice available. It really was a nice looking place. <br />
<br />
When it was my turn, I explained that I needed to pay for November and December at the school cafeteria. She looked at the bill and immediately said that was not her, I needed to pay elsewhere. “<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n’est pas moi.</span>” Yes, I understand, but could she give me the bill for November and December? I am leaving Grenoble permanently on Monday. On Monday? On Monday. <br />
<br />
So she said yes, I could pay for November and December and she would print out my bill. Okay, so I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> in the right place. See. No passing the buck.<br />
<br />
She had this air of entitlement and efficiency. The entitlement part is normal here. The efficiency, not so much, but it caused her to speak (unconsciously) very quickly in a clipped way that I couldn’t readily understand. She was the opposite of deliberate and patient. Not inclined to repeat herself. Once she saw I didn’t understand, she wasn't going waste any time trying to explain. <br />
<br />
Finally, after many a mouse click, she prints out my bill. I have a <span style="font-style: italic;">cheque</span> book and ask her if she can help me write the <span style="font-style: italic;">cheque</span> (French <span style="font-style: italic;">cheques</span> are different and you have to spell out the words for the numbers correctly and always cross your 7s, etc.). <br />
<br />
She, of course, took the opportunity to write the <span style="font-style: italic;">cheque</span> for me in her lovely script. Which was fine and actually very helpful. And then she even offered to write the <span style="font-style: italic;">cheque</span> for the other place for September and October for me too. All fine.<br />
<br />
But still, it was weird and strangely degrading. She was helpful, yes, but very patronizing. I felt like a child. I was sitting there thinking, “I am a competent person.” And she was treating my like an imbecile. Kindly, but not with any respect. She held the power.<br />
<br />
At one point I almost tried to make a joke, and that might have lightened things up considerably, but it was a risky maneuver since it could also easily fall flat and confirm the divide between us, so I didn’t in the end. <br />
<br />
I really did feel misunderstood on a fundamental level. I got a small taste of what it would be like to be colonized, I thought, to have another culture and another system come with their mysterious ways and confidently impose them on you as THE ONLY WAY. Of course you write the day first in a date, of course you cross your 7s, isn't that obvious? I was not treated meanly, not rudely, but paternally. It was bizarre. <br />
<br />
Still, I left feeling triumphant, amazed at how much you can get done and how you can achieve relatively complicated explanations and transactions with very few words. I stuck to my few prepared phrases, my <span style="font-style: italic;">voila!</span> attitude, and it worked. Phenomenal. Bye bye big fat black pen! <br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-8095038713307791062010-12-20T04:58:00.002-07:002010-12-20T05:14:53.780-07:00Two classes<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style>Had my last French class on Thursday and my last yoga class on Friday. These 5.5 hours of classes each week were my biggest chance at speaking French. Invaluable because French was the only common language and we were forced to use it. Awkward/comical as it was at times, there was communication going on! <br /><br />First I have to quickly tell about the back-to-school night for Kadin’s French-as-a-Second-Language class to illustrate how hard it can be to find a situation where you are really forced to speak French. The teacher introduced herself and said she wanted to start by going around and having the parents introduce themselves. We should say our name, where we were from, and who our student was.<br /><br />I had just re-learned all this introduction stuff in my French class, so I was excited to say “My name is Jenny, I am from the United States,” etc. in French. But the first couple to go asked if they could speak English, they were from Ethiopia. The next couple also spoke English, they were from India. Then the next couple was from Korea, they also spoke English. So did the woman from Poland and the family from Malta etc. etc.<br /><br />Wow, a veritable United Nations and what is the common language? English. By the time they got to me, I just went ahead and spoke English too. <br /><br />But this was not the case in my French class. While a few of the students spoke English, most did not. I was the only American and by far the oldest person. The others were mostly Chinese women in their late teens or early 20s, the one male was a young engineering student from Brazil, and the class was rounded out by a Lithuanian woman doing post doctoral research in Grenoble. <br /><br />When we introduced ourselves, we found out the Chinese women were all only children. I told the Chinese students that I had been to China when I was 10, in 1976. They looked a little shocked and replied, “You were? Well, I wasn’t.” They hadn’t been born yet and there has been so much change in the intervening decades, it was probably ancient history to them. <br /><br />The Lithuanian woman seemed the closest to my age, so when we were learning the past tense, she was saying “I was born in 19…” and this is a good phrase because you would use <span style="font-style: italic;">être</span> instead of <span style="font-style: italic;">avoir</span> to form the past tense with the verb “to be born,” and then she hesitated, so I chimed in with “<span style="font-style: italic;">soixsante</span>” the start of 60 and 70, thinking that would give her a good 2-decade range in which to be born, but no. She was born in 1980. So that was the person closest to my age. She was 6 when I last took a French class! <br /><br />And so it went. I was definitely the most willing to make a fool of myself in the class. Also perhaps the one who knew the least French, but I was glad to be a little beyond my ability since I was only here 4 months. I needed to step on the accelerator! <br /><br />In one class we were learning the different ways to describe periods of time using words like “since” or “during.” We were supposed to answer questions like, “How long have you lived on your own?” “How long have you been drinking alcohol?” “When did you start driving?” “How long have you been voting?” “How long have you been married?” I actually got to answer these questions with the years, as was the plan, but almost everyone else had to reply, “I have never….” Finally, some age and experience pays off! <br /><br />I loved the class and I will miss it. It often gave me a headache, but my old and ossified brain has stretched a tiny bit. <br /><br />Yoga class was also an ideal French immersion experience. Iyengar is a topic I know well and the teacher spoke clearly and slowly all about the parts of the body and where to put them. This was great. <br /><br />The first class, I wasn’t sure what a <span style="font-style: italic;">cerveau</span> was, I thought maybe it was a deer? So I just channeled my inner deer and imagined antlers growing out of my head while lying on the floor. And I learned the word for floor, <span style="font-style: italic;">sol</span>, which is a perfect homophone for a different English word, and the word for ceiling, <span style="font-style: italic;">plafond</span>, which is quite a nice sounding word that you can easily admire. <br /><br />In this class, I was the youngest. Once again, nobody spoke much English. Each week I would try to carry on a simple conversation with the teacher about Iyengar in France or if she had been to India. Others in the class would engage me briefly before or after and were very kind and patient with my French. I even managed to make a few jokes during class that people seemed to understand. <br /><br />The biggest difficulty came in Eagle pose when we were supposed to put one arm <span style="font-style: italic;">au dessus</span> and the other arm <span style="font-style: italic;">au dessous</span> and one leg <span style="font-style: italic;">au dessus</span> and the other leg <span style="font-style: italic;">au dessous</span>. Still can’t distinguish between those antonyms and it’s so easy to get tangled up! <br /><br />I am sad that class has ended too. My body really liked it and my <span style="font-style: italic;">cerveau</span> did too. <p class="MsoNormal"></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-44440764473551441402010-12-18T14:50:00.002-07:002010-12-18T15:01:41.557-07:00The stale end of the day<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> This phrase from Greg’s <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/11/tale-of-two-books.html">sci-fi novel</a> “the stale end of the day” sticks with me all the time. French bread is really only good for one day. You have a stale end, everyday.<br /><br />(I am also not a night person, so the end of the day often does feel stale to me as well.)<br /><br />And things here are fresh, used quickly and discarded when old. Everything is smaller: toilet paper, portions, refrigerators. They are always ready for change. <br /><br />Yet waste is reviled. The pigeons thrive on this. They are part of the whole ecosystem. People reuse and recycle. Pigeons pick up the pieces. <br /><br />It makes me think the USA has a proportion problem----maybe because it was largely settled by people who had big dreams, who were not satisfied elsewhere, so left?<br /><br />And that brings to mind my morning in Paris at the Puces or the flea markets. These are amazing places that have created something from nothing.<br /><br />According to the brochure I read, the “rag and bone men” were kicked out of the city proper (in like 1870) and so made their living at the margins. Every Sunday they would lay out their wares on the ground for sale. By 1920, there were more organized collections of market stalls at the gates around the city. The gypsies and their manouche jazz became associated with this flea market tradition. So where once there were outcasts, there was now music and food and things for sale. Crowds would gather. <br /><br />And the markets kept evolving so that today at the center you can find a lovely mixture of pseudo established stalls/stores selling vintage clothing and antiques, second hand furniture and industrial signs, buttons and jewelry, books and prints, and pretty much any kind of bric-a-brac you can imagine. Prices in these well-established stalls seemed high to me, but it was like eye candy to look. <br /><br />I loved how each stall had its own style and its own specialty. It was all sort of ad hoc and organic with winding alleys where it was easy to get disoriented and turned around. I had been warned not to carry much money as this was also a haven for pickpockets (another part of the ecosystem that thrives on crowds).<br /><br />The stall keepers all know each other and have their own thriving community. At lunchtime, a neighbor or family member brings a hot lunch, and they lay it out on their antique tables and dine. They seemed incredibly gracious with customers and loved to gab and chat.<br /><br />One common technique is to take something that would normally be discarded, an old key for example, collect lots of these together, organize them, display them in an interesting way, and then sell them for a couple of euros each. Trash to treasure, just like that. It was beautiful. <br /><br />Then, around these now-established market stalls, there are other less permanent stalls selling wares from Africa and Asia and usually run by more recent immigrants, and then, on the edges of those stalls, are streets where men just put a blanket on the ground at their feet and sell whatever they can find to sell. It is the same old tradition. <br /><br />On the fringes there were even the proverbial guys selling watches from the inside of their trench coats. Okay, so maybe not watches and maybe not a trench coat, but more like something they had just lifted from a store. It was seedy and fascinating and incredibly lively, especially on a Sunday morning when other shops are closed. <br /><br />An aside: later in the day I went to the huge Galleries Lafayette department store in the center of Paris, thinking surely it, of all places, would be open. There were thousands of people there thronging around the building looking at the Christmas window displays, but it was closed. I have to wonder what kind of forces are at work to keep such a capitalist enterprise closed when thousands of people wanted a chance to get inside. Fascinating! <br /><br />The rag and bone men don’t have that luxury. Their niche is at the edges before something becomes established. They fill in when the other shops are closed. They take what is discarded or underappreciated and turn it into art. Where some see a problem, they see an opportunity. <p class="MsoNormal"></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-4306173592203220932010-12-18T09:44:00.003-07:002010-12-18T14:02:45.851-07:00À Paris<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"></p>I would like to thank all the service people who are on the front lines: all the clerks, waiters, and other professionals who have borne with my mangled French and helped me to improve it. Now that I know a little bit more, I see how tough your job is and how much further I need to go! Thank you for your courtesy and patience while I learn.<br /><br />I did finally make a spontaneous, last minute trip to Paris for a day. It was great. I hunted beads and ate at a <a href="http://www.dessietdesmets.com/">wonderful gluten-free restaurant.<br /></a><br />I was struck by how much English there was all around me in Paris. There is much less in Grenoble. And also struck, surprisingly, by how polite and helpful the Parisiens were. <br /><br />From my kind of in-between state, I can see how easily misunderstandings and resentments can develop.<br /><br />Case #1: I’m in line at an urban grocery store buying a pear and some almonds. Behind me are two older American gentlemen buying a bottle of wine. They are clearly on vacation, talking about how good the bread is and what their wives are doing back at the hotel. They are well dressed and look like the golf-club type, relaxed and in tourist mode. In front of me is a local and a regular. She is buying a huge amount of groceries---probably her weekly Saturday morning shop. She is chatting with the clerk and the two guys who are packing her stuff in crates for free delivery (a common service in the city if you buy a huge amount). It is taking a while. But we are all waiting patiently. <br /><br />After a few minutes, the clerk calls out to someone and then tells me to go to another line as it is about to open. It takes me a little while (as usual) to realize she is talking to me and to understand what her plan is. But it makes sense. There should be an express lane. So I go to the new line and wait for the new clerk.<br /><br />The first clerk is now trying to get the attention of the men who were behind me. She is telling them to get into the new line. They have no idea she is talking to them. By about the fifth repetition, once she is yelling, they finally realize this woman is saying something to them. <br /><br />From their point of view, the first they are aware of it, someone is yelling at them. They have no idea what she wants, just that she is yelling. So I tell them to come over to this line, it will be opening shortly. <br /><br />“Huh? Why?”<br /><br />I forget what the express lane is called in English, so say something about a “Rapid check out.” They shrug, and move over, a bit jarred, their peace and tranquility upset. They just want a bottle of wine to share with their wives, they don’t want to be yelled at and moved about. The clerk, for the life of her, can’t understand how anyone can be that dense.<br /><br />Case #2: I’m in a small vendor’s stall at the puces, a conglomeration of antique vendors on the outskirts of the city. There is an American guy buying 8 of some small, funky French antique. He is happy with his find, but also seems slightly nervous, like he might be getting ripped off. <br /><br />From my perspective, he does everything wrong. He doesn’t start with politeness, he is sarcastic, talks loudly, he is not good with the numbers thing as <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/09/my-number-one-interaction-paying-for.html">the numbers thing</a> is always a problem, his French is minimal, his accent terrible. He’ll repeat the numbers the older female proprietor says and say, “Oh, you mean <span style="font-style: italic;">huit</span>.” Acting like he is correcting her. <br /><br />The saleswoman, meanwhile, is happy to make the sale, is being very polite, and is muttering to herself in French while she packages up his items, “oh, this is a pretty one, and [[<span style="font-style: italic;">crash!!</span>]] <crash!> don’t worry, it’s not serious, there are lots of things in this shop, things fall, it’s not a problem, I’ll just find a bag,” etc. etc. He understands none of this, is not sure what is going on. <br /><br />So he tries some small talk. It is unusually cold out, so he chimes in with what he thinks is the old standard weather-related conversation starter: "<span style="font-style: italic;">C'est froid.</span>" Just like her, he gets no response. The correct construction is “<span style="font-style: italic;">Il fait froid.</span>” What he said doesn’t make sense. It might sound to her like something about liver or faith, but not the temperature. So she ignores his odd non-sequitor. <br /><br />Both are trying, but neither is being understood by the other. He is coming across as rude and she is coming across as shifty. <br /><br />Overall, I came away extremely impressed by how the Parisians actually manage to be polite 99% of the time, given how exhausting it must be to constantly not be understood and to constantly hear your language mangled. I think they have the patience of Job.<br /><br />And then I noticed the deferential/pseudo shy/apologetic demeanor of Americans trying to be polite---I do this all the time myself. At the gluten-free restaurant I could tell the nationality of who was coming in the door by whether they entered with confidence (French) or sort of apologetically: “I’m sorry, but do you have a table? You wouldn’t happen to have a table, would you?” That would be the Anglophone way. Seeing it with fresh eyes, I think it comes across as cloying. I could see how that too could get tiring. <br /><br />And during my Sunday lunch at the restaurant, I witnessed an amazing thing. An American couple came in, in that sort of hesitant, American way. By this time, the restaurant was full. I felt bad for the couple because (1) it was freezing out and (2) this was the only gluten-free restaurant in Paris and if you need to be gluten free, it is very difficult to just eat anywhere.<br /><br />The hostess kindly tells them it is full. They tip their heads to one side and look sort of distressed and pathetic. Full? Yes, full. Their eyes narrow, their mouths hang open with their bottom teeth showing. Then the two women next to me say they are just leaving. The Americans sort of bow and look down and thank them, awkwardly standing to the side as the women leave. <br /><br />Soon a Canadian couple comes in. The hostess again informs them the restaurant is full. They sigh and leave. <br /><br />Then, a French family walks in: a mother, father, and three young children. They too are told it is full. The mother, a very stylish, happy blond smiles and explains they have no other options as they need to eat gluten free. The hostess again repeats that they are full. <br /><br />I’m not sure what all happened next and what the exchange was, but the mother never apologized, never complained, never whined, just held her ground, confidently smiled and made some suggestions and before I knew it, the furniture was being rearranged, a table was being rolled out, and the family of 5 was being seated. A real <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/12/she-got-ce-nest-pas-grave.html">voila!</a> moment. Everyone was smiling then. <p class="MsoNormal"></p></crash!>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-28950640716636961442010-12-17T14:48:00.002-07:002010-12-17T14:55:18.254-07:00Vive la différence!<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"></p>In Germany, they capitalize almost everything<br />In France, almost nothing<br /><br />In Switzerland, they eat outside at every opportunity<br />In France, anything but a leisurly hot lunch is considered barbaric<br /><br />In England they wait in neat lines, expect you to defer to others, and are concerned about what others think<br />In france they are not shy about forming clumps, expect you to have a sense of entitlement, and could care less what others think<br /><br />France has a dire overabundance of vowels while eastern Europe has an abject scarcity<br /><br />Defined by difference<br /><br />If you give it up, you cease to exist!<p class="MsoNormal"></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-50513763407180730212010-12-17T07:28:00.005-07:002015-03-08T14:13:09.461-06:00Mesa Messenger from afar<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <br />
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While reading the most recent online newsletter from Kadin’s elementary school in Boulder I was struck by how the principle chose to emphasize two programs: first, their “positive behavior support” program where students are rewarded for good behavior (instead of just being punished for bad behavior), and second, the focus on developing a student’s “voice” or personal style in their writing, something they will be evaluated on. Both of these things—the only two items on his agenda—are totally and utterly foreign to the system in France!<br />
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Teachers in the kid’s schools here seem to be on the lookout only for bad behavior. Kadin came home the other day and said his class was “<span style="font-style: italic;">bavard</span>ing” so much that the teacher threatened to call the police. Wow. And in the states, his teachers think raising their voice is going too far... From what I gather, yelling is pretty much the norm here. I too once thought yelling was inevitable until I saw more skilled classroom management in action. It's pretty amazing, and pretty effective.<br />
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And I went to a parent teacher conference at Rees’s school the other day. We were walking down a corridor mostly reserved for teachers. Rees was nervous, but I told him it was okay because he was with me. Then we got lost, couldn’t find the room, and walked down that corridor several more times. On about the third time through, for some reason, Rees—who must have been pretty bored at that point—got it into his head that it would be fun to slide on his back on his fleece hoodie on the polished floor. I asked him what he was doing and told him that the floor was dirty, it was where people put their feet (and we all know those feet were on the sidewalk and we also know what is on the sidewalk in abundance here in France…), but he didn’t seem to care about that, so I just ignored him (didn’t think it was so bad, just gross) and walked a few steps ahead, knowing the moment would pass (as soon as we hit the carpet).<br />
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Just then, a teacher came out into the corridor, saw Rees, and immediately marched over with a loud, accusing, <span style="font-style: italic;">“Ce qu'il se passe ici?!”</span> In faltering French I reply something like, <span style="font-style: italic;">“C’est mon fils,”</span> “That is my son.” And she accepted that and the matter was dropped. I got the feeling this <span style="font-style: italic;">“Ce qu'il se passe!”</span> is the first order of business around here. Accusations first, explanations later. It's the kind of environment where everyone is focused on the bad and aberrant, where no one would be caught being good.<br />
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Still don’t know what inspired Rees’s strange behavior—there was a high, four-story sky-lit ceiling he could look up at when he was on his back—but he said I was like his armor. I did kind of sense he was pushing at the limits he felt all around him. Still, it was not my proudest moment to admit to that teacher he was my son! But we love him.<br />
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And in French school, it is hard to imagine a standard evaluation based on “voice” or personal expression. Ha! The criteria are much more structured and the value is placed on fitting in. Even using “I” in an essay is discouraged. And in handwriting too, there is no idea that everyone might develop a personal style. The emphasis instead is on one proper form to strive to achieve. And there is no acknowledgement of differences in learning style or ways of learning. It really is sink or swim (we won’t even talk about the swimming classes I've heard stories of where this is literally true…but at least the state funds swimming lessons for all…).<br />
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So I was overjoyed to learn that the child in Kadin’s class who is the “problem” kid, the one always being disciplined, was the one who excelled at the “cross” (inter-school track meet) and won the whole thing for his class. First place in the whole city for running. Gosh, could there be a connection???<br />
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Then Carina told me about an email thread/discussion she received via the parent organization at the elementary school. Apparently, in the German section of the school, a girl was assaulted by a teacher who lost her temper and pulled the girl’s hair. The parent (who I believe was German) asked the parent association what she could do. The advice from the other parents? Keep quiet because if she complains about the assault, the teacher could file a civil suit against her. The parent then asked what she could do to protect her child. The answer: not much. <br />
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Looks like another case of worker’s rights gone too far! Since I had heard this story third hand, I asked the head of the American School (Rees’s school) about it and she confirmed that this could well be the case. Unfortunately, there truly was a chance of the parent being sued by the teacher if the parent complained about the assault. <br />
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So we’re gaining some good perspective and won’t be taking the positive programs for discipline and creative expression in the Boulder schools for granted!<br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-36659496968667230602010-12-13T14:01:00.003-07:002010-12-13T14:51:41.996-07:00TV and RadioI’m understanding more of the radio programs these days. Not just the sense or the feel (what I call the underlying language of gesture and intonation that seems to be pretty universal and is at least well shared by French and American cultures).<br /><br />An aside: here’s a video of the facial expression part of this underlying shared language from an exhibit we saw yesterday at the Musée Dauphinois about machines trying to imitate humans. This is the language dogs have evolved to understand. This is the language key to my impressions of France!<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwibxM7gA3L8iOhCN44sLkUjtReruNey3jiVcLGSH-VfWKGMLFe2EahLCLC-Vg4mE08rXGgvJ9mdoM' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />And I am still finding everything fascinating, probably partly because it is like looking at something through slats in a fence: you only grasp bits and pieces and it makes it so much more enticing. If you see the whole, it might be boring, ordinary, or otherwise uninteresting. There is a thriving, blooming garden of a language and culture hidden behind a fence and I can only see parts of it. It’s rich, but just—out—of—reach.<br /><br />The soap opera we watch every night, <span style="font-style: italic;">Plus Belle la Vie</span>, would be totally uninteresting in English, I think. But for us, it is a real draw. We can understand the cheesy drama and the overacting, the music always lets us know whether it is meant to be comic or suspenseful. We can’t really comprehend its more mundane side. To us it is all new and mysterious, a puzzle, a mystery. We love it.<br /><br />I tried to watch daytime TV one day, but it was too depressing. The shows were either dubbed soaps or those horrible talk shows where they have a conflict like “why Chantal hates Collette” and they have Chantal tell her part of the story in front of Collette, then it is Collette’s turn, and the host makes no attempt at resolution, everyone gets whipped into a frenzy, etc. <br /><br />But that was not the most depressing part of French daytime TV to me. The thing that really bummed me out was the commercials. I was devastated to learn that “French women” according to the advertisers (the obvious target audience for daytime TV) are just as insecure and worried about what to feed their family for breakfast, wrinkles, how to get softer whiter laundry, etc. as “American women.” What a bummer! My illusions shattered! Tell me it isn’t true!<br /><br />So I am not peeking through that part of the fence. Instead, I listen to “France Inter,” which I think is sort of like French public radio. There are interviews with artists and writers, political discussions, comedy shows, music, etc.<br /><br />One show was about sex education for teenagers. First I was interested because the show was about <span style="font-style: italic;">jeunes gens</span> (young people) and this is good for me because I find those two words difficult to distinguish. Thank goodness yellow (<span style="font-style: italic;">jaune</span>) does not often come up in the same sentence or I’d be hopeless (Greg told me to think about saying “Jean Jen John” and that helps!).<br /><br />Also, it was interesting because the conversation started out in such a much more practical and reasonable place than a similar conversation would in America. In America, sex education wouldn’t even be the issue, it would be about privacy and states rights versus individual family values. It would be about religion, beliefs, respecting difference.<br /><br />Here, they had a couple of teenagers and a couple of adult experts in the field who worked in the school system or in public health. The radio interviewer asked the teenagers if they had sex education in the school and they said yes. They asked the teenagers if they liked it. They said no, it was awkward and embarrassing. They asked the teenagers if they talked about such things with their parents. Of course not!<br /><br />Meanwhile, the adults calmly pointed out that there were many streams of information informing the teenagers about sexuality: the media, the internet, their friends, their families, etc. And it is a basic fact that not all these sources of information have an interest in being detailed and accurate.<br /><br />Though uncomfortable for all, they conclude, it is important to society, a simple matter of public health, that correct information about preventing disease be put in the schools. (There are condom dispensers on the street corners here.) It was all so sensible! They really got to the key issue very quickly.<br /><br />So on this topic I felt the French were in a much better place and addressing the real issue at its core. However, on the topic of race and immigration, I think America is more able to get to root of the problem and have a productive discourse. [Keep in mind this is the view from my very limited understanding!]<br /><br />In America, the race conversation, while also controversial, starts out from a place of the idea of equal rights and respect for difference (on NPR at least). In France, it seems to be all about “them” becoming “us.” There is ONE right way to live and it is the French way. When I hear these discussions I always feel they are talking about the wrong things (just like I do in America when the topic of sex education comes up---it gets derailed by other deeply held beliefs). <br /><br />I guess sometimes having one right way works, sometimes it doesn’t…jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-2829933304962495272010-12-09T07:28:00.004-07:002010-12-18T02:14:25.148-07:00Limbic system<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span></p>My new theory is that they are more in touch with their limbic system here. It’s not an either/or kind of thing where either you are an animal acting on your base instincts OR you are civilized. They are civilized AND, at the same time, in touch with their base animal instincts. Actually, thriving on the two together.<br /><br />Every culture has to eat, sleep, work, love, communicate. It may not look like these things are getting done, like where is the PDA (public display of affection) in England and where is the work in France? But they are getting done because obviously the culture is functioning. It might look wrong and strange and illogical to the outsider, but somehow it works.<br /><br />Even the language. It is amazing to me that people are able to communicate in this other language. How is it that they can be clear and unambiguous? Somehow a literal translation of the words is not enough, you have to know context, connotation, history. There just seem to be so many gaps when looking in from the outside. But the evidence that it works supremely well is all around.<br /><br />There is so much more to learn!<br /><br />There is a whole industry built up around what I see as the odd school hours---moms who share lunch duties or set up private lunchtime kids cafés, businesses that offer childcare on Wednesdays, Wednesday camps, before care, after care. So in the end it is actually pretty much the same. And the <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/11/opening-times.html">strange shop hours</a> seem to be only an annoyance for me. It works.<br /><br />But back to our limbic system---the animal, instinctual part of the brain. In American schools, for example, there have been studies and there is a widespread belief that fear and learning do not go together. If you are in fight or flight mode, the theory goes, the blood in your body is not going to your brain but instead is going to your muscles via an adrenaline response. Hence, learning is compromised. Here, that does not seem to be a problem.<br /><br />And on the streets, there is just a different sense of timing in the traffic of cars, bicycles, and pedestrians. There is no hesitation or deference, you pretty much just go and stop at a much later second than I feel is safe. My “safer” cultural rhythm is about one beat behind and seems to muck everything up. If I defer and don’t take what they see as my entitlement, that is the only time when I see hands suddenly grasp for handlebars, graceful walkers falter, cars screech. People expect you to just go, they time their passage minutely to sweep in just behind you. It is very graceful until you hesitate and mess everyone up. There is a rhythm and a flow that seems much faster and scarier and more dangerous, but it works.<br /><br />Walking home the other night in a fresh heavy snowfall on icy sidewalks, I saw a woman riding her bicycle (that alone seemed impossible to me given how slippery it was, I was finding walking in boots difficult) with ONE HAND because she had AN UMBRELLA in the other. Madness! But she was calm, cool, and collected and was doing fine. She was in touch with her limbic system.<br /><br />And then there is the PDA thing. In America, passion is hidden. It’s seen as a bit of a crazy state where you aren’t in your right mind, something a bit out of control that you should hide because it might compromise your everyday functioning. Yet here, PDA is very common, accepted, an important part of life. No problem with people---mostly young people but also middle-aged people---being passionate with significant others on the streets, on the buses, everywhere. Again, a very civilized country that sees no conflict between intimate emotions and public functioning. The underlying instincts brought to the surface.<br /><br />Or the whole smells thing, but I can't even start on that...too much to go into here...<br /><br />So it looks miraculous to me but French parents ride bikes over icy street with 8-year-olds sitting on the back bracket, clinging to the seat. French shoppers calmly go back to the produce department to weigh their produce without a thought to holding everyone else up. They believe in love at first sight and make time for romance. Women walk all day in 6 inch heels, and thrive! They smoke, drink, eat high fat food, and are thin and healthy. They believe they can and they do. It works. Where I see an accident waiting to happen or playing with fire, they confidently and competently achieve. <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-8473537720358840562010-12-04T10:48:00.002-07:002010-12-04T11:14:01.411-07:00OFII not that awful<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Times;"></span></p>So this week I jumped through my final bureaucratic [woohoo! starting to be able to spell that!] hoop by going to the OFII office to register for my long stay visa.<br /><br />I won’t go into all the complex details, but basically, to stay longer than 3 months you need to register, have an interview, a medical exam, and a chest x-ray. Since I am also the spouse of a French national, this was couched in the context of permanent citizenship and life in France. There was a 340 euro fee, but in return I would be offered free French classes, counseling for employment, etc. <br /><br />Eleanor Beardsley, an NPR reporter in Paris, recently did <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130864423&ft=1&f=17796129">a piece</a> about how she had to go through a similar process. Her take on it was really pretty positive: "Despite the recent uproar over the treatment of Roma, France remains a beacon for immigrants and a nation built on immigration. France accepts the highest number of asylum-seekers after the U.S., and a quarter of French citizens have a foreign-born parent or grandparent, just like President Sarkozy." I was happy to read her positive spin on this bureaucracy. The benefits I would be offered would be nice if I were [that’s the subjunctive, I think!] planning to stay. But I didn’t want to spend 340 euros just for the next three weeks that we are here. But I also didn’t want to mess up any opportunity I might have of becoming a French citizen down the road either. <br /><br />My original appointment had been scheduled for October, but coincidentally it was during our one “holiday” here, so I called to change it, and it was rescheduled for December. I thought of postponing it one more time, just leave it hanging…but didn’t.<br /><br />So, there is this medical exam part to the immigration process. And I guess that makes some sense. For me it is not a big hurdle, but it still felt very strange. <br /><br />For example, in France, they have different rules of decorum and at the doctor’s office they don’t see any reason to leave the room while you undress. Fair enough (and luckily I had been forewarned about this, so it wasn’t as awkward as it could have been, like the first few times you encounter the French cheek kiss…). But I don’t know about you, I kind of have to psych myself up to maintain dignity when undressing in front of strangers. Does the saying "give someone a dressing down" exist in French? I don’t think this is an issue for them at all.<br /><br />Thank goodness I am not from an even more restrictive culture. For many women this could be a very traumatic, even violating experience. You’re being inspected. And since this was about immigration, it was easy to feel that the main requirement for getting to stay in France was a test that involved being able to take off your clothes in front of strangers. Odd but true. It comes across as yet another example of the French enforcing their code of immodesty (other examples in this vein include: you <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/09/laws.html">can’t wear a Burka</a>, middle school boys <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/09/kid-context.html">have to wear speedos</a>…etc.). And when you’re not clothed, it creates a situation ripe for feelings of helplessness and vulnerability, especially when these strangers (who are clothed) speak a language you don’t understand and vice versa.<br /><br />I would say 5 out of the 6 officials I interacted with were very kind and considerate. The one nurse who weighed and measured me seemed to have a bit of a sadistic streak---for her I only had to take off my shoes, but boy did she bark at me about that---but overall, everyone was very courteous and professional.<br /><br />And, after all that, in the end, it was unnecessary. When I'd made it through the medical evaluation, I finally had my interview and the chance to explain that I would be leaving in a few weeks. The woman interviewing me agreed that it would be silly to pay the fee and sign the contract for citizenship, take French classes, etc. If and when I returned to France for a longer stay, I could complete that part of the process. They really did listen. I was not just pigeon holed and rubber stamped. <br /><br />So I left feeling somewhat poked and prodded, but also triumphant, with a free check up, a clean bill of health ("<span style="font-style: italic;">Remplit les conditions sanitaires pour être autorisée à résider en France</span>"), and a souvenir chest X-ray.<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Times;"></span></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-49815390114699965802010-12-01T09:12:00.004-07:002010-12-05T14:58:58.476-07:00She got a "Ce n'est pas grave"!When you don't speak the language you miss a lot of cues and can encounter baffling surprises.<br /><br />Like at the grocery store the first time we bought produce. Even though there are large signs all over saying "Weigh First!" and helpful, cheery announcements from the store loudspeaker saying things like, "[bing, bing, bing] Customers, please be so kind as to weigh your produce before proceeding to the register [bong, bong, bong]," you can still easily get to the register with unweighed produce.<br /><br />Thank goodness Greg was with me the first time and actually understood that "<span style="font-style: italic;">peser</span>" meant to weigh.<br /><br />So when that happens you (or "one," or actually, "I") go and quickly weigh it and sheepishly return and feel like you are from Mars (but you prefer to pronounce it America).<br /><br />And of course you are desolated to have deranged everyone.<br /><br />So you become a little wary.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7peNXfYWtNYh8kGISH26tlEsqzNNdB_YUsHcKSea50fkGBG-PsGVBoahiCiDcwOr0AQdv7Xwt8iM6vx3HYHoXJMTZbnnzJtve0RLC5Bny7kiU62BasE4jYKBqJIbJjXBFxLN/s1600/IMG_1142.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7peNXfYWtNYh8kGISH26tlEsqzNNdB_YUsHcKSea50fkGBG-PsGVBoahiCiDcwOr0AQdv7Xwt8iM6vx3HYHoXJMTZbnnzJtve0RLC5Bny7kiU62BasE4jYKBqJIbJjXBFxLN/s320/IMG_1142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547320806278156626" border="0" /></a><br />And if someone says something to you, you get that doe-in-headlights look and pray you somehow manage to understand them.<br /><br />So I was a little uneasy when the older woman in front of me kept sort of checking me out and staring at what I was doing. Was I doing something wrong? Was I in the express? The cash only? The no carts? What?<br /><br />No, I doubled checked everything and it was all in order, nothing I hadn't done before.<br /><br />When it was her turn, she asked the clerk something about an item and a coupon and then decided not to buy that item. Then the clerk held up her bananas. Unweighed. She didn't understand. The clerk says it again. Being very familiar with this drill, I blurt out, in English, "you need to weigh them." And it turns out the woman is also American and didn't grasp all the instructions.<br /><br />So she was watching me carefully to see what I was doing RIGHT, not what I was doing wrong...<br /><br />She looked kind of catatonic at the idea of weighing her bananas, and since I had been in her position many a time, I simply took her bananas to the produce aisle and weighed them myself. The clerk, a little surprised, thanked me and of course so did the woman.<br /><br />And today, again the same experience, but with what I think is a French twist. Maybe the difference was the nice, fresh clerk or maybe it was a good time of day, but I think there's more to it. The attitude is key.<br /><br />This time the woman in front of me was French. She doesn't have a fidelity card and she didn't weigh her tangerines. But she understood and, no matter, she elegantly and easily, no hurry in her steps, takes them back to weigh them. When she returns (while we've been waiting) she presents her tangerines (now sporting a fresh pink sticker) with a lovely, enthusiastic "<span style="font-style: italic;">Voila!</span>" as if she is actually doing US a favor.<br /><br />And what does the clerk say? That she should be embarrassed for being so thoughtless and clueless and she should be desolated to have deranged us? That would be the American (and even more so, English) response.<br /><br />No, the clerk smiles and says, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n'est pas grave</span>" which sounds like "it's not the end of the world" or something, but when calibrated correctly in French seems to mean "it's no big deal." (It's music to my ears when people say this to me because it means I'm off the hook! And I've found people here love to let you off the hook if you give them half a chance.) And it really is what you make it. This woman with her poise and grace just conjured up a "<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n'est pas grave</span>"! I want a "<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n'est pas grave</span>"!<br /><br />I am going to have to cultivate a little more of this "<span style="font-style: italic;">Voila!</span>" stuff.jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-70434013277912938342010-11-17T02:41:00.006-07:002010-11-17T03:01:02.002-07:00L'Ensérune<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style>We hiked up the hill from the parking lot to the site of an oppidum—Oppidum D’Esérune—a hilltop settlement from the ancient Mediterranean world. It was a nice spot, at one time inhabited by more than 10,000 people c. 300 B.C. We were moving up from the Neolithic.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq7iGvh0JLtjdEpPQpJja_Y8nHqRqLW0MoU4DfQjzkhNKE4pGqErI3jiwFmdLciTwX147GGNOfkTfXgrM8-jvNtx30eKG6wuADLL5oGlFniRTdcN12UwlGvOzGHKNxskiDYpO/s1600/IMG_0664.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq7iGvh0JLtjdEpPQpJja_Y8nHqRqLW0MoU4DfQjzkhNKE4pGqErI3jiwFmdLciTwX147GGNOfkTfXgrM8-jvNtx30eKG6wuADLL5oGlFniRTdcN12UwlGvOzGHKNxskiDYpO/s320/IMG_0664.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540452260005423922" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm sure the whole South of France and Mediterranean coast is littered with such sites, many of them now cities and villages (and even small countries!), many of them unexcavated. This one had walls and foundations unearthed and a nice museum of the Gallo/Roman artifacts they'd found. One of my favorite French words is quotidien(ne)(s), and there was lots of that, along with more fancy stuff too. And I love how wherever you walk, if you look down, there are all sorts of pot shards under your feet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WxrdoG5k10DrlxFOEuxDneMILtGBwkH98ckM8ijtWd_miSfYKEqH1yWdAAhsRHwDPlrZ1-pKgMVdXF3KGF7jeBucYM9BQZJEmVfzU0DkcWPvkfTF_0BgnQPypF0Q-U1cx3a8/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WxrdoG5k10DrlxFOEuxDneMILtGBwkH98ckM8ijtWd_miSfYKEqH1yWdAAhsRHwDPlrZ1-pKgMVdXF3KGF7jeBucYM9BQZJEmVfzU0DkcWPvkfTF_0BgnQPypF0Q-U1cx3a8/s320/IMG_0658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540453289080269346" border="0" /></a>Okay, so they are open every day and it was the off season, or low season, and I don’t think this is the case during the summer, but when we got there at about 11am they pointed to a sign of "closing times" which said: 12:00am and 5:00pm. Now this was not the usual, less ambiguous, French 24 hr clock and Greg and I got caught up in the 12am thing. Did not compute. So they only close? At midnight? Then I noticed another sign with "opening times" so apparently they open too.<br /><br />What they were trying to tell us is that we only had about an hour until the first closing time, which turned out to be noon, not midnight. And then the next opening time was 2pm. Okay, we went ahead and bought our tickets and enjoyed the sites and museum.<br /><br />At the gift shop, Kadin bought a new Asterix book, and near the end of our visit, while we were looking at the rooms and walls of the old artisans buildings outside, he sat down to read his book. We moved on about 10 meters to look at an old road with the ruts from the chariot wheels still visible, took our time, read the sign, then we moved on another 10 or 20 meters to see grain storage silos and houses, etc. We went over a little rise, heading out farther towards the cemetery, at which point we encountered some donkeys and thought it was time we turn back, retrieve Kadin, and head out.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntwoYRf9vrTF7KZWewD2JkSj1dbgbJIY6JLjYnwdZm8A-SzSgGU3LL77l_ANB8EuoZAhmylGvEZYHs1uVYmD6oJ1yAM73sQ21UdkRHIp661Fg1EV6SXKXYaIz08aaaeroGchE/s1600/IMG_0667.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntwoYRf9vrTF7KZWewD2JkSj1dbgbJIY6JLjYnwdZm8A-SzSgGU3LL77l_ANB8EuoZAhmylGvEZYHs1uVYmD6oJ1yAM73sQ21UdkRHIp661Fg1EV6SXKXYaIz08aaaeroGchE/s320/IMG_0667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540454160490524242" border="0" /></a><br />A man was walking very quickly towards us with a walkie talkie. It was still about 15 minutes before the first closing time, but maybe they were clearing out the back part of the site first?<br /><br />He approached us and asked us something about our daughter being lost. Our daughter? Lost? There was no daughter, there was no lost. Once again: did not compute. Did he mean our son who had chosen to stay about 100 meters behind and read his book? We were not looking like the brightest bulbs on the planet.<br /><br />So we returned with the man and found his female colleague with another walkie talkie and Kadin. Not sure how distressed Kadin had been. The French word “criée” was used, but this can also mean to call out. He seemed happy enough now. We left the park and as we slowly ambled down the winding road towards our car, another car with the three employees passed us as they went out for their two hour lunch.<br /><br />And to us this was strange. In America, the employees would just bring a sandwich and take turns managing the gate. But here, anything less than a hot, two-hour lunch is considered barbaric. Perhaps once you get used to it, it’s a tradition that is hard to give up. I mean, you wouldn’t want to be associated with these clueless outsiders who can’t read simple times on signs and loose their children at the drop of a hat.<br /><br />We eventually head down and look for a picnic spot along the Canal du Midi, a beautiful canal that runs from Toulouse to Sète and is now high on my list of places to boat and/or bike along. You can’t go far around here (Languedoc) without hitting a great site, great food, great wine….languid? Yes!jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-39038205569952752112010-11-15T11:01:00.003-07:002010-11-16T09:51:09.939-07:00Score one for Control...or maybe not?<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">Coming home today on the bus I was sitting next to a teenager who was pretty much in a teen coma, listening to his iPod, zoning out as one is wont to do on a long bus ride. He even smelled like a teenager. I was on until almost to the end of the line and was wondering if and how he would signal me when he wanted to get off. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, a couple stops before my stop, there was stirring next to me. His bus card was out. He was hesitating, then moving awkwardly, he wanted out. I let him out and he quickly validated his card at the machine and sat right back down again. Huh?<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When the bus doors opened, the rationale behind his actions was revealed: the doors were blockaded by controllers. Every single person getting off had their cards checked. The controllers were organized this time, systematic, no one escaped their oversight as they swept methodically through the bus.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The guy next to me was a-okay. He was so on it. I was impressed. Another guy a few rows behind was not so lucky. By the time the controllers got to him he was studiously zoning out, paying them no mind at all. The controller waved in his face to get his attention. I don’t think he had a valid ticket. Unfortunately (?) my stop came up before I could see what happened. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But what does this mean? Why wait to validate? Maybe there is a way to recharge your card for 30 rides or something and the guy next to me didn’t want to use up a ride unless he had to? He was working it and it was working for him. The mysteries of <a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/10/broken-honor.html">the honor system</a> continue…</p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-69926389898860147202010-11-14T08:26:00.002-07:002015-04-02T18:07:39.583-06:00Opening times<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <br />
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Still haven't figured this out. Some stores are open in the morning (like food stores and markets) while other stores are open in the afternoon (like more specialized shops like the magic shop or the healthfood store). Big stores---like the hypermarchés---are not open on Sundays (or if they are, only in the morning) while smaller shops may or may not be. Many small shops are closed on Mondays. Some places are only open at lunchtime (like restaurants) and others are closed at lunchtimes. Some are “non-stop” or open all day, but not open every day. Others open only in the evening. Some places are open more on Wednesdays when the schools are out, others are not open on Wednesdays, etc.<br />
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On every storefront there is practically a whole paragraph to decipher. Not easy to grasp (click to enlarge):<br />
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So I am trying to figure out if there is ONE BEST TIME to run errands. I'll have a plan for a circuit I need to get done (post office, bead store, shoe store, grocery store, butcher, healthfood store) and I’ll either hurry to go out early or wait to go out later, but half the stores will be closed and open at the other half of the day. Do people go out twice? How does a working person do it? I don't get the sense that other people find this frustrating, though, it just seems to be a fact of life. I’ll have to ask. <br />
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When traveling, we’ve learned, the thing to do at noon is to find a restaurant and sit down for 2 hours. Somehow, though, when we're on vacation or out for a day of exploring, I always feel like we are just getting started about noon and not ready to sit for two hours when there is so much still out there to see. And how can we start out earlier in the day if we are up late for dinner? There is an internal rhythm here that I am not getting. <br />
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I'm sure there is a logic to it (well, not exactly sure about the "logic" part, but it doesn’t seem to be a hassle for others), so I need someone to just spell it out for me. I have been unable to get the feel for it. <br />
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jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-91924119207573407282010-11-10T04:33:00.002-07:002010-11-10T04:46:56.012-07:00Nadir<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><br /> 46˚ and raining<br /><br />So we have just passed the halfway mark of our stay in Grenoble. And the kids have reached what I hope is the nadir of their stay. For me, we are not here long enough, for them, they can't get home soon enough. They are very down on school. Very down. Very homesick. Not that they don’t complain about school in Boulder too, but it does seem especially difficult here. One of the benefits is that they will likely appreciate their Boulder situation more when we return. One of the big problems with growing up in Boulder is that you think it is normal….<br /><br />So, if nothing else, at least they’ll get some perspective, but I don’t want it to be all bad. At the moment, everything associated with France and French seems to be a turn off. I have never seen Rees so enthusiastic about things such as Dominos pizza and Kraft macaroni and cheese. We are in the land of lovely food, so what is up with that? <br /><br />I am hoping that we are here long enough for things to turn around for them. But it could go either way, it’s kind of a coin toss.<br /><br />While I have mostly heard good memories from adults of living abroad when they were young, this is not always the case. Greg has a colleague in Boulder whose wife has forbidden sabbaticals abroad because she was so scarred by her year in Switzerland as a child. (Meanwhile Switzerland has taken on godlike status with my kids because it is not France…) <br /><br />And Rees has a friend who is here because his mom, who is French, is back to take care of her mom, who is ill. They don’t know anyone in Grenoble, but are living in the city because it is where the American school is. His mom didn’t want to put him straight into the French schools. She had a friend (also French) whose son (grew up in America) was in France for his 6th grade year. He was not used to the school system and, while he understood French, his writing and other academic skills did not match up to what was expected. In France, the students are all ranked from best to worst and he struggled all year and was at the bottom of the class. It crushed him, she said, and though he is now in his 20s and supposedly recovered, it was many years before he once again felt confident in school. Whoa! <br /><br />And it does seem to take a thick skin here in school, something my kids are not versed in. Carina went to her back to school night and her son’s (3rd grade equivalent) teacher began her presentation by saying what a terrible bunch of students she had this year and how careless they were in missing their punctuation marks and how they had forgotten all their manners over the summer. She said she would give them each an X for a mistake and when they had 5 Xs the parents would be called in for a conference. Most of the students already had about 3 Xs so “expect a note from me soon.” And so on. She went on to say that in PE, though they should be doing swimming, it was just too much bother because she would have to wear a swimsuit and she couldn’t take the whole class in at once and didn’t know what to do with the rest of the class, so instead, they would be doing long distance running. This is one woman who loves her job! She seems to be thriving on her resentment of everything. <br /><br />To be fair, that teacher seems to be exceptionally bad. At my back to school night (same school), Kadin’s teacher started out by saying what a great group of kids she had and how she was very impressed by their hard work and intelligence, so it is not all grim, but it’s not all touchy feely and cushy either. (Recall Kadin’s first phrases learned from her were “<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n’est pas d'accord</span>!” “<span style="font-style: italic;">Ce n’est pas amusent!</span>” and “<span style="font-style: italic;">Silence!</span>”) <br /><br />When I took my placement test here I tried to tell the teacher what I thought was a funny story from my French studies in France the summer of 1986 (I took a one month intensive, the last time I studied French….). My 1986 teacher would do these long dictées where he would read something in French and we were supposed to write it down. I have already talked about all the homophones and silent letters in French, so as far as I am concerned, such an exercise is nearly impossible. He would give 30 points per dictée and take off 1 point for each error. Now, there were hundreds (thousands!) of letters in each dictée that I got in their correct, proper places. With accents! I was really excited when I would correctly decipher some phrase that I had never heard or seen before in my life. But the results were always the same: 0. Sure I might have only made 80 errors instead of 100, but there was no acknowledgement of my progress. At one point I even tried to ask him if he was proud of how much better I was doing, but he didn’t seem to understand the question… <br /><br />The recount of this story fell flat too. I thought it might have been my poor ability to relate the story, it's outrageousness, but when I went to a potluck at the American School, I learned that what I thought was absurd was the norm, not the exception. French teachers routinely give dictées with a fixed number of points, 0s are common, and there is no acknowledgement of progress. A 0 is failing no matter how much improvement is underneath. <br /><br />In my French class here now, I also got a taste of this more critical style. I like my teacher, she is young and knowledgeable, has lived in many places, and seems open minded and forward thinking, not a terrifying old school rap-you-with-a-ruler type at all. Not one to give dictées. But one class a few weeks ago, she came in in a foul mood. It was the only time I was slightly late and she was berating the students for not coming prepared with the homework (I always do the homework as I need to learn all I can!).<br /><br />Then, a couple of students needed to leave early, they said because it was too cold to walk home later. Then my phone rang and it was one of the kids, who were home alone, so I had to take it. I apologized profusely, explained, and excused myself. (Of course it was just Rees asking where something was…arrrrrgh, but what’s a mom to do?) Then another student got a phone call, so the teacher started telling us we should not take calls in class, fair enough, but I felt justified (once I tell the kids to only call me if it is an emergency!). <br /><br />Finally, near the end of class, she laid into one poor girl who seemed to be struggling, more due to extreme shyness I felt than lack of ability. In front of everyone the teacher asked this student (in French of course) if she understood what was being taught and if she didn’t think that perhaps she was in too high of a level, that she was overwhelmed, that perhaps she should go down to an easier level. The teacher asked her what level her assessment test had put her in and wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. She kept asking questions in rapid fire French and kept asking the student if she understood. Whoa! That just seemed so inappropriate and counter productive to me. <br /><br />But maybe that is a taste of the traditional French way. Luckily, that night seems to have been the exception, so I am inclined to think the teacher was just set off for some other reason. I’m thinking it was a remnant of a style that is on its way out. I’ve heard that the EU is going to have a more standardized curriculum across the board, so that will be an impetus for change. Still, it does seem that part of the French training is in getting a thick skin. You either thrive or are scarred for life. And if everyone who runs the system successfully develops a thick skin and succeeds, change will be slow. But you do have to admire anyone who has been through the French school system and survived. <p class="MsoNormal"></p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-35557854394345854852010-11-09T10:37:00.010-07:002010-11-16T09:50:29.004-07:00A tale of two books<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoHeader, li.MsoHeader, div.MsoHeader { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoFooter, li.MsoFooter, div.MsoFooter { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }span.HeaderChar { }span.FooterChar { }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p>On one of our “<a href="http://jeninco.blogspot.com/2010/11/incidental-travel.html">incidental journeys,</a>” we came across a book sale at a school in Meylan. The price was right, so Greg and I each looked for a book we’d enjoy reading in French. Nothing too difficult, but something we could try to sink our (baby) teeth into. We chose carefully and have learned unexpected things from the books we chose.<br /><br />Greg’s choice: <span style="font-style: italic;">Blanche Neige et les Lance-Missiles: Quand les dieux buvaient – I</span> by Catherine Dufour (a prize-winning French sci-fi novelist)<br /><br />My choice: <span style="font-style: italic;">La Saison Des Bals </span>a novel by Geneviève Bon (a romance novelist)<br /><br />Here is the first page of Greg’s novel:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Les Uckler formaient un peuple industrieux, gai et généreux. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">En général. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Ils se levaient tôt d’un air content, sifflaient en travaillant et avaient toujours un morceau de pain à donner à plus pauvre qu’eux—le quignon rassis de la veille bien sûr, car ‘généreux n’est pas neuneu’ disait souvent la grosse Couette.<br /><br />Pourvu cependant que le plus pauvre qu’eux soit le beau-fils de la soeur de la nièce de l’oncle du cousin. Ou le beau-père du frère du neveu de la tante par alliance. Ou quelque chose d’approchant. Car les Uckler avaient un défaut: quand ils voyaient un étranger, un vrai, qui échappait à tout généalogie même de la main gauche, ils le tuaient d’abord, ensuite ils ne se posaient aucune question.<br /><br />Ce qui ne contribuait pas peu à préserver cet équilibre psychologique qui leur faisait au matin l’oeil frais et l’air content.<br /><br />Bref, c’était un sacré foutu ramassis de salauds. </span><br /><br />Which, roughly translated, means:<br /><br />“The Uckler formed an industrious people, gay and generous.<br /><br />In general.<br /><br />They got up early with a satisfied air, whistled while they worked and always had a piece of bread to give to those poorer than they—now it was the stale hunk of the day, of course, because 'is it not generous to be a nanny[?]' as was often said [under?] the fat duvet. [not sure on that meaning…um…anyone???]<br /><br />Provided however, that the poorest of them is the stepson of the sister of the niece's uncle's cousin. Or step-father's brother's nephew's aunt by marriage. Or something like that. Because the Uckler had a flaw: when they saw a stranger, a true stranger, who escaped all this same genealogy with his left hand [?], they killed him first, then no questions would arise.<br /><br />Which contributed not a little to preserving the psychological balance that made them fresh eyed in the morning and seemingly happy.<br /><br />In short, they were quite a bunch of fucking bastards.”<br /><br />Well, okay then. Not boring. Started out with promise, anyway…and now I look at the title of the chapter: <span style="font-style: italic;">Une Omelette de Cul d’Ange</span> (an omlette from the ass of an angel) and think, maybe he should have expected as much?<br /><br />And here is the first page of my novel, a little simpler with more everyday details:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Martin Grüne enleva ses gant de jardinier et monta l’escalier quatre à quatre. Devant la porte de la salle de bains, il s’arrêta malgré sa hâte, écoutant la voix pas très grave, mais joyeuse et alerte, qui chantait: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">‘Celui à qui Dieu veut montrer une juste faveur, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Il l’envoie par le vaste monde…’ </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Martin Grüne frappa et entra. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Andreas Freiherr von Berg-Alsdorf se tenait nu devant le lavabo. En chantant à pleine voix, il s’efforçait de couper avec de longs ciseaux quelques mèches de ses cheveux blonds, dont les boucles désordonnées étaient un de ses constants soucis. </span><br /><br />Which, roughly translated, means:<br /><br />“Martin Grüne took off his gardening gloves and climbed the stairs four at a time. At the door to the bathroom, despite his haste, he stopped, listening to the voice, not very serious, but cheerful and alert, singing:<br /><br />'He to whom God wants to show a just favor,<br />He sends out into the wide world ... '<br /><br />Martin Grüne knocked and entered.<br /><br />Andreas Freiherr von Berg-Alsdorf stood naked in front of the sink. Singing in full voice as he tried to cut with long scissors a few strands of his blond hair, whose curls were disorderly and a source of constant worry.”<br /><br />A naked baron in front of the sink cutting off his blond curls. And let me just add, a few pages farther in, the stairs weren’t the only thing being mounted four by four.<br /><br />So we did pretty well finding books that were interesting enough and at the right level though not what either of us expected. Greg learned interesting phrases like “the stale end of the day” which sticks with me as poetic and seems to say so much about the culture. But he said it was difficult because in science fiction super natural things can happen, so it’s hard to figure out the meaning from the context. But the potential is there. I mean imagine the garden you’d discover learning what “the sayings of the big duvet” and “escaping the left hand” really mean. There is much to be uncovered…<br /><br />And I learned things like knocking and entering is fine and every verb must be carefully chosen to be as enticing as possible. My problem with the French, however, is that there are all these twisted reflexive sentences and I can’t tell who is doing what to whom. Also, not understanding tenses, it is hard for me to know if it is happening, has happened, or someone is wanting it to happen. I also can’t tell if the book is truly interesting or if it’s the puzzle of figuring it out that I find interesting as my imagination that fills in the blanks with what I think they are doing. (Kind of like you do with dreams.) But I am certain the books are very French.<br /><br />And now that I am learning tenses and pronouns I am going to try again. I do like the descriptions of everyday scenes and the discussions of character. It is the kind of book where lots of time is spent introducing and describing a character and everything around them from their clothes to the decor contributes the same information in a new way. Like said baron above, with the curls, who is cheerful yet disorganized as things around him are always precariously balanced. And though his trousers might be old and threadbare, they hang ever just so and look very chic on his stylish frame, and though his furniture is a bit shabby it is large and expensive and well loved. That kind of repetition is very helpful to my (flawed) understanding.<br /><br />Interesting too that both books feature German names. Will have to look into that.<br /><br />16 November, 2010, update:<br /><br />Just read a blog about <a href="http://www.etsy.com/storque/spotlight/guest-curator-repurposed-book-art-with-sweet-paul-11168/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">repurposed books</span></a> and it struck me that perhaps these books we got at the sale are all that much more interesting because we don't understand all the words. It is like an <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/61594055/vintage-french-novel-paper-baubles">ornament made out of a vintage French paperback</a> that only has a hint of the original. That is intriguing. Like a page with holes punched in it. Some of the mystery is preserved and the story is layered with both the words on the page and the holes that you fill in with your mind. Structure and suggestion with improvisation on top. That is a fun place to be.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100236.post-89180652836918311042010-11-08T07:50:00.005-07:002010-11-08T13:53:59.672-07:00Incidental travel<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Sect</style><br /><p class="MsoNormal">How to travel, now there is a difficult question. Having just returned from our one “vacation” while we’re here in France (yes, I know, it’s all pretty much like a vacation…), I think I’ve figured out a favorite way (for me), and that is what I am calling “incidental travel.” It’s where you don’t do “great things,” but instead, make lots of small discoveries.<span style=""> </span>Of course, variety is key, so I like to mix in some “great things” and some “no things” days as well. But here’s a general outline of how it works.</p><p class="MsoNormal">My favorite thing to do is to pick a destination that’s not too far, and get there in an interesting way. The destination can be anything, but is usually something small and minor like a store, a weekly market, a festival, a scenic overlook, a statue, a village. Just a spark that you heard something interesting about. That spark functions as the excuse to go somewhere new and see what you find along the way. It’s the journey and creativity you bring to it, not the destination. You don’t know what you’ll find, there is no itinerary, but getting there is part of the fun, so maybe take the bus, take the scenic route, bike, walk. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our first two weekends in Grenoble we simply had a general destination in mind (one day a “sports forum” in a northeastern suburb where they had different activity booths for the day, the other an 11<sup>th</sup> century church in a southwestern village) then we took the bus or the tram as close and we could, and walked and explored. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One key thing we figured out is that every bus stop has a map. This knowledge would have saved me the day I got lost coming home.<span style=""> </span>So my rule about always carrying a map turns out to not be so important. I still use my map from time to time, but in a pinch, you can just find a bus stop and get oriented immediately. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So on our first suburban excursion we used dead reckoning and found a nice historic path through the suburbs, lost the path, checked in at bus stops, and continued to meander. Along the way, we found a school book sale, a rock climbing demonstration, a basketball hoop the children enjoyed climbing (after which we started looking for OP-COs or “other potentially climbable objects"), a merry-go-round, and, the ultimate destination, a demonstration of various athletic activities including props we could try from the circus school.<span style=""> </span>Rees learned how to walk on a ball and both Rees and I were able to spin plates on the top of sticks. You just never know. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was its own sort of geography lesson too and we now know there are walking paths, playgrounds, commercial centers, and parks scattered all around (with maps at every bus stop!). Each has its own sort of unique activity. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next weekend we headed out to a small village with an 11<sup>th</sup> century church. We found a fun skatepark (Rees had his roller blades on) near the tram <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rVM-dLcR_cckoz8s-8sUWw8_nC1JiIGLcp2lbzAd3jb3BhRRlriHDsmBTpIWfuZ9OvsRPDE8mQEX7DoHj_HmFEr0dqPtyJ2nTLxw3U7rMj9nLdV9T9KkjWe5ADcr0IlgIgHP/s1600/IMG_0201.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rVM-dLcR_cckoz8s-8sUWw8_nC1JiIGLcp2lbzAd3jb3BhRRlriHDsmBTpIWfuZ9OvsRPDE8mQEX7DoHj_HmFEr0dqPtyJ2nTLxw3U7rMj9nLdV9T9KkjWe5ADcr0IlgIgHP/s200/IMG_0201.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537193578071212946" border="0" /></a>stop, miniature golf, a climbing wall, an old dovecote (where I banged my head and once again bled all over the place in dramatic fashion, but luckily, another feature of this area are the numerous water fountains/pumps where I could wash up), and the church <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTCV86mUTBetkIK65H6_rIN9ldiOZME96xl8OsFyi3J3PwDYu2UWSJ_QMshp9RHzaVOJrWRVsdF7MBQH6pCnFs-UKa7ZvnW_KGeUrloAaBFslbUnEJfyBDG_NVPit0tu0Lrbi/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKTCV86mUTBetkIK65H6_rIN9ldiOZME96xl8OsFyi3J3PwDYu2UWSJ_QMshp9RHzaVOJrWRVsdF7MBQH6pCnFs-UKa7ZvnW_KGeUrloAaBFslbUnEJfyBDG_NVPit0tu0Lrbi/s200/IMG_0200.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537193570160243938" border="0" /></a>and cemetery in the old, central part of the village. We smelled delicious Sunday lunches being grilled in outdoor ovens. I started taking pictures of Gallic Rooster statues. The church had interesting icons and symbolism about water. There is always something. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For our trip to southern France, we took a similar approach. After visiting a few towns and few abbeys, we wanted something different. Each town is great and all, but it’s so predi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3uqZV1gsS497Zc6JtDhFf5gCucp5lULGyb4UqbT1TjVzaPBR1P0pVr-IIaT3DqKFMdkFTPp3E4OwxIwDLFQb9GcBhjEu0UaHhOSvDojVBKfwm-jkPlOXcWJDZLLCZaJ1y7Gi/s1600/IMG_0601.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3uqZV1gsS497Zc6JtDhFf5gCucp5lULGyb4UqbT1TjVzaPBR1P0pVr-IIaT3DqKFMdkFTPp3E4OwxIwDLFQb9GcBhjEu0UaHhOSvDojVBKfwm-jkPlOXcWJDZLLCZaJ1y7Gi/s200/IMG_0601.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537193580717754962" border="0" /></a>ctable to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-78A-WeC0Fu14e-4LMcnzkBG_1IDr6alful7I5gSR-LAqMQSwf4N9viG_DzBSg1LM0lRBzBbSkKGj6fXVsrCTshwnsPyafBASdBDtnMSryCYsGnHDshQTYh98p8OgDkonS7yG/s1600/IMG_0586.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-78A-WeC0Fu14e-4LMcnzkBG_1IDr6alful7I5gSR-LAqMQSwf4N9viG_DzBSg1LM0lRBzBbSkKGj6fXVsrCTshwnsPyafBASdBDtnMSryCYsGnHDshQTYh98p8OgDkonS7yG/s200/IMG_0586.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537194366650717778" border="0" /></a>walk around though lovely winding, cobbled streets, find a luncheon spot, see the market square, the church, etc. etc. Abbeys are gorgeous and historic, but also predictable in many ways. So we did the beach and collected some stones and shells, and that was nice too. We were craving more open spaces and noticed some symbols on the map for menhirs and dolmens---symbolic rock structures created by Neolithic peoples---and that’s when we started menhir and dolmen hunting and that’s when I remembered the joys of incidental travel. (This is much of the appeal of geocaching as well, an activity my Aunt excels at.)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaCPK2UyjzzF94xia6HbmlFRFvbXtvhqfpAOJHjOaqS8BADw0yDjweGDZHI3H-aa-rFczM2pSPL0u5MRQsMFb_OF6wRh-n1Y30sTo4HvTxfBTyV1J-CdBG-AIbS0u3opqc-tM/s1600/IMG_0673.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaCPK2UyjzzF94xia6HbmlFRFvbXtvhqfpAOJHjOaqS8BADw0yDjweGDZHI3H-aa-rFczM2pSPL0u5MRQsMFb_OF6wRh-n1Y30sTo4HvTxfBTyV1J-CdBG-AIbS0u3opqc-tM/s200/IMG_0673.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537193585441019378" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Along the way we found many interesting villages and sites and many a backroad that we never would have ventured down. It’s the small place you find for lunch, the sweet donkeys in a corral, the feeling of connection to people from thousands of years ago, the lay of the land, the garage sale or farm stand or medieval ruin that you unexpectedly come across. Expectations are low and pleasures are many. It’s perfect. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VYwE5LoHbPvHf6-ZBefhHkl613ExVrB_ZfqxAl5u92fCEJN7N8v5OyaakAywTpPC3_Vey2wDYpBosl1PC8-lozD71nOlItcvI3dqSqJ7u2HEncB8lqDAs6UFi2t4RRT6cZD9/s1600/IMG_0642.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VYwE5LoHbPvHf6-ZBefhHkl613ExVrB_ZfqxAl5u92fCEJN7N8v5OyaakAywTpPC3_Vey2wDYpBosl1PC8-lozD71nOlItcvI3dqSqJ7u2HEncB8lqDAs6UFi2t4RRT6cZD9/s200/IMG_0642.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537193595970650418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMivCD2K29a9DGvjacGHBcnRGwqGA8HmCdTa4emd8xvcMRT4kxJwv1UfGMI5tUHaaRdX1Q_APof_84ek2D5uC4ZerynQ3pAAMThF4vINZskMT0chmzXEFqTli5aVdDpVsu58v/s1600/IMG_0650.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMivCD2K29a9DGvjacGHBcnRGwqGA8HmCdTa4emd8xvcMRT4kxJwv1UfGMI5tUHaaRdX1Q_APof_84ek2D5uC4ZerynQ3pAAMThF4vINZskMT0chmzXEFqTli5aVdDpVsu58v/s200/IMG_0650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537194357617122626" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>jenincohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08170900481925690259noreply@blogger.com1