I live in France and am surrounded by wonderful things. Like being in love with a person living in a new place can be similar, when everything is brand new, you have a sense of wonderment, all is charming, your heart beats excitedly and then it happens, slowly. You are still in love but some things are less exciting. A trip to the grocery store used to be an adventure with all of those strange new packages and foods new to me. Now I go and stand in a long line waiting to check out with only one or two people working, if you don’t count the person blocking the aisles while he or she stacks the shelves and the checker irritates me handing out plastic bags like they are gold. Plus, they get to sit down. I never got to sit down when I was a checker in years past.

 Anyway, my French hell became going to those excrutiatingly long French meals with either some of Maurice’s French friends or relatives. At first I was in a totaly fog sitting there waiting for time to pass, the meal to end, so we could eventually leave. Then I got so I could understand some of what was being said although my brain had, and still has, a way of checking out and I find myself day dreaming until Maurice brings me back saying, “Right, Linda?” I can stay alert longer now although by the time I have put together a response in French the whole table has moved on to a new subject or they don’t even hear me when I say something. My French is not heard like one of those whistles for dogs that only they can hear.

 So, I have gotten to the point where I don’t dread being with French relatives for a long time although I know they all think I am just a very quiet person. I was getting a little comfortable when I was accused of poisoning some of Maurice’s relatives, a story I told a month or so ago. Now all of my insecurities are back, ones I didn’t even know I had until I cooked a bad lasagne for some people and I really felt judged in those thousand year old scales of French Food Tradition and, believe me, there are alot of ways in which to be judged.

 Last weekend we had Maurice’s two sisters and their husbands over for lunch the day after we returned from traveling. I was tired, unprepared and grumpy and on top of it, I was now worried that I was going to make someone sick along with serving a bad meal that would send Maurice’s relatives home shaking their heads in disbelief. When they arrived we served kir royale, another French tradition that is rarely broken and Maurice told them I was nervous but not why. He just said it was the French/American thing but I spoke up and said I was worried about making another relative sick. I asked the two women if 3 out of 8 people got sick at a meal I prepared, am I to blame? Was I responsible for food poisoning? Both of the sisters said, “Of course not. Eight, yes, three, no.” They assured me that I didn’t have to worry about the same thing happening. Then one of the sisters made me laugh. “Is there a hospital near by?” “Yes,” I said. “Then, no problem.”

 We had a good meal-I thought-and everyone left happy and there were no reports of anyone getting sick afterwards. Then I found out that they have decided it is time for a family reunion. It is going to be held this summer at our place in Provence and there will be about 30 people-all French. I will be the main cook of course, manning the bar-b-que, making salads, worrying about everything while everyone babbles around me in French. Could be fun, really, but I’m feeling a little tense already.

Metz

 This time Maurice and I did a quick trip to Metz found in the section of France called Lorraine-where Quiche Lorraine began. It turned out to be another really charming city and I enjoyed my walk around the city to explore. I even tried their Quiche and it was great. It didn’t have any onions in it, though, something I have always added. Maybe that’s an American thing.

Metz it well known for it’s cathedral. This was the view from our hotel room. It is enormous inside with the ceiling soaring high overhead.

 This is a little blurry but it was part of a sculpture over a door on the cathedral. Notre Dame in Paris has something similar. It is the story of the last judgement when souls are judged at the end of time. Some are taken to heaven and some to hell. These unfortunates aren’t going to heaven. On Notre Dame the devils are stuffing them into a boiling cauldron of fire. Most people couldn’t read when these churches were built so Bible stories were told in sculptures and stained glass. I think seeing something like this almost 900 years ago would have inspired me to be in church as often as possible.

You don’t see many smiling Mary sculptures. She usually looks either pensive or sad. This one reminds me of the smiling angel in Reims.

 Here is a dressed Mary inside. Rather unusual. I did see one with layers of clothing during a gypsy celebration in the south of France.

 I’ve never seen anything like this on the outside of a church either.

 Chagal did this very modern window in 1960. I liked the yellow.

I’m not posting many of the photos that I took around the city. Metz has some really astounding buildings and it has a wonderful layout around the river which runs through it. I liked the purple on this church-really unusual and rather trendy, I thought, although I don’t think the church is in use at the moment.

 Nobody decorates windows better than shops in Paris and as Easter approaches it is always fun to look for chocolate done with that Parisian flair.

Some chickens probably full of smaller pieces of chocolate candy.

 This egg was about a foot across

 I’m guessing this is white chocolate. It’s too pretty to eat.

 Godiva doesn’t go all out decorating their windows but I did see this poster for hot chocolate which is new to me. I must make a taste test if it ever cools down again.

Happy Easter to Everyone!

 I was once walking along with some people on the way to St Sulpice when a little French lady stopped us. She heard us speaking in English and thinking to give us American tourists some information, she pointed across the street. “Do you see that hat shop?” I had, indeed, seen it before. It is one of the shops where the hats are hand made and the creator once had a beret in the window with little cat ears on the top. Anyway, the lady said, “This is the best and most famous hat shop in Paris.” I thanked her and we went on our way. I always take a look in the window now to see what new hats the designer has come up with. The shop is on Rue St Sulpice.

If this doesn’t make you think of Spring, I don’t know what will.

These almost make me want to dress up and wear a hat again.

 This great window is nearby. They sell fabulous bouquets of artificial flowers.

I liked this too.

 Someone had painted this bamboo on the side of a building to hide the pipes. Very creative.

 St Sulpice is a huge church now famous because of the Da Vinci Code-it’s where Silas, the albino fanatic priest, goes to find the clue by the obelisk there. I didn’t go into the church as it was Sunday. It looked like it was the day where Catholic children go for their first communion. There were many dressed up children, many carrying a white flower.

 One of the little girls headed into church

 A little girl not caring at all that she will arrive for her first communion all sweaty.

 I like this architectural detail on the police station across from the church

There was a display of photography in front of the church taken by a woman in India over the space of 30 years. Doesn’t this lady have a lovely smile?

This is on the very end of the church at back. I’ve always liked the shape of it.