Panorama doesn't always get the job done

This is me taking the Panorama feature on my iPhone one photo too far.   Too close, dimly lit, after a German beer or two.  I may have captured the moment, but I certainly didn’t capture  everyone’s face.  

This moment was two Saturdays ago in Speyer, Germany .  My sister Beth and brother in law Matt were on the front end of a two week kid-less vacation through Europe.   Flying from Seattle to Frankfurt, they decided to make their first stop Germany.  As many people do, they assumed they’d be able to catch the tail end of Oktoberfest – only to soon realize that the real Oktoberfest is 8 hours away in Munich.   However, German beer is good (the Schnaps, not so much) wherever you are, and especially good in a place where people know your name.

Speyer is the oldest town in Germany (many towns seem to make this claim), and currently the home to my older cousin Andre.  Andre runs the US Defense Department’s largest distribution facility (nearby in Germersheim) on the European continent supplying materials to warfighters serving through Europe, Africa and the Middle East.  It’s kind of a big job.   He didn’t tell us that.  We only know that because we saw the acres and acres that the distribution center covers.  What Andre however has never been shy about sharing is that Beth is his favorite cousin.  I get it though.  She’s pretty awesome.

Speyer is equidistant between Heidelberg and Mannheim, and two hours and fifteen minutes away from Luxembourg.  Brett and I left the kids at home alone for an overnight for the first time to meet up with “the blood” for the weekend.  (I don’t know if “the blood” is an Italian expression or a family one, but is oozes out of the mouths of all Baldanzas.)   We do most all travel together as a family, but we rightly reasoned that a return journey with seven people in our small car on the Autobahn would not be advisable.  (The boys, though crazy about their Aunt and Uncle, were naturally over the moon about this home alone plan.)

One of the parts Andre loves about his job is that his distribution center is staffed by German civilians, making him the lone US serviceman living in the charming town of Speyer.  It’s a good gig if you’re willing to speak the language and embrace the culture.  Andre is willing, and it was a treat for all of us to see him in his element.   He loves his little town, and they love him.   Never before had our shared Italian Poppop who was the ultimate connector been more obvious.  He took us around Speyer.  He took us to Heidelberg to see the Castle which is home to a pharmacy/drug museum and the largest wine barrel in the world.  And, he didn’t let us ruin our Wurst with ketchup. 

The highlight of the weekend was getting to meet Andre’s local friends.  Three of his friends joined us for dinner at Andre’s favorite hangout -- the Domhof Hausbrauerei.  Delightful and warm, we were especially mesmerized by one of his friends who learned perfect, unaccented English in the bars while living in California for a few years.  His friends explained how best to eat pork knuckle (whatever works), how Bavaria is like the Texas of Germany, and what may or may not happen on most Thursday nights.     

It was like this little window into our cousin’s life.  A window that can’t be accessed over the Internet.  Pictures, even bad ones, may capture a moment but they’ll never be able to pan around the fullness of life enjoyed together.

Xxxxoooo because I’m sure the Italians made that shorthand up.

Psst... Moms of Teens, here's an idea

Not much blogging happening here on Rue Siggy.  I have been busy with a most excellent visit with my sister and brother in law.  A blog about their visit and our mutual visit to Bavaria to visit our cousin is in the works, but I’m a post trip blogger … and my sister’s visit continues back with me after her 3 day adventure in Paris with her husband.  So more to come on that.   In the meantime…

Quinn had the day off from school today for parent/teacher conferences.  Since shopping wasn’t on his list, I came up with another idea for something we could do together.   It was actually met with a surprising deal of enthusiasm.  I suggested we go into the City Center together armed with our iPhones and seven quotes (none of which are attributed to me.)  The plan was for us to then separate in the city in search of a photo that captured the essence of the quote.  We’d then meet back at the apartment in 90 minutes for the “big reveal.”   The only rule is that it had to be a picture you took during the 90 minutes (no photo roll business.) 

 Here’s what we came back with. 

1.  “Laugh until your belly hurts and then just a little bit more.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  Leave it to the town’s only British pub to provide some levity.

Kate’s photo (right):  French or not, this advertisement is universally understood.

2.  “Everything has beauty, but not everyone can see.” 

Quinn’s photo (left):  An off-the-beaten path archway missed by most people.

Kate’s photo (right): Discarded branches in an alleyway.

3.  “I can’t lie.  I miss you.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  USA. (with a detour to the US Embassy to snap this photo.)

Kate’s photo (right):  Water.  Both the drinking and landscape kind.

4.  “I fit best with you because you’re my other half.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  The empty sky of a missed best friend.

Kate’s photo (right):  A couple’s grave, visited by loved ones.

5.  “I’d rather have flowers on my table than diamonds on my neck.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  Quinn’s favorite view in Luxembourg, because flowers/a view are for everyone to enjoy while diamonds are just for the person who wears them.

Kate’s photo (right):  Yeah, literal flowers.

6.  “You make my dopamine levels go all silly.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  Chocolate croissant.   The apple does not fall far from the cacao tree.

Kate’s photo (right):  Chocolate cake.  That makes even handsome men in the background fade to black. 

7.  “Enjoy the little things in life… for one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.”

Quinn’s photo (left):  “A view that doesn’t look like much, but was one of the those cool moments when you step back, take a break, and think.”

Kate’s photo (right):  This day.  This autumn day.  With my big boy.  My boy who is still part green, but also turning into a young man of vibrant colors.  Your teen is too.  Don't miss it.

London

Long weekend in London, Sept 2013.  Piggybacking on Brett's work week in London, we joined him on a Thursday night and spent the weekend exploring London with unseasonably lovely weather.

Some trips are better told with pictures.   We did a lot.  Breakfast spots in South Kensington; two shows - "Stomp" and "Matilda";  Transport Museum; Imperial War Museum; St Paul's; Sunday Roast; Indian dinners twice; Hummingbird Bakery cupcakes too numerous to count; walk across Tower Bridge and South Bank; walk around Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, St James Park, Big Ben, etc; double decker bus rides, underground rides, and lots more walking. 

Ramblings from Paris

Trains on time.   Miraculously always on time.   Tall Americano from the green Mermaid.   Name is Kate.

Buy Metro ticket from a hustler.   Why not if it helps him, and saves me time at the kiosk.  A 30 cent/30 second act of mutual kindness.   Commuting time.  Government not shut down here.  Squeeze on.  Not everyone is pretty, but pretty put together.  No one smiles in the belly of the city.  You can’t be pretty without a smile.  Don’t stare at the dandruff on your neighbor’s coat, or wonder when oh when we will need to take our shoes off on our way to the underground.  Read over her shoulder, except you can’t read these words.  Listen to the muted beat of his music.   Alright, OK.   Your ear buds can’t hold it from spreading.  Not in here.  Count the stops.  Seven stops until your next perfume less breathe.  Mark your friendliest exit route.  “Excuse-moi” yourself to the door, but only faintly to not disturb the silence.   Mind the gap.  Mind your coffee.  Make way for the map.

Ile de la Cite.  Island on the Seine.   If your life was a movie, these bridges would be in it.  Pont Notre Dame.  Pont Au Change.  Pont Neuf.  Photograph the sun making its way up.  Your movie still.  Be still.  People crisscrossing these bridges to get from here to there.  Accept the invitation to stay on for lookout duty. Put away the map.   Savor the last drop.

On the edge of the Ile de la Cite.  Sainte-Chapelle.  Pay your 6 euros and get in the queue like the rest. Disregard the misplaced commerce in the lower chapel.   Climb the spiral staircase to the upper chapel, the place that used to be reserved for only the company of the King.   Look up to the 15 stained glass windows.  The story of the Holy Book in over 1000 scenes of blue, green, yellow, blue and purple.   Pay no mind to the scaffolding that covers half of the windows.  The restoration work.   Harder though to create a feeling of entry into Heavenly Jerusalem.  With all that pounding noise of modern machinery.

Now it is time to get from here to there.  Cross Pont St Michel to the Right Bank.  The Latin Quarter.  The 5th Arronidssement.  The home to universities and student uprisings and gyros.  Follow the crooked streets leading out from Boulevard Saint-Michel.   The day is still young.  You are awake, but these shop owners do like their customers and hit snooze.  Only the tiny bookstores on these capillaries are open for business.  Greek men sweep the streets of their restaurants.  Shout hello to their neighbor. Come back when it’s Souvlaki time.  Come back when you can read French.

Pop back to the island.  To the other end of the island.  Notre Dame.  Here’s where all the early risers go.  In this queue to see the Crown of Thorns.   A day too lovely for a second queue.  Skip around to the   Square Jean XXIII to take in the rear view of this majestic “cradle of the city.”  A rump never looked so good.  If you sit, prepare to be haggled.  To sign this petition or that one.  It’s all a scam though.  That’s what happens when you’re in the cradle of the city.   The good with the bad.  The beautiful with the desperate.

Exit the cradle by crossing the Pont St-Louis to a second island, Ile St Louis.  Also known as Ile de la Cite’s quiet but strikingly beautiful younger sister.  Eat your gelato heart out along Rue St Louis.  Try to think of anything you can’t get on this street.  Everything you’d need to live is on this island.  And a thousand other things you wouldn’t mind having too.  Come back for a stroll when you need a cocoon from the riff raff.  Come back to live in the arse’s view of Notre Dame when you win the lottery. 

Move across the river to the Left Bank.  To the 24/7 party of the Marais.  Sure you’ve been before, but a place with soul pulls you back.  Flamboyant style, orthodox Jews, gorgeous vintage stores, a charming village feel.  Put away the pocket book.  For today only: your self-imposed day of shopping abstinence.  Throw your jacket over your shoulder.  Roll up your pant legs, if you dare, and stroll.  Dine al fresco whenever the tummy rumbles.  It’s all good, definitely fresh and vegan if requested.   Ambivalently walk in the direction of a museum – Musee Picasso or Musee Carnavalet.  But the sun said “HELLO!” while you were on morning lookout duty.  Permission to carry on rambling?  In fact, here we are.  At the Musee Picasso which is indeed still closed for construction.  Ramble we ought.  Not we.  I.

Back to the day’s spine.  The River Seine.   But first, down a Café Glacis of the immodest La Caféothèque. You’ve been before, so pull up to the coffee bar and order with confidence.  Why you still looking at your map?  You’re a regular.  Follow the river until you hit the Louvre.  You can’t miss it.  Street artists line the street along the river.  Garden stores and pet shops spill out the other side.

People posing for pictures with petit Louvres in their hand.  Below a sunken garden with perfectly straight white gravel paths.  Cutting through manicured gardens and putting green grass.   Green chairs ring oval fountains.  Grown up circle time.  Put away the cameras.  Prop your feet up.  Relax into a book.  This is easier when no one around you in hurrying.  It’s 4pm.  No one is running to a last minute meeting.  No one yet hungry for food.  All hungry for the warmth of the sun.  A conversation.  A cat nap.

Later.  Much later.  Back to the River Seine.   A long walk back to the Marias.  This time on the other side of the street.  To peer into those curious pet shops.  To land in that off the beaten track wine bar you spotted earlier in the day.   To soak up the lively chatter of a neighborhood hangout.  With a better than house glass of wine.  Plot your closest Metro stop back to the train.  No second closest.  There’s more time to stroll.  Dodge people along the lively Rue De Rivoli to the Bastille. Take a breath and go underground.   Pop up with a comfortable 30 minutes to spare.  Grab a sandwich.  Tuna sounds nice.  Top it off with a praline chocolate and hop the train.  Full heart.  Empty hands.  Tired legs.

Moselle Wine Tour

“Luxembourg is a not only a good place to live, but also a good place to enjoy wine.” – the Commission de Promotion des Vins & Cremants de Luxembourg

See, it wasn’t just me who said that.

Finally, with out of town guests visiting, the children in school, and the vineyards full of fruit, I (with enthusiastic guest approval) decided it was time to take a tour of the Moselle Vineyard Valley.  It is after all only 25 minutes away from my house.

I know as much about wine as I do about playing music, so please know that these wine notes will be thin.  I will try not to use the words “flavor profile” or “complexity” with any hint of authority.  I just know what I like, and one of the things I really like is that with the exception of the Chardonnays (which are just so-so) almost every wine produced in Luxembourg is under 10 euro a bottle.  That price point is enough to keep all pretention out.  It may also be the reason why Luxembourg ranks second in the world in per capita wine consumption.

The Moselle Vineyard Valley runs along the Luxembourg/German border for 42km (almost a perfect marathon distance) from the charming village of Wasserbilling in the North to Schengen in the South.  There are lovely paved paths (both on the Luxembourg and German side of the Moselle River) to explore the length of the valley on foot or bike, or by car (or motorcycle if you want to be obnoxious) on the meandering two lane Route de Vin.  The drive between Grevenmacher and Remich is a particularly pretty stretch of the Route de Vin.  

You can also take a train from Luxembourg City to Wasserbilling, and either BYOB (bring your own bike) or rent cruising bikes in Wasserbilling.   I’ve done the train+bike to Wasserbilling three times now, but none of which involved wine tasting.  The bike path on the German side, as you might expect, is superior.  The wines on the Luxembourg side however win hands down.

This is biking on the Moselle.  Not wine tasting. 

Known for its dry whites and sparkling wines, there are about 50 wine producers in Luxembourg.  The region produces nine main grape varieties (Riesling, Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris, Auxerrois, Rivaner, Elbing, Chardonnay, Gewurztraminer, and Pinot Noir) plus the sparkling wines.  Riesling is their pride and joy, Pinot Gris their most popular, Pinot Blanc their live wire,  Auxerrois their love, Ebling their bottom of the barrel, and Pinot Noir and Chardonnay their stretches. 

With export only to Belgium & Germany, Luxembourg wines have virtually no international reputation but people in the region flock across the borders to buy these irresistibly flavorful wines.  To illustrate the national pride there is with their wine, the Luxembourg Moselle region has 18 wine festivals each year.

I started planning our Moselle Vineyard Valley tour the night before.  This is not advised.  I got all excited when I found this website called “Wine Tasting with Friends” put on by the Luxembourg Wine Commission.  It listed all the “vintners who will give you a warm reception at their wineries.”  But when I started clicking away to discover more about tasting programs, I discovered that most of them were by appointment only and only then provided tastings for groups of ten or more.  This would have been best discovered earlier than the night before our adventure.   However, there were two wineries that had open tasting rooms (for sure stops on our tour) and I sent four email queries (in French – thank you Google Translate!) that morning in hopes that one of them might be willing to do a last minute private tasting for our small group of three.  Disproving my theory of European email lag, I got back three responses the next day.  Two emails were with regrets (but offered alternate days), and one of them was willing to host a late afternoon tasting with us. 

Here then are the stops our on poorly planned, but dare I say well executed, Moselle Wine Tour.  Three wineries with a stop for lunch and coffee make for a complete day.  Plus, having the final winery be an outstandingly awesome experience makes for a pretty perfect day.

1.  Bernard Massard – Grevenmacher

Our tour started in Grevenmacher at Bernard Massard, the biggest producer of sparkling wines (“Cremants”) in Luxembourg.  From 9:30-6pm every day through Oct 31, you can drop in the winery and get a 45 minute tour (in English) of how they make the wine along with a tasting of 3 of their cremants for 8 euros.  For 7 euros more, you can visit the Butterfly Garden. (?)  We did not do this.  Ronnie, our tour guide, was affable but slightly jaded having no doubt done this tour a few too many times.  The tour was quite informative and definitely worth the price of admission.  We tasted the Brut (dry), Demi-Sec (medium dry), and Rose Cremants.  We unanimously decided that we like the Rose the best, and the Demi-Sec was a close second.  They didn’t offer tastings of their still wines, but it’s the Cremants (the French prohibit Lux wine makers from saying “Champagne” even though they use the same technique) that they are clearly the most proud of.   The downstairs décor is a bit dated, but the upstairs tasting room is new and airy and place you’d want to hang out for a while.  On the recommendation of Ronnie, we had lunch just down the street at Restaurant Savory which offered a small, but good selection of lunch specials for about 12 euros.    

"My only regret in life is that I didn't drink enough Champagne." – Harry Cantrell. 

  Okay, Harry, but I’m driving.

2.  Domain Mathis Bastian, Remich

This winery also has a tasting room that is open Monday-Friday from 8-12 and again from 2-6.  They have lovely wines, and the people that worked there were friendly but it wasn’t a particularly inviting place (save for the cat named “Pinot.”)  We didn’t get a lot of information about the wines which could have been a language issue or the fact that we weren’t doing a tasting with the actual wine makers.  They don’t give tours of the vineyards (which are right outside the tasting room) or cellar.  We did do the tasting alongside a couple from Antwerp, who provided some cheer to the otherwise flat tasting.  The couple came in to the winery having had one of their outstanding Rieslings at dinner the previous night.  In addition to that tasty Riesling, the Auxerroris Remich Goldberg “grand premier cru” was definitely worth the stop.   The Auxerrois is smooth, light, with melon and citrus flavors that reminds me of a Sauvignon Blanc.  At less than 7 euros a bottle, I bought four bottles.

3. Aly Duhr, Ahn

After a stop in Remich at an outdoor café along the river for a cappuccino, we drove that pretty stretch of the Route de Vin from Remich back toward Grevenmacher stopping in Ahn. 

Ahn from the German side of the Moselle. 

Ahn is an enchanting village (the most picturesque of the three we were in) with several wineries, including our final stop at Aly Duhr which is perched atop of the hill.   Our appointment was at 5pm.  We arrived a bit early and knocked to be greeted by the wine maker’s Mother who invited us in (to her home) while we waited.  After a few minutes, a young – and I mean young – man appeared in the living room to start our tasting.  Max Duhr, age 24, and his 28 year old brother are the youngest wine makers in Luxembourg having taken over the 140 year old family business after the early death of their father. 

What followed was a wonderful tasting of two Rieslings, two Pinto Gris, one Pinot Blanc, and one Chardonnay with an incredibly knowledgeable and gracious host. Every wine was outstanding, and Max sheepishly mentioned that one of his Rieslings had just received the “Coups de Coeur” or taster’s highest seal of approval by a prestigious wine guide the night before.  Only later did I realize how well regarded Aly Duhr’s wines are in the area.  The finest restaurants carry his wines, and because of demand for them, they don’t need to sell their wines in any retail outlets.   As a small independent winery with a rich history and some of the best located fields, they hand pick all their grapes and use organic farming techniques (although they have no interest in marketing themselves that way.)    Max leisurely took us through his wines, giving us a fabulous education in wine making along with giving us a detailed tour of his cellar.  I left with two cases. If you live in Luxembourg, you must get your friends together and visit Max.  You will be very glad you did.

 If your heart is warm with happiness, you'll need a glass - if sorrow chills your heart, have two! – Hannu

I have two glasses of Aly Duhr’s award winning Riesling for anyone who comes to visit!

Quinoa: Today’s Prom Queen of Grains

You and I both know that you need more Quinoa in your diet, so this post is to save you a couple of steps from having to sift through some really bad Quinoa recipes.

I’m not Pro-Quinoa or Anti-Quinoa, but I insist on edible Quinoa.  Quinoa cannot hang naked liked basmati rice can.  Quinoa requires company, and while a Greek style Quinoa with cucumbers and such is lovely, it feels a bit overdone.  Nobody, under any circumstance, should have Quinoa for breakfast.  There must be healthy Quinoa Limits.

Here’s the newest Quinoa recipe in my rotation (because we all have one, or our Mothers have given us one.) It’s from the cookbook “Ancient Grains.”  This recipe requires that you like beets.  If you don’t like beets, you can stop right here.  This recipe won’t change your mind about beets.  If you think the only way you can eat beets is roasted, read on my friend … 

I like this quinoa recipe because it’s fast, but flavorful and the only chopping involved is the beets.  And, if you use your mandolin to shred your beets (which you very much should do), there will be zero chopping.  This recipe’s secret ingredients are cumin seeds and sumac (a dark red powder made from crushed dried berries that has a tart/lemony taste), both of which infuse what could be an ordinary salad into something which raises the bar well above “edible.”  If truth be told, I’m kind of in love with sumac right now.   

Cumin-Scented Quinoa with Red Beets

Heat 1 TBSP olive olive in medium saucepan over medium heat.  Let it get hot then add 1 tsp whole cumin seeds until they darken and become fragrant, about 30 seconds.  (You must use whole cumin seeds, cumin powder will not work as well.)  Add 1 cup quinoa that has been well rinsed and drain, cook for about 1 minute.  Add 1 ¾ cup water (yeah, no stock!), ¾ tsp fine salt and ½ tsp sumac.  (Don’t skip the sumac as it adds a lot of flavor.)  Bring to boil, then decrease temp to simmer, cover and cook until liquid is absorbed, 15 -20 minutes.

Shred 1  ¼ cup raw red beet (about 1 medium sized beet, rinsed and peeled.)  Please use your mandolin for this job.  It will make you feel better about the $100 you spent on it, and the uniformity of the beets will say “I care about this quinoa salad.”  Remove saucepan from heat, stir in the shredded beet (natural food coloring fun!), cover and steam for 3-5 minutes.  Stir in another ½ tsp sumac, 1 TBSP lemon juice, and a pinch or two of cayenne.   

There is this whole business about a Sumac Yogurt topping (basically just yogurt, some minced garlic, and more sumac) in the recipe, but it seems a whole lot easier to just add some goat cheese to it once it cools. I didn’t have any goat cheese today, but you can imagine it eh?

If Quinoa is Today's Prom Queen of Grains, who is Prom King of Grains?  I'm putting my money down on Steel-Cut Oats.

Pretty Paris

A wander through the 2nd and 9th Arrondissements of Paris.

One writer calls these neighborhoods the “Rising Stars” with “the grand, gilt interior of the Opera de Paris, the magnificent domed ceiling of Galeries Lafayette department store, the winding streets and covered arcades and passageways, the lovely architecture of the Galerie Colbert and the surprising gentrification of the once seedy but still lively streets near Pigalle.” – Janelle McCulloch

I call it the neighborhood above the Tuileries anchored by the majestic Opera House (now Ballet House) and La Madeline (the massive church dedicated to Mary Magdalene) with Grand Boulevards going in every which direction.  I can confirm that Rue St Denis is still seedy, but the 19th century covered passageways are surprisingly delightful in their “hiddenness” and charm.

As is now my new habit, I start my Paris day trips in a church --- this day at La Madeline along with a large bus of equally devout tourists at the church opening time of 9:30.   The cameras clicked for a good 7 minutes, and then the band of travelers was off allowing me to quietly take in the sculpture of the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist.   By late morning, after an unscheduled stop for coffee, a pastry pick me up in Fauchon  (the millionarie’s supermarket ), I visited the inside of the gorgeous Le Palais Garnier (the National Opera House) with a grand staircase that IS unbelievable.

The weather forecast had been for 67 degrees F and 0% chance of rain, but the actual weather was heavy rain.   With that development, I skipped my planned stop at the Printemps department store (102 Rue de Provence) for top floor lookout and 360 degree viewpoint of city and the longish walk out through a residential area to the Musée de la Vie Romantique (16 Rue Chaptal).  I also bought an umbrella on the street since in a moment of optimism I had been convinced to leave mine in the car on the way to the train.

I made another coffee stop (this time at Starbucks – the loyalty runs deep), and headed for a few stores on my list.   At the Zara Home Store (2 Boulevard de la Madeleine), I picked up some lovely champagne glasses and then at Repetto, the famous store for ballet shoes (22 Rue de la Paix), I committed to some patent leather flammy red Ballerinas.  It’s a commitment I hope I can live up to.

I attempted to hit Le Petit Vendome (8 Rue des Capucines) for lunch at the recommendation of my favorite Paris blog, but it was le crowded.  By then I was hungry, so I went off agenda and settled for an uninspired sandwich somewhere nearby.    I attempted two bookstores – one a travel bookstore Voyageurs du Monde (55 Rue Sainte-Anne) which was more like a travel agency (bust) and the second a bookstore for cooks - Librairie Gourmande  (92-96 Rue Montmartre) which had enough of an English section to make it worth the stop.

The highlight of the day however was the afternoons spent in the arcades/covered passageways.   These beautiful passages popped up in the 19th century to give shoppers a better way to shop rain or shine.  They were typically dug through existing buildings and were covered by glass roofs.  The 150 shopping  arcades have since dwindled down to 25 when most were destroyed when the large avenues were built.  Those that remain each have their own architecture, style, and retail focus.  Galerie Vivienne, with its lovely mosaic floor, has a tea salon, bookstore, florist, wine store, bistro, and shops specializing in textiles, furnishings and other yummy things.  

Passage du Grand Cerf, another one of the arcades with a gorgeous glass roof, has twenty plus affordable boutiques.  It has a bit of a jewelry theme but there is also a Marseilles soap store and even an African art boutique.  With the rain coming down steadily, I lingered long in both arcades.  I stopped for a glass of Rose in one of the bistros, I fingered a lot of interesting jewelry that was beautifully displayed, and I relished the glimpse into the past when shopping was leisurely  - before the “Half Off” signs and special promotions.

By the end of the day, the sun broke through and I meandered down the Rue Montorguiel, a family friendly pedestrian street for gourmands that reminded me at little of Seattle’s Pike’s Place Market.  It was there that I parked myself at an outside table along the busiest section of the street to nibble on a cheese plate and listen to the hum of families returning home from a busy day.

Oh, Paris, you are fun to dance with and now I have some red Ballerinas for next time.

A brief interuption

I have pictures and the agenda of my recent trip to Paris to share with you, but first …

An interruption.  I keep trying to write my Paris blog, but my mind is elsewhere.  I’m thinking about the book I read yesterday.  The book I started and finished yesterday.  It wasn’t a David Sedaris book, or Mindy Kaling’s book “Is Everyone Hanging out with Me?” – books that have caused me to binge read because I simply can’t put them down. 

My friend Hattie’s book “Falling into Place” came out yesterday.  As any good friend would do, I pre-ordered Hattie’s book on my Kindle a week or so ago.  And, as most friends would also do, I momentarily forgot that yesterday was the release date.  It was only when I turned on my Kindle on Sunday morning looking for my NY Times delivery that I remembered.  Now reading the NY Times is my morning habit – a habit I don’t often deviate from – but because Hattie’s book was in the first position in my carousel, I clicked on it first.  I never made it back to the NY Times yesterday.

I was eager to read “Falling into Place” because since meeting Hattie last summer, I had heard bits and pieces of her moving story.   I knew it would be good.   I didn’t know it would be that good.  The story, the writing, and the testimony that yes, clarity can and does spring out of adversity.

“Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.  Be kind.”  -The Optimism Revolution (via Upworthy)

On meeting Hattie, I would not have guessed the battles she had waged.  I met her on the other side of her messy divorce, after she had remarried and moved from LA into my Seattle neighborhood and started attending my church.  I knew she had been a news reporter in Seattle, and then in LA and was taking a break from her profession with her move back to Seattle.   As I got to know her better, Hattie shared some of her story.  It takes a long time to share our entire story, and most of us never get that much time with another person.

It was only in reading Hattie’s book that the curtain was pulled back to share the full arc of her battle – through extreme poverty and abandonment as one of seven children, across her successful career as a Emmy-winning news reporter, beyond an abusive first marriage, and through the messy divorce I’d heard only a little about.

But, unlike other memoirs I’ve read, Hattie writes her story almost as if she is compelled to do so.  It’s not an ugly tell-all or forced how-to-guide on overcoming adversity.  Hattie didn’t set out to write a book, she set out to overcome a life a poverty.  And she did.  But pain and hardship are life’s pause buttons, and through her divorce, she finally was able to look in her rear view mirror and notice things she hadn’t seen before. 

I’m staring at this coffee table book in front of me right now called “Happy Accidents.”   It’s a cute title, but I think it’s a shortsighted view of life.   Yes, life is full of Happy Accidents, but it’s also peppered with Divine Appointments. 

Hattie puts voice to her inner dialogue, and her brokenness, with a unique transparency that doesn’t ring whiny or the least bit put on.  There are angels in her story, and once when she recognizes them, she is indebted to tell us about them.  It’s a Jesus book, but not a sappy Jesus book – if you knew Hattie, you would know that she couldn’t write one of those.   She’s a journalist after all.

With the people we know, we may be aware of which battles they are fighting but usually we’re shielded from their daily warfare. We only hear when the big missiles come, and even if we are invited into the trenches – we’re rarely there for the length of the conflict.  Perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that there is Someone Bigger who’s been there witnessing each of our battles, and who’s not just kind, but also on our side – but I believe that to be truth.  Hattie’s story is a beautiful picture of that outrageous claim.

Perhaps you’re reading this blog because you wanted to hear about Paris, or you just wanted to check in on the Ballbachs, or maybe it was a happy accident, or maybe it was a divine appointment to order a good book you'll be glad you read.  Whatever the case, I’m glad you stopped by.  xxoo

Bumbling Fool

Watching my happy-go-lucky six year old son at play recently, I asked him one of those ridiculous, impossible questions: “What’s the secret to your happiness?”   He did not have an answer for me.  I didn’t really expect he would, but I hoped.

It felt a lot less ridiculous of a question when my good friend Holly mentioned (unprompted) that she had JUST asked her six year old daughter the exact same question.   Word for word, in fact.   Either Holly is keeping the told secret to herself, or I’ll choose to believe that her charming daughter did in fact demure with “I don’t know.”

We must all want a little dose of that six year old carefreeness.

It got me thinking that if I were ever asked that question, I should think about how I might respond.   So far it’s not a question that has come up much.  We read books about it, but rarely do we ask each about it.   I’ve got a long way to go before one might ever mistake me for a beacon of carefreeness, but I’m pointed in that general direction and I do have my what's-up-with-her-Jim-Carey-happy-days.  And if ever someone asked ME what the secret to my (not) youthful skin was, I’d have to segue straight into my secret for happiness answer.

If I want to play it safe, my answer would be gratitude.  It’s definitely part of the answer, but it’s more a byproduct of the honest, braver answer.   No one is offended by gratitude which makes it safe, and most of us have experienced the altering impact that gratitude can have on one’s outlook.  I’m a total believer in the whole Gratitude movement.  But … it’s not “thank you” that I murmur under my breath countless times a day.  It’s “Jesus.”  He is the source of my happiness, and He’d really rather me not keep it a secret.

I’ve been a Christian for a long time, but I only started this bumbling of “Jesus” throughout the day in the last couple of years.  I’d like to call it a spiritual practice, but really it’s just my shorthand for wanting to stay in touch with the God of the Universe when I’m too lazy/tired/annoyed/angry to offer a real prayer.   As my pastor says, “Jesus didn’t say ‘Come to the Truth’ (like Socrates) or Come With It All Figured Out, he said ‘Come to Me.’” Right before that Jesus talked about how he was the Way to the God of the Universe.  And He specifically directed this open invitation to those that are weary and need a rest, which for most of us, happens about a dozen times a day. More if you have children.

The daily workings of our own life along with the myriad of relationships we simultaneously enjoy but have to work at, compounded by those few relationships that we can’t escape, is enough to make us all weary.  Then there is all the mess we can’t control, but also can’t ignore – another grim story about Syria and the 2 million refugees, a friend who’s gotten cancer.  And then there’s the stuff like wet towels on the bathroom floor we wish wouldn’t get under our skin but does.  These are the moments I offer my “Jesus” popcorn prayers.  The moments where thoughts of gratitude are maybe helpful, but completely inadequate.

Turns out that when “Jesus” is what your inside voice is saying, your outside voice naturally moderates.  My words soften, and my outlook shifts ever so slightly.   I never see the big picture, but I see more of it.  You can will yourself into a more hopeful mental state, but this is different.  This is taking Jesus up on his invitation to plug into my life – right where I am, trusting that He is the life source that He promised.  Jesus talked a lot about transformation, not obtained through intellectual pursuit, but rather realized through this radical idea of leaning our full weight into Him.  Popcorn Jesus prayers are exactly what I believed He had in mind.   They are the beginning of a chain reaction.  Of course, I sometimes muddle that chain reaction up later downstream giving me yet another reason to bring Jesus right back into the picture.

It’s harder to believe that my little Jesus prayers will have any bearing at all in places that are beyond my control, but better to put Jesus on the job there then shore up my own position on how I would fix it.  Most of the time I/we have no idea how best to help in these places of desperate need,  and when that’s the case – it seems best to invite Jesus to go into those places and situations and meet the people where they are. He knows and that's a lot more useful than me knowing.

I want you to know that I also still say “Shit” under my breath too.  It’s possible I may even say it out loud more than I say Jesus.   Jesus knows this and loves me just the same.

So even though you didn’t ask, “What is the secret to my happiness?”, now you know.