Les Kelloucq en voyage

 

For the past three months now, we have been living between our apartment and our studio two floors up. Before I start whining, let me say that I realize we are lucky. Lucky compared to other people in a remodel situation who don’t have a nice back-up studio. But particularly lucky compared to people living – and dying – in the streets right here in Paris and of course elsewhere. So yes, the situation is inconvenient and it is getting old. But we are fine all things considered.

To be positive about it, it is a good exercise in organization. Whenever we are changing apartments, we have to remember everything we need to take up or down (homework, books and the like). Same thing when we are going out. Every morning, one early-rising parent is sent upstairs to prepare breakfast while the other is in charge of keeping the boys on track with getting dressed and ready. With winter here for good in Paris, that quick walk of the stairs is brisk in the morning. Definitely wakes you up.

My biggest fear is to lock myself out of both apartments as we are going up to dinner or down to bed. I am always checking I have my keys before closing the door (Stephanie probably knows why I am so concerned…). It would be a bummer to be locked out on the landing with two boys in pyjamas. Fear not, we also have a back up key at a friendly neighbor’s.

 

The other day, the inevitable happened. I started working on a chicken broth in the studio, but then needed to run downstairs with the boys to look for something before leaving for the afternoon. What do you think happened? Yes, I forgot to turn off the burner. The burned smells are still with us a week later, despite airing out like crazy, burning incense and washing all the linens. Yes, this could happen to anyone without sharing your time between two spaces. But the constant back and forth does not help.

Thanksgiving at Alisa’s was great: tasty turkey, yummy mashed potatoes and cranberry sauces (yes, two different kinds), plentiful stuffing and delicious apple and pumpkin pies. And the singing! A guest with a guitar and a nice voice is a great gift. I hope the French neighbors appreciated the improvised concert. It felt like a campfire evening, minus the campfire.

 

The week-end was busy otherwise. On Saturday morning, Emmanuel and I traipsed to the Salon du livre jeunesse, a huge fair dedicated to children’s literature and a paradise for a reader. Thankfully, we went early in the morning and got out of there before the aisles became impossible to navigate. What a nice sight, all those books and all those children!

 

We all spent Sunday afternoon at the Pompidou Center attending a workshop around machines in art. The docent took us around the modern art museum to look at three pieces exploring the art/machine interaction from the 1910s, the 1920s and the 1960s. Then we repaired to a studio where we created our own collective piece with assorted parts and then drew it. The boys just loved it.

Un jour de Thanksgiving à Paris, c'est un peu comme Noël à la Guadeloupe (j'en ai fait l'expérience et on se sent un peu décalé). Certes, il y a des dindes suspendues à la devanture chez tous les bouchers du quartier. Certes, EJ a cuisiné un grand repas de Thanksgiving pour une cliente américaine hier soir. Certes, nous avons parlé ce soir avec les parents d'EJ qui s'apprêtaient à enfourner leur dinde. Mais en gros, il ne se passe rien de bien excitant. La grosse fête est remise à samedi. Pour une fois, nous ne recevons pas. Et pour cause ! Nous sommes invités, nous et notre farce, chez des amis Américains. Boy, are we looking forward to it !

En prime, une petite vidéo pas toute jeune, mais toujours aussi drôle.

One bite into an apple and Gabriel finally lost his very first tooth today. It certainly was less traumatic than Emmanuel losing his first two teeth from a crash into a fountain, with a cracked lip and a trip to the hospital in the bargain. But Gabriel had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He wanted me to blog about it too. Tonight, he tucked his tooth under his pillow even though he is convinced that Santa Claus is "really the parents". One never knows and he was careful not to attack the tooth fairy myth tonight...

En se baladant à Paris ces temps-ci, on a l’impression d’être au far-west ou tout du moins dans un club hippique. Les bottes ont envahi la ville. Les femmes sont presque toutes en bottes, avec des jupes, des pantalons. On ose les pantalons rentrés dans les bottes, un look qui frise le péquenot même chez une Parisienne branchée. Quelques hommes aussi portent des bottes. La boutique de chaussures dans ma rue a une vitrine entièrement consacrée aux bottes. C’est une folie de bottes.

Tonight I attended a seminar entitled “Twist or Jive? The relationship between bilingual children’s two languages”. This was being held in one of the Sorbonne buildings in the Latin Quarter, an area of Paris I don’t visit very often. The speaker was Annick de Houwer from the University of Antwerp, a Belgian linguist and authority on the matter.

 

A couple of thoughts, back from the seminar. First of all, there are so many worlds co-existing in this city, as in any city, that they feel like parallel universes that rarely meet. One world is this intellectual, academic world where people devote their whole life to very specialized questions. It has its own rules and codes. It is a world I was on track to join at some point, but I quickly chose another path. To me now from the outside, this world seems both alluring and also a little silly. But it was nice to sit there, listening to this woman and soaking in what she was saying without the usual need to take notes and report later.

 

So I won’t report on what she said except to say that the “one parent/one language” theory seems pretty much out the window. That’s fine with me as we decided early on that we were not going to speak our own language to the children, but do it on the way that felt more natural to us (i.e. English at home and French outside, at least when we are in France). We have never read books about raising bilingual children; we have gone with our gut feelings. So far, so good.

Je ne sais pas ce qui m'arrive, mais je n'ai pas beaucoup d'énergie pour blogguer en ce moment. Alors en vrac, quelques nouvelles avant que le courage ne me manque de nouveau.

 

Nous avons été renouveler le passeport d'Emmanuel cette semaine au consulat américain. Ma foi, le personnel derrière ses vitres protectrices était moins rébarbatif que d'habitude. La femme qui a "interviewé" Emmanuel (Who is the woman next to you? How old are you? Do you have brothers and sisters?) faisait même un gros effort pour être gentille. Voilà une chose de faite et qui nous rappelle qu'Emmanuel est sur le point d'avoir 10 ans (les passeports d'enfants se renouvelant tous les 5 ans).

 

Nous sommes frappés cette année de voir que les décorations de Noël sont déjà installées. Veut-on encourager un sentiment festif par les temps plutôt maussades qui courent ? Le bas des Champs-Elysées est bordé de petits chalets pour tous les pays européens, une des dernières célébrations visibles de la présidence française de l’Europe. Et sur la place de la Concorde, cette grande roue attend les badauds (les petites gondoles fermées sont chauffées, pour info).

 

Un peu de mouvement dans notre cuisine cette semaine. Notre entrepreneur a coulé la chape de béton allégé (et truffé de vermiculite pour les experts) qui accueillera le carrelage. Ce n’est pas énorme, mais la pièce a déjà moins l’air d’un chantier. Il y a encore du chemin à faire. Emmanuel me demandait ce soir où j’aimerais passer ce Noël si je pouvais le passer n’importe où. Franchement, j’avais rêvé de le passer dans notre appartement enfin terminé, dans notre cuisine imaginée depuis si longtemps…

This has been a good week with the first good news in a long time about our kitchen remodel. A general building meeting turned out better than expected. Let’s just say that, after brandishing a big stick at us, the building board turned conciliatory and things will be moving again soon, even though they got us to pay for more of the beam repair than we should be. After what they were threatening to do to us, we actually end up feeling good about this resolution. They are tough cookies.

 

Right after this, my friend Lora came into town. The conditions were such that I got to spend quite a bit of time walking all around town and having nice leisurely lunches with her while meeting EJ and the boys for dinner. A perfect combination, in my book. The picture is from our foray on Montmartre, place du Tertre, admittedly a touristy place. But seeing it with Lora, a pastel artist herself, changed everything. Lora, even though I have found myself other roommates since our times together in Seattle, you are welcome whenever you want. It was a pleasure having you here and hanging out.