J'habite Paris!

 

When they make the movie of this experience, the montage of our arrival in France MUST be done in sped-up shots.  The only slow part was the wait when we first got to the Grand Rapids airport.  It took forever to check our bags and get our seats assigned (mercifully three together and one separate--more on that later). 

Quick #1: We grabbed a snack and made it through security in record time.  There were all of two flights leaving Grand Rapids, so the airport had an abandoned air about it.

Quick #2: The flight to Chicago was 45 minutes, so the flight attendant only offered drinks if you rang the bell to ask.  As expected, nobody did.

Quick #3: Our connecting flight to Paris left one hour to the minute after our Chicago arrival.  We had just enough time to find the gate, stop at the restroom and let the kids make friends with another girl on the flight.  Then we hopped on board.

Not-so-quick #4: 8 hour transatlantic flight.  Olivia slept like a champ, Helena evidently had an espresso while we weren't looking and stayed awake to watch three movies.  Since I seem to get sick on planes now (and I did last night), the good thing was having Bryan in a middle row with the girls flanking him.  I was on the aisle seat of the same row, but the rows were offset such that I was behind them.  The girls couldn't have behaved better, so it wasn't a big deal that I was a bit queasy throughout the flight.

Quick #5: Clearing passport control took all of five minutes.  No more stupid papers to fill out with your name, passport number and address in France.  Lovely.

Quick #6: Since our luggage was last on, it was first off.

Quick (and fun!) #7: For the first time ever, I got off a plane and was looking for someone to be holding my name written on a piece of paper.  We didn't arrange for a limo, dangit, but we did have a nice Vietnamese man pick us up.  The whole "French with a Vietnamese accent" thing threw me a bit, but we got our points across and got to the apartment.

Quick #8: While the rest of the crew slept, I walked 20 feet across from our front door into a large indoor mall area.  I hopped into the giant grocery store and picked up a few staples: rotisserie chicken, Camembert, cornichons (the girls loved them the last time we were here), Nutella (ditto), cereal, milk, salad and an inaugural bottle of St. Emilion--our favorite, nostalgic-choice wine.

Note to the Future Director of Anne's French Adventure (working title), all this should take less than a minute.  Suggested music: The Chicken Dance or something similarly frenetic.  Maybe a hora, think Zorba the Greek, that speeds up as the credits roll on the black screen.  Then as the song really takes off, we see the check in procedures begin and speed through the scene.

58 boxes

We're leaving for the airport in 26 minutes, but I have to share the final moving story.  The take-home is that most of my earthly possessions now fit into 58 labeled plastic bins.  They are in my mom's basement along with our two dressers, a bathroom cabinet, some tools and an induction cooktop.

Packing our house was a giant pain in the butt.  Since we knew back in December that we were moving April 1, we started early.  Which was a necessity since we needed to decide what to sell and donate, but a huge complicating factor.  At every turn, I had to decide:
1.  Do I keep this, sell it, donate it?
2.  If keeping, do I store it now or later?
3.  Is it potentially going to France?

For every stinkin' item.  Cheese shredder: keeping, storing now in box to go to Mom's.  Wine opener: keeping, using now, storing at Mom's later.  Salad spinner: selling and making jokes about for weeks.

Just use your imagine and you'll know how much of a pain this is.  How much lotion do you need for three months in the U.S., two weeks in Costa Rica and then three months in France?  Dental floss?  Razor blades?  On and on.  Allergy medicine was easy.

In the end, it all fit, it's all packed and we're ready to go.  But if I ever have to do a three-stage packing process like this again, I'm just going to lob a grenade at my crap and take the insurance check.

Bombs away!

Farewell Zumba Party

Music is so important to me.  It always has been and always will be.  I am picky and particular.  I like what I like and loathe everything else.  I don't enjoy concerts unless I know the band.  Live music leaves me cold, for the most part.  I gave our wedding DJ a list of approved songs--not just bands, but particular songs.

In my defense, I like the B-52's "Roam," but if she'd played "Love Shack" the bride would have vomited profusely.  Nobody wants that at a reception.

So imagine the fun of choosing my own personal Zumba class playlist for my farewell class!  I invited all my Zumba friends, instructors and mentors.  I picked one song that I associate with each instructor and asked them to come up front to teach with me during "their" song.  I thought I'd cry the whole time, but it was exactly the opposite.  It was pure joy dancing one last time with each person: Chris, Jenn, Heather, Bill, Melissa, Michelle, Sarah,  Sony and Jeanne--the one who started us all on this path.  I'm sure I forgot someone in that list--sorry.

But you get the point.  Again, just like at the party at my house, it's the people who make the event.  I loved teaching a bit, sharing the spotlight in turn with all my Zumba girlz and boyz and then looking behind me at the big crew who came out to share in this terrific class.

If I could get married all over, I would want that class to be my wedding reception.  Yeah, yeah, weddings should be about the groom too, and Bryan doesn't Zumba, but man, that was sure a great class!

As always, thank you to everyone who has made Columbus so much harder to leave.  We love you!

Final house party

We threw a goodbye party at our house and it was terrific (if I say so myself)!  And since it's my damned blog, I AM going to say so.  It was terrific.

Many who know me won't believe this, but I'm an introvert.  Yeah, once you get to know me I talk a lot and seem like an extrovert, but truthfully, I'm the dork at the party hiding in a corner, calculating how long I have to stay before I can go home and snuggle up in my fleece PJs.  But throwing your own party is the perfect antidote to this.  You invite only people you know, so it's entirely easy and comfortable.  Voila!

The funny part was the decor--or lack thereof.  We were leaving for two weeks in Costa Rica after the party, so we had cleaned out the pantry and fridge.  After Costa Rica, we would have only a day and a half there, so we had packed up all our decor items.  We had sold most of the furniture.  Imagine arriving at a party where there are a few chairs, two couches and some pizza.  Nothing on the walls, few lamps, no fire in the fireplace....  Our theme could be described and modern minimalist/skeletal, I believe.

But the party proved the adage that it's the people, not the material crap, that make events fun.  We had such a blast talking and laughing, simply appreciating each other's company.  I wished we'd entertained more in that house, but hindsight's always like that, isn't it?

So my challenge to you, upon finishing this blog post, is to pick a date sometime in the next three weeks and invite three friends over.  It truly doesn't matter if it's for food, drinks or watching some crappy reality TV show.  Just get out there and connect--it's what's really important in life.

OK--1, 2, 3, go!

The LONG Au Revoir

First, I must thank my friends for not turning me in to the Suicide Prevention Hotline people.  Since December, I have been giving away, selling and donating my earthly possessions at a rapid pace.

Second, I must thank my friends for listening to an endless stream of potential outcomes of my life.  We leave for Paris in an hour and I still don't know where I'm living in a month.  You all know me, I'm a planner.  I make Excel spreadsheets of what to pack to go on vacation.  I like lists.  I plan for everything (but somehow find myself in Costa Rica for two weeks without a thermometer when my kid spikes a huge fever, go figure).

Third, I thank you all for saying goodbye to me for the last three months.  I have had many wonderful lunches, dinners, playdates, Facebook chats, emails and phone calls from you all.  It has made this process so much easier.

I started to feel guilty before Zumba classes.  I'd swing over to class and somebody would invariably ask, "When are you leaving?"  I kept having to answer, "Not quite yet."  It felt funny to have the date set, but to be a few weeks off.  January was the longest month of my life.  February was the second longest.  March flew by in about three hours.

My point here ("Finally," they cry...) is that getting to do this whole goodbye thing slowly has been a real blessing.  I have had the chance to meet with lots of people invidividually, get my hugs, share my stories and catch up on your lives.  It has made every one of them less tearful and more joyful than I'd anticipated.  My advice to anyone in a similar situation is to take a few months to make any major change--if you have the luxury.

Or disappear overnight so you can avoid it all, right?  Nah, I'd not trade my long goodbyes for anything.  Except maybe a job for my husband.  But more on that soon, I hope.

Facebook, Craigslist and Selling Stuff

I've never been a fan of garage sales.

In college I wore a lot of vintage clothing from funky resale shops, but since then, I can't stand even hand-me-downs from family (sorry sis)!  Any time I've borrowed or bought something on Ebay for my kids, there's a creepy "this isn't hers" feeling when I put it on one of my daughters.  I find I don't like looking at photos of them in what feels like someone else's clothes.

I am, however, happy to give things to charity and sell things that other people would find useful. 

So, in this spirit, I've started to sell off our things and have come to the not-so-startling conclusion that: Friends are Cool, Strangers Suck.  Earth-shattering, right?  I know.  Stay tuned for more "Anne Wright, Master of the Obvious" revelations.

Here's how we set up our "sale"--we put price tags on major items (TV/DVD/surround sound setup, couches, tables, large furniture and electronic devices).  Everything else that's small went into the basement, set out as a "boutique de stuff."  Friends come over and peruse the large items on the first floor and then grab whatever they want from the little things on the second floor.  We carry it all upstairs, take a look and I have people throw out a price.  I've not been unhappy with any transaction this way.

For tools, however, Bryan's listed things on Craigslist which brings in the creepy stranger factor.  Sure, we've gotten rid of some stuff--and fast.  The three bikes (two road bikes, one mountain bike) went in about 40 minutes!  But the guy who came for some tools perused the stuff in the basement and made insulting "how about a dollar for this" kinds of comments with his socially-challenged daughter.  It left me feeling, uh, dirty and gross.  I didn't want her buying Helena's treasured blue wagon.  But they did.  Another thing they picked up was our old beat-up trailer for $40, which he's trying to sell on Craigslist for $200.

Normally, I'd say "Bravo" to the guy who buys low and sells high.  And I'd LOVE it if one of my friends was doing this.  Well, let's be truthful, I'd LIKE it if someone I cared for could get some value from the stuff.  But the guy who beat us down on price and isn't even using our things just makes my skin crawl.  Craigslist chaser is the new ambulance chaser, apparently.  Icky.

However, it's time to let go.  If there's been any theme of my life these last few months, it's that this is my time to let go of the material things.  I have let go of things useless (muffin tins I don't use, makeup that never quite looked the way I wanted), useful (Brita water filter I never used much, clothes I'm tired of) and painful (great dress I bought for a crappy dinner at the home of a spineless incompetent with whom Bryan used to work).

"Ooh, was that out loud?"
"Oh no, she din't!"
Oh yes, I did.

But through all the sorting, selling and donating, I'm keeping positive.  I am holding on to what really matters--family, friends and the few possessions that truly matter to us.  I am sharing with wonderful people who value and will use the things that were just weighing us down.  I am helping those with less who could use a boost in the form of a deal on a nice pastry creamer.  I am even, charitably, helping the Craigslist lowlife ambulance chasers towards what I hope will be better dental care someday.

That being said, anybody want two Camelback hydration systems, a washer/dryer set or a Marc Jacobs bracelet?

Almost Scammed Out of $4,000!

So Bryan wakes up in the middle of the night the other night and is furiously typing on his new MacBookProSomethingOrOther.  He eventually comes back to bed and when we wake up he offers the "good news and bad news."  Uh-oh.

Good news is, we didn't get swindled out of $4,200.  Bad news is that we don't get to stay in the terrific Paris apartment on the Ile de la Cite after all.  Damnit!

He was suspicious for several reasons:
1. It was cheap.  Not amazingly cheap, but about a few hundred dollars a month cheaper than anything else in the area.
2. It was available.  Get this--we originally asked for April.  When it was available and looked so central, nice and relatively inexpensive ($2,200 a month was the equivalent, I believe), we asked if it was free in May.  Of course, the guy said yes.
3. We were required to wire the whole amount, not a deposit.

So Bryan did a few searched on Paris Craigslist and found the same photos used for several different locations over the past few months.  This guy/these guys set up different websites, rent fake apartments, scrape in the cash and then close down and set up shop in a new website periodically.  Awful!

Imagine what could have happened.  We arrive in Paris, April 2 at 9am.  Bleary-eyed after a red-eye flight with our five- and six-year-olds.  We take a taxi, with our 12 pieces of luggage (let's make it two taxis), to our apartment only to discover it isn't an apartment.  Or it is an apartment, but the number we have is fictional.  We have thrown away $4,200 and have nowhere to stay for the next two months!  So at about 10:30am, I would have to venture out to, where, the American Embassy?  Holiday Inn?  Imagine scrambling in a second language to find a place to stay for a week while Bryan's across town with the kids and all our crap, exhausted, dispirited and alternately angry and scared.  NOT an appealing thought.

So he did some research and we found reputable places to rent.  We've signed contracts, paid deposits and are ready to go.  I'm leaving this part to him, so, fingers crossed, it'll work out.  I'll let you know April 2.