tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65488335318280537032024-03-18T08:46:16.706-07:00France, Food, Scooters and MoreMUSINGS OF AN EXPAT AMERICANIrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.comBlogger540125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-36986912306879914732024-03-18T08:45:00.000-07:002024-03-18T08:45:35.963-07:00IT'S ME AGAIN - SOCIAL MEDIA AND THE CORRUPTION OF DISCOURSE<p><b>Drafted months ago. I think I'm going to start writing again. </b><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeZ2Tz25Ef1e3XE-viw3MEVfVPeOnP8yXXR2AA3Xo3kdPJFSS6b20vqpiBQD2x44WE0NrZvPbr-uWKrroHmPGLfFfDSLrlAnxOnVogggfREio5JvgnM_uYUXnW6H3F0nIWgdvujGWrNUh1hcUpRttkgAzFGmaWalMupgJyGzC_4_IzxCqGYlPYm6_hihl/s228/Cronkite.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="158" data-original-width="228" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeZ2Tz25Ef1e3XE-viw3MEVfVPeOnP8yXXR2AA3Xo3kdPJFSS6b20vqpiBQD2x44WE0NrZvPbr-uWKrroHmPGLfFfDSLrlAnxOnVogggfREio5JvgnM_uYUXnW6H3F0nIWgdvujGWrNUh1hcUpRttkgAzFGmaWalMupgJyGzC_4_IzxCqGYlPYm6_hihl/w235-h186/Cronkite.webp" width="235" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>What happened? On the evening news fifty years ago, like clockwork, millions of folks would watch Walter Cronkite describe daring flights in space while raptly watching grainy video that we would only see once. No VCRs. No YouTube. Perhaps more importantly than his space exploration commentary, Walter's grainy video described the moral complexities of the war in Vietnam. Whether or not we considered either or both of those endeavors noble, we trusted Walter's presentation. He showed us pictures and commented on them truthfully, so we believed. There were other guys sitting in the chairs in the other two networks. They seemed like nice guys. But Walter was the standard, at least in our house.<br /></p><p>There were the three national networks with just one or two independent stations serious enough to consider in the major media markets back in those days. Fewer electronic media outlets but, oddly enough, more local, often daily newspapers. (Their demise is a constant regret.) Every major city accommodated at least two and sometimes more daily papers, with some even publishing morning and afternoon editions. Either way, even in a major metropolitan area of several million people, an avid consumer of publicly available, current news and information had limited choices. A smart consumer could detect slants in the reporting. But even having seen those biases, folks generally believed that the words that they were hearing bore some relation to reality and truth, as tenuous as that relationship might be. </p><p> Fast forward...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJTC_c_oH7icLaYeJ8ZfJCPDcXswQ0yzMz_sYw7aZg-Ti0n2UWJZ3eD6gkd2WP3mnzv31_nJqQDm64KHor2owgEy-zJi9LJMAyeSvrGudZwtgTDeJIiOMaLLTQZJ6r_RWAaqUyJLRSJFrBYhFE3ehJYVJOd_v1QjIjVWXC2_wLQcOxj6X-gikhZSeOgCU/s1200/Flat%20Earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJTC_c_oH7icLaYeJ8ZfJCPDcXswQ0yzMz_sYw7aZg-Ti0n2UWJZ3eD6gkd2WP3mnzv31_nJqQDm64KHor2owgEy-zJi9LJMAyeSvrGudZwtgTDeJIiOMaLLTQZJ6r_RWAaqUyJLRSJFrBYhFE3ehJYVJOd_v1QjIjVWXC2_wLQcOxj6X-gikhZSeOgCU/w320-h240/Flat%20Earth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Search "The Earth is Flat" on YouTube. See what happens. Whether agreeing or debunking, video after video after video has garnered millions of views. Millions. On a topic that is settled science and observed reality. Settled, damn it. How can it not be?<p></p><p>The roundness of Earth is not a settled matter in some circles for two reasons. First, social media provides an opportunity for those who believe otherwise to communicate with each other, join together, and recruit others to their delusion. Why they insist on their belief that Earth is flat is irrelevant. They have a megaphone and they use it. </p><p>More importantly, there's money in clicks.</p><p>Capitalism has created a world full of consumers. Folks just love to buy stuff, often more stuff than they can afford. They are enticed through advertising. Manipulative, button-pushing advertising. And one principle of advertising is that the more often a consumer is exposed to an ad, especially if that exposure is accomplished across multiple platforms, the more likely the consumer is to recognize, desire, and buy the product. And so, advertisers have embraced omnipresent and oft-visited social media. And so, given that advertisers are willing and eager to throw money at content creators who attract eyes to their ads, content creators are happy to become platforms for advertising, The more eyes on the ads, the more money the content creator makes.</p><p>Does the content matter? Not at all. Followers matter. Clicks matter. <br /></p><p>I have cancelled my Twitter account. I haven't posted on Pinterest or LinkedIn in years. I post occasionally on Instagram, mostly pictures of my walks for exercize in rural France. I know that it's a cliche, but I like cat videos on Facebook. I have several email accounts because it's convenient to keep things properly separated. And that's about it. No Reddit. No TikTok. And when I just looked up the top fifty social media sites in the world, I couldn't believe how many I had never heard of, much less never considered joining.</p><p>I will probably not live to see the practical results of this social experiment, this post-truth, capitalized clicks, living life virtually society. That is, although things move fast in the digital world, time in the real world continues apace. Just think of me as an old man, telling Google to get off my lawn.<br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-91153655994560719512024-03-06T02:39:00.000-08:002024-03-10T14:18:49.017-07:00IT'S TIME TO GET REAL - ISRAEL AND JK AND LIFE AND MORE<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4H1_kKXsaxzdZrIlFClFe0_341QSthTZ7uJ3ttvCD8TlXQujOVhD672QoPn6x6LnF-Tr1rRzbfKg-6TPwLpQr5MtcXb3WJ19zuKEj8Q3_HtGbcdnx1lA8MYFQkImEFHPOQl9YUOdIC78-Nc50Vl-0wUyaCIKCwQo8AmdB4DJSCZLPzi5m43BUpox81o53/s225/Thoughtful.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4H1_kKXsaxzdZrIlFClFe0_341QSthTZ7uJ3ttvCD8TlXQujOVhD672QoPn6x6LnF-Tr1rRzbfKg-6TPwLpQr5MtcXb3WJ19zuKEj8Q3_HtGbcdnx1lA8MYFQkImEFHPOQl9YUOdIC78-Nc50Vl-0wUyaCIKCwQo8AmdB4DJSCZLPzi5m43BUpox81o53/s1600/Thoughtful.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div><p><br />DEEP THOUGHTS</p><p>I have not been writing blog posts for several months. I have been too timid to put pen to paper - fingers to keyboard - because Israel and Trump and gender issues are so strongly held. Those of you that I call friends may know how each of us feels about these issues, but when we disagree, we don't talk about them much. We are not the kind of voters who insist that we are undecided two weeks before an election. We've thought about things and we've decided. I hesitated to post because I knew that I have friends and family who have come to different conclusions than I have. But it's late and I'm getting old and bullshit is getting harder to tolerate. And so...</p><p></p><p>ISRAEL</p><p>Full disclosure, I'm Jewish. One of a group of us who are secure in calling ourselves Jews but who haven't been to synagogue for awhile...a long while.</p><p>Israel is where the Abraham of the Abrahamic Religions came from. Judaism started with Abraham. In Israel. Christianity started with a Jew called Jesus who lived as a Jew and died as a Jew. In Israel. According to the Quran, God gave Israel to the Jews. No, I'm not claiming that Jews owning the deed to Israel relies on certain holy books. I am claiming that until 1948, everybody knew that Israel was where Judaism began and where Jews lived. Sometimes, they were chased out, but whether they were thick on the ground or scattered to the winds. for centuries the world at large agreed that when Jews first were forced to scatter, they scattered from Israel.</p><p>Israel doesn't have a right to exist. Israel exists. Whether you like it or not. Period. More in a follow-on post.</p><p>TRUMP</p><p>Beyond understanding. I'll try. Later.</p><p>JK ROWLING</p><p>Words do not make reality. Words shape perception. You can argue that Earth is flat because you perceive it to be flat. But in reality, it ain't flat. JK says that there is reality in chromosomes. Others say that words alone can alter the reality that chromosomes represent. JK doesn't believe that. I don't believe that. I don't think JK is transphobic and I don't think that I am transphobic. </p><p>And by the way, phobias are fears. So being transphobic means fear of trans people. Which means that a whole bunch of people called transphobic are not transphobic at all. They demonstrate that by not being afraid to say what they think about trans issues. </p><p>Words matter, but they don't matter to the point that they can alter observed fact.</p><p>GETTING OLDER</p><p>If a man is not a socialist by the time he is 20, he has no heart. If he
is not a conservative by the time he is 40, he has no brain.</p><p>That quote is most often attributed to Churchill. He may have said it, but he probably didn't originate it. Whatever the case, it does describe the political evolution of some people. For the record, I'm not one of them. Yes, I considered myself a liberal in my younger years, probably not a socialist. But even then, I noticed in conversations with friends that political lines were easily, and often unwittingly, crossed. </p><p>For example, I had a very progressive friend back in the days when being a feminist was not simply progressive. It was radical. And she was a radical feminist. I'll call her Annie. We shared a common female acquaintance. That friend decided to do something that Annie thought that she shouldn't do. "Stop her," Annie said to me. "Tell her not to do it." In that one exchange, I learned that principles can easily give way to personal preferences. I understood why our friend had made her choice, I knew that she had considered the choice carefully, and I respected her. So I wasn't about stop her from pursuing her choice.</p><p>And that's where I'm going with this. I don't think that our choices are the result of embracing one end of the political spectrum over the other. I think that we choose what we choose either emotionally or logically based on preferences that are ingrained and can defy understanding. Shit happens. And we react as we do, if we are thoughtful people, reasonably and consistently.<br /></p><p>So as I got older, I didn't get more conservative. I have gotten more confident in my beliefs. Israel exists. Deal with it. Trump was an existential threat to American democracy in 2016 and in 2020 and he is an existential threat to American democracy today. Deal with it. Sex isn't assigned at birth, it is observed at birth. Deal with it. </p><p>THE UNIVERSE IS FINE TUNED FOR LIFE</p><p>Is it? I watch YouTube videos of serious people having long, detailed discussions to convince themselves and others that the universe seems to be fine tuned for human life. Change one little bit of our universe and its properties and it all goes away. The strength of gravity. The Cosmological Constant. Any one of dozens of numbers like those are right where they need to be.</p><p>I have never understood why no one ever argues the opposite - that human life is fine tuned to the universe. It seems obvious to me. There's one universe that we know of. The numbers are what they are. Panelists talk about what would happen if the numbers changed, but who's to say that the numbers can be changed? We evolved in the comfortable niches that those numbers provide, billions of years after our version of the universe was born, hundreds of millions of years after our Earth was formed. </p><p>It took a hell of a long time for us to get to where we are. If there had been a designer, why did She wait billions of years to create chocolate-peanut butter ice cream. I would have whipped that up first. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-64327039927183178212022-10-22T07:07:00.003-07:002022-10-23T09:27:15.183-07:00GRACE SLICK, BREXIT AGAIN, SELF CHECKOUT, AND MORE: #18<p style="text-align: center;"><b> </b></p><p><b> </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3GjSAepmhG69L91wUiu71slWGmylXU-jck1e-laj66rAjOcZBbH3tkfzyAhUs0f5FFtyaa-z16iWL7dOtsn1mAgsFnjpBU_sRLApYjaudxZfcrjYtU8ngO_DdBIJSFZOS6ojIURiZ1a3dewh6kaWHsPq7SC3RlYsN_1UX5JimLjpycJwByZkJKiKsw/s592/Grace%20Slick.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3GjSAepmhG69L91wUiu71slWGmylXU-jck1e-laj66rAjOcZBbH3tkfzyAhUs0f5FFtyaa-z16iWL7dOtsn1mAgsFnjpBU_sRLApYjaudxZfcrjYtU8ngO_DdBIJSFZOS6ojIURiZ1a3dewh6kaWHsPq7SC3RlYsN_1UX5JimLjpycJwByZkJKiKsw/w540-h640/Grace%20Slick.jpg" width="540" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>GRACE SLICK</b></p><p>I just listened again to <i>Volunteers</i>, the last Jefferson Airplane album with the 'classic' lineup. 1969. Perfect. Sometimes sloppy. Sometimes over dramatic. But perfect.</p><p><b> </b>And Grace Slick. Grace. Slick. Perfect.<br /></p><p><b>BREXIT & CONSERVATISM<br /></b></p><p>Except for the 30% or so who've drunk the Kool-Aid, can we all agree that Brexit is not working out as advertised? And that the Republican Party in the USofA has sold its soul to a cadre of authoritarians who think they are the true small-d-democrats but who don't want everybody to have a vote and won't abide by a vote that they don't like? How did it happen that, in the name of political conservatism, two countries put into power incompetent leaders financed by greedy elites?</p><p>And I just read that Michael Gove thinks that Liz Truss is toast because her agenda has been shredded. Whose agenda has been shredded more thoroughly than Gove’s and why would any thinking person be interested in his opinions except to listen carefully and then run screaming in the opposite direction?</p><p>EDIT: Truss has resigned.That didn't take long, did it? So maybe Gove was right. Well, even a broken clock...<b> </b></p><p>EDIT 2: Boris again? Really? The Whack-a-Mole PM!</p><p><b>PODOKESAURUS HOLYOKENSIS </b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbtfnWb5Pdsqn6sKbpyqanx-Ad2lB_uHctQCbVVfG65yFrWDm0PZqYVI1VkAE9xUVlO9AFpNVWTQQrmtkbxh64MPOdeH4_Pd03P9RYzmOU0KBHYtWigb3kETr2YprI4hvhUcQpnnyF6TvYE7S8mQH7x9aP3Lcj09Lqpff5RVixCZsqQ5_ui1KhkoMaw/s1200/Dinosauer.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="1200" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbtfnWb5Pdsqn6sKbpyqanx-Ad2lB_uHctQCbVVfG65yFrWDm0PZqYVI1VkAE9xUVlO9AFpNVWTQQrmtkbxh64MPOdeH4_Pd03P9RYzmOU0KBHYtWigb3kETr2YprI4hvhUcQpnnyF6TvYE7S8mQH7x9aP3Lcj09Lqpff5RVixCZsqQ5_ui1KhkoMaw/w640-h286/Dinosauer.webp" width="640" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b>You are looking at the new official state dinosaur of Massachusetts. Seriously. Won with 60% of the online vote over the losing dinosaur. Signed into law by the governor. If you thought that American politics were no joke, think again.<br /><p></p><p><b>HUNTING IN FRANCE</b><br /></p><p><b> </b>Every time hunting season rolls around in France, folks on social media get their knickers in a twist. Some people just can't get their head around rural life. Folks hunt for food. Folks hunt to protect their crops. Folks hunt. And like what happens in just about any human endeavor, sometimes folks who shouldn't be hunting hunt. And they hunt badly. Dangerously. Tragically dangerously.</p><p>In the news right now is one such tragedy. A woman, a British woman living in France with a French partner, was shot and killed by that partner in an accident. Oddly enough, that seems to be a theme of such hunting accidents in France. The victim knew the shooter well. So maybe it shouldn't be the people who live <i>near</i> the hunters who should worry. Maybe the people who live <i>with</i> the hunters should.<br /></p><p><b>SELF CHECKOUT</b></p><p>Why do folks who rant about self checkout at their grocery store have no problem pumping their own gas? Asking for a friend…from New Jersey.</p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-21700550932799212602022-09-10T02:33:00.007-07:002022-09-10T07:11:00.206-07:00MONARCHY, BUTT PATTING, SELF CHECKOUT, AND RANDOM STUFF: #17<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_Y0hyqf_dGIf5obKWrEM_xzMPRuAYHxDiPfrkQDTsGmFGvYb4QYljaAQjyl2mcK80T4WBSrY5aUOov7AWfwZOoXKUL00gUPnUzoxEzifZWHAsAuLOiLP0iJJ9wGKYgjOXuhqVjYPTnxUXdAu_lq5on7F3nkOX26mYMVVzwCNGuyIZ6BSiRqzLnrfxg/s960/Elizabeth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="960" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_Y0hyqf_dGIf5obKWrEM_xzMPRuAYHxDiPfrkQDTsGmFGvYb4QYljaAQjyl2mcK80T4WBSrY5aUOov7AWfwZOoXKUL00gUPnUzoxEzifZWHAsAuLOiLP0iJJ9wGKYgjOXuhqVjYPTnxUXdAu_lq5on7F3nkOX26mYMVVzwCNGuyIZ6BSiRqzLnrfxg/w640-h466/Elizabeth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>MONARCHY</p><p>It is not possible to be an English-speaking expat living in Europe without having gained some understanding of how the UK works and how UK policies and politics affect European life. And so, a word about the monarchy is in order today.</p><p>I'm no monarchist. As an American, I have grown up believing in liberal democracy. Today, I consider myself a democratic socialist. But I have come to appreciate the manner in which British royalty has accommodated itself to the modern world. There is no doubt that accommodation has diminished the role of the monarch. That's probably a good thing. But a diminished monarchy need not necessarily herald the end of the monarchy.</p><p>Elizabeth's monarchy became simply the personification of her country's flag, to be trotted out to acknowledge community, in good times and in sad times, expressing publicly what was being felt privately. There was a time, during Brexit, when I was furious with Elizabeth. As one of the richest, most well-informed people in the world, I thought that she had a duty to intervene when elitist politicians swayed public opinion with obvious lies and deceptions. Elizabeth knew it, said nothing, and thus Brexit. But I have come to realize that, had she intervened, she would have become an elitist politician herself. Perhaps on what I considered to be the right side of the issue, but covered in the same political mud nonetheless.</p><p>The flag does not take sides. A neutral symbol...or it should be, anyway. I see nothing wrong with a traditional personification of that symbol. Patriotism in the flesh.</p><p>And yes, I understand the horrors of the slave trade, of colonialism, of the plundering of indigenous peoples' lands and resources. Inexcusable. But the ability of humans to treat other humans as resources or as vermin continues today throughout Asia and Africa and South America and the Middle East without the intervention of European colonialists. And regardless of European hubris, such inhumanity is not a direct and unavoidable consequence of European intervention. Expansionism, tribalism, and physical, economical, and psychological slavery is as old as human history and persists in the modern world in spite of our best efforts. If we don't encourage basically decent human beings like Elizabeth and the Pope Francis and Joe Biden, in spite of their flaws and the flaws of the institutions that they represent, we will end up with less desirable leaders in their place.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">SELF CHECKOUT</div><p>I've seen increased online conversation concerned with the trend of growing numbers of self-checkout lanes in stores. I find the hubbub a distraction. Counterproductive. Our problem is not that there will be fewer humans in jobs that can be accomplished more efficiently and effectively by utilizing technological advances. Eventually, there will be no checkout lanes at all. You'll pay as you put an item in your cart and you won't get out the door unless everything in your cart is paid for. </p><p>No, the problem isn't making certain that our teenage kids have the opportunity to ask that most important of questions to other teenage kids,"Do you want fries with that?" The problem is much more profound, a problem that is not being addressed at all in the USofA. How does a compassionate, resource-rich society treat that class of people who are not now and will never be employed doing meaningful work? Whether you believe that a Welfare State is an abomination, that you either find gainful employment or somehow magically disappear, or whether you believe that people are entitled to certain levels of food, shelter and amenities simply because they are human beings, serious planning is needed and is not being done.</p><p>If contributing to the betterment of society through work is no longer possible for tens of millions Americans, how will they live their lives? What are the odds that our children be among them?<br /></p><p>BUTT PATTING</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqePN70csr56hAEA2GC5p3NT_LajzVrSPrreMmAI3jJ7Y8gf8y4T2T5qteL7feaE2zvzRiIvZZFi_5Yex9q_wGqA6fkQCVqSMJg9VH0OPGq_LZj1uYxPzu0GRY6wZRcWV0j6RkYoPwIaAj_rFHxAvKmrQr14K-3BR3jGRWrMWe7J5OyNXnFIaA3PAy5g/s275/Butt%20Pat%20Baseball%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqePN70csr56hAEA2GC5p3NT_LajzVrSPrreMmAI3jJ7Y8gf8y4T2T5qteL7feaE2zvzRiIvZZFi_5Yex9q_wGqA6fkQCVqSMJg9VH0OPGq_LZj1uYxPzu0GRY6wZRcWV0j6RkYoPwIaAj_rFHxAvKmrQr14K-3BR3jGRWrMWe7J5OyNXnFIaA3PAy5g/w640-h426/Butt%20Pat%20Baseball%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagjyPDKT-uYRoFlhU_AQjRAaCtV0szxOjAntExmbx7PpVD2dftUtMNQ157cAVGmaunxUyYLskNHwKbrPbpcJPR3rw79wd4QivxgLzR-d30lEoZFQWDzRo4-EjeQ2a2EFguPMSGM9dcuv3JjDYxxa1wlYDfsAXskizW5Xxr0JNl_qHouAXbg7rwhCm1g/s169/Butt%20Pat%20Baseball.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="118" data-original-width="169" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagjyPDKT-uYRoFlhU_AQjRAaCtV0szxOjAntExmbx7PpVD2dftUtMNQ157cAVGmaunxUyYLskNHwKbrPbpcJPR3rw79wd4QivxgLzR-d30lEoZFQWDzRo4-EjeQ2a2EFguPMSGM9dcuv3JjDYxxa1wlYDfsAXskizW5Xxr0JNl_qHouAXbg7rwhCm1g/w640-h447/Butt%20Pat%20Baseball.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XydnF44ekEsTpHogXOCr45vfbKfJYoRPMtyhuEB6vtTmQO2GB72-6y6VxrPm5W6XxaOQvEVhP74mDUSBjOY4ZgVbNCYj3_6hfPAwfUhH2fSfD5kWkZQS30z-fwkil1QUEwwX6JmZR1qX6LjwolvDnr_fBAmo7Bb0rvK100gBI-BDTaITY-v-YlQU9w/s414/Butt%20Pat%20Football.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="414" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XydnF44ekEsTpHogXOCr45vfbKfJYoRPMtyhuEB6vtTmQO2GB72-6y6VxrPm5W6XxaOQvEVhP74mDUSBjOY4ZgVbNCYj3_6hfPAwfUhH2fSfD5kWkZQS30z-fwkil1QUEwwX6JmZR1qX6LjwolvDnr_fBAmo7Bb0rvK100gBI-BDTaITY-v-YlQU9w/w640-h492/Butt%20Pat%20Football.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>How was I to know that I was being groomed in Little League when my manager patted me on the butt? If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm talking about the outrage on social media over this:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP0zJUwavwD3aqpt08fzlgFG2XBTyAmm1X6lONAaa7v2Q5x9GUlBGjG9XWOEeApnEpnZJGrFqzrQqoH7XvIZvfLLKpOzoTqScOFJdEid4Q_HwNZTtsL0HA2Hin7HudaX667siOozp58Sgu6xMbHqI9EqefOM6rXfYRXfBaG7k3lxa6F6bQXqUbE3WHg/s1200/Butt%20Pat%20Tennis.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP0zJUwavwD3aqpt08fzlgFG2XBTyAmm1X6lONAaa7v2Q5x9GUlBGjG9XWOEeApnEpnZJGrFqzrQqoH7XvIZvfLLKpOzoTqScOFJdEid4Q_HwNZTtsL0HA2Hin7HudaX667siOozp58Sgu6xMbHqI9EqefOM6rXfYRXfBaG7k3lxa6F6bQXqUbE3WHg/w640-h480/Butt%20Pat%20Tennis.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I find it ironic that those who are concerned for that young tennis player because her dad and her coach patted her on the butt are the ones who are themselves guilty of sexualizing that girl.<br /></p><p>RANDOM STUFF</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>An 8-year-old Wisconsin lad beat out 700 contemporaries to win the 2022 Kids Mullet Championship. Pictures at 11:00.</li><li>Angelina says Brad is being vengeful, Aniston and Schwimmer were almost a thing, and why does my curated news feed think that I need to know these things?</li><li>Sir Isaac Newton, during his retreat from the Plague and while he was inventing calculus, also believed that you could drive away disease by using lozenges made from toad vomit and powdered toad. Just sayin'... <br /></li></ul>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-10679532272894885292022-09-02T01:56:00.001-07:002022-09-02T01:56:30.906-07:00DANCING AND SEXISM, JANET JACKSON, HILLARY AND DONALD, AND MORE: #16<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wwJr55hiKmZL2npK9SA8QHv5BYZxWRgnm01QrHljFtBsbU_L7Ef4-A34EDnBEiIE55sG0c7Gb1UlQXCbelkeGXxoDl4Kfgi2A9iV8qm9kVvdIh_fut0aIcK8gPWj8ZK0r9FjQzOnutXphXXZJKxRayWSXRcpOmhm_qOJ0uDKkxh1SR5SV0o-3b3f8Q/s304/Finnish%20Prime%20Minister.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="244" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wwJr55hiKmZL2npK9SA8QHv5BYZxWRgnm01QrHljFtBsbU_L7Ef4-A34EDnBEiIE55sG0c7Gb1UlQXCbelkeGXxoDl4Kfgi2A9iV8qm9kVvdIh_fut0aIcK8gPWj8ZK0r9FjQzOnutXphXXZJKxRayWSXRcpOmhm_qOJ0uDKkxh1SR5SV0o-3b3f8Q/w514-h640/Finnish%20Prime%20Minister.jpg" width="514" /> </a></div><p></p><p> DANCING AND SEXISM</p><p>Norman and I went to the same high school at the same time, we knew each other, but we had no classes together and weren't really friends. A big, ungainly kid, as a teenager Norman played keyboards for services at a local church. I learned some years after graduation that Norman had gone to a fine arts college and had worked his way up to Resident Organist at a major, big city Protestant congregation. Fast forward to our 25th or 30th high school reunion, I don't remember which. I do remember that when the dancing started, one couple who were obviously into ballroom dancing glided and posed across the floor with serious expressions on their faces. Carefully well rehearsed. Then Norman stepped on the floor, blue suit, white shirt, red tie and all. He stomped. He twirled. His arms and legs flew in every direction. Norman truly danced like no one was watching. I envy Norman's dancing to this day.</p><p>Sanna Marin wears leather coats, goes to rock concerts, and is the Prime Minister of Finland. At a recent party, Marin danced like no one was watching. Except someone <i>was</i> watching, watching and recording. The leaked video caused a minor uproar, so intense that Marin felt it necessary to take a drug test to prove that you could dance with abandon without being stoned. How sad is that? And if she were a man, would there have been the same reaction? Probably not. Like my admiration for Norman's skills, Marin as a man would probably have been envied. I hope this unwarranted hubbub doesn't derail a promising political career. It shouldn't. It mustn't. </p><p>Why are people so damned stupid?</p><p> JANET JACKSON KILLS COMPUTERS</p><p>Microsoft software guru Raymond Chen has confirmed what we knew all along. The words 'Luck' and 'Janet Jackson' do not belong in the same sentence. Her wardrobe designer knows what I'm talking about. But Chen describes a truly X-Man super power. Chen reports that Janet's song <i>Rhythm Nation</i> has special properties. "It turns out that the song contained one of the natural resonant frequencies for the model 5400 rpm laptop hard drives that they and other manufacturers used," explained Chen when discussing crashed computers. The song didn't even need to be played on the computer in question. It just needed to be played nearby. We live in complicated, magical times. Janet Jackson kills computers.<br /></p><p>GEORGE DAWSON AND RACE</p><p>George Dawson Middle School in Texas is named after a grandson of slaves who didn't learn to read until he was 98 years old. At 103, Dawson wrote the book <i>Life Is So Good</i>. Recently, the Texas district in which George Dawson Middle School is located decided that portions of the book that George Dawson wrote were not appropriate for George Dawson Middle School's 7th graders. My guess is that they are precisely the portions of the book that it would be important for middle school students to read. But it turns out that Texas conservatives are bigger snowflakes than northern liberals.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeTBVTMRV-UkotgXwxn9Fzgbm8VLEfUupmHU8nvBnjSAtK9q2yfbV3xUeIB5PKdQRX2zPhD5zEfG5RWpUT-eRynYGcWwTAzacCFIohsrEGfCKfjth6nHwdf07EsXsBzbuT9tBoX8U0HjJIm7CQtbCdWv2medYtaNW3WYn32zAc5aHeldFY49iJcuNnQ/s880/Hillary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="880" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeTBVTMRV-UkotgXwxn9Fzgbm8VLEfUupmHU8nvBnjSAtK9q2yfbV3xUeIB5PKdQRX2zPhD5zEfG5RWpUT-eRynYGcWwTAzacCFIohsrEGfCKfjth6nHwdf07EsXsBzbuT9tBoX8U0HjJIm7CQtbCdWv2medYtaNW3WYn32zAc5aHeldFY49iJcuNnQ/w640-h360/Hillary.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>HILLARY AND DONALD</p><p>She turned over all of her devices. She testified before Congress, under oath, for 11 hours. She answered every question. She never once took the 5th. You may not like her, but you have to admire the sheer will that she possesses. She would have known exactly what she intended to accomplish as President and she would have set about doing it. Instead, we got Trump.</p><p>Why are people so damned stupid?<br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-42729335636722434722022-08-26T02:33:00.001-07:002022-08-27T09:53:55.996-07:00GRAND CAFE OCCITAN: RESTAURANT REVIEW<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DobvgZUF0RcRm8rFvi_4EPqb74IBXe-cRFNV4MAM3Rr06PCtal3WhGW6NHw9JxvatTfYJtQfun9pkjYfduxtXc4zTDaKffl3-KDOL0MuUY--atvLq0FXC7uc1SkKN5NFtLUNPbRc3XbhXivgXVxFyhorQGXtrc0Yn6kMSNRWI94rPLaOas6OoY7gZw/s476/Chicken.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="476" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DobvgZUF0RcRm8rFvi_4EPqb74IBXe-cRFNV4MAM3Rr06PCtal3WhGW6NHw9JxvatTfYJtQfun9pkjYfduxtXc4zTDaKffl3-KDOL0MuUY--atvLq0FXC7uc1SkKN5NFtLUNPbRc3XbhXivgXVxFyhorQGXtrc0Yn6kMSNRWI94rPLaOas6OoY7gZw/w640-h492/Chicken.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We made our way to a new restaurant the other day, up toward the hills past La Liviniere in the small town of Felines-Minervois. None of our party had been there before, but a friend had visited and said that she'd enjoyed it. She's a vegetarian. First clue.</p><p>Now don't get me wrong. I have no gripe with those who choose to go meatless. I understand the environmental concerns and I understand the horrors of factory farming. But I also understand that form follows function in the design of tools, in the design of appliances, and in the design of human teeth. Our incisors and canines did not develop over the course of hundreds of thousands of years to rend the flesh of a fresh-caught broccoli. We are omnivores by design, Darwinian design. And I enjoy eating omni.</p><p>Enough preamble...</p><p>I never went inside the Grand Cafe Occitan. A young lady who would be our server met us at the front door of the nicely pointed old stone house, leading us to a pebble-covered courtyard on the side, shaded by a few trees and suspended reed matting. Mismatched tables and chairs. Paper place mats and napkins. A wine list, but a slate for a menu. French country ambiance.</p><p>I started with <i>rillettes de porc</i> - slow cooked, shredded pork with the fat reincorporated to make a kind of paste. Not quite <i>confit</i> but holding to the idea that much of the taste is in the fat that it's cooked in. Three small gherkins accompanied a chunk of <i>rillettes </i>on a small plate. I took my bread from the basket on the table. OK start, mostly because I like <i>rillettes.</i> But certainly not exceptional and totally lacking presentation. (French chefs have spoiled me,) Of the other starts, the salad with the fried. homemade pork-liver sausage was the winner for me, interesting taste for those of us who like that sort of thing.</p><p>I was doing fine up to this point. The wine helped. I can highly recommend Chateau Maris<b> </b>rosé.</p><p>The three mains took me off the rails. Table mates said that the menu was all about French country cooking. I would be surprised to be served vegetarian <i>cassoulet </i>or skate in a French country kitchen. Cathey enjoyed the skate though, a fish that is sufficiently hard to cook that pleasing Cathey is commendable. Several of us chose the third choice, basically boiled chicken, a leg and a wing floating in a rather plain broth, with potato and leek and onion and an herb pesto. Boiled chicken. Really? French chefs have spoiled me.<br /></p><p>The desserts followed the formula, limited choices, familiar faces, the one standout being the ice cream garnished with chunks of fresh figs. Not a drop of chocolate in sight. There's <i>always</i> chocolate. But not here. French chefs have spoiled me. </p><p>\Service was attentive and cheerful. The pace of the meal suited our lazy afternoon. I cannot speak to the total price because I didn't see the bill including the wine. But 24<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€ for three courses is certain;y reasonable.</span></p><p>I'm picking nits. I may have been the only one at the table who was less than enthusiastic. But the drive to Felines-Minervois lasted over 40 minutes and I can count a dozen or more restaurants on the way that I might have preferred. French chefs have spoiled me.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20OKGnfhoO_nnGNqYzWXuS209b8XEBfol1iRNlXnv7CvI4hcA8K73LAM_Bl0R6HLahJylwNw9UqODxU8cCeBkhQLkHTB8GJ9LfT6Ixnsbw0bxPZ0EffsQ2tdXWgo9672ak7G6ldB-8hWtNh5CZ8FtXuCb-V5jKtT2ulw2xYoEaciJ6Yj-d20aXXVCrQ/s492/Front.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="492" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20OKGnfhoO_nnGNqYzWXuS209b8XEBfol1iRNlXnv7CvI4hcA8K73LAM_Bl0R6HLahJylwNw9UqODxU8cCeBkhQLkHTB8GJ9LfT6Ixnsbw0bxPZ0EffsQ2tdXWgo9672ak7G6ldB-8hWtNh5CZ8FtXuCb-V5jKtT2ulw2xYoEaciJ6Yj-d20aXXVCrQ/w640-h478/Front.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7rKLy7HI_U7o3O0qAAEmRNJJgeqFfgQuoOx0amSvDbyH0h-Aaar7viBJ4KbczUzkZwi-vcujwmwHy6jhZ46ewBcLhriuGHql94j5NPu-MQziTgP3Vg1jo3ikC0jBoE6Moc1iwcBdtcl3t5Upz4mGdgMk3dmGoOaxH22MGql5C5nQGVHFEQkz8XRi3Q/s412/Dessert.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="360" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7rKLy7HI_U7o3O0qAAEmRNJJgeqFfgQuoOx0amSvDbyH0h-Aaar7viBJ4KbczUzkZwi-vcujwmwHy6jhZ46ewBcLhriuGHql94j5NPu-MQziTgP3Vg1jo3ikC0jBoE6Moc1iwcBdtcl3t5Upz4mGdgMk3dmGoOaxH22MGql5C5nQGVHFEQkz8XRi3Q/w560-h640/Dessert.jpeg" width="560" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNN11v1SPSKJr_mmzSdpIe6l3Cax5uNXTTRPH3CrZ7WzBZ1p2Gn07d6PykQpzhpACyEeR8uM06bGS3lYLxu6smU6nc7XRPmGDwOfFAsxl_2_T4PpBEr2ebwnZxZD8c9RbXfq70Zaahwo5jNT6xwn9KUjqEbR8TcQI_6GZZNRJwAHalkv-h1sk590O3w/s640/Menu.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNN11v1SPSKJr_mmzSdpIe6l3Cax5uNXTTRPH3CrZ7WzBZ1p2Gn07d6PykQpzhpACyEeR8uM06bGS3lYLxu6smU6nc7XRPmGDwOfFAsxl_2_T4PpBEr2ebwnZxZD8c9RbXfq70Zaahwo5jNT6xwn9KUjqEbR8TcQI_6GZZNRJwAHalkv-h1sk590O3w/w480-h640/Menu.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-14872226706124813722022-08-19T13:43:00.002-07:002022-08-21T02:19:56.042-07:00LEFT HANDEDNESS, SPANISH STONEHENGE, TWITTER, AND MORE: #15<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHdDBPmxweZiRd6uGSEjfJJ89tyvGMqpP9O5ze9A1_Y0kykoBLK4El495v1DpLkepf9IvsIx2m5XoP3oDtcpwHZVgdJaDLwJWg_rYs3xV4cnbu_gT6JNASEWId_kb7HI18wvhlk56ecTjDO64eUNWIlFCM30AvATkMdNIKrTDHOFcjXyUVlkaR3Hy3A/s1024/Koufax.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="1024" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHdDBPmxweZiRd6uGSEjfJJ89tyvGMqpP9O5ze9A1_Y0kykoBLK4El495v1DpLkepf9IvsIx2m5XoP3oDtcpwHZVgdJaDLwJWg_rYs3xV4cnbu_gT6JNASEWId_kb7HI18wvhlk56ecTjDO64eUNWIlFCM30AvATkMdNIKrTDHOFcjXyUVlkaR3Hy3A/w640-h356/Koufax.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>THE LESSONS OF LEFT HANDEDNESS</b></p><p>Sandy Koufax was my sports hero growing up. I also followed and admired Bill Russell and Johnny Unitas and other big sports names of the time. But Sandy was my hero. To this day, when I'm filling out a ballot and I just don't like any of the names, I write in Sandy Koufax. On the list of the greatest lefties of all time, Sandy rules.</p><p>As it happens, I have been married for 50 years to a lefty. She complains occasionally about scissors being designed for right handed folks. But I hadn't thought about it much until I viewed an interesting TED Talk on YouTube. The presenter pointed out that, if you want a small taste of what it's like to be a person of color in the United States, a very small taste, consider the plight of the lefty.</p><p>Only 10% of humans are left handed. No one is certain why. A recent major study revealed that there are measurable differences in the brains of lefties, mostly in the right brain, but those difference are so slight that they only appear when studying large data sets. In this case, the researchers studied over 30,000 brain scans, 3,000 of which were of lefties. Even so, the researchers concluded that, not only could they not determine why people are left handed, they also could not predict just from looking at scans whether an individual was left handed or not. So lefties are just like the rest of us, only different.</p><p>But here's the kicker. Imagine that you are left handed. It's not just scissors that are designed for righties. Everything is designed for the 90% of us who are right handed. School desks, baseball gloves, guitars, EVERYTHING. Just ask your left-handed friends. Oh, for certain. You can generally buy the item that you are looking for designed especially for the left handed. But you'll pay a premium and there will be fewer choices.<br /></p><p>And now imagine that you are a person of color in an increasingly white nationalist USofA. Of course, the system is designed in favor of the majority. That's the way that it works, isn't it? And if you are a white nationalist and looking at the numbers, you are bound to notice that your privileges are about to be revoked. In a right handed world, white nationalists are learning what it might be like to be left handed. And they are scared. And they should be.</p><p><b>RAND PAUL IS AN IDIOT</b></p><p>Senator Paul is quoted as saying that the FBI will have to justify their actions. </p><p>The National Archives asked politely for the documents. The documents were subpoenaed. A lawyer submitted an affidavit representing that all documents had been returned. And still, the FBI found Top Secret documents in Trump's possession. Illegally.</p><p>Under those circumstances, the FBI has nothing to justify. But Trump sure as hell does. In court, I hope.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cNiOmfBcPkF2N_evm1bQotLmmSexHVnmCQS7ZBHtV2ZErh7oK6IMOBEg-gX05jMpoEao-uzQNsEetcEfkR7iZ70IkJ3nvZg2f0cIGFV2vePoyaSMZSdea7E9qzU182EYSdB8SF9pszeI9g47kpreprmwTaRxuFaqiHlZPs2GRgkQi7i4w_7xuk6RWQ/s1000/spanish%20stonehenge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cNiOmfBcPkF2N_evm1bQotLmmSexHVnmCQS7ZBHtV2ZErh7oK6IMOBEg-gX05jMpoEao-uzQNsEetcEfkR7iZ70IkJ3nvZg2f0cIGFV2vePoyaSMZSdea7E9qzU182EYSdB8SF9pszeI9g47kpreprmwTaRxuFaqiHlZPs2GRgkQi7i4w_7xuk6RWQ/w640-h480/spanish%20stonehenge.jpg" width="640" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>SPANISH STONEHENGE </b><br /></p><p>No one expects the Spanish Stonehenge. (If you immediately thought of Monty Python, give yourself five bonus points. If you don't understand the reference, google 'no one expects the Spanish' and see what pops up.)</p><p>Climate change has resulted in severe drought in many regions around the world. Sunken boats resurface in lakes that are drying up. Ghost towns reappear. In a particular dam-created lake in the USofA, several bodies have been located, some in oil drums, clearly murder victims intended to be lost to the light of day forever. In Spain, we have something a bit different.<br /></p><p>Thought to be from 4,000 to 7,000 years old, the Dolmen of Guadalperal have been uncovered for the first time in 60 years. First submerged in the 1930s, the result of a Franco rural development project, the standing stones are back in the sunlight. Perhaps a question greater than the purpose of their construction is the question of why it would be considered progress to submerge them in the name of progress in the first place. </p><p>It goes to show that humans are just hairless bipeds with big, useless brains.<br /></p><p><b>TWEETS AS JOURNALISM</b></p><p>I read the news. I have a television, but I just use it for streaming videos and movies. When I lived in the USofA, I watched the evening news on TV. It made me crazy. Now, I am in France. Now, I read the news. I subscribe to a major American newspaper and to a European wire service. I cruise two sites that aggregate news from a variety of sources - from FOX and media even farther to the right, to CNN and others farther left. And I have come to hate Twitter.</p><p>Freddy Baseball has been traded to the Yankees. Twitter has exploded. Read some examples.</p><p>Sally Popstar's new boyfriend is twenty-three yeas older than she is and the Twitterverse is in a tizzy.</p><p>I understand that the proliferation of platforms has led to a scramble for content. But please. Don't pretend that the random typing of my neighbor 's teenage son qualifies as news. It doesn't.<br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-79043032578364203472022-08-10T08:00:00.007-07:002022-08-24T08:51:28.553-07:00FRENCH MORTGAGE, RAIN, AND BITS AND BOBS: #14<p> </p><p></p><p><br /></p><br /><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmKbn_eAZL67Ea4F1m-UZkCf8J3yGh1cc16XzlrgunEDVez7W_4CsU7gnHWJEn5tibiH9IwL9a7eMlVmvaj0UuE05qw398HeBXISlB7qqLddelNuBNQBgAnb3PKRiel8ix8H-f7MH6SKxOvZJnrT2lE4VfN8nXWSxI_DeeU7T4ahnTpovg2lCNdq7Cw/s563/Mortgage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="563" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmKbn_eAZL67Ea4F1m-UZkCf8J3yGh1cc16XzlrgunEDVez7W_4CsU7gnHWJEn5tibiH9IwL9a7eMlVmvaj0UuE05qw398HeBXISlB7qqLddelNuBNQBgAnb3PKRiel8ix8H-f7MH6SKxOvZJnrT2lE4VfN8nXWSxI_DeeU7T4ahnTpovg2lCNdq7Cw/w640-h454/Mortgage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><b>FRENCH MORTGAGE</b></p><p>Those of you who have been paying attention will know that it has been several months since I last wrote about our mortgage application. At that time, I wrote that we were at the finish line. </p><p>We were not. </p><p>Innumerable twists and turns ensued before the money finally came through. I simply could not keep up. Here are the highlights:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>First met with our banker during the first week of November. By the first week of December, we were told that our request for a loan had been approved. We closed on the new house on December 15th. The loan money arrived on August 2nd of the following year.</li><li>First, the bank called it a mortgage, then a refinance, then a loan.</li><li>First, the banker proposed a 10-year term with life insurance for me. Now it's a 7-year term with life insurance for both of us.</li><li>First, I proposed that the bank finance 38% of the purchase price. The bank agreed to finance 27%.<br /></li><li>First did an online medical questionnaire in November. The website didn't like Cathey's phone number for the verification code. Mailed a signed hard copy witnessed by the banker. Then the bank decided in April that the medical questionnaires were too old and had to be resubmitted. Still didn't like Cathey's phone number but her sister's number worked just fine. She called us with the verification code.</li><li>First the bank wanted us to open a 10,000<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€ savings account maintained to ensure payments. Settled for 25% less, money that we can't touch until the loan is paid off. </span>
</li></ul><p>Each of the changes required an exchange of emails and a personal meeting with the banker. I have counted 15 separate email threads.</p><p>THE MORAL OF THE STORY: The old adage is true. The best way to obtain a loan is to prove that you don't need it. For American citizens in France, the requirements go a bit further, including making the deal worth the effort for your bank to comply with American and European banking regulations. </p><p>Regardless of the fact that we have submitted French tax returns, in addition to our American ones, for 15 years. Regardless of the fact that we have lived permanently in France for 8 years. And regardless of the fact that we have received our ten-year residency permits, one step below French citizenship, about three years ago. We are still Americans. We must learn patience with French bureaucracy. If you don't learn that patience, living in France won't be nearly as much fun.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy0GLXIZQtlWQDQgp6nlMaLl0MXkXhtUOn2AEg0_fMBUJEgvqBStmGOy34sncakG5dJB_okpjDEgDomIzFtTugubLWxRQQAJUcCxbEl25rk22FdscCFAAZb9f-xhHZpC59JmbOr8vXv3G5iasLVZ33WPPk5UQXfe1E_Fz2WE1CE2VsIxHq234A5E3yOg=s634" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="634" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy0GLXIZQtlWQDQgp6nlMaLl0MXkXhtUOn2AEg0_fMBUJEgvqBStmGOy34sncakG5dJB_okpjDEgDomIzFtTugubLWxRQQAJUcCxbEl25rk22FdscCFAAZb9f-xhHZpC59JmbOr8vXv3G5iasLVZ33WPPk5UQXfe1E_Fz2WE1CE2VsIxHq234A5E3yOg=w640-h424" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>RAIN</b></p><p>Did I read recently that the folks who built that ark in
Kentucky (or someplace like Kentucky) are suing their insurance company?
They want to be paid for water damage. To the ark that they built. From rain. Water damage.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzplbGEHQLN33M3CoO3fehoHdQjeFpWWoq1_jJ5XfeAJ8U_oaYFUjtYQJOs8fAE_v23XcuT7phMBLFT0vCx1iCyBb23H-yEWRTvyNK_KSYjgIOh_MZ4AhKcEffesp4M5_IZc1ZqxIByNNYE9PhXCefh8hrv7CQGvFd36yx5f3nE0wWq9ZFOPqbdgwPw/s500/Plasson.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="347" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzplbGEHQLN33M3CoO3fehoHdQjeFpWWoq1_jJ5XfeAJ8U_oaYFUjtYQJOs8fAE_v23XcuT7phMBLFT0vCx1iCyBb23H-yEWRTvyNK_KSYjgIOh_MZ4AhKcEffesp4M5_IZc1ZqxIByNNYE9PhXCefh8hrv7CQGvFd36yx5f3nE0wWq9ZFOPqbdgwPw/w444-h640/Plasson.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><br /><b> OPERA SURPRISE<br /></b><p></p><p>The conductor has led the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and conducted the Royal Ballet of Covent Garden Orchestra at the Met in New York. The soloists are among the best in France. And for 30<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€, we'll be attending their performance of Donzinetti's <i>The Elixir of Love </i>in a small theater in a small town a few minutes away. We had no idea when we moved to the rural, politically conservative, ancient region of France, a region that traces human history back to Neanderthals and beyond, that modern players would find venues for music from Bach to the blues anywhere and everywhere that an audience could be called together. What a gift!</span></p><p><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> UPDATE: Attended the opera last night. Unfortunately, our heat wave hadn't broken. Fortunately, the venue's tiered seating afforded everyone a clear view of the performance. And the orchestra was tight and confident from the first notes of the overture. And the set was simple but enhanced with occasional, interesting projected animations. And the principal soloists were nationally recognized </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">professionals. And the chorus displayed enthusiasm and discipline. </span></p><p>And I am so grateful to live here.<br /></p><p><b>TRUMP </b></p><p>There has to come a point of reckoning or else why do we pretend that there is such a thing as the rule of law?<b> </b>You simply can't take stuff out of the Oval Office and stick it in your closet at home if it is classified certain ways or if it belongs in the National Archives. The man overtly puts the Presidential Seal on everything in sight at his resorts and on his golf courses in clear contravention of the law. His other transgressions are so numerous as to defy comprehension by reasonable, rational people. There has to come a point of reckoning.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-12293523294193223282022-02-13T12:37:00.003-08:002022-02-14T01:57:43.099-08:00 BAD NEWS, FRENCH MORTGAGE, SAUSAGE, AND BITS AND BOBS: #13<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisC2ng9gCwyzr1wRkdpD967BQ8tUPEfcXkOYINWCVHONcJf2jG1ZDWlrQz3DDNagC28FlXevCZiB0db7UCjNzQUUPEKpaQ6N2xPuNElwqLxDNCBjIBpdn2EnvbpCICSZkt3FVuL3KEYm29I9jj4qbSNZ40fnmrZBvu7CBlXdPTw8jjQYbP_ue6wPWgHQ=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="640" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisC2ng9gCwyzr1wRkdpD967BQ8tUPEfcXkOYINWCVHONcJf2jG1ZDWlrQz3DDNagC28FlXevCZiB0db7UCjNzQUUPEKpaQ6N2xPuNElwqLxDNCBjIBpdn2EnvbpCICSZkt3FVuL3KEYm29I9jj4qbSNZ40fnmrZBvu7CBlXdPTw8jjQYbP_ue6wPWgHQ=w640-h526" width="640" /></a></div><p>CONTENT<br /></p><p>The news ain’t what it used to be. </p><p>I’m
retired. I have wifi. I have Reuters and Google News and Flipboard and
The New York Times and more sources for ‘content’ on my phone than I
could ever need. Not so long ago, scanning through those sources was
enjoyable, might even have evoked a chuckle or two. </p><p>Remember the
Chris Christie meme? How many ways could an obese governor lounging in a
beach chair be photoshopped into wildly inappropriate current events
stories? As it turned out, lots of ways, lots of very funny ways. Where
are the memes featuring the politicians of today that evoke laughter and
not disgust? </p><p>COVID. Trump. Boris. Putin. Ukraine. China. Climate. Supply chain. The price of energy. The price of food. </p><p>The world is too much with us...</p><p>ON THE OTHER HAND</p><p>UPI
reports that a chicken walked up to a security area in the Pentagon,
unaccompanied and unarmed. Yes. A chicken. Not a Bird Colonel. An actual
chicken. With feathers.</p><p>When I was in college, we stole a chicken
from the agricultural school, spray painted it red, and let it loose in
the room of the resident assistant, where it proceeded to use the poor
guy's Masters thesis on his desk for toilet paper. But the Pentagon …?</p><p>FRENCH MORTGAGE</p><p>For
those who are following, we are in the home stretch. The last piece of
paper that my banker needs is the payoff of our current mortgage. Our
notaire, the French semi-lawyer who acts as an impartial(?) broker in
all real estate transactions, is supposed to pay off Credit Immobilier
de France with the proceeds of the sale of the old house. Our buyers say
that they have transferred the money to escrow. Let's see what else can
go wrong.<br /></p><p>ON THE OTHER HAND</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVQSuq6ViCFuN_QnAFYlXpd1Fh_6-1blKPEgKgRKOylhR0hmkBpCvqvoWwtSUhURA7KfUL_inrYq7iDauo5kkrJCiYkEaw2jFh-Stgn14n0xuC3H_b-zJLVq2sc8RAiMk7wbOtbF3cgYwZmRFmyAaiuQ_8YdHjFsQ5WCxZN7KDtzP_7ZNJogQWvzOZ9Q=s612" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="612" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVQSuq6ViCFuN_QnAFYlXpd1Fh_6-1blKPEgKgRKOylhR0hmkBpCvqvoWwtSUhURA7KfUL_inrYq7iDauo5kkrJCiYkEaw2jFh-Stgn14n0xuC3H_b-zJLVq2sc8RAiMk7wbOtbF3cgYwZmRFmyAaiuQ_8YdHjFsQ5WCxZN7KDtzP_7ZNJogQWvzOZ9Q=w640-h574" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Rescuers had a hard
time approaching a dog, lost in some woods. They tied a sausage to a
string connected to a drone and flew it over the dog, who dutifully
followed the flying sausage out of the woods to safety. Never
underestimate the power of sausage.</p><p>BASKETBALL </p><p>The 76ers
mortgaged their future for James Harden. If they don’t win a
championship this year or next, they blew it. Yes, I know. Noam Chomsky
thinks that professional sports are jingoistic exercises meant to
distract the masses. My guess is that Noam never played full court,
five-on-five basketball in the gym at the local Y.</p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-71034987719819856362022-01-30T03:28:00.001-08:002022-01-30T06:01:19.712-08:00FRESH FLOWERS, FREE SPEECH, A PISSED OFF CAT, AND OTHER BITS AND BOBS: #12<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL7OMQ1cfkwJrghVh2rlbWjekEP0aiLoReCl90XVXkKKAAlNy8Zj4XgMGjCpnpTsevariG4-YRSrxTkje03FV4sl-z-Bo7Bf_aWau7VjPmZlVEoB3tyB-CoqeR0rXbRZpNsF-8mcLPDngmgOnfWSqujvc6mcbFnP12cfqdjHHeK3H2E1mpYZxIK02Qww=s1632" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL7OMQ1cfkwJrghVh2rlbWjekEP0aiLoReCl90XVXkKKAAlNy8Zj4XgMGjCpnpTsevariG4-YRSrxTkje03FV4sl-z-Bo7Bf_aWau7VjPmZlVEoB3tyB-CoqeR0rXbRZpNsF-8mcLPDngmgOnfWSqujvc6mcbFnP12cfqdjHHeK3H2E1mpYZxIK02Qww=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>FRESH FLOWERS </p><p>Joni always gets it right. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.</p><p>For something like 30 years and a bit more, we bought, packaged for resale, and distributed thousands of cut flowers every week. Roses, carnations, mums, and more slipped through our hands, primarily viewed as a commodity. It was how we made our living. Oh, every once in a while, a particularly fine specimen would catch our eye and wind up in a bud vase on the kitchen table. But in general, I just became accustomed to having fresh flowers in the house without really noticing them. </p><p>In retirement, Cathey has taken to container gardening on the terrace. No veggies. Just stuff that looks pretty, smells good, or might spice up a stew. So we have sprigs and blossoms of several different sorts on the table as summer begins on through the middle of autumn. But the winters, as far from eastern Pennsylvania as we are, still can be pretty sparse. And, because I am a man, I hadn’t noticed that the vases had been put away and that the table was bare. </p><p>The bulb lit in the dim recesses of what passes as my mind when a dinner invitée brought Cathey a bouquet of flowers instead of the usual bottle of wine.</p><p>“I just love cut flowers,” Cathey said. After more than 50 years, you may be as stupid about some things as a lump of granite, but if you are still alive and have all of your fingers and toes intact, you know when the lady of the house speaks from the heart.</p><p>Yes. I have started buying flowers. No big deal. Self defense is a noble and essential animal skill that human males would be wise to keep sharply honed.</p><p>FREE SPEECH</p><p>There’s lots of talk these days about freedoms. In particular, folks seem to be adopting the philosophy that rights are more important than responsibilities and can be disconnected from truth and from consequences. </p><p>Joni again. She’s joined Neil Young in taking her music off Spotify in response to that service providing a platform for misinformation. Does Joe Rogan have a right to spout his bull shite? Of course he does. Does Spotify have the right to give him a platform? Certainly, although one could wish that Spotify would pay greater attention to the quality of the information its platform provides a megaphone for rather than the profitability of same. So what’s all the huffing and puffing about?</p><p>We need to have a serious conversation about how far we are willing to go to participate in the post truth society that we seem to be enveloped in. Most of us haven’t the power to influence the course of that conversation on a macro level. Joni and Neil can. But we have to do our part. We have to, with love and all due respect, push against falsehoods promoted in our hearing. Bypass the channels on the television or radio that promote false narratives for profit. Don’t give voice to family and friends spouting anti scientific nonsense, particularly in front of our children.</p><p>The freedom to swing your fist ends at the point of my nose. Should the two collide, there will be consequences. And in these troubled times, the freedom of people like Rogan to give credence to opinions that might cause serious harm to me or those that I love should not be allowed to be monetized without significant push back from serious and thoughtful people wherever it rears it’s ugly head.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaQpoEohn0w4ncJZG-TKTEDqVu6SeDXfZlY796sEzqwHK3xlDm-Xln_SHEeejA2hg_v1g3Ewx7XQmgj1yRTfe5jPO-r8LnnDeVceDn8JIF0HC0DUqjsbbBdi5fimZ1HVZF_Wbmjvgf8j6YL1bInRY0RKmbaHIekD9WwGMFQkY1dWwI4hqBqY9FPXZP1w=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaQpoEohn0w4ncJZG-TKTEDqVu6SeDXfZlY796sEzqwHK3xlDm-Xln_SHEeejA2hg_v1g3Ewx7XQmgj1yRTfe5jPO-r8LnnDeVceDn8JIF0HC0DUqjsbbBdi5fimZ1HVZF_Wbmjvgf8j6YL1bInRY0RKmbaHIekD9WwGMFQkY1dWwI4hqBqY9FPXZP1w=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><p>OUR CAT IS PISSED OFF</p><p>We're in the middle of a move. We're only moving about 75 yards down the street, but we are moving. Beds, rugs, spice cabinets, plants, all that had been here will soon be there. Because we're only moving down the street, we are doing most of the moving by ourselves. We pack a box, we carry it down the hill, we unpack the box, we bring back the empty box. Repeat. It's been a couple of weeks now, but we are near the end.</p><p>Sylvie is having a hard time. She’s a snowshoe, an offshoot Siamese breed. And she was a street kitten, feral child of a feral mother, very territorial and always aware of her surroundings. So when stuff that Sylvie had become accustomed to began disappearing, Sylvie noticed. She began following us around. She became more of a lap cat. Something unusual was going on and she was not comfortable with it.</p><p>The crisis came when I began to tear down the room that she and I share. It’s my office, but it’s the one room in the house that has the radiator going all winter so that she has one dependable warm place to nap on her cat tower. As the date for the move neared, I spent a day clearing everything out of the room except my desk and that tower. Day bed, book cases, coats and hangers in the little open closet…all suddenly gone. </p><p>Sylvie immediately displayed her displeasure. She threw up everywhere. Everywhere. She stopped eating, even her favorite daily treats. She hid inside the little cave in the tower that she had never frequented before. Sylvie was one pissed off cat.<br /></p><p>Two days passed. We kept close watch. We considered a trip to the vet if she continued to refuse to eat. But in time, Sylvie came around. Slowly at first, but now back to whatever passes as normal for her. Now comes the kicker. We move her to the new house in a couple of days. I will report.</p><p>BITS AND BOBS</p><p>A friend in Florida is complaining that it’s so cold that he might have to put on socks. Meanwhile, they’re experiencing a blizzard where he grew up in the north. Opinions about the weather are indeed relative to the thickness of one’s blood and, in warmer climates, the blood thins rapidly.</p><p>A teenage girl just became the youngest person to circumnavigate the globe in a single-seat prop plane, solo. It took the better part of six months to complete the journey, proving that given enough time and money, anybody can do anything.</p><p>Apropos of our move, the new house is heated primarily by programmable electric radiators. I intend to fire up the fireplace insert frequently for two reasons. First, a fireplace not only provides heat, but visual and auditory and aromatic enjoyment as well. Secondly, we don’t have a ten year old child handy to teach me how to program the darn radiators which, by the way, come in a variety of different flavors with different buttons and little, unreadable screens.</p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-69932917877017229852022-01-28T09:00:00.001-08:002022-01-30T06:00:13.127-08:00FIRE IS RITUAL AND NOVELTY: #11<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibCKs7fqiARd_N1SbIhifyUErhP-89en2lxMvfSFolLX4Nnlye5r0QME88D6yQ5LNdv2i8RUGoTqaFJFDpIZWyBD00zSQmUhYreJA8yhR104Qyfy9Qhd0Fmjpa8FV9TfeBa5HL9vwDDp5P55rfE3JxHsfwothFoeWoOpYYgofUoU6cclr8rS9_8s2anQ=s875" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="875" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibCKs7fqiARd_N1SbIhifyUErhP-89en2lxMvfSFolLX4Nnlye5r0QME88D6yQ5LNdv2i8RUGoTqaFJFDpIZWyBD00zSQmUhYreJA8yhR104Qyfy9Qhd0Fmjpa8FV9TfeBa5HL9vwDDp5P55rfE3JxHsfwothFoeWoOpYYgofUoU6cclr8rS9_8s2anQ=w640-h464" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Our new house has a fireplace with an insert. I haven't lived in a house with a fireplace for over fifty years. I’m ready. Impatient. I've started fires in the insert every day for the past few days. Here’s what I’ve learned.</p><p>Fire starting involves ritual, repeated adherence to certain personalized rules to accomplish the desired outcome. Do you sweep the hearth clean or build on a bed of ashes? Do you use one of those little fire-starter cubes? If you do, organic or petrochemical? What sort of kindling do you use and how do you arrange it? What size log(s) of what type of wood do you use? How do you arrange them? How do you set the draft? Once you have your fire going, how often do you poke and prod it?</p><p>These are all serious questions requiring serious answers. As you learn your particular fireplace, you settle on the answers that seem to produce the best result. There’s little profit in changing the ritual once you have settled on a formula that builds the fire that you want in an acceptable timeframe. You have faith that your ritual will produce positive results and continue to produce positive results every time. That’s ritual. That’s comforting.</p><p>Once you have your fire going, ritual is done and novelty comes to the fore. Every fire is different. Those differences may explain at least part of the fascination that us hominids have with fire.</p><p>I have my rituals. Comforting. I await the novelty, fascinated. The kindling catches quickly. Or not. The log(s) catch quickly. Or not. The draft needs to be tinkered with. Or not. The log(s) seem well positioned and can be left alone. Or not.</p><p>When a substantial log catches, and if the draft is strong and I leave it strong, the log may become swathed in flames. I usually would restrict the air at this point. Burn slower. Build up heat. But there are times that I am enthralled by a log that is engulfed in flames and just let the pulsating veils of fire eat the log down to embers quickly.</p><p>And in the penultimate stage, when the log is no longer a stout piece of wood but is not yet a fragile collection of embers barely holding together, rivers of fire appear on the face of the log, as if the fire is bursting to get out from inside. The log appears as a miniature echo of a nighttime aerial portrait of rivers of lava from an erupting volcano. The lines of fire appear, intersect, broaden, pool, and eventually cause the log to collapse in on itself.</p><p>Fire. Ritual. Novelty. Finally…</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgpXWfz7qU-rYgLkcIlfLY6Y9hPcrk3VqKeegV5KFyfz3CSZHcvyAIkPOfvAIpuYKvRS22tRB8l1kBdu_2GCBnvNWJoVZFjO655HVtxAxr70qwjUTwvl5a5_UF7_dvMH0Xq1-vA-jvR-CIE9EmlVI04j2sosaVMmvgLs0KSZWw3C7zQMuPtzEQJ0ZMAw=s317" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="317" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgpXWfz7qU-rYgLkcIlfLY6Y9hPcrk3VqKeegV5KFyfz3CSZHcvyAIkPOfvAIpuYKvRS22tRB8l1kBdu_2GCBnvNWJoVZFjO655HVtxAxr70qwjUTwvl5a5_UF7_dvMH0Xq1-vA-jvR-CIE9EmlVI04j2sosaVMmvgLs0KSZWw3C7zQMuPtzEQJ0ZMAw=w640-h321" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-77123251647039881472022-01-22T08:13:00.002-08:002022-01-22T08:33:49.523-08:00GETTING A FRENCH MORTGAGE: PART DEUX #10<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnyC723tOKPeC9xKFyzjSTxkncMYYsLr_7iZ3jNdXDrOCx4la0lwvnm2XXkXQfmTz8wnfwaauVDV66LUnOk8SlyQ-Iy4nS6QEk491t-88pgwI55ajcaYLFo-2p1fp5VZpQQPfN_fAIIR1V1I7-cxOAMFJEwveyhcst8DdaS_Sr0GNK5tu_Wi_lUVMDIA=s1599" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1595" data-original-width="1599" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnyC723tOKPeC9xKFyzjSTxkncMYYsLr_7iZ3jNdXDrOCx4la0lwvnm2XXkXQfmTz8wnfwaauVDV66LUnOk8SlyQ-Iy4nS6QEk491t-88pgwI55ajcaYLFo-2p1fp5VZpQQPfN_fAIIR1V1I7-cxOAMFJEwveyhcst8DdaS_Sr0GNK5tu_Wi_lUVMDIA=w640-h638" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p> </p><p>To recap:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>You have a banker, not a bank. </li><li>Bring every piece of paper that you own.</li><li>French bankers don't negotiate like American bankers. </li><li>You don't actually apply for a mortgage until you've been approved.</li><li>You are not approved until the regional office signs off.</li><li>There's a waiting period. </li></ul><p>And don't forget, the banker can get COVID and let your paperwork sit on his desk for a couple of extra weeks. That's where we were the last time that I posted. It gets better.</p><p>After satisfying Frederick's request for updated French tax info, I thought that we might be home free. Silly me. Out of the blue, more requests for documents. Statements for the past three months for our Belgian account. Proof that we had paid off the mortgage on our current house. And how about the deed to the new house? You know, the one that the mortgage is for. Let's take them one at a time.</p><p>BELGIAN ACCOUNT</p><p>We don't have any accounts in Belgium. Frederick said that we did, that we had received transfers of money from an account in Belgium. I asked Frederick for the dates and amounts. And thus the puzzle was solved. The dates and amounts were dates and amounts that I had used Wise (formerly Transferwise) to move money from our American checking account to our French account. Apparently, Wise has an office in Belgium that handles such transfers. I've explained to Frederick. Frederick understands. Never mind.<br /></p><p>PROOF OF PAID OFF MORTGAGE ON OUR OLD HOUSE</p><p>We won’t pay off the mortgage on our old house until we close the sale. Mid February. Frederick knew that. The loan cannot be finalized until after the old mortgage is paid in full, he said. He could have told us that two months ago. He didn’t. Oversight? Who knows? But the fact is that Frederick never once in three months said that receipt of the loan could not be accomplished before the closing on the old house. Well, now we know. Pressure off. We’ll just have to wait.</p><p>PROOF OF OWNERSHIP OF THE NEW HOUSE</p><p>We’re still waiting for our copy of the deed to the new house. It’s been over a month since we closed and received the keys. But given that we’re waiting until mid February anyway, I don’t have jump on the notaire to send it over quickly. She said that it would take a month to finalize. It’s been a couple of weeks more than that. Gentle prodding should produce results.</p><p>AND THERE’S MORE</p><p>The home office has decided that because of our age, the loan will have to be for seven years instead of ten and the insurance will have to be at 100% instead of 50% of the loan should either of us ‘disappear’. (Apparently, that’s the polite term that bankers in France use for kicking the bucket.) Obviously, that means that the monthly payments will be higher. Not out of sight, not more than we can handle, but a significant percentage increase all the same. Shorter term. Better insurance. But this is the third time that the details have been modified. </p><p>For the first time, I let my frustration show to Frederick. Just a little...<br /></p><p>So we’re not done yet. Once again, stay tuned.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><br /></b></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-45091110435463806812022-01-15T05:56:00.003-08:002022-01-16T02:47:11.361-08:00MACRON, 1/6, PIZZA, AND OTHER BITS AND PIECES: #9<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglWvyoWkj9DxVf4KsaJf8ePMHKfccDC8nQbabXt4P1_eT5afS7Y_1jvBSobAWs8BX54InWn7YQ9ToxORR-LKj5pu0jleKZHv8C1FM0SOoLJAAVo8GuKdg95CqHLOcE_Mqjgex0G0KqZT6nISEZkbuhk6CXFxopmxje637rN_4Nr6fTBSQ7gDKHbi8P_g=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglWvyoWkj9DxVf4KsaJf8ePMHKfccDC8nQbabXt4P1_eT5afS7Y_1jvBSobAWs8BX54InWn7YQ9ToxORR-LKj5pu0jleKZHv8C1FM0SOoLJAAVo8GuKdg95CqHLOcE_Mqjgex0G0KqZT6nISEZkbuhk6CXFxopmxje637rN_4Nr6fTBSQ7gDKHbi8P_g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p>MACRON IS PISSED OFF. SO AM I.<br /></p><p>I don't care if it was political calculation, a slip of the tongue, or simply an uncharacteristic burst of honest feelings from a politician. But I am not pissed off that Macron is pissing off the people who piss me off by not getting vaccinated. As the controversy over Macron's statement concerning the last 10% of the French who are holding out against the jab plays out, anti-vaxxers are being interviewed by the media. And what those interviews bring to light, admittedly as anecdotal evidence, is that the anti-vaxxers have no problem purchasing fake vaccine passes or borrowing the passes of friends and family in order to go to restaurants and cinemas while unvaccinated. In other words, they have no problem breaking the law and endangering other people's lives, demonstrating that they are not merely criminals. They are sociopaths. </p><p>Yes, such rants are becoming more and more common. Given that anti-vaxxers are such a small minority - in numbers if not in volume - that calling them names might not seem as edgy as it would have a year ago. But a year ago, I was calling them names too. <br /></p><p>AT LAST. PIZZA</p><p>Friday night is Pizza Night. </p><p>Isabella's Pizza outside of Bath made a fine pie just the way that we liked it back when we lived in Pennsylvania, USofA. Isabella never appeared in person but her old man always welcomed me with a handshake and a grin. And on a warm summer evening, he would hand me a cold beer if I had to wait a few minutes for my pie to come out of the oven. For decades, Cathey could rest easy and enjoy someone else's cooking that one night a week. </p><p>In France, it's been different. </p><p>Every little town in France has a pizza joint. Some have full menus. Some just pizza. Sometimes. the pizzas are little more than crackers-with-toppings with thin, almost wafer crusts. Some of those cracker pizzas are better than others. I like the guy who parks his truck in the square on Wednesday nights better than I like pizza from the town's storefront shop that's only open on weekends, but the difference isn't that dramatic.</p><p>Crackers with toppings...</p><p>Recently, fate intervened. A new friend, and a foodie too, said that he heard that a pizza restaurant in a market town up the road made a good pie. So we went to the Sunday morning market in Saint-Chinian, lingered over a cup of coffee while we waited for Pizza Di Rosa to open, and the three of us ordered three different 8" pies. Wonderful. A fine cross between the full-crust American pie and the French crackers, with a thin but slightly bready crust, flexible enough to fold, but not so thick that the toppings were overwhelmed. </p><p>Now, for a decent bagel...<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP58PCtaGMG16G-H_VYku4BE3Zh1CKE39iOwKlycZO_gvH4gk6E9t3Yo1nWE4SqF7lWwxDWdjwuBYVWuiKwmzbP6pdaBNzY-ju7iGfcZo3z-FuasWLwFLQQ3DA6lLY9U5tvm8A8LvxRrme0Fo5rmkCzd4CwVyxWha0pZJHSZd9ElSBrXh49MfUp0y5DQ=s2500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1667" data-original-width="2500" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP58PCtaGMG16G-H_VYku4BE3Zh1CKE39iOwKlycZO_gvH4gk6E9t3Yo1nWE4SqF7lWwxDWdjwuBYVWuiKwmzbP6pdaBNzY-ju7iGfcZo3z-FuasWLwFLQQ3DA6lLY9U5tvm8A8LvxRrme0Fo5rmkCzd4CwVyxWha0pZJHSZd9ElSBrXh49MfUp0y5DQ=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><p> 1/6: A DAY THAT WILL LIVE IN INFAMY</p><p></p><p>When Liz Cheney said that 1/6 will be remembered by Americans in the same way that 9/11 and December 7th are, she was immediately castigated by the Trumpists in her party. So many people died when the planes flew into the World Trade Center, so many people died when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, that there can be no comparison, they said.</p><p>Well, Liz wasn't talking about deaths. No, Liz was talking about unexpected attacks on the soil of our USofA and its institutions. Liz was talking about events so previously unthinkable that they shook our concept of what is acceptable and normal. And she was right. A 21st Century insurrection to overturn an election that to this day still stands as free and fair, despite every attempt to brand it as stolen, will almost certainly be remembered for a long time to come. Let's hope that it's remembered in the proper context - a failed attempt to subvert democracy fueled by an ignorant, arrogant, and defeated President.</p><p>YOUTUBE: THERE'S A VIDEO FOR THAT</p><p>Putting together IKEA furniture? Wondering how to change a setting on an iPhone Xr? Carving a turkey or a rib roast? There are videos for that. There's a video for everything. No more mysteries. No professional secrets. </p><p>Put malt powder in the water when you boil your homemade bagels. Intel or AMD? Add cinnamon to lamb shanks to sweeten them a bit. What's the easiest way to make pallets out of your furniture? (Wait a minute. Reverse that.) There are videos for that. </p><p> Clearly, it is more likely than not that we live in a simulation. We are engulfed in a digital world so interconnected and complex that almost certainly, the next step is to live in a virtual world of our own choosing, a virtual world in which such nuisances as COVID do not exist.</p><p>How's that for taking a sharp right turn that you didn't see </p><p>RANDOM THOUGHTS</p><p>Thousands of anti-vaxxers took to the streets in Austria to protest mandates. Millions stayed home, fully vaxxed. Guess which group earned the headlines.</p><p>Djokovic rightly expected to be able to compete in Australia. Money and power. What else do you need to be allowed to do whatever you want to do? Just ask Trump. And by the way, Trump will never go to jail. Why not? Money and power.</p>For the past week, lows at night have hovered between 28F and 39F with frost turning the vineyards white in the morning. In eastern Pennsylvania, such temperatures in mid January might be considered a blessing, especially if the daytime temps rose fo 50F as ours have been. I guess that my blood is thinning after eight years living within spitting distance of the Mediterranean. <br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-51600904131052059362022-01-05T06:15:00.001-08:002022-01-10T01:44:22.036-08:00STUFF TO KNOW ABOUT FRENCH MORTGAGES: #8<p> </p><p>Every interaction with a French institution teaches valuable lessons. Usually, those lessons involve learning patience. The French bureaucrat/fonctionnaire has a list and loves to check the boxes. Here are a few boxes that you need to be checking.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaTZeqQrcD0EL0pl-XffSjUrM0ERoASwh_MaSS0NfGKtfwXMagMV9MaKuPKYAy_xjMtORZL2MYE7MQ4okJkRCpDe5o7FC4Pfm5cXJwXuqFPze_Nn_EldXWbkptfScWPpJcKEI4qlOkTiQ53Q1SIPvVhU-dGDukhBf7UMd50zflpWtZOlaPZS14XH-9jg=s350" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="350" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaTZeqQrcD0EL0pl-XffSjUrM0ERoASwh_MaSS0NfGKtfwXMagMV9MaKuPKYAy_xjMtORZL2MYE7MQ4okJkRCpDe5o7FC4Pfm5cXJwXuqFPze_Nn_EldXWbkptfScWPpJcKEI4qlOkTiQ53Q1SIPvVhU-dGDukhBf7UMd50zflpWtZOlaPZS14XH-9jg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><b>You have a banker, not a bank. </b>I don't know how it is for folks with abundant resources, but we are just average folks with an income close to the French national average. That means that there's one person at the bank that handles our account, our banker. Frederick. It's a small branch with just a few employees, so there's no hand off. Frederick works on our dossier and, if he's not around, the dossier sits. (More about that later.) Get to know your banker.<br /></p><p><b>Bring every piece of paper that you own</b> when meeting with your banker to discuss your request for a mortgage. If you have been living in France, five years worth of tax returns. French tax returns. (If you live in France, you have to file whether you have to pay French taxes or not.) Proof of residence, such as a utility bill that's less than three months old. Proof of income - required even though we've been running our income through the same bank for almost eight years. If joint request with spouse, proof that you are married. In other words, bring every piece of paper that you own.</p><p><b>French bankers don't negotiate like American bankers. </b>We didn't need much of a mortgage. We initially asked for a mortgage that would cover about 40% of the purchase price of our new house. (Our 'new' house, by the way, is 1,000 years old.) Between the equity in our current house and our savings just for this purpose that I'd put aside, we could easily cover the rest and didn't want to borrow more than we needed to borrow. After much typing and chin scratching and more typing, Frederick told me that we couldn't have a mortgage. He carefully went over the reasons - our age, our income, the phase of the moon. </p><p>After several minutes of Frederick explaining why we couldn't have the mortgage that we wanted, and seeing how genuinely sorry he appeared to be that he couldn't help us, I asked a simple question. Suppose we only asked for 30% of the purchase price instead of 40%? More typing and chin scratching and typing. Yes! That would work. An American banker would have suggested adding money to the pot at least five minutes sooner.. I only brought it up because it seemed obvious that Frederick was not going to. Don't assume that French bankers are like American bankers. They're not. </p><p><b>You don't actually apply for a mortgage until you've been approved.</b> That's right. We signed nothing until our third or fourth meeting with Frederick, after we'd supplied him with every piece of paper that we owned and completed an online medical questionnaire. After about five weeks of meetings and emails, Frederick informed us that our loan had been approved and that we needed to come in and sign the papers. We were surprised to learn that the papers that we had to sign were not our acceptance of the mortgage. We were to sign the mortgage application. Why waste time signing things if you are not going to be approved? But once the management of the branch approved, it's OK to sign the application.</p><p><b>You are not approved until the regional office signs off.</b> Yippee! We're approved. Well, not really. It turns out that the approval of the branch isn't the final word. The dossier has to be sent to the regional office for the final checking of the boxes. A formality, Frederick assures us. Fingers crossed because, although Frederick says that we are approved, we are not really out of the woods quite yet.</p><p><b>There's a waiting period.</b> French law takes cooling off periods seriously. What is a cooling off period? When buying a property, the buyer has a ten-day window after signing the purchase agreement to back out of the deal without major penalty. In the case of a loan, you cannot except the money until the eleventh day after approval - in our case, until Montpellier approves. We didn't know that until after we signed, not that it would have made any difference. But it would have been good to know. Maybe it was in the fine print. Be that as it may, whatever the schedule that you had in mind, add the cooling off period.<br /></p><p><b>Frederick got COVID! </b>I mentioned that Frederick didn't have a buddy at the bank to keep up with his customers when Frederick was sick or went on vacation. As it turned out, the day after we provided the last document that the bank required, Frederick tested positive. (He's fine, now. Thanks for asking.) Frederick was out of the office for three weeks. While we thought that our dossier was in the mail to Montpellier, in truth it was languishing on Frederick's desk. We are now waiting for the next update from Frederick, who is back at work after his bout with COVID.</p><p>It's been about ten weeks now. There's more. Stay tuned.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-3565885635721911732022-01-03T12:48:00.002-08:002022-01-03T12:48:24.651-08:00CURRENCY TRANSFERS AND PNC BANK: #7<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffa400;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffa400;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibpWioyBNFwUbAVNRlKPLNEltihh326g2YGuTkqOLPM3snsz3TM7QEL6mZ6dMJLRH5LJspwpCJZO7NJp-d3tB64wx_8wfsZ9jW5mn0gMc_rJMOICEF_WmIJcFp8zJyoQ7TQW4MX5MoFeVPVoZic0yvAJxXfdfcf7xbGRMVO-9AUmWrwPHdecIdhd0z6A=s200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="69" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibpWioyBNFwUbAVNRlKPLNEltihh326g2YGuTkqOLPM3snsz3TM7QEL6mZ6dMJLRH5LJspwpCJZO7NJp-d3tB64wx_8wfsZ9jW5mn0gMc_rJMOICEF_WmIJcFp8zJyoQ7TQW4MX5MoFeVPVoZic0yvAJxXfdfcf7xbGRMVO-9AUmWrwPHdecIdhd0z6A=w69-h69" width="69" /></a><span style="color: #ffa400;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></b></span></span></span></span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffa400;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #ffa400;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;">PNC BANK</span></span></span></b></span></span></span></span></b></span></div><p>I’ve had no problem with PNC Bank for nearly forty years. Free checking. Online banking. Overdraft protection. Hardly a hiccup. But today, if I found myself back in the USofA (besides wondering why the heck I wasted my time, money, and health by returning), one of the first things that I would do would be to get my money out of PNC Bank and into a bank that was dedicated to customer service in the 21st Century and sufficiently competent to provide it.</p><p>Although Social Security direct deposits our retirement benefits to our French bank account, the companies handling our IRA investments are based in the US and my retirement package from work can deposit only in an American bank account. And so, we retained our PNC account as our focus moved abroad. There’s one problem, though. One MAJOR problem. We live in France and PNC is reluctant to give us our money when we want it. </p><p>You see, we've bought a new house and we're selling our current one. If we had sold the old one first, we would have our equity in hand and could finance the new with it. And the money would all be in France, in euros. Easy peasy. Unfortunately, if we sold before buying, where would we live? How long would we need to rent? Would we really want to move twice in a short period of time? No. The easy way to do it would be to buy first, sell as soon after as we could, and move at our leisure. And that's what we're doing. But it means that the funds financing the deal had to be in dollars, in our savings/investments in the USofA, and converted into euros as is was electronically transferred across the Pond. Should have been easy peasy too. It wasn't.<br /></p><p>A video on PNC’s website explains that PNC is concerned that the tech companies that provide the digital platforms to pull funds out of our PNC account and deposit those funds into our French account are privy to too much of our information and cannot be trusted to handle that information in as secure a manner that PNC approves. PNC says that it is working hard to resolve this matter. But as a result, the major currency transfer companies have to provide people like me with burdensome workarounds, if they can provide their services at all given PNC's security protocols. PNC is apparently notorious in these circles as one of the major banks in the USofA that hasn't climbed on board the electronic banking train.<br /></p><p>And given that PNC’s video explanation of their security concerns and their expression of determination to address those concerns is two years old, PNC is either incapable of addressing the concerns that do not prevent other major US banks from granting their clients access to their funds or is simply not interested in doing so. Either way, incapable or uninterested, PNC management’s attempt to convince me that they care about me fails to convince me that they actually do. </p><p>Perhaps they do care about me, but they are simply incompetent. Incompetent. Not a word that you want to be associated with your bank.</p><p>In the end, I used the one of four currency exchange companies that I investigated that could actually move our money without requiring that we jump through 15 hoops and mortgage our cat. I will discuss their relative costs, speed, and convenience in a subsequent post.<br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-10332739241974600772021-11-07T00:55:00.002-07:002021-11-07T02:29:54.265-08:00BUYING AND SELLING A HOUSE IN FRANCE: QUICK TAKES #6<p> </p><p>Little things can trip you up. </p><p>Just about everyone of a certain age has purchased a house at one time in their lives. I realize that the current common wisdom is that the old aspiration of owning your own home instead of renting may be passé, but I still cast my vote for the benefits and satisfaction of ownership. We have lived that philosophy. Cathey and I have bought four houses in our several decades of marriage and we’ve sold two. A third is on the market. (I’m open to offers.) Let’s talk about some of the oddities of the process in France.</p><p> GETTING YOUR MONEY BACK</p><p>You never do, do you? Below is a picture of how the kitchen looks today and, under that, a picture of the kitchen the day that we bought the house. You just can't put a value on that kind of work. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFA4h106M-NbwecrJ5mOSWQU4Dr9_-eTd_aOfxxaniph7si_m22x3AW0LCJHQkfW2UEBcWuj0TbocUXl5-Vp1zOa_H3tRflNUJH7L_ELdNEH9wom2_7YcuDUPhLRl6XVSiwzvGHv1ON-kA/s4896/P1010515.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFA4h106M-NbwecrJ5mOSWQU4Dr9_-eTd_aOfxxaniph7si_m22x3AW0LCJHQkfW2UEBcWuj0TbocUXl5-Vp1zOa_H3tRflNUJH7L_ELdNEH9wom2_7YcuDUPhLRl6XVSiwzvGHv1ON-kA/w640-h480/P1010515.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrZL8AIipWMToywO_wvx_YwjIkcOUSkfO3FkFeNm0B374PugmiV9TVBc3e2iGw0QYWAYWrK6qT-_N0mNDZGdSc1x5VUbryV3rxVjvuRiKtYBhwAOVUj6cdpkOLYtk0of24Wlizz9CTgJb/s2048/KITCHEN-DINING+UP+ONE+FLIGHT.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrZL8AIipWMToywO_wvx_YwjIkcOUSkfO3FkFeNm0B374PugmiV9TVBc3e2iGw0QYWAYWrK6qT-_N0mNDZGdSc1x5VUbryV3rxVjvuRiKtYBhwAOVUj6cdpkOLYtk0of24Wlizz9CTgJb/w640-h480/KITCHEN-DINING+UP+ONE+FLIGHT.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>THE MAYOR</p><p>The latest hurdle to clear if you are selling a property in France is getting the signature of your mayor. Why? To ensure that the village does not have plans for the property. Playground? Parking lot? Whatever. The mayor needs to sign off.</p><p>Gilbert’s a good guy. He’s the only mayor I’ve known since we moved here and he’s recently been elected to another six-year term. The one time that I needed his signature, on a document concerning something other than a property sale, he was most obliging. Signed on a weekend. But as you learn the longer that you live in France, every additional signature on a document can add weeks to its completion. That’s why I am reluctant to complain about the occasional noisy party down the street or the crap oven by the sidewalk in front of the house next door. I don’t want to be the needy, pushy foreigner.</p><p>So I let stuff slide that my French neighbors might find unacceptable. There may come a time that I will want Gilbert to be my friend in City Hall. Like when we sell our house.</p><p>MANSPLAINING </p><p>When we were signing our agreement to buy the house that will suit us better in the coming years, I was surprised at the level of animosity exhibited by Madame Villa, the owner. I don't know whether Monsieur Villa is her second husband or if, for tax/inheritance purposes, they decided to put the house in her name alone, but clearly the Madame was in charge. And the Madame was not happy.</p><p>It seems that the agent through whom we are purchasing the house had fallen out of favor. When he would call the Villa household to ask questions or provide information, he would talk to Monsieur. Monsieur would then relay the gist of the discussion to Madame. And Madame did not appreciate all of the mansplaining concerning a deal that she was coming to believe might not be in her best interests. You see, the day that we signed the papers, the house was advertised by a brand new agency for a higher price than we were paying.</p><p>My advice to you, free of charge and worth every penny from a man on the cusp of his Golden Anniversary? Don't mansplain stuff to a fiery old lady who holds the reins of power. If the decision is hers, stay out of the way. On second thought, don't just stay out of the way. Run, do not walk, to your safe space while the deal goes down.</p><p>THE PRICE OF PROCRASTINATION</p><p>Ya know that smudge on the wall that I left when I bumped up against it when my forearm was smeared with burn salve because I'd reached into our car's hot motor to grab an errant fluid cap? How about the unpainted plaster around the skylight? The roofing around it has been sealed for over two years. Speaking of plaster, how about repairing the bit at the bottom of the stairs that got kicked out a while back? And the shutters on either side of the newly painted front door are different colors, one set wears the new color and the other, the old.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT72JaiWKfcIy1nGtDj1ZgiNOIOXBtcAaQTZI7pm8nJSJraWfI9evdu-eP769leiMnJ3y_iCCVNdHkIoGig4hqnI9YOzP0jixCV5JTThQqDJCTZabo8F5ZondiQXaxzeVzvSm-ErIm_4V1/s460/DIY+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="460" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT72JaiWKfcIy1nGtDj1ZgiNOIOXBtcAaQTZI7pm8nJSJraWfI9evdu-eP769leiMnJ3y_iCCVNdHkIoGig4hqnI9YOzP0jixCV5JTThQqDJCTZabo8F5ZondiQXaxzeVzvSm-ErIm_4V1/w640-h480/DIY+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I know that stuff like that looks funny to prospective buyers. They are simple jobs. I should have done the work in a timely fashion, But I procrastinated. I'm old. It's France. So what? Well, I'm trying to sell the house. Every little undone piece of work is a black mark. So I paint and I plaster and slowly, the house is getting into ship shape. Maybe I should bump the price.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-51881548242071837142021-10-31T13:23:00.003-07:002021-10-31T13:23:29.776-07:00THANKSGIVING IN FRANCE: A PREVIEW #5<br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH35k7nM2Y5Ej5xC5Zn_Ew_lJ3pMtVGfdvd1W6BXEgUr5EsQj0gpIruJ4hFp_2-suAaYxm73fkrY_fDv833jgIU61PmH8WZAayFSm8WfX08g9ogMISm1NoMu1dJ9A_aR-9mZv4tpl6Q6u/s570/Turkey+Hand+Drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="570" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH35k7nM2Y5Ej5xC5Zn_Ew_lJ3pMtVGfdvd1W6BXEgUr5EsQj0gpIruJ4hFp_2-suAaYxm73fkrY_fDv833jgIU61PmH8WZAayFSm8WfX08g9ogMISm1NoMu1dJ9A_aR-9mZv4tpl6Q6u/w640-h640/Turkey+Hand+Drawing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I'd like to say that our cousins all sat with us on our living room on Thanksgiving Day, drawing colorful turkeys while our dads watched over us, having loosened their ties just a bit, smoking their pipes. The moms, of course, were in the kitchen, chatting away happily among themselves while they prepared the feast. I'd like to paint that picture, but I don't remember Thanksgiving happening like that. I just don't remember Thanksgiving being a thing at all until Cathey made it a thing some years after we were married and ensconced comfortably in our house in Bath, Pennsylvania. That's when we instituted Second Thanksgiving, a full Thanksgiving gathering on the Saturday after traditional Thanksgiving Day.</p><p>You see, we worked on Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving kicked off a big holiday season for us, the money was too good to pass up, and we were young and foolish. But good came out of it. After family and friends had their celebrations with various in-laws and out-laws on Thursday, we had them over on Saturday after all of the holiday craziness had been purged from their systems.</p><p>Why am I writing about Thanksgiving several weeks early? Well, I always seem to remember to post about our French Thanksgiving well after the event. By then, stuffed with stuffing, I'm done. Put a fork in me. On to Christmas. So I thought that I'd short-circuit the process and post now instead of later. Here's how Thanksgiving works for us in France.</p><p> Of course, the French don't celebrate Thanksgiving. They know about it, calling it the Fête Americaine. But it’s not on their calendar. And that means that whole turkeys may be difficult to find in November. The French prepare whole turkeys for Christmas, so if you want one a month prior, you have to special order unless you're willing to take your chances. Our local butcher is happy to oblige. In mid October, we order a seven-kilo bird for the day before the holiday so that we have time to brine it. That’s the right size for the eight people who can fit around our little table. Unfortunately, birds of that size are not always available. They are coming through heavier and heavier these days. Twelve kilos and more. Why? According to our butcher, because Americans in posh communities like big birds.</p><p>We order our bird, buy the bird, brine it, and roast it according to a process taken from one of Cathey's favorite cooking authorities. And it works. The birds are uniformly moist and tasty. Each time. Every time. If you are interested, leave a Comment and I'll pull up the recipe for you.</p><p>Fresh cranberries are not regularly available in France. Buy them when you see them and freeze them. Polenta had to replace corn meal for the stuffing for many years, but con meal is now becoming more readily available. Canned pumpkin isn't available at all for pie making but we have learned that you can buy a frozen pumpkin mousse in Picard, a chain of stores that exclusively sells frozen food. Speaking of pies, pecans are expensive and just don't taste the same as Texas pecans. And molasses and Karo syrup have to be imported in the suitcases of family.</p><p>Speaking of family, we have created something of an intentional one. We've introduced several folks to an American Thanksgiving - Brits and Irish and Swedes and, of course, French. We hear through the grapevine that who we include and who we exclude is a subject for discussion among our neighbors. Sorry, but our kitchen and dining are too small to invite a horde.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTue37V8fauynN0HF9tOk73z3jrSViOBV6p10TjIaxhNlp4s5TWWtL2AS81CRGwZXlb4D5-tEvCNZK2hzN2SMfT23p6lvnCbhohWcoBHGJtxklbRSc33yLLNuJ3xw2kZk7oK0N8AUjR9Z/s1300/Pecan+Pie+ala+Mode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="1300" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTue37V8fauynN0HF9tOk73z3jrSViOBV6p10TjIaxhNlp4s5TWWtL2AS81CRGwZXlb4D5-tEvCNZK2hzN2SMfT23p6lvnCbhohWcoBHGJtxklbRSc33yLLNuJ3xw2kZk7oK0N8AUjR9Z/w640-h424/Pecan+Pie+ala+Mode.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I'm not going to go into the details of Cathey's Thanksgiving dinner menu. Any discussion of that artful presentation requires pictures to fully appreciate it. It's the full monty. Soup to nuts. Literally. And as many as three different pies. Wine, of course. And maybe an aperitif and a <i>digestif.</i><br /><p></p><p>Leftovers and sandwiches and, in the dead of winter, gumbo made from turkey bone stock.<br /></p><p>How do you slow things down enough during such a Thanksgiving dinner to take pictures? You can't take pictures when you are licking your fingers. Maybe next year...<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-66825437937613800002021-10-24T05:24:00.002-07:002021-10-24T05:25:52.604-07:00LIVING IN PARADISE: FRANCE IN OCTOBER #4<p> <br /></p><p> It's the end of October. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF3zO4urGNf0CnHneOiRRQnANC3eiPaWbdJtxX6sVksJxd4SL94AQLAX5B34jL-xd0h7kVTBw8sdchd3lmKvkKEEseqpzme6SaN7mtbqGAJs2UURQWILco2Rw_NneJ1ZfJAJcoJbF3zeW/s2048/Grape-vine-leaves-changing-colors.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF3zO4urGNf0CnHneOiRRQnANC3eiPaWbdJtxX6sVksJxd4SL94AQLAX5B34jL-xd0h7kVTBw8sdchd3lmKvkKEEseqpzme6SaN7mtbqGAJs2UURQWILco2Rw_NneJ1ZfJAJcoJbF3zeW/w640-h426/Grape-vine-leaves-changing-colors.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The sky is blue with puffy white clouds floating by. The temperature approaches 70F during the day, hovers in the high 40s at night. The vines, having just been harvested, are turning color prior to dropping their leaves. Many of those leaves turn yellow before going brown but some blaze bright red. Same with the deciduous trees, mostly yellow but with some autumn colors more familiar to this Northeastern boy.<p></p><p>Yes, it's unusually warm and pleasant. If this is a result of climate change, I'm down with it. I just hope that next summer isn't a killer. <br /></p><p>Even given this inviting weather, tourists seeking to prolong summer heat find warmer climates by heading farther south, into Spain. Perhaps taking a ferry or a short hop to northern Africa. Zanzibar is within reach. And many Europeans have spent considerable time in Southeast Asia. </p><p>We remain here in our little rural village in the southwest of France. Quiet descends. Traffic eases. Scarves, sweaters, light jackets, and socks and shoes replace polos, shorts, and sandals. In fact, the easiest way to distinguish the French from the Brits in the region is the insistence of the Brits to continue wearing shorts well after the French have started to protect themselves from the coming gray, wet, cold winter that is inevitably on the way. When the French break out their scarves to 'warm their necks', it's a good idea to follow their example and break out your winter gear.</p><p>That's not to say that you need the kind of winter clothing that is required in our former stomping ground of eastern Pennsylvania. My good winter coats have yet to be worn here as I go into my 8th winter. They hang in a closet, not forgotten but not necessary, either. Jackets that are labeled good for three seasons in the USofA are good for four here. So I wear my good fleece. </p><p>Last winter, we had one hard freeze. Simply not worth it to take the down jacket off the hanger for that one day just for the sake of nostalgia. </p><p>We miss the pop-up restaurants on the beaches. Do you know about them? They are stored in containers over the winter - full-service kitchens, tables and chairs, decking, and more. They are assembled in the spring right on the beaches up and down the coast. They serve just about anything that you could ask of a simple, unpretentious French restaurant, which is quite a lot. They are busy, busy, busy all summer. Then, suddenly, as if they were migrating birds, some signal unheard by mere mortals is heard and the restaurants disappear for another year.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzf8g-o56euCCPVtCRBwhd5fj9pi1Ji6jkUNWIrcEss6FzerCSfxp_FKIVt02kouE7dHHUrthDhPTNetYJOGkWbPTyp_gXIujipo-VwfTWzzWEPxlIZMHcsqk-AwiRjdnekAmhw1zH5BsJ/s1632/image0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzf8g-o56euCCPVtCRBwhd5fj9pi1Ji6jkUNWIrcEss6FzerCSfxp_FKIVt02kouE7dHHUrthDhPTNetYJOGkWbPTyp_gXIujipo-VwfTWzzWEPxlIZMHcsqk-AwiRjdnekAmhw1zH5BsJ/w640-h480/image0.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Year-round restaurants shorten their hours. Folks who didn't take vacations with their kids in the summer close their businesses for a couple of weeks in preparation for the winter holiday push. All Saints and All Souls Day preparation begins. But the winter holidays are a subject for further discussion. <p></p><p>It's the end of October and we are living in Paradise.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-79847522549114500912021-10-14T04:36:00.001-07:002021-10-17T00:23:39.901-07:00RANDOM THOUGHTS, SOME FRENCH SOME NOT: VENDANGE, BREXIT, GERMANY, AND MORE #3<p> VENDANGES </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfslx6D-WlRsJIFbLCFyZSAcQcLTCur0pfcpZfOOKh0Xe7eAaFifduc8nWsMfLJOGqrNiGZmDqdsSfNWAJEApz02fyxe1wFJeRjNtpOkDrMA1745T7hhNdHNvyuVwSxc3u4rk6dYyTj6B/s1296/4.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="1296" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfslx6D-WlRsJIFbLCFyZSAcQcLTCur0pfcpZfOOKh0Xe7eAaFifduc8nWsMfLJOGqrNiGZmDqdsSfNWAJEApz02fyxe1wFJeRjNtpOkDrMA1745T7hhNdHNvyuVwSxc3u4rk6dYyTj6B/w640-h478/4.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />The rural south of France is crisscrossed with two-lane blacktops, narrow and with curves that skirt old property lines several times per kilometer. Unlike the USofA, where roads take precedence over property, the French are unlikely to consider condemning a portion of a vineyard just to straighten out the road a bit. Since I like driving on twisty roads, I like driving in France. But not during <i>vendanges</i>, the grape harvest.<br /><p></p><p>Grapes are harvested at any hour of the day or night, depending on the personal preferences of the <i>vigneron, </i>the winemaker. Some go by the phase of the moon or other astrological and/or mythological signs and portents. Some are of the opinion that pure chemistry rules. Whatever the case, for several weeks and at unexpected times of day, you may find yourself on a curvy patch of blacktop behind a slow-moving tractor who has insufficient verge to let you pass…and probably would just as soon let you fend for yourself anyway.</p><p>It’s a miracle that the byways of the south of France aren’t littered with the burnt corpses of the cars of impatient French drivers who gambled on the absence of oncoming traffic once too often.</p><p>GERMAN ELECTIONS </p><p>The European multiparty system has definite disadvantages. One problem was immediately manifest the night that we sat with German friends to watch election night coverage on German television. All the votes might be counted, but we still don’t know who the winners will be. Although the center-left party received a few more votes than the center-right party of Angela Merkel, both of those major parties come in close to 25%. Since it takes 50% + 1 to govern, it will be necessary for one of the parties to build a coalition.</p><p>Let the horse trading begin. </p><p>If it can be said that there was one true winner, I suppose that it would be the Greens. They came in a solid third place, meaning that the party that they choose to align with will probably be able to form a government and name a prime minister to replace Merkel. It should be noted that the Greens in Germany are not just a fringe party. They may have only commanded 15% or so of the vote nationally, but they are the party that will be running Berlin. </p><p>The negotiations could take weeks, months. And so, after all the votes have been counted, the question of who won the election is still an open one.</p><p>UPDATE: As we go to press, the three parties of the left have announced a tentative agreement to form a coalition. That was the expected result, certainly. But the devil is in the details. Stay tuned.</p><p>BREXIT</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXKtmbQlyaJkCurk0vHS9dD5kb5QbHiGCGK11VIKdTJUCyluObikKePWHwgpaiYVwJ1lGJpt4cnkUrjOoqUNiMAZ-MyFv1P2QCujExsdA-8fwYgRpJQ7EMw7KSAtYjBA38nihJt_qsiR1/s800/Union+Jack.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXKtmbQlyaJkCurk0vHS9dD5kb5QbHiGCGK11VIKdTJUCyluObikKePWHwgpaiYVwJ1lGJpt4cnkUrjOoqUNiMAZ-MyFv1P2QCujExsdA-8fwYgRpJQ7EMw7KSAtYjBA38nihJt_qsiR1/s320/Union+Jack.webp" width="320" /></a></div>On second thought, no. I will not discuss Brexit today. What’s going on in England right now is simply too unnerving to try to tickle apart in a few sentences. It’s as if the USofA had elected someone like Donald Trump as President. Unimaginable with consequences too convoluted to untie contemporaneously. We just have to hope that the next generation of historians can come up with a coherent rationale for WHAT IN GOD’S NAME WERE PEOPLE THINKING!<p></p><p> </p><p> THANKSGIVING</p><p>This week, I will go to our local butcher and order a turkey for our Thanksgiving dinner. It’s necessary to order a month or more in advance because French shops don’t normally keep whole turkeys on hand except for Christmas. Wings? Breasts? Thighs? Yes. Whole turkeys? No.</p><p>Why? This is where the Gallic shrug comes in, that Franco-European gesture that signifies that a question has no discernible answer and that the ‘shrugger’ has no interest in pursuing the matter.</p><p>We order a turkey for pickup the day before Thanksgiving to give us time to brine it. We ask that the turkey weigh seven kilos - about 15 pounds for the metrically challenged among you. The bird is always delivered on time and is of uniformly excellent quality, but we have received turkeys ranging from five to twelve kilos. That 25 pound bird barely fit in our little European oven. </p><p>Whatever their size as they are being prepared for the Thanksgiving table, our turkeys all suffer the same fate. Leftovers. Sandwiches. Freezer - if there's any meat left. Stock. <br /><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-16439105442178292062021-09-25T05:37:00.007-07:002021-09-29T08:13:15.313-07:00FINDING A HOUSE IN FRANCE: FIRST STEPS #2<p> </p><p>First, be advised. I am not an expert in anything except my own experiences. And my experiences are confined to a particular time and place. If you have issues, I welcome them in Comments.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHq-kZTNBVpDhAHirAS27bdmndnJsU1nZRE9Hnh42REVbEEt-Hsi8UHJXV_FJBFsysXk2fy6gMliaccrl97FQYg41zyhyUmXXXEXbdFE80J69-gFcoU92eXkz9MP-47zRVGUC3wIniIuF/s269/For+Sale.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="188" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHq-kZTNBVpDhAHirAS27bdmndnJsU1nZRE9Hnh42REVbEEt-Hsi8UHJXV_FJBFsysXk2fy6gMliaccrl97FQYg41zyhyUmXXXEXbdFE80J69-gFcoU92eXkz9MP-47zRVGUC3wIniIuF/s0/For+Sale.png" width="188" /></a></div>We've been house hunting in Herault on several occasions since 2003. (Herault is a French department, somewhere between an American county and a state.) We twice visited to find a holiday home from which to learn about and explore the region. After deciding that this region of France was where we wanted to settle in our retirement, another search led to our current home of seven and a half years. And recently, we searched for a home with broader, gentler stairs given the state of our old bones. So I do speak from experience. As always, my advice is free of charge and worth every penny.<p></p><p></p><p>There's no multiple listing service in France. Each agent has their own website and, while some agencies do cooperate with partner agencies, it can easily be the case that there is a house for sale next door to the one that you are viewing that fits your requirements, but there's no sign out front (There are seldom street signs in our region.) and your agent doesn't have a clue. That's one reason to employ a more scattershot strategy than you might in the USofA.</p><p>The internet is your friend and there are multiple ways to take advantage of what the internet has to offer.</p><p>Once you have picked a region, do a simple Google search. And yes, even though you will be searching in France, such search terms as 'real estate Languedoc' or 'real estate Herault' work just fine. You can even take it down to an individual town . You'll get a bunch of hits - pages and pages. Take the time to poke through several of them and you will be rewarded. Fortunately for those without working French, most of the sites do translate into English. Eventually, if you expend time and effort, you will learn which sites seem to handle the type of properties most suited to your requirements. You may notice that some agencies update their websites frequently, some not so much. Decide for yourself what that might indicate.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jYXuKz-xTu5EyRQMiG8uJ4zbIG773ddvd8Y1mI3rUQyxbXBQIK5GhC0CzIutNuiVwKuaXXU3hvsNgVXLzUX9zsdVCv6xY-9m2ws5ixOwnEbvcpVX1dIdCtp16ESZY2bpdQeaO-6UfyH3/s2048/Kitchen+Window+Terrace.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jYXuKz-xTu5EyRQMiG8uJ4zbIG773ddvd8Y1mI3rUQyxbXBQIK5GhC0CzIutNuiVwKuaXXU3hvsNgVXLzUX9zsdVCv6xY-9m2ws5ixOwnEbvcpVX1dIdCtp16ESZY2bpdQeaO-6UfyH3/s320/Kitchen+Window+Terrace.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>In addition to the sites of real estate agencies, there are FSBO sites - For Sale By Owner. <a href="http://leboncoin.fr">leboncoin.fr</a> is the French equivalent of Craigslist, everything that can be sold privately (and legally) appears, sortable by type, price, region, and more. Agencies also post on leboncoin, so it's not exclusively private sales. You'll need at least beginner French to get through it properly. <a href="https://www.leboncoin.fr/ventes_immobilieres/2044713061.htm" target="_blank">Here's</a> how our ad looks. The site for Green Acres is similar, with both FSBO and agency ads. View the ads carefully. A private sale that doesn't include an agency fee may have more wiggle room in the price.<p></p><p>And then there's Facebook. Lots of pages and groups cater to anything and everything for sale as well as sites that are specific to real estate, to French real estate, to French houses in a specific region, to French houses under 50,000, and so on. My brief and recent experience tells me that Facebook is becoming very popular for both sellers and buyers. Whether you like or hate Zuck, his Frankenstein monster is hard to ignore. </p><p>Never undersetimate word of mouth. Bakeries, butchers, supermarkets, and other high traffic venues often allow the posting of community announcements. <i>Tabac</i>s, the only stores allowed by law to sell cigarettes and other tobacco products in France, can be important community gathering places. The folks in the <i>mairie</i>, the city hall, usually have a pretty good handle on what's going on in their town. And in the village squares and in cafes, there are likely to be men and women who will be happy to engage with a stranger, even one with fumbling French, as long as the effort is sincere.</p><p>In sum, if you are looking to buy a house in France, there are multiple avenues available to assist you. Make a list of your requirements - important questions from buyers in our region include the nature of the outside space, is there a garage or available parking nearby, distance to local services, and such. Let your contact know how important those requirements are. Stick to your guns. And get to it. </p><p>A journey of a thousand miles begins with having enough RAM.<br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-32332498150940841132021-09-19T07:07:00.004-07:002021-09-19T23:13:07.825-07:00SELLING OUR HOUSE IN FRANCE: TRUE STORY #1<p> Transacting business in France is always an interesting undertaking. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dSjcMpbZ1jmYsg9fwSD0XKe-NYAwJnDplf1VDMakmcPJzAdEwPWV-M4o47E1mIfwc-1AJwxsuFGVnCGIWb4JIo2ezUHyecO_bQJ6uYc4S1jtP4HpLrzIcT2B4e-3UnWcXFuFoLqYCHcf/s2048/Terrace+from+Kitchen.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dSjcMpbZ1jmYsg9fwSD0XKe-NYAwJnDplf1VDMakmcPJzAdEwPWV-M4o47E1mIfwc-1AJwxsuFGVnCGIWb4JIo2ezUHyecO_bQJ6uYc4S1jtP4HpLrzIcT2B4e-3UnWcXFuFoLqYCHcf/s320/Terrace+from+Kitchen.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />Don't get me wrong. I am not one of those sourpusses who has moved to France and complains that French people live there. But French people do have ways of doing things that do not often correspond to the way that I am accustomed to doing business. We are selling our home of seven years in order to finance the move to a house more suitable to our age and old bones. (Links and pics below.) We'll have fewer, more gentle stairs to climb. More room to display, store, repair, and otherwise deal with the stuff we've accumulated over those years. We're talking about multiple opportunities for cross-cultural misunderstanding. Take the case of applying to our French bank for a mortgage. <p></p><p>I won't go into numbers. But I walked into the meeting with the young, casually dressed banker hoping to borrow about 40% of the cost of buying the new house. (It's strange calling a house built over 1,000 years ago a 'new' house.) I documented our income through a combination of French and American tax returns. We went over the payoff of our current mortgage (with a different bank) and the net from the sale. I told him how much of our savings I was willing to contribute to the deal. And I asked that the bank finance the rest, that 40%. </p><p>A lot of typing ensued. Understand, we were both wearing masks and Frederick was seated behind one of those clear plastic shields that they fit around office desks these days. (Future archeologists will struggle to determine the function of thousands of oddly shaped examples of wasted hydrocarbon.) I could see that Frederick was seriously crunching numbers to make things work. He finally looked up, said that he couldn't loan me the money, and scooted his chair around to my side of the desk to pinpoint on paper exactly why he could not. Long story short, basing our lending ceiling on our age and the income on our tax returns, primarily showing only Social Security income thanks to the surprisingly reasonable cost of living in France, I was asking to borrow too much. <br /></p><p>He was a nice, earnest young man. I listened closely. I waited. Perhaps you can guess what I was waiting for. I waited for five minutes and I would have waited forever. So I asked the question.</p><p>"Suppose I put some more money into the deal. Could I borrow 30% instead of 40%?"</p><p>More typing. Smiles. Yes, that would do it.</p><p>I'm from the USofA. When two people want to do a deal and one can't quite get it done, negotiations begin. Avenues are explored. The French, not so much. They don't seem to want to make the first move. Anyway, that's done. Now I have to sell our house. I'll keep you apprised of the process. Meanwhile, here are some pics. If you know anyone looking for a lockup-and-leave in the rural south of France, send them my way. Have them bring about $150,000. I just might accept a bit less.</p><p><a href="https://www.leboncoin.fr/ventes_immobilieres/2042201070.htm">https://www.leboncoin.fr/ventes_immobilieres/2042201070.htm</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKvlnoXemWuMXCb7kEEwpA20cvn5j_4P0enSkmytES8fUdluvXV2641NsZG7hiT__fKEISuUN4CbYyvytd8ce6Z090P2NVpyle8o_j_N703RL5zzq0t-e_ajlDZfJh1i8VfKhOmLQTvdx/s2048/Terrace+2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKvlnoXemWuMXCb7kEEwpA20cvn5j_4P0enSkmytES8fUdluvXV2641NsZG7hiT__fKEISuUN4CbYyvytd8ce6Z090P2NVpyle8o_j_N703RL5zzq0t-e_ajlDZfJh1i8VfKhOmLQTvdx/w640-h480/Terrace+2.JPG" width="640" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjCpdV8kCrU8BLMUqC-hEJ6JfF09EufFmjI03Xa7oX6TqvCzdgQcaZy4Egxz3bdR-u9SCE-p1p3MJpsI8EqYjBUXDyJ7Fmx5UEoQATwVTVxv5lIog-M0mCsnaGL3SHpTtQt1EQsM8bYH5/s4896/Salon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjCpdV8kCrU8BLMUqC-hEJ6JfF09EufFmjI03Xa7oX6TqvCzdgQcaZy4Egxz3bdR-u9SCE-p1p3MJpsI8EqYjBUXDyJ7Fmx5UEoQATwVTVxv5lIog-M0mCsnaGL3SHpTtQt1EQsM8bYH5/w640-h480/Salon.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgzpW9TK21iZHeh9SLKHvLOYmpP6gVtQ62BaMn_tAAXY_0Tt7PQgqAyOHnTJkd-cuc9TO4FcTfZ5Wyp3ANhhSuaB_gFaTCCQhJkkvLv6JUSdwEDJ9RB3fCgnipGlEhJriVm0cbSL3nu71/s4188/Exterior.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4188" data-original-width="2818" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgzpW9TK21iZHeh9SLKHvLOYmpP6gVtQ62BaMn_tAAXY_0Tt7PQgqAyOHnTJkd-cuc9TO4FcTfZ5Wyp3ANhhSuaB_gFaTCCQhJkkvLv6JUSdwEDJ9RB3fCgnipGlEhJriVm0cbSL3nu71/w430-h640/Exterior.jpg" width="430" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnwzcFXVE6l1zGCN1jnBr6y0R9w3zlqiTZx9TQGT8ifwaQbxWvu0PoGqudBAcQMiy5JPRsb5_HZAt4-5PGdNnJhIyQNlbdKAk4AOafdJt0FNao6qibXV3eC506AMjhtueV5vPa5Qk_T_5/s2048/Terrace+from+Kitchen.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnwzcFXVE6l1zGCN1jnBr6y0R9w3zlqiTZx9TQGT8ifwaQbxWvu0PoGqudBAcQMiy5JPRsb5_HZAt4-5PGdNnJhIyQNlbdKAk4AOafdJt0FNao6qibXV3eC506AMjhtueV5vPa5Qk_T_5/w480-h640/Terrace+from+Kitchen.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2vkhdw9a4WoKNrckv6FliN_ZUZb3Fnk-tE32aUqoOnvAVgvRB6pFlM1VUpTDJ0S0ZhTD17qsFmn9W0dc13LqJvigpbV0Ai9M_uAllvfwQyecj5dDIQ4ITt1nFhlJJzYpoU-9rGsBLrkch/s2048/Kitchen+Window+Terrace.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2vkhdw9a4WoKNrckv6FliN_ZUZb3Fnk-tE32aUqoOnvAVgvRB6pFlM1VUpTDJ0S0ZhTD17qsFmn9W0dc13LqJvigpbV0Ai9M_uAllvfwQyecj5dDIQ4ITt1nFhlJJzYpoU-9rGsBLrkch/w480-h640/Kitchen+Window+Terrace.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IzC-316KnCRxrCTWiql8WiNAezfcuytEJMC-FvPzuMo2y2p0BV0KdcUhHb_SDAa0IVHJwuFEyxJOQTWtl-3H5IcglYhW2okWbJerLLH8Ppy4zvUYCqvUJrnd9TF7m3W7KvuEHE94wBcm/s4531/Dining.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3399" data-original-width="4531" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IzC-316KnCRxrCTWiql8WiNAezfcuytEJMC-FvPzuMo2y2p0BV0KdcUhHb_SDAa0IVHJwuFEyxJOQTWtl-3H5IcglYhW2okWbJerLLH8Ppy4zvUYCqvUJrnd9TF7m3W7KvuEHE94wBcm/w640-h480/Dining.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6j_HZu3Ky6OR7mrJsDdf_xWZpCswEiiogBgcNFfNU5ZC94CTUePlb0v2wAbAIYRCLGTYMyjch4riGAqaQBiXcwj6L8P7pOEIcPWRaSON8Pid0U8ilKW4SIkzfeTM5tga_Q_nQm08LVwN/s4896/Bed3+Office.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6j_HZu3Ky6OR7mrJsDdf_xWZpCswEiiogBgcNFfNU5ZC94CTUePlb0v2wAbAIYRCLGTYMyjch4riGAqaQBiXcwj6L8P7pOEIcPWRaSON8Pid0U8ilKW4SIkzfeTM5tga_Q_nQm08LVwN/w640-h480/Bed3+Office.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yxapXSkmXgn1Do_CdJ_pfInaDsgq0Nuq0YfLSdC48K1RKaQqkTu4OfWEcDoYqDCTfjV_026AJhfOlns3arpgAVy0ClQ57LWDL6OmLRK-F-_oTL2l8E9eS9w7Wdr7037EBOkrwKKvEraO/s4896/Bed2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yxapXSkmXgn1Do_CdJ_pfInaDsgq0Nuq0YfLSdC48K1RKaQqkTu4OfWEcDoYqDCTfjV_026AJhfOlns3arpgAVy0ClQ57LWDL6OmLRK-F-_oTL2l8E9eS9w7Wdr7037EBOkrwKKvEraO/w640-h480/Bed2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZua2uuQy4Fbq8ASl0b2go993DRsxro5U-oQ2_d4KtKg8Nw2af39lhKWG_s0brdlzS4aB8AT0s3eKfmtk1xy3tFSjKZyBinS1pXRL1OzJgGL1a2NbMAZVjIHLcsqiO70CCVQ8eUvVD8uxi/s4896/Bed1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZua2uuQy4Fbq8ASl0b2go993DRsxro5U-oQ2_d4KtKg8Nw2af39lhKWG_s0brdlzS4aB8AT0s3eKfmtk1xy3tFSjKZyBinS1pXRL1OzJgGL1a2NbMAZVjIHLcsqiO70CCVQ8eUvVD8uxi/w640-h480/Bed1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclugVkfkYzt17mkz8RZemiQfAonJ8PeqMA6jaT9VnfakP_45LmJIwxlbN9wacBVXeqJl_qsfxCE2wa6OV3aSGN3Yad2GQYrbwjJE6UQerjMPgE3BEf3cjdjwYLPRUxKazYjT04crz7ivH/s4896/Entrance.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclugVkfkYzt17mkz8RZemiQfAonJ8PeqMA6jaT9VnfakP_45LmJIwxlbN9wacBVXeqJl_qsfxCE2wa6OV3aSGN3Yad2GQYrbwjJE6UQerjMPgE3BEf3cjdjwYLPRUxKazYjT04crz7ivH/w640-h480/Entrance.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-6659108977184143162021-09-11T04:51:00.004-07:002021-09-11T04:56:22.300-07:00BAR LE 40: RESTAURANT UPDATE<p></p>Quarante has a takeout pizza joint, an upscale-wannabe restaurant just outside of town, and the Bar Le 40.<p></p><p>Tito's Pizza is OK. It offers thin-crust French pizza, if you like that sort of thing - or can at least get used to it. Christophe, the owner, also runs the local wine co-op. (Why is Christophe's place called Tito's? I've never asked.) Because it's the grape harvest now, Christophe is busy day and night. Tito's is closed. Pizza will have to wait for a few weeks.</p><p>The Terminus, as you might surmise if you have a bit of French, is in the old train station just outside of town. The owners have spent the past few years 'upgrading' the menu to the point that they have priced themselves out of our rotation.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir2cEDwuOVgSmU6h0JuITaoLKPfA4wHQZhmBCiGnEs1ZHPudj_43WlL_uGi0sSvphKlK5o7e1xuRM__FC8apwYh0GLyY7KFptlimpYR-vhY6QiOjmUA5zwv_4KN2GHOD31dI6r0IVOa6d1/s3065/Lab.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2471" data-original-width="3065" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir2cEDwuOVgSmU6h0JuITaoLKPfA4wHQZhmBCiGnEs1ZHPudj_43WlL_uGi0sSvphKlK5o7e1xuRM__FC8apwYh0GLyY7KFptlimpYR-vhY6QiOjmUA5zwv_4KN2GHOD31dI6r0IVOa6d1/w640-h517/Lab.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>And then there's the Bar Le 40, which most of us just call Bar 40 because who needs the extra syllable?</p><p>The management of Bar 40 has changed hands several times since we moved here more than seven years ago. The latest owner, Alex, is the son of a previous owner who has opened a restaurant in a neighboring town. Alex is a young guy, a rugby player, hooked into the local scene and well-liked by all. More importantly, he has upgraded the menu while keeping the price low. Lunch is the only meal that he serves, although he does do bar-appropriate tapas in the evening and takeout burgers on weekends. (Really fine takeout burgers, by the way.) </p><p>Given the uptick in quality, we have taken to checking out the week's menu that Alex posts on Facebook and on a slate in front of the door on Monday mornings. This week, we took special note of the slow-roasted leg of lamb for lunch on Thursday. If you have read my scribbles, you know that I am of the opinion that lamb in France tastes the way that lamb is supposed to taste. If you like lamb, and I like lamb, you will love the lamb in France. I love the lamb in France. We booked for lunch on Thursday.</p><p>We began with a choice of starters, fresh melon wrapped with serrano ham or a mixed salad topped with little balls of deep-fried <i>bleu</i> cheese. Both were full plates, well presented, with fresh ingredients and appropriate dressings. The lamb that followed was superb. The French use a word that was fully appropriate in this case - impeccable. The thick slice of meat was roasted to perfection, soft but still firm, smothered in its own reduced juices. Some of us chose the French beans for the side, some had<i> frites </i>- fries. For dessert, a little lemon tart, more like a cookie, with a bit of salty caramel sauce. (One of us chose two scoops of ice cream instead.) The five of us finished a liter of wine between us and three of us had coffee at the finish.</p><p>Here's the kicker. The tab came to just over 16€ apiece. About $19. How can you beat that?<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ImE_Tu_v-XakYrmwdGXk-8FWPd3pHiTbCsz_Azh4GQXCyVgWVRJBeTU1fQ_ClmrYyFvNiPvR8gC7F1u73a3H1qPDsVZZvFUMSWfw3h6UBeNnhLUVUBRs0HtQJfo7QXvMxmCsqPDl_ykk/s2340/Dessert.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="2340" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ImE_Tu_v-XakYrmwdGXk-8FWPd3pHiTbCsz_Azh4GQXCyVgWVRJBeTU1fQ_ClmrYyFvNiPvR8gC7F1u73a3H1qPDsVZZvFUMSWfw3h6UBeNnhLUVUBRs0HtQJfo7QXvMxmCsqPDl_ykk/s320/Dessert.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-54077575629975914962021-09-05T02:21:00.002-07:002021-09-05T02:21:26.906-07:00RANDOM THOUGHTS NOT FRENCH: SGT PEPPER, TALIBAN, iPHONES, AND MORE #2<p>SGT. PEPPER <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTKzZC88e4o4xg7p_gznqsa1eR7WNBHEl6Qe7YJ8Lff4yqIHgSX1JFiTo0k9CVuG1D8GCQdciTQ1md3D_keIIOcbYHvrAMgjvyx6CDo0wk7OBz6gXhiUemfCH0enDewDhQ5wSpCAZkEMw/s220/IMG_0016%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTKzZC88e4o4xg7p_gznqsa1eR7WNBHEl6Qe7YJ8Lff4yqIHgSX1JFiTo0k9CVuG1D8GCQdciTQ1md3D_keIIOcbYHvrAMgjvyx6CDo0wk7OBz6gXhiUemfCH0enDewDhQ5wSpCAZkEMw/w320-h320/IMG_0016%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Music is essential. Spotily brings classical music to our house in the morning, jazz in the evening. When I need to, I put on my headphones and let Led Zeppelin get loud. Very essential. <p></p><p> But I need more room on the shelves in my office and my CD collection is so old school. So I'm verifying that all of the tunes on all of my CDs have been ripped to my portable hard drive. (I only ripped my favorites on some of them.) As a result, I've been listening to stuff that I have put aside for a while. In that vein, I listened to <i>St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band</i> (SPLHCB), all the way through, from start to finish without stopping, for the first time in over 30 years. At least.</p><p>I'm going to pick nits. SPLHCB is not my favorite Beatles album. <i>Revolver</i> is. SPLHCB is basically a pop album, and their pop is my least favorite Beatles music. Fully half of the songs on SPLHCB fail to impress. On<i> Revolver</i>, only <i>Yellow Submarine </i>doesn't work for me<i>.</i> And that may be because I don't have kids. On SPLHCB, my favorite may well be <i>Within You Without You</i>. Yes, I'm one of those folks who enjoys Harrison's work at least as much as Lennon/McCartney's. Maybe more.<br /></p><p>Oh, and Ringo is the best drummer ever. Only the fact that his drumming is so damn appropriate to the song draws your attention to it. <br /></p><p>AFGHANISTAN </p><p>Like a virus, unless they are totally flushed from the system, the Taliban were always going to recur. The question was never <i>whether or not</i> the Taliban would attempt to return to where they left off twenty years ago. The only question was whether or not they would<i> succeed </i>in doing so. And that turned out to be no question at all.</p><p>Get in. Punish the Taliban. Kill bin Laden. Get out. That was the mission.<br /></p><p>Why have we waited twenty years to leave? Is there any chance that we have learned our lesson? Is there any chance that the USofA will turn itself into a modern, slightly decadent European-modeled social democracy any time soon? Hope springs eternal...</p><p>iPHONES</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzJdt14qD10lrtUsHJKC-AUoCMc96YOlM6nGo7qGIRLFPAvcctkInAFZEZ_TWxn7kFKOt5Us9ZTvZ_o8uu8geLXICvOz9lFCxh63mQPEB9FORvFJQeJz9wsfhi-a1DHhqVDzo0EfCM90J/s1000/iphone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzJdt14qD10lrtUsHJKC-AUoCMc96YOlM6nGo7qGIRLFPAvcctkInAFZEZ_TWxn7kFKOt5Us9ZTvZ_o8uu8geLXICvOz9lFCxh63mQPEB9FORvFJQeJz9wsfhi-a1DHhqVDzo0EfCM90J/w320-h213/iphone.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>If I ever return to the USofA again, and if I happen to find myself near the cemetery where Steve Jobs is buried, I just may stop by to give the SOB a piece of my mind. <p></p><p>I used to own a perfectly good tablet with WiFi that cost under $100 that connected me to the internet whenever I needed to. I used to own a flip phone that cost less than $50 that made and received telephone calls with ease. (You remember telephone calls, don't you? You called a friend and you talked to them. Actually talked.)</p><p>Noticing my ancient phones, friends made fun of me. It became a running joke. I didn't care. But then, suddenly, tragedy struck. I was gifted an iPhone 7 from a friend who had upgraded. Hearing that, another friend pulled an old 5 out of a desk drawer to give to Cathey. Both phones were kind of funky, chipped and cracked. But displays weren't effected and they worked just fine. And just like that, we became addicted. Like crack cocaine, all that it took was one hit. And now, Cathey and I each carry an iPhone Xr.</p><p>If I find Steve Jobs' grave...<br /></p><p>STUPID</p><p>It's no longer funny. It's hard to remain polite. I don't care if Eric Clapton is tired of dealing with it.</p><p>COVID is real. It's killing people, possibly twice more than the official count. The hospitals are full of unvaccinated people dying of COVID. Hospitals are NOT full of people having bad reactions to the vaccine. Refusing to wear a mask in public spaces is not a choice. It's attempted manslaughter.</p><p>We got into this mess by abiding stupidity in too many aspects of our lives. The herd has not been sufficiently thinned. I don't know how we make up for this failure to adhere to the laws of natural selection. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-85089329646311455432021-09-03T09:46:00.002-07:002021-09-03T12:00:46.985-07:00LIVING IN FRANCE: THE SEASONS, EXERCISE, AND HANGING PICTURES #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5vvADiSHIZsC8ytiGUL0vQ2J7vpjyBF7ggrKRuyMyJ_5r5b35-KFYTaG-H6Djko9GR3glmQSzBu5JWZtlbwz7g2etyBE3caGI-9LJ_3ScsWfql0HQCGRCg6DgjP2T99AP_BUWZwrs09u/s2024/Rainbow+11-15.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1504" data-original-width="2024" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5vvADiSHIZsC8ytiGUL0vQ2J7vpjyBF7ggrKRuyMyJ_5r5b35-KFYTaG-H6Djko9GR3glmQSzBu5JWZtlbwz7g2etyBE3caGI-9LJ_3ScsWfql0HQCGRCg6DgjP2T99AP_BUWZwrs09u/w640-h476/Rainbow+11-15.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br />LANGUEDOC COUNTRYSIDE <br /></p><p>I grew up on a dirt road surrounded by woods, cow pastures, and corn fields. I wasn't Opie. I could walk into town, we had access to both New York and Philadelphia network and local TV and radio programming, and both families of my parents had within memory lived for a time in New York City. We weren't hicks. But I could splash in a clean creek, pick gallons of blackberries without working very hard to find them, and drink milk that had very recently been inside of a cow that lived just down the road. Can you imagine going into a dairy barn, running the mixer to incorporate the cream, drawing off a gallon of fresh milk into the jug that you brought, and putting a dollar into the cigar box atop the mixer?</p><p> I feel at home in the Languedoc.The cow pastures and corn fields of my youth have been replaced by horse pastures and vineyards. Stone walls and tree lines separate the one from the other outside of Quarante as they used to do outside of Flemington before the housing developments ate up significant acreage. But French community planning is a topic for another day. My point is that I can walk out of my front door, turn right or left, it doesn't matter which, and within a few minutes be in the woods or on a hilltop with a beautiful view of fields and woods close by and mountains in the distance. I feel at home.<br /></p><p>SEASONS</p><p>I think that there are more consequences of climate change than we realize because so many folks live urban or suburban lives these days and don't notice subtle changes. Seasons speak to the land, and folks in the south of France have long lived off the land in one way or another. For the vignerons, spring gets the vines up and running, summer sees them grow and mature, autumn brings harvest, and winter prepares you for the next cycle. The rest of us here sort of fall into that rhythm.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lD2ygsWhYOrvcFqDMkfJSYN5uQxt7LzFv51BiMAyE8gWsiStTSGaegsWfbpESHyUPQlC921rZEwiMWckrrRr2pe17v0yxFmZBUkGj3PeQnVXtANgWz680I9IVKsvRiH1XzcplBgq2P5C/s1296/1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="968" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lD2ygsWhYOrvcFqDMkfJSYN5uQxt7LzFv51BiMAyE8gWsiStTSGaegsWfbpESHyUPQlC921rZEwiMWckrrRr2pe17v0yxFmZBUkGj3PeQnVXtANgWz680I9IVKsvRiH1XzcplBgq2P5C/w478-h640/1.JPG" width="478" /></a></div><p></p><p>Its harvest now. While on our walk today, we saw tractors pulling trailers filled with freshly harvested merlot and sauvignon grapes. Older trailers aren't proof against liquid, so the roadways actually get sticky and smell of grape juice. I have a feeling that a more thorough discussion of the seasons and of the grape harvest are in order. Stay tuned!<br /></p><p>WALKING FOR EXERCISE</p><p>A group of us walk three times a week for exercise, from two to eight people at a time, up to five miles at a clip. When we're done, we stop for a coffee together. Pictured are the markings that act as guides on walking trails. Blue lines and arrows would indicate local trails. There's a stylized symbol for all-terrain bikes. These red and white lines indicate that this trail is a part of the Camino de Santiago that marks St. James' wanderings through this part of Europe. Following these marks in the right direction will lead you right to the famous <span>cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Spain.<br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs3g5Hhs2Z4KaO8E_RFSxgGYBsHlCdvVH419VXsdY0jY69o_5f9UPimDa4sKLPG4H8nyvYDHB-D7_8grp-JkL5hUYMjd-CS16wpBtD8xNeZdVnjp08UaEJ9rFFYKgVCl7_MASrzXZm1wt/s4896/P1010578.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs3g5Hhs2Z4KaO8E_RFSxgGYBsHlCdvVH419VXsdY0jY69o_5f9UPimDa4sKLPG4H8nyvYDHB-D7_8grp-JkL5hUYMjd-CS16wpBtD8xNeZdVnjp08UaEJ9rFFYKgVCl7_MASrzXZm1wt/w640-h480/P1010578.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />HANGING PICTURES ON THE WALLS<p></p><div>In France, that activity is not as mundane as it might seem. To affix pictures on the walls of old French houses, like our old French house, can require serious plans of attack. Walls that are covered with plaster might hide the French equivalent of a cinder block, concrete, or a chunk of granite. Adhesive-backed hooks don’t stick well to rough plaster. And drilling into a rock that’s been a part of a wall for 1,000 years requires seriously manly tools. Picture hanging may sound like a simple task, but neither The Southern Woman That I Married nor I look forward to the endeavor. </div>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548833531828053703.post-12028822332538383342021-08-28T02:38:00.006-07:002021-10-20T06:27:48.605-07:00MOVING TO FRANCE: OVERVIEW AFTER SEVEN YEARS #1<p></p><br /><br /><br />We arrived in France on 16 April, 2014. I had retired just two weeks before. Our house in Pennsylvania had been put on the market but was as yet unsold. But we made it here and we have been here for just over seven years. I posted about our experiences after three years. It's time for an update.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiUJ_tZ9yfYSg8tzkMJQ2K3uU1LImEjSn4AlbFSuHY3TuKnT5V3mR7m9fLowR6H_8pNuyBrOsiPkCaG9A5n5Gx-o0Gr721YcBXMV5COdWa56v2IfGsMJwjkL-xNsiwxslXey-oIIL-I72/s400/FRENCH_AND_AMERICAN_FLAGS.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="400" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiUJ_tZ9yfYSg8tzkMJQ2K3uU1LImEjSn4AlbFSuHY3TuKnT5V3mR7m9fLowR6H_8pNuyBrOsiPkCaG9A5n5Gx-o0Gr721YcBXMV5COdWa56v2IfGsMJwjkL-xNsiwxslXey-oIIL-I72/w640-h512/FRENCH_AND_AMERICAN_FLAGS.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>EXECUTIVE SUMMARY </p><p>We have not regretted the decision to move to France for one second. Not one single second.</p><p>BUREAUCRACY</p><p>It's been an unforgettable couple of years for French bureaucrats. Brexit and COVID have generated the need to design, distribute, amend, interpret, and enforce all manner of forms and procedures. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WrjkKAnrdlFOgihBbS4rud1PpLTDM4-kkQvOS3lccad8NCKPY7hEj5dpOkAy0_yEX9jiJtMPzs4dmZkUIgA08RE1tRgmmqu7Bc1B6wMXjBeanZp_9L4ypJgAsdFcW95OQF96JOmLAG6g/s350/bureaucrat.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="350" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WrjkKAnrdlFOgihBbS4rud1PpLTDM4-kkQvOS3lccad8NCKPY7hEj5dpOkAy0_yEX9jiJtMPzs4dmZkUIgA08RE1tRgmmqu7Bc1B6wMXjBeanZp_9L4ypJgAsdFcW95OQF96JOmLAG6g/w640-h506/bureaucrat.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>There are tens of thousands of Brits who spend from a few weeks to many months in holiday houses or primary residences throughout much of France, although the major concentrations are on the French side of the Channel and down along the Med. No longer citizens of an EU country, Brits will have to live by different rules. They will be limited to the number of days they can stay in France if they do not choose to become legal residents. There are driving licenses to consider, tax questions to consider, healthcare choices to consider.</p><p>And each change of status requires a new form. The French are getting better at new forms, though. COVID has caused electronic submissions to replace many face-to-face encounters. And they usually work reasonably well, against all expectations.<br /></p><p>COVID has been a true test for a high-functioning bureaucracy. There were times that you couldn't leave the house without a piece of paper that detail your justification for breaking confinement. And the rollout of the vaccine was painfully slow. But once the French figured it out, the process that we went through through to get our two jabs was easy to navigate and efficiently accomplished. In fact, just about every expat that we discussed it with agreed that the vaccination centers were admirably well run.</p><p>We can only hope that, once COVID has been put behind us - to the extent that it can be - the French will go back to their normal, everyday blizzards of paperwork. To make a successful submission to a French bureaucrat, you just need to get good in the language and be polite. It's the best that you can do. Oh, and maintain a folder of every official piece of paper that you own, with a copy, and translated.<br /></p><p>FOOD AND WINE</p><p>I can't say it too often. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries. (Google that quote if its origin doesn't immediately pop to mind. We are the makers of music and the dreamers of dreams. But I digress.) Veggies in France are not grown for their ability to be shipped across a country. They are grown for their taste. And since we live close to the Mediterranean, Spain and Italy and North
Africa are as close to us as D.C. is to Boston, so most everything is in
season somewhere nearby all year round. But we try to buy as local as possible because local French strawberries in season are exquisite. Mouth candy. Tomatoes come down to just about a dollar a pound when they start coming in. The asparagus farm down the way will sell you spears pulled from the ground today, sorted into whatever thickness that is your favorite, for a few dollars a pound. Apricots and peaches are sold in sheds at the edge of the orchards for a couple of dollars a pound. You get the picture. Diet changes with the seasons to take advantage of brief periods of peak local ripeness.<br /></p><p>You're a meat eater? So as not to put off my vegan friends, I won't go into full, lyric mode when describing the taste of locally sourced lamb and poultry and pork. They taste the way that they are supposed to taste. It’s that simple. If you like lamb, you will REALLY like the lamb in France.</p><p></p><p>That's not to say that French comestibles are perfect, at least to this American expat. Corn on the cob here is just a step up from what we'd call field corn in the Northeast, nowhere in the neighborhood of Jersey sweet corn that literally melts in the mouth. Beef has a different taste, as it should given the differences in medication and diet. It needs getting used to...or a nice marinade. Peanut butter is expensive, particularly if you insist on it being mindfully produced. But I pick nits. </p><p>Wine? We drink <i>vrac</i>, wine dispensed from a vat into a five-liter container in bulk at less than $2.00 a liter. When we have company, bottles of tasty sipping pink start at $5 or less. You can spend as much or as little as your taste coupled with your budget allows, all directly from vineyards just down the road.</p><p>Bottom line? We eat great for less money. I’ll tackle restaurants and other aspects of shopping in subsequent posts.</p><p>HEALTHCARE</p><p>Cathey and I have each had serious medical conditions requiring hospitalization since moving here. (We’re fine.) Our care could not have been better. In fact, when Cathey’s surgeon asked if she would like to go back to the States for the procedure, she just laughed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sTuJjkfRzbiXapDSRAZ4HBO_kB8LV4xBEoj_ckprhl00ZT-Sg2R4phAKk6F7XyAnXumsSKurQIIyWaXikmd4S2B3YnGrLM0R7cKDMIopxJxrs_Jg2j6ETOCmI7TYxaO3R8AEQ6BhfM6S/s600/health-clip-art-RcdRK7Xgi.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="600" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sTuJjkfRzbiXapDSRAZ4HBO_kB8LV4xBEoj_ckprhl00ZT-Sg2R4phAKk6F7XyAnXumsSKurQIIyWaXikmd4S2B3YnGrLM0R7cKDMIopxJxrs_Jg2j6ETOCmI7TYxaO3R8AEQ6BhfM6S/w640-h496/health-clip-art-RcdRK7Xgi.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Healthcare in France is less expensive than in the USofA, about one-half of the cost per person. And healthcare in France has better outcomes, with life expectancy higher than the USofA and infant mortality lower. How can that be? Well, costs are kept low both because it’s a single-payer system and because prices are controlled at all levels, from office visits to your general practitioner to your prescription medications.</p><p>And the cost to the consumer is more than reasonable. Your ‘social charge’ is based on your income, certain pensions are excluded from the calculation, the amount of income exempted is reasonable, and the percentage is not dissimilar to FICA. Approximately 70% of costs are covered and, if you want supplemental insurance to cover the rest, costs for that are reasonable too. There are lots of choices for top-up insurance, from hospital only plans to plans that cover everything. We pay about $75.00 apiece per month for a plan in the middle. We pay nothing for drugs, doctor visits, most tests, and most hospitalizations. There's an active, competitive insurance marketplace that might seem odd but that works well in a sophisticated socialized system.</p><p>The fact the the USofA can’t institute a similar system is one reason that we won’t be returning any time soon.</p><p>NEXT UP</p><p>I will be continuing this series for a couple of weeks. Let me know in the comments if there are any particular topics that you would like me to discuss.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14553705476112470677noreply@blogger.com2