ah, yes, the post office.

Whoever says snailmail is dead has obviously not walked into any post office anywhere in the entire world very lately. What is it about those places? Seriously. I have been to post offices on four continents now, and never EVER have I walked into one where the overly ridiculously long line hasn't made me want to turn around and walk right out.

"Why is this?" you may ask yourself. "What is it about these places that just scream administrative hell?" Well, folks, there seem to be some underlying trends that apply to all mail facilities.

First of all, no matter how big the post office you are visiting may be, there are only ever two windows open, maximum. Even (and/or especially, depending on how you look at it) during the big holiday seasons. If you see a third employee approaching a closed window, do not get too excited, because either a) they have just forgotten something at their desk, or b) if they DO miraculously open, one of the first two windows will promptly close. This is not to say that post office workers do not deserve breaks or sometimes need to do other stuff that is not at a window, but rather brings up the question, "Why build so many windows in the first place?"

Secondly, the person in line in front of you will always, ALWAYS have some ridiculous business to take care of that is so complicated and takes so many forms and steps that you wonder if maybe stamps have become incredibly hard to come by these days. These transactions will take an eternity and will most likely require the post office worker to leave his/her desk for at least five minutes at a time, while either a) searching for a package somewhere, b) making photocopies of some obsolete form no one cares about, or c) going to ask another employee a question no one in the entire building knows the answer to.

When a window FINALLY opens up, and you approach it, you will most likely hesitate, because the employee behind the desk will be finishing up some paperwork, stamping said paperwork in five different colors and fonts and then filing said paperwork. You will do the "I'm still in line!" dance, rocking back and forth on your the balls of your feet, glancing obsessively between the person who has just moved up to take your place at the head of the line and the open-and-yet-oh-so-closed window you really want to walk up to.

Two possible choices follow:
1) You decide to go for it and walk right up to the counter, even if the post office worker glances up at you with a cryptic glare which means either "go ahead, but this is gonna take a while" or "go to hell", at which point the window next to you will promptly open and the new head of the line will scurry over and start their own transaction before you even have time to blink.
2) You turn around and flash an apologetic look at the new head of the line, then look directly at your feet as you shuffle awkwardly backwards trying to reclaim your lost spot (as the rest of the line grumbles and stumbles unwillingly giving you a little wiggle room), at which point the quasi-open window's staff member will promptly put up their "please see next window" sign and make themselves suddenly absent.

These are post office facts of life, ladies and gentlemen, as unfortunate as that may be. Country, culture, and language may change, but there will always and forever be a line at the post office.

And that, my friends, is why you probably haven't gotten a letter from me in quite some time.

this is why i love my husband

I have always had some slightly disturbing OCD habits involving clocks. When I was younger my sisters and I invented a "game" (although for me it turned into more of an obsession) where we had to freeze in the exact position we were in any time we saw the time turn to a palendrome. So at 10:01 and then 11:11 and then 12:21 we'd be stuck in random positions throughout the house. My mom would walk into the kitchen, roll her eyes and navigate around our tiny bodies, frozen while pouring milk or drinking tea or opening the fridge.

Now I might pause for a few seconds, but it mostly just makes me smile or do a little dance of joy. And it is not just reserved for palendromes anymore. My bizarre fetish has extended to other little number games, too. My favorite of which is on the rare occasion when I catch a digital clock at 12:34.

So when I caught the clock doing just that the other day and did a little dance of triumph/joy, how surprisingly lovely that Rémy did not laugh hysterically at my weirdness but only smiled and added, "You can do better than that, you know..." I looked at him, puzzled. How? 12:34 is the only time that uses all four digits and is in order. I waited impatiently for his answer. He looked at me, possibly stunned that I couldn't figure it out on my own. "Wait until it shows 12:34 and 56 seconds," he replied.

My jaw dropped. Why had I never thought of that? I waited with increasing anticipation until the clock read 12:34:56 and just about keeled over with excitement. And my perfect husband just smiled and shook his head.

serendipity

So as I've said, I love Tuesdays because of the market. There are a few stands I love in particular from the region, including one that I discovered not too long ago, maybe a month or two ago, mostly because it's hidden behind some stands I'm not a huge fan of & rarely go home that way so I had somehow missed out.

Well, I try to buy a few things from each stand every time, help support the farmers I really like. One day the woman at this tiny stand says, "Oh! THAT's where you're from! You work at Botanic!" I was a bit surprised. Yes, I work there, but with the bajillion people I see every day, there is no way I remember every face, or if I do that I can place them.

So whadya know, she came into my store and recognized me and then placed my face the next time I came to her stand. So we got to chatting. She's a very passionate woman, very intriguing, and we came to talk about my life in France, that I'm from the States blah blah. She mentions that she has a daughter who would be interested in some private lessons in English, nothing fancy, just to help bring back the English she learned back in high school for her college courses. Now normally I say no immediately. I'm over teaching English, it's not my thing. I feel awkward about it. But for some reason that day I was in a particularly good mood and I said yes. And ever since, every Tuesday morning I go to the market & buy my local produce from the other vendors and then Marilyse comes over and we sit in the garden and read the Magic Schoolbus or Ramona Forever. We agreed on trade, which we both prefer, so for an hour or two of my time I get fresh local veggies. It's a pretty sweet deal, really.

And then last week she invited Rémy & me to her house in Tallende for lunch with her family and then an afternoon roaming their vast fields of fruits and veggies. That day was today and let's just say the day was as fabulous as it the whole affair has been serendipitous. Their house is french-ADORABLE in every possible sense. Lunch was fabulous of course, with fresh-picked produce made with lots of love. And LOTS of conversation. I learned an incredible amount about organic agriculture and agriculture in France in general.

Then it was off to the fields. I was left speechless. They work so hard and are so invested in organic as a lifestyle that it is hard to translate their passion onto paper with just these simple words. To them it is only logical to produce our food using methods that do not pollute our bodies and our earth, and the stories they tell of other agriculturists who grow "organic" produce just for the trend or because they can charge more with an organic label are quite frankly scary.

Favorite quote of the day, M. Martin talking about whether or not it's a profitable profession: "If all we end up with after a year of hard work is ten francs (of profit), hey, it's still ten francs! That means we're not in the hole, so it's a good year. In this world, or in any, you just have to stay positive."

The best part: I know exactly what they're growing so I can get excited as the season progresses. I cannot WAIT for their tomatoes, peppers, green beans, potatoes. Every Tuesday I will wake up giddy for more! It was an amazing experience and it makes me want to get to know more local farmers and see how their gardens grow. With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row?

We'll just see. :)

keep it raw,
chelsea


...and here is the rest of it.

bob's juice bar & kitchen

Since happening randomly upon the bagel book & making delicious bagels all the time I have had this insane desire to go to Paris (which is very not chelsea due to my love-hate relationship with that ugly beautiful city). Why, you may ask? Why to check out the author's restaurants!

Considering Rémy & I both had to go to Paris for immigration paperwork, we used it as an opportunity to check out the veggie scene in the City of Love. We were happily blown away, which unfortunately now means we have the urge to go to Paris all the time.

Upon arriving at the first glimmerings of dawn on a smoggy Thursday morning, we headed downtown to check out the original shop, Bob's Juice Bar. We got there just as it was opening at 7:30am and the place was deserted save for us. First impressions: Generally groovy. Simple. One main table à la Old Town Café in Bellingham, meaning there's a possibility for chatting it up with other customers. A cactus & a guitar in the window. Shelves of books in both English & French & some pretty damn good ones, too. And a shelf full of paper bags of fresh local produce, which as I understood it could be purchased weekly as an easy way to eat local & in season, like we can at our farmer's market back home.

The guy behind the counter, a fellow Anglophone, was nice but not super chatty. Normal as he was busy opening shop. We ordered two smoothies & lemon poppyseed muffins which came directly out of the oven, moist & warm & oozing with deliciousness. Granted it has been a few years since I've eaten a muffin of any kind, at least since I've been living in France, but those muffins were literally heaven in my mouth. If I could order delivery to Clermont, I would do it every morning.

In the early afternoon we headed to Kitchen, the newest addition to "Bob"'s veggie/Paris scene, which does more lunch food/mealy type stuff than Bob's, which seems to be more breakfast-oriented. (Of course I was at Bob's in the early morning & Kitchen afternoon, so maybe these assumptions are false, I don't know.) First impressions: Packed, which means the food must be fab. Bigger than Bob's, with two long family-style tables. An electric guitar & a piano which rocks. Three or four employees, the type of people who smile at you and you just want to KNOW them, you know? Interesting people, intriguing, and I could say the same about the customers, too. AND, the cherry on top, "BOB" himself (Marc Grossman) greets us! We walk in carrying a Nalgene & he asks us who makes them, etc., interested because their water bottles are known to not leach chemicals into whatever liquid they're holding. We chat about his bagel book, about the states, about food in general. The guy chats up a storm & in the best way. He seems genuinely interested in what you have to say & he just has a presence about him that makes you smile. Chatting with one of the staff members we mentioned that we had been to Juice Bar that morning & she left us this nugget of wisdom: "Yeah, both are awesome but they have totally different vibes. People generally tend to stick with one or the other." It seems totally true. Juice Bar seems much more mellow, Kitchen very chatty & upbeat.

We got there late afternoon, not too long before closing maybe around 14:15 or 14:30 so we weren't trying to be choosy and opted for the "whatever you have left" menu, which turned out to be veggie guac burgers served on a bed of spinach with potato salad & coleslaw on the side. De-lish. Unfortunately Rémy was still healing from his bout of strep throat last week & was not feeling too hot, meaning I lucked out & basically got to eat twice.

We ended up going back the next day for lunch to try out more. Rémy had a pesto veggie burger & I had the gaspacho soup with a raw salad. Smoothies both days, both different, both fabulous. Plus on day two we met an awesome vegan couple from Indiana grâce à la table commune and spent a good hour or two swapping stories & working on Rémy's English! Both days the staff were fabulous, the kind that makes you want to stick around after closing & see what their lives outside of work are like; both days the food rocked, the kind that makes you want to eat there for lunch every day of your life, granted you lived in Paris & make a good chunk of change.

All in all, Coutarel & Coutarel give both resto's two very enthusiastic thumbs up. Thanks Marc for starting something epic & the staff for being awesome & we hope to see you again soon!

ketchup

I love Tuesdays.

Simple as that. I always have Tuesdays off, there is the local farmer's market and I love chatting with all the local vendors. Plus today it is sunny but not too overbearingly hot AND I got three letters from very-loved friends on the other side of our beautiful globe! It would be impossible to not be in a good mood.

Sooooo much has happened in the last few weeks it's ridiculous. Sicknesses, papers in Paris, job offers. I have a lot to talk about, so I'm going to post it out and try to catch up.

Overall sentiments: it's summer & life is good!