Dear Dads,

I'm writing this in my father's pajamas, eating honey bunches of oats —his favorite— with Kleenex by my side. This year marks my 10th Father’s Day …sans father. It's a less extravagant celebration for me than it used to be.

As far as I was aware, my daddy was so great that he could have been the one who hung the moon in the sky! I was lucky to have him, and be raised in a fun loving home. Once that was broken up by his death, I was distraught. Part of my happy died with dad, and I didn’t care much about being alive anymore. Life scared me because I learned that at any good moment it could all come to an abrupt stop and be taken away. Daily tasks like unloading the dishwasher frightened me because I’d see knives and imagine myself stabbed on the kitchen floor, bleeding out for mom to find me —but at least I’d get to be with dad again. That’s not an image I’d wish on any kid. I was 11 years old. I didn’t understand much about the cancer, or why my mom could so quickly remarry after he passed. It was hard to take it all in. People who knew dad would approach me and and tell me that they could feel his spirit, or that he came to them in a dream and reassured them that all would be ok. It wasn’t fair, he was my dad after all. Shouldn’t he first and foremost, be reassuring me and looking out for me, HIS KID? Bottom line: my hero stopped being there for me.

But of course things only start to make sense in retrospect and it was about a year ago when I started piecing together that my dad actually has been there all along. How? It was usually through you; you wonderful fathers —strangers or not, having known my familial background or not— who stepped in for him when he could not physically do so. NOT when you thought I needed it, but when I happened to need a dad to look out for me. In hindsight, after each of those times when a father came to my rescue, I immediately thereafter thought to myself, I wonder if dad sent him… because the timing of a father-figure coming out of nowhere to help me was always too perfect to be coincidental. 

So without naming names, here’s a big thank you to the dads who I’ve really looked up to as if you were a piece of my own father:

• To the man in Paris who came out of NOWHERE the ONE TIME I was nearly scammed out of a bunch of money, and yelled at the scammer-guy to get away from me.
• To the dad who didn’t share my religious beliefs, but stood up for them anyway when another drunk man was shouting and cursing at me because he found out I was LDS.
• To the dad in my new church ward who was the only one to reach out to me every Sunday for the first six months of me living alone abroad.
• To the dad who wept after he gave me a requested priesthood blessing when I was sick, and told me he felt privileged to have laid his hands upon my head. 
• To the [grand]dad who I was able to Skype to tell about my European adventures when I wanted nothing more than to call and tell my real dad. 
• To the dads who told one of their dad-jokes to help cheer me up. 
• To the dad who overnight shipped me cookies, regardless of my location in the world.
• To the dads who have made me breakfast to show they care.
• To the dad who brought me flowers and chocolate one night, after I had burst into tears in front of him.
• To the dads who invited me along on their otherwise family-only events, and always made me feel welcome in their homes.
• To the dads who have treated me many times on meals, upgrades, desserts, movies, bills, etc., 
• To the dad who fixed my car free of charge, even though it would have been one pricy bill.
• To the dad who always talks about my dad, and cars, and makes me feel loved.
• To the dad (and mom) who got me a roundtrip plane ticket home when I got my heart broken.
• To the dad who ordered takeout and invited me over to watch an Audrey Hepburn film at his house.
• To the dad who let me vent about life after dad died, and often drove me to dad’s cemetery.
• To the dad who told me I was loved when I felt lower than dirt.
• To the dads who give me the biggest hugs.
• To the dad who took the time to email me when I needed advice.
• To the dad who passed me a note down the pew in church just to tell me I was an awesome kid.
• To the dads who pulled over when I broke down on the side of the roads.
• To the LDS dad with his family in SeaTac airport who asked me about France, my future plans, and looked like he genuinely cared when he told me I must be pretty amazing for going after what I want. 

I’m sure many of you have forgotten these moments now, but I will remember them always.

Thank you for loving your children, your wife, your family. Getting to quietly observe from the sidelines how you love and care for them is really a special treat. It lets me daydream for a moment what my life would be like with my father at my disposal. It makes me excited for the day when I have my own family, and can watch my kids have a dad as great as you all. And thank you for looking out for other’s kids (like me) too, even though it's not really your duty to.

Life doesn’t scare me anymore. I decided that I didn’t want to wait until I’m dying before I start living. That’s why I’ve made the things I want to do happen at such a young age. You get one life to live, you’ve got to do so as fully as you can. I miss my dad daily on so many levels, especially today. But maybe in some twisted way, I'm the lucky kid here. Because of my trial, I’m blessed with many dads who have looked out for me and who I’m sure will continue to do so. Thank you so much.

Happy Father’s Day.

Love, Hannah

Our last Father's Day - 2007

Expect the Unexpected

Expectations. I believe that when given adequate time to ponder, most of us will try and conjure up a pretty good scenario of what is going to happen, or how something will feel. For the most part, my predictions don't even come close to the real deal. Even still, whether it is just a subconscious effort or not, we all have expectations to some extent.

When I dreamt of what Paris would be like, my brain mixed together all of my favorite films set within the city, and I was certain I would recognize enough to at least navigate a little bit without a map. (That was a pipe dream.) I also envisioned the street where I would live, it would be decked out with cafés and flower shops, and I would feel so small surrounded by those towering buildings. Upon arrival however, I learned that the standard Haussmann architecture in Paris only had around 6 stories per building, and that most streets did not even have a single shop or café on them. So to my fellow daydreamer, future expat, or even just a city hopper looking to get a better idea of the accuracy of Parisian stereotypes before you go, here are the expectations vs. reality that I learned while adjusting to my new life in the city of lights:

EXPECTATION: Everyone in Paris is rude.

REALITY: Everyone in America is overly nice.

If you are reasonably polite and attempt to use the minimal amount of high school French you still remember, the French people will gladly accommodate you! For the most part, they loved practicing their English with native speakers. It was only when American tourists came through and just expected the French to know English, that yes, one could expect to get a little bit of a cold shoulder. But in The States, we just love to talk to everyone. The French are more reserved, and do not feel it necessary to smile at you in passing, or chat about your kids while checking out at the grocery store. It is merely a matter of culture, not kindness. In my whole two years there, I only met one rude French person and even she was not all that bad.

EXPECTATION: France has the best food you will ever eat!

REALITY: Bonjour McDonald's.

I come from a family of amazing cooks, and with my knowledge of French cuisine, I kind of just expected that I would be eating Michelin Starred food every night for dinner. Realistically though, I gained an unhealthy addiction for highly processed chocolate cookies and fell into the frozen meals trap. The good food definitely exists, but keep in mind that the bad food does too.

Another thing to note is that Costco sized grocery warehouses do not exist, rather, there are small supermarkets and épiceries with very limited selections of whatever it is that you are looking for.

EXPECTATION: The streets will waft smells of Nutella, crêpes, and baguettes.

REALITY: I think I picked up secondhand smoke.

Some days I felt lucky if I could go every two or three people without having to hold my breath from all the smoking. Parisians are human chimneys! Do not even get me started on the urine smells, and how much worse they would be on a hot day. To top it off, it is a city. So unless you are in a park, then you cannot smell earth. Just smoke, urine, and car exhaust. Whomever put the idea in my head that Paris smells delicious, I would like to send you to the Pacific North-West with free airfare.

EXPECTATION: Berets. Thin mustaches. Striped shirts with suspenders.

REALITY: Black attire. Scarves. Perfectly coiffed hair.

Girl please, Parisians have so much more style than that! But to be fair, every Parisian's closet that I went through had a striped white and black tee shirt (or two) in their closet.

EXPECTATION: They smell bad, and the women never shave.

REALITY: Hannah in hypnosis.

I do not really know where these stereotypes come from, but I am so glad they are all just a hoax. I regularly missed my turn on the street because I would become mesmerized by the cologne smells wafting from the person walking in front of me. And not only were the women hairless goddesses all the freaking time, but they also managed to shave without needing to reach for the Hello Kitty bandages. Like I said: goddesses. 

EXPECTATION: Lots of dating.

REALITY: Forever alone.

It is the city of l'amour after all, so I had this idea that everyone was constantly trying to woo each other. Makes sense, non? No! Dating is a bigger deal in the United States. In France I found that you only date somebody if you both are already interested in steady dating each other. How you get to that point without going on dates is still beyond me. One thing is for certain: if you fail to find somebody for your own, then you will never feel more single than you will while staying alone in the most romantic city in the world. Trust me, I know.

One final [soul crushing] reality which was really the hardest of all to face...

EXPECTATION: Mimes.

REALITY: Crushed dreams.

Man, I was so excited to see those striped-shirted men with suspenders, painted white faces, white gloves, just performing their act on the streets; walking down stairs without even needing a staircase. But to my dismay, there was not a single mime during my two years in Paris! I truly did not see that one coming.

The biggest lesson I learned about expectations while living in France was that while it is fun to daydream about the what-could-be's, if you let yourself get too carried away with your raised expectations, then one day you will find yourself faced with disappointments. This can be applied to more than just mimes and thin mustaches. For example, while planning trips to new locations, try not to focus too much on everything that you want to fit into your schedule. Instead, pick a couple of must-do's and let the rest happen on its own. France taught me the c'est la vie attitude, and reminded me that it is OK to go with the flow. I learned that by easing up on my predictions and just trying to enjoy whatever life presented me with right then, that the outcome would surpass all of my wildest expectations and create wonderful memories. 

Dream big, live bigger, and expect the unexpected. 

London

Day 1— It was the first time I walked the streets of Paris in french braids, and though the name of the plait is suitable to this country, I felt like an 11 year old outsider. But I was about to be on a bus all night, what else was I going to do? We departed from Bercy at 9pm.

Day 2— We got to the border check around 2am. If you ask me if it took way longer than necessary, then the answer will be: yes, yes it did. We missed our train in the Chunnel (the Channel Tunnel) which consequently meant hanging around at a Starbucks at 4 in the morning. The night was awful, and I got less than 2 hours of sleep all together. But it didn't even matter because we exited the lovely Tube and saw this:

Straightaway we purchased our 3-day Oyster cards for the Tube, which meant we didn't even bother working our way from one side of the map to the other, but instead went where we pleased when we pleased. Sidebar: The Tube is a whole new ballgame for public transport, and completely puts the Parisian metropolitan to shame. In Paris, I wonder on a daily basis how many diseases I'll extract by touching anything. In London, I could have licked the metro floor and still have been fine eating a sandwich afterward. I tip my hat London, you classy people who take baths and use smart lengthy words that put stars in my eyes. ...Wait, where was I?

We dropped our things at our hostel and walked. We found cute houses like the above, and Paddington Cemetery. Eventually we came to Abbey Road where everyone and their dogs were walking across, but there were way too many cars for the iconic Beatles photo remake. We jumped on a bus to Baker Street where we found a happy police man in front of 221b. (Sherlock, anyone?) By this point, hAnger was starting to burn holes in our stomachs, so we found a top rated (but not as good as Seattle) fish and chips joint where I also ate mushy peas! We walked around Westminster Abbey, the banks of the Thames, saw Clock Tower, the Coca-Cola London Eye, and finished up with seeing Admiral Horatio Nelson's statue in Trafalagar Square. He's my relative, you know. The sun set at 4:45pm which was absolutely koo-koo-banana-crackers but we were so tired that we didn't care to put up a fight with the sun.

Day 3— I woke up with this song in my head but it altered to this song as we stepped outside and my feet were soaked in seconds! Either way, Fred was there for me, and my insides were happy. The rain burned off as we got into town bright and early for our vintage, red, double decker, tour bus! We essentially looped around all of the things we previously walked around, but it was even better with our hilarious guide, Allen. ("The building to your right, it was a bank but now it's a pub. That's called progress." —Allen) 

We walked around London Tower and hopped on a boat which took us past Shakespeares Globe and off at The Eye. We jumped back on our bus to go to Buckingham just in time for the changing of the guard! My Australian radar was on, and I met a lovely couple. Wow I forgot how nice it is to speak English. And also be able to eavesdrop. You really forget about the little things, like easy communication when you've lived in France for so long! After our tour, we jumped on another bus which took us 2.5hours west of London to Wiltshire where we saw the ever puzzling Stonehenge. The countryside was beautiful! And the rooftops we passed were rumoured to be the rooftops danced on in Mary Poppins... Hmm..

Our bus driver made it clear he wasn't a tour guide, but that didn't stop him from monotonously tell us little fun facts about the things we passed.  I'm sure people were SO done with his dad-jokes, and only my stomach curdling laughter. (Traffic already backed up at the on ramp for the highway home: "We're not off to a good start................to our right is a pig farm................This is a nice once. Those little domes are their houses........PIGloos.") Stonehenge was amazing, but what I wasn't prepared for was how gorgeous the surrounding scenery would be! Did you realize there would be a flock of sheep just outside of it? Or that as the sun set you'd feel like you were walking on the set of Pride and Prejudice during the Dawn scene? Breathtakingly incredible.

Day 4— By now I'm convinced I'll be living here. At the very least in the U.K. someday. It's gorgeous and people have their crap together. Young families had the most polite children, and who wouldn't want to live in a columned white house with a checkered tiled floor for the outside entry? Oh my gosh it's the dream. We started our day by going way out of our way to Cereal Killer Cafe because, well, CEREAL. It was a dream come true.

Afterward we went right next door for second breakfasts. Because it was cute and they sold pairs of socks in tin-cans. So...obviously? The woman working there was so friendly, after about 30 seconds we were already talking about Thanksgiving plans and if she could join. That may sound weird, but for someone who has been craving friendly store conversation, I loved every second. We enjoyed a cup of tea and were on our way again.

We rented bicycles for the day for £2 and I couldn't help but think about watching old family home videos of Dad and Grandpa's London trip...And how I was here now doing the things they did. We cycled between Green Park by Buckingham Palace, through Hyde Park, near my grandpa's mission apartment, and into Kensington Garden. We couldn't for the life of us find Nottinghill, but I suppose that means I'll find it next time. 

Just as the "sun" (there really wasn't any) was "setting" we got in line for our ride on the London Eye. We saved loads of time by purchasing tickets in advance online. The ride was 30 minutes long, looping around once. By the time we got off, it was dark out, and misting rain. Souvenirs were bought, dinner and lovely conversation were had at Marks&Spencer, and on a whim we scouted out St. Paul's Churchyard and sang on the steps "Feed the birds, tuppance a bag". Before bed, I wrote postcards in the sick-ward (aka, my hostel room) and then fell soundly asleep.

Day 5— On this day we bid the attractive men, the beautiful accents, and the gorgeous scenery, goodbye. Back on the bus we went, but this time in the daylight where we could see beautiful Northern France. 

I can't explain the happy feeling I got any time I saw the adorable black taxi cabs drive on the wrong side of the road, or the plethora of red telephone booths in London. Walking along the nicely lit pier by Tower Bridge, and just being able to take a nap on those cute beds. Even King's Cross Station had the magic in it! ...Gah. It's a trip for the books, that is for sure. London, I will be back. 

“La plus belle ville du monde.” —Gusteau

I was 11 years old the first time I saw the Pixar film “Ratatouille”. I guess you could say that’s when my desire to live in Paris really solidified, though watching Audrey Hepburn films set in Paris certainly helped. I saw it in theaters in Tacoma with my siblings, and I remember leaving with stars in my eyes, DYING to get home to my then sick dad to tell him about it. I told him about how the new Tacoma Narrows Bridge was almost finished, and how we’d soon drive over it and see this amazing movie together, and that one day I would live in Paris. He just had to get better first. Little did I know that a week and change later, he would be gone. A funeral was had, and the proceeding day the bridge opened. Of course. 

Fast forward through a few ugly years of figuring things out, to last weekend: I attended the premiere of Ratatouille in concert, playing on screen as the Paris Symphony Orchestra played the film scores beneath it. It was held in the largest theatre in Europe, right here in the heart of Paris, France; my home. I just about burst out of my seat when they announced that Michael Giacchino (the genius composer) and the wife of John Lasseter (who is married to another top genius in Pixar Studios) were just rows in front of me in the audience. I had a stupid grin on my face from there on out, that I just wish I could call my dad and tell him about. Tell him that I did it, I pursued my dream and live here [in “La plus belle ville du monde/The most beautiful city in the world.”] just like I said I would. Mais, c'est la vie. Watching Ratatouille here and now [and in French!] is surreal. In previous viewed times it was accompanied by an aching in my gut; a longing to be here. And now, I'm here! Seeing views of the golden Eiffel Tower as I walk home. C'est merveilleux.

Aujourd'hui

07:01 - Woke up startled by my alarm; wished I was deaf. Did my homework with one eye open. 

07:50 - Breakfast

08:25 - Walked in the grey, damp, bitter-cold, to the bus stop.

08:50 - Class starts. 

in:between - Nervous sweats

10:50 - Class ends, hallelujah chorus in my brain 

11:00 - Brunch with new buds at an Organic/Vegan café. The hocho (opposite of froyo) needed more chocolate. Half a baguette with jams = a delight for my tastebuds. 

12:00 - Sun!! Walked home.

12:30 - Home. Looked tired. Felt awake. Put on lipstick and mascara. Looked good. Felt tired. Can't nap now. Girl struggles.

12:57 - Grabbed a historical fiction novel. Walked to Invalides. 

13:10 - Stopped on the sidewalk to call my friend. Man on motorcycle slows down. Man looks at me. Man says: "Bella! Ciao bella!" with an Italian accent. I look behind me. No one. Oh I'm Bella. Light turns green. He continues smiling at me. Friend didn't answer. Italian guy's head can swivel 360 like an owl while going through an intersection. I'm laughing now. He waves goodbye. Lipstick was a good choice. What just happened? 

13:13 - Decided to go to Italy.

13:20 - Met my friend. Walked to Musée Rodin.

13:31 - Museum closed. Gardens opened. Got in for free. Word. Sat on my bench opposite of The Thinker. Thought about reading. Thought about eating. Did neither. 

14:00 - Friend is hungry. Leave the garden, walk to favorite crêpe corner. 

14:07 - Walked down a new street. Saw a yellow building that sold hand..fans. Suddenly wanted one. 

14:08 - Inhaled the exhaled smoke every two feet from the local human chimneys.

14:20 - Exhausted. Checked mail. Postcard from Lara!! Gilmore Girls and 3 loads of laundry to do/hang/fold. But Luke and Lorelei are engaged!

16:20 - Walked/picked up Eloi from school. Passed mon petit amis bureau ...Dreamt of him the other night. Still don't know his name. Things are going well.

16:55 - Chores/Homework/Piano Practice/Playing/Showers

18:20 - Accidentally swore in French. I asked the 14 year old boy how to say "You smell bad" in French, he speaks, I repeat, all the boys laugh, I look up the words I just said, "You smell like ...poops!" I feel awful. I've never sworn before. Boys mock me the rest of the evening. 

19:15 - Dîner. Crêpes Salée! I made savory crêpes with cheese, ham, eggs, tomatoes, and french spices.

20:00 - Hakuna Matata en français sing-along while cleaning dishes.

20:30 - Lights OUT. I check up on the social media life.

21:00 - Write about a day in the life of Hannah.

21:30 - Go up to my studio for the night.

When in Paris..

Today was Veterans day, so I got the day off. I went from no plans, to an exciting day with two girls from class I've not hung out with before. We met in front of Notre Dame and on a whim went up it! Because when in Paris...why not? We have to at some point! We all got in for free with our student cards. HOLLER. And then we climbed 387 steps. It was sunny and simply put: gorgeous.

Waiting in line took awhile though. We definitely sat in one spot for 20 minutes. But we we were lucky enough to have stomach curdling laughter because this man was going back and forth across the street putting on a mini show. He was dressed in pilot clothes, funny looking goggles and a scarf. He spoke English. He captured our attention cause he would walk behind people and mimic them until they realized! He'd pretend to take photos just like the tourists, and once they realized they were being mimicked, they'd laugh and shake the mans hand and were on their way. Once he shouted, "Ladies and gentleman! This is my wife!" and offered his arm to escort a woman passing by. She went with it and also got a laugh. There was maybe ONE person out of all the people he did these little pranks to who absolutely ignored him, the rest laughed and moved on. He eventually had all of us in line for Notre Dame watching, and laughing, anddddd he even put his goggles down on his face and started directing the traffic!! Or he'd J-walk in front of a taxi and in the most dramatic slow motion steps ever, walk across the street. The car didn't even honk, just waited for him to pass. They were probably dying of laughter as well.  My favorite time was when he knelt down as a cute old lady was slowly walking by, and he shouted "Maman!!" and then she hugged him. Another favorite moment, he was following a pigeon! And he pretended to be walking it on a leash. "Thiis is really my pigeon, I'm not kidding!" And finally he "handed" a woman the "leash" and she pretended to walk it too. A black guy walked by: "Ladies and gentleman! Presenting, President Obama!" Since we were watching for awhile, he repeated some of the same stuff.. And he tried doing the "Maman!" to an old lady again, but she just ignored him and walked by, which made him sad and he said "That's my mom... :( "  He continued on for awhile, leading his choir in birthday song, or other silly things. Then shook hands with those of us in line, and put his hat out saying the money would be for pilot school. You couldn't just not give a guy like that your change for helping time pass in such an entertaining way. Best part of the day. Bravo sir, you get a 10 for creativity. 

The view from the top of Notre Dame was lovely! And you could REALLY see that Sacre Cœur is sitting on Paris' only hilltop. I need to make my way there soon. I decided when I'm rich I'm going to buy a corner of the top bit of Notre Dame so I can read up there with that view.

Afterward we stopped at Shakespeare and Co. and listened to gorgeous piano music upstairs, while pouring over the many books. We then headed to a cafe on the corner and ordered banane avec chocolate crêpes and delicious chocolat chaud that was finished much too quickly. Later the most delicious panini from right by my house was consumed by the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower sparkled on the hour behind us, Bateaux Mouches sparkled in front of us, boats passed by, and the new ferris wheel put up for the holidays to the right beamed with light as well. SO MUCH MAGIC! I'm in love with this place. 

I Won't Dance, Don't Ask Me

The evolution of dance covers many different styles, but dance has always been a big part of who we are as humans...until today.

So it seems to me anyway. Unless you're enrolled in a dance school program, competing with the stars on television, traveling the world with a team, or watchingfrom the audience, dance isn't much a part of anybody's life anymore! WHY is that? I was walking along the Seine River one night, expecting a *midnight in paris* kind of romantic feel, and while there was plenty of that coming from dates with picnics and couples dangling their legs off the river edge, there was also a lot of modern stuff that totally distracted from that charm. Mostly people were drinking at bars and listening to loud music. The further you walked from the city, the quieter it got, but still I passed under a bridge to find a "dance" with loud music, flashy lights, a disco ball, and a complete lack of dancing. Either they rocked back and forth on their heels a little bit while shouting over the music to talk to someone next to them with a drink in hand, or they were grinding their booty all over whoever was closest. Why is this the recurring cultural norm?

I LONG for a time when girls wore big skirts and red lipstick, and could just go swing or do the Lindy to a live band to have a good time. Men were gentleman! I'm not saying that chivalry is dead or that men have reformed into apes, but have you noticed how different boys are in black and white films made 70 years ago than they are today? Guys seemed to have more manners back then, cared about protecting women and made sure they got them home at a respectable hour. I don't know, I didn't actually live back then. Maybe boys haven't changed and it was just Hollywood being very convincing. Back to my point, I WANT TO GO DANCE! I dreamt last night that I had a 1950's recreation night and people dressed up to play the roll, and it was awesome! However I know that if I tried that kind of thing in real life, maybe only a handful of people would do it, maybe they'd try and dance like how we used to, but probably not. At both of my sisters weddings, I noted that while there's a time at the reception to dance, people are much too shy to actually go dance unless they're with a S/O during a slow song that they can comfortably sway back and forth to. You know, less is more ...or something. Even at my sister/brother-in-law's reception held in a dance studio that's so much a part of their life, the dance floor was still sparse and only those who have been taught the moves felt comfortable enough to go dance them. 

It just makes me sad. Dancing used to be a way of forgetting the troubles, having a nice evening, falling in love, being in a good atmosphere with uplifting music. Now, the formal dances that kids grow up knowing are a high school prom where girls dress up in a tight, low cut piece of material they deem appropriate and even beautiful. It's all about getting the boys attention with their body, and not about twirling a pretty skirt and feeling feminine. Classy.

I'll be done now. There's no way to change this problem in this kind of a world. But I'm optimistic about Heaven. I imagine the dances will be beyond compare.

Mercredi 7 Octobre 2014

I used a second blanket on my bed last night. You know what that means! Autumn! I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof (a pleasure not everyone in this building gets to hear, seeing as I'm the only one top floor) and started the day with a steamy shower. Today is Mercredi (Wednesday) which means it's a full day with the kiddos, taking them to and from tennis lessons, so I'm so glad to have had my Hunter rainboots, my little red umbrella, and warm infinity scarf knit by Mesa. The orange leaves are piling up along the sidewalks, and the wind blows your hair crazy. I'm in love.

For dinner tonight I cooked the Hannah soup. (My host mother made up the soup, taught me the recipe, and since I really just dig the autumny smells and goodness that came from making it, she named it after me.) I steamed cauliflower, put this creamy goodness over it (that I couldn't really describe to you cause the package is all in French!) and put tons of cheese on top. It's about to go in the oven and then I can eat that deliciousness with my soup. Cheese is always a side to everything, THANK GOODNESS. One of the boys I watch is playing the piano right now, and he's really good. Next on the agenda is book a flight to Ireland for over my break coming up. 

I just can't help but feel good tonight.

it's not always rainbows and butterflies

Every day is hard. I typically wake up not ready for another day of struggling. Struggling to buy groceries, struggling to have simple conversations, struggling to make food the french way, struggling to understand the metric system, struggling to know the 24 hour clock, struggles, struggles, struggles!

At some point in every day I want to just give up and come home, go to school like everybody else. But there's been something absolutely amazing in every day that I've been here that just takes my breath away, so whenever I have the thought of coming home, I want to slap myself for thinking it. Especially cause I've only been here one small week! It's not even that I'm homesick; It's the language barrier. Everyone speaks so fast that I just can't picture myself ever being able to understand it. 

But the thing I have to remember (this post is really more for me than for you) is that if I gave up and came home, I know I'd hate it. I'd hate being there. I'd hate knowing I was a quitter. I'd hate knowing I wasted a once in a lifetime opportunity full of experienecs and could-have-beens. I'd regret it my whole life long. So I'm not going to do that. No matter how lonely I feel or how unable I am to communicate. In the end, it's only 10 months of my life here, so I'm just going to try and make the most of it.  And if I can make it here, then I'll be able to make it anywhere.  

odeurs

Out of all the technology in the world, there's still no way for me to transport the smells I'm smelling! So hopefully my words will be an adequate source to give you at the very least an idea of what it's like here.

Paris smells of smoke. Everyone smokes, and they smoke everywhere. Even on their motorcycles in traffic! But at night time with the window cracked open, the trees with their orange leaves falling to the ground in the rain, and the smells of dinner coming together, you just have to take a step back and breathe it all in. Malo (one of those boys I'm watching) was practicing his [lovely] piano while I prepared the steamed green beans (using a "cocotte minute" pot which is trés formidable) ravioli, raisins (grapes), and compte cheese. It was so relaxing after a long day full of walking. (Which by the way, you do A LOT of.)

When I walk to pick up Eloi from school, I pass many crêperies, street markets, cafés, and boulangeries. The smells are SENSATIONAL. The French have a special talent of making food look, smell, sound, and feel absolutely delicious before actually having eating it! It's wonderful. And awful.. Who knew I'd pick up a bread addiction so quickly? And ALWAYS be hungry? <<Just kidding. That one isn't really new.>>

As I was saying. I no longer feel that I'll die from second hand smoke, because there are so many more smells than just that one. Like the one I smelled on the Seine River in the midday fog and sun--Ugh, I can't even describe it!  But there's so much to take in and enjoy, and it's just hitting me that this isn't a vacation. I live here, and I get to see Paris in all the seasons. I am simply overwhelmed with happiness.

A doodle I doodled while doodling earlier. :)

   

First Weekend in Paris

I live 75 steps up the staircase in a small studio in Paris, swallowed up by two views  of tall buildings on either side of me. I arrived here by way of airplane, then the TGV train down from Germany, with my big brother. I hope I never forget the moment Ryan told me to look out my taxi window to see the Eiffel Tower poking out of the city. I wanted to cry because it's always been a dream of mine to see it, which is about when I asked Ryan to pinch me incase I was still just dreaming. (He obliged.)

Not only did I get to see it, but I started out this whole new adventure of living in a foreign country by being as touristy as it gets and going to the top! You betcha I hugged that tower. But before we did all that, we had stopped at a café for a bite to eat. As we ate, thick dark clouds rolled in and thunder and lightning flashed. I could HARDLY contain my excitement (Ryan will vouch for that). Audrey Hepburn in one of her movies said that the first thing you do in Paris is find yourself an honest to goodness rain. I was lucky enough to get that the first day! Thanks Audrey.

Before bed, Ryan and I put on a Lush face mask. My brother is awesome in that way. My first morning we took the métro to the Champs Élysées and ate at Ladurée. They're famous first for their tea, and also their french toast. I also enjoyed my first pain du chocolat. For lack of a better word, it all was amazeballs. Ryan took the next train back to his home, and I took the métro back to where I needed to be, ALL BY MYSELF. Later I discovered my first Parisian chocolat et fraise glace on one of those sweet double scoop cones you see in the movies. Then I was introduced by my au pair host to the man in the flower shop who spoke some English, and was very nice to me. Afterward, I was told she was surprised he was so nice to me because he's usually a grouch to everyone. I was called special. I hope so!

French is beautiful. I've barely studied it over the years, but I can look at things and remember the name for it. (e.g. "bee" is "abeille") Or as I hear conversations, sentences sort've make sense. I'm even dreaming in some French! So it's a start. Back home, I'd have French flashcards and only think of those words as I saw them, but here my brain replays words I've heard and I'm constantly trying to pronounce them correctly in my brain. It's pretty cool. Paris is pretty cool. I am so lucky to be here.

"What are your plans this Fall?"

Hearing this question endlessly makes me realize I have more friends than just my dog. Though it's always fun to talk with people, I for whatever reason freeze up when asked about my future. Not that it's going downhill or anything, but future means growing up and moving on from the comfortable life I've been living. So if I've directed you here, read on my friend.

No, I'm not going to school. But before you give that judging what-in-the-world-is-she-thinking-she's-throwing-her-learning-years-away look, let me finish. I'm not going to school yet. When I was little I wanted to grow up and be Neil Armstrong; I wanted to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I also wanted to be taught to figureskate by Kristi Yamaguchi, and in my spare time, serenade people with my musical talents of the harp and flute. Oh yeah, and there was the dream of owning a corner flower shop. I've accomplished NONE of the above, and I certainly don't even know how to arrange store bought flowers in a vase. My interests have bounced all over the place and I don't even know what my 5-year plan looks like. All I know is that right now, I want to travel. I want to live away from home in a completely new place for awhile. Explore on my own before being strapped down by books at a university. 

When I was in Australia, I learned it's common to take a "gap year" which is just that, a year to do SOMETHING inbetween your high school and college careers. So whether it's the "norm" to do that here or not, that's my plan. To make it happen and fulfill my own desires I'm going to go abroad and be an au pair. I've babysat and nannied over the years, I haven't had a kid that's truly hated me, and I still feel like a kid so children and I get along pretty well. So why not?! I'm in the process of finding a family in France to go live with and in exchange of watching their children, I will experience a new culture, a new language, new foods, new sights, a place to call home, and some travel. Am I nervous? Oh I'm scared outta my skin! But at the same time I'm so very anxious-excited that I don't even care about the nerves. I'm hoping that learning the French language so in depth would help me out with getting a minor in French for when I do go to school.

Long story short, It's not the normal. But who cares? I'm ready for some awesome memories! Feel free to stick around and see where I wind up. :)

"I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world. Italy, Greece, the Parthenon, the Colosseum. Then, I'm comin' back here to go to college and see what they know. And then I'm gonna build things. I'm gonna build airfields, I'm gonna build skyscrapers a hundred stories high, I'm gonna build bridges a mile long..." -George Bailey 

A Bedtime Story

Somewhere in the library of Hannah is a small red notebook. If you've arrived at the Nicholas Sparks section, you've gone too far. This book lies somewhere between Pride and Prejudice and Harold and the Purple Crayon. Found it yet? Good! Our story starts here.

It was just like any other typical weekend for Hannah—planless. She was much too tired to go to sleep, and much too bored staying awake! She needed something to do. So she flipped to page 3 and found a recipe for "Boyfriend Brownies". She called them that only because she thinks these would be the quick, easiest, and tastiest to make if she happened to have her [imaginary] beau over. 

People (myself included) often resort to gooey brownie mixes. So don't be alarmed when this homemade batter looks thicker than usual. I promise it will be delicious in the oven.

Hannah melted in the sounds of her favorite music, and dreamed of wearing that perfect dress she'd found to a ball. Soon enough, the beeping timer brought her back to reality, and since there's no sense in waiting for brownies to cool (does anyone actually do that?) she served them up with Tahitian vanilla gelato. Nothing fixes a craving like the way hot chocolate and cold vanilla in your mouth does.

And there we have it. Hannah once again slays boredom, and saves her weekend. Pheewww, that was a close one. The End.

An Elephant Never Forgets!

Even worse than my fear of spiders, I'm afraid of forgetting. So afraid, that I religiously write in my journal. (A lot of the time, more than once a day.) I'm even halfway through my 18th journal ...starting when I was 11. I fear growing old and not being able to remember my past or those who I love or see on a regular basis. So, if an elephant never forgets, why should I?! With only a day left in Australia, here are things I hope my forgetter never forgets!

The beaches were superb. The heat was lovely. The biplane ride was fantastic. The new constellations were intriguing. The night time swim (with possible sharks) was exhilarating. The chocolate was amazing. Animals? Fascinating.  The seashells, rocks, temple, waterfall, mountain, parks, water, city, and sunsets, were beautiful. The family ...sensational! Loving through and through. 

Tonight is the night I've been longing for since I got here; pizza night at (step-uncle) Bobs! Last time I was here he got a brand new pizza oven and flipped dough high in the air for me! I loved it so much that I've reminded Bob of it probably 20 times. He flipped the dough 10 feet up (sound effects inlcuded), and before you know it we had A LOT of pizzas and a house full of hungry people. After we were stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, everyone was socializing, and I found Bob and Philip on the deck outside. They were playing on their guitars! I pulled up a chair, curling my knees to my chest, and listened to their collaboration of music! Philip taught Bob 4 chords and then Philip sang along and by the end we had people from across the street catcalling and clapping! Then Bob played a slower song that was quite lovely. I watched the city lights of Adelaide twinkle in the distance, and the cool night breeze blowing past. Before we called it quits, a hearty song of "I'm a Believer" broke out, and everyone was goofing off! Philip sang out as much as I think he could, and Bob and I took the back up singing. By the end, all 30 of our frozen toes went inside. 

My favorite thing about this trip is probably Chris' brothers. 

Rick says I'm the only one in the world allowed to call him Fred. He calls me his girl (which sounds a bit more like "gell" with his accent) and dahling! Always count on a hug and kiss from Fred!

Bob always winks at me when I laugh at his jokes or when he think's he's about to prove some one wrong. And when he smiles, you can't help but smile too because he has the happiest smile wrinkles and dimples ever! He calls me Canna, and I like it. 

Though not my blood uncles, I feel like they are really my family and like they all love me. ...Which makes leaving hard to process. (Or as Australians say, prOcess.) But here's what I've come to decide this trip:

Though it's difficult having family tucked far away in their own corners of the world, I find comfort that no matter where I travel, my family will be there. And there will always be a place with them I can call home.

October

One, two, three, FOUR rubber duckies and I come to you live from the bubbly-bathtubby. The lights are dim, an autumn candle is burning away on the counter releasing sweet smells of pumpkin apple, and the lovely Crosby, Sinatra, Astaire, Kelly,  and other oldies sensations are tuned in with the help from Pandora. With a tall drink of ice water nearby, and hair on top of my head to stay cool, I feel completely relaxed and in the writing mood. ...Finally.

So it's been awhile. Where've I been? Basking in every moment of Fall that time will allot me. Rolling fog, cider, leaves of every color dancing to the ground, crisp chilly air, boys sweatshirts and blankets to snuggle, dark starry night drives ...I mean, wouldn't you be a little distracted too?

I've always wondered what it would be like to walk through a door into a different season. Imagine all your Summer loving coming to a close, and the thought of school starting again depresses you. ...When you walk through this magical door that takes you to a cabin already decorated for Christmas, with snow falling outside, beautiful lights and Winter smells, and fire logs crackling as your favorite holiday music rings! Cool huh? Well. I get to do that! ...Kinda. In a week I will be well on my way to the land down under where it is very much NOT Autumn, but Summer! Hot every day, and I'll be a total beach bum. When I get home (hopefully with all my limbs intact) I imagine my tan body will be QUITE cold as I walk through my "magical door" and it's Winter; holidays unravelilng! 

I'm SO excited!

But for now, my body is shriveling up like a raisen, and I need to go to bed.

Sweet dreams,

X 

the rain in spain stays mainly in the plane

As a little girl, I remember sitting in my car-seat tracing with my fingers the rain drops that ran down the window hitting other drops along the way. I absolutely hated mom listening to radio talk shows because it would muffle the sound of rain hitting the roof of the car. And I remember being jealous when my little brother got a new pair of rain boots, as I still wore the hand me down boots. For my 16th birthday I got rain boots and an umbrella, and to continue the theme for my 17th birthday, I received the 60th anniversary edition of Singin' in the Rain. I guess you could say, some things just never change.

One of my favorite things now, is driving in the rain at night. Even if it means going 5 under to stay safe. The pitter-patter on my roof, the lamp lights blaring into the street puddles, the wipers dancing across the windshield, the fresh smell wafting through the air vents... These are the moments that make time stop. These are the moments right around the corner.

Autumn in the pacific northwest is the best. I'm so excited.

Brides Special Dance

Andrea had a very special dance with some very close family and friends at her wedding. Her father passed away so her brother recored "butterfly kisses" and she danced with all of them during her Father and Daughter dance. it was a truly touching moment not a dry eye in the house.

Her dad, Mark, died earlier in the year from pancreatic cancer. Andrea's first dance is with Mark's father, followed by her brother Luke, then brother Nick and finally her new father-in-law Scott.

Just try not to cry. I dare you.

Thursday.

Today I wrote my friend a note (bottom right) hinting to FINALLY watch a movie we keep talking about watching but never actually do, Can you figure out what movie it is based on that letter?
Then, I spent the majority of my morning at the dentist office getting a crown on two teeth. Ladies and gents, that is now 3 fake teeth caps in a row on my lower left jaw! I'll need dentures before you can say "Jack Robinson"! So Jim Channel (being the stud that he is) brought me flowers (upper right) because the pain has actually been killer today, and I haven't been able to eat anything too hot, too cold, or too solid. So now my diet consists of mashed potatoes and bananas. ...But flowers make everything better.
Once pain meds kicked in, I finished my work of art (left) of some cute little house in Spain.

How was your day today?

œuf.

Just as with any good story, we start at the cover with the legendary words, Once upon a time...

Remember back when I had such wonderful success with my crêpes!? Yes well, that went so splendidly that I decided another adventure was in order... I like to call this experience "œuf" (which being interpreted means "egg") for that is how the French say it, and they are classy. That being established, let's move on.

My goal was not merely to boil an egg, please, I was going to make a scrumptious egg salad.

Reading about le eggs, and how to boil them to a soft perfection, I learned the secret to success!! (The secret being, a SLOTTED-SPOON! ...Whatever da-heck that means!)

Being completely prepared, (like how Martha ALWAYS is) I set the water to a "ROARING" boil.

And I waited...

And waited...

And waited some more...

Basically all I did was wait from this hour, to this hour:

For the roman-numerally impaired:  12:30-2:36pm

And so, being puzzled and perplexed as to why I couldn't get some water to a ROARING boil, I tore my sister away from her sweet melodies to assist me.

As I continued to pass time until the problem was solved, I opened the cabinet filled with unknown grains and --to say the least-- un-snackable foods....Ah! Doth mine eyes deceive me!? What could be dressed in such a paper of parchment?! BROWNIES!!!

To put simply... I ate dem all. And felt fat. To which a round of 1-2-3 BE-UGLY was in order (and in my mind, long overdue).

Now let me tell you what the problem was. My ROARING boil would NOT come because I could only manage to s'évaporer (meaning, EVAPORATE) my water! It would not roar because it just simmered away! 

Yes, I always win!

At last, the water came to its ROARING boil. With my utensil (which I determined to be thoroughly slotted) I inserted the eggs, one. by. one.

As Martha's book of wisdom told me, if I use a slotted spoon, then it will prevent the egg from cracking. Well... IT LIED. (Unless my roaring boil and slotted spoon were not worthy of such an assignment as this...)

After they had cooked the precise amount of time, the moment for peeling had {FINALLY} come. As Martha said (and we like to do as she does) it is better to gently roll the egg on the counter than to crack it on someones head. Hmpf. The gentle roll of my boiled egg, very quickly turned into ...well, scrambled.

With a starving stomach, I cannot deny a few tears were shed...

My soft boil was in fact so soft, that a tag team composed of a skilled veterinarian  and a rooster, could probably have turned this soft boiled egg into a baby chick.

Suddenly, a glimmer of hope!

Très magnifique! All is not lost! 

Victory is sweet.

And thus we conclude our endeavor. Bon appétit, and jusqu'à la prochaine fois (until next time!)