The One With The Parking Garage

This time last year I was writing about the terrors of being detained in London. A year later, I find myself writing about the terrors of being detained in a parking garage.

Last week Stephanie and I went downtown to the Alamo Draft House to be a part of the Home Alone Quote-Along.  The Quote-Along was awesome and the kazoo, toothbrush, aftershave, tarantula made for super fun props throughout the movie. The only aggravating factor was putting in multiple orders for our second All-you-can-eat cheese pizza and still waiting half of the movie before getting it.

The Alamo Draft House’s website suggested parking in the H&R Block parking garage and getting the ticket validated, so that is precisely what we did. We got our parking ticket validated after the movie and started to question things when we were told what to do if the machine would not accept the validated ticket- which it did not. After searching and searching for a pay station in the parking garage we finally found one and then it would not accept the validation. After no success with the intercom we called the service number, but had no success with that either as we were underground and our phones had no service to call the suggested number. Eventually, we just decided to heck with it and paid full price. Next, I pulled up to the gate to leave after putting my ticket in the machine, but the machine would not take my ticket. At all. After trying to fit the ticket into the machine a variety of ways not shown on the instructional picture it finally accepted my ticket. And then nothing happened. The ticket did not come back out and the gate did not open. Ever. I hit the cancel button and nothing happened. I hit the intercom button and nothing happened. I tried, I tried, I tired. Nothing was working. We were totally stuck in the parking garage. I even tried pulling up to another stall and nothing happened.

A nice young gentleman must have seen me crazily driving back and forth between two stalls because he came over and asked if we were having troubles. After recounting our underground experience thus far the young gentleman pulled out his phone and offered to help. Nothing worked, but we were not surprised. There was a line starting to form behind us, so I pulled out of the stall and told the car behind us to attempt to drive through and we would follow quickly behind if the gate opened. The gate did not open and they did not get their ticket back. The car in front called back to us to say, “I think you have to put your credit card in!” to which Stephanie and I just looked at each other. Bad idea. They did not get that back either and the gate still did not open. Somehow, someway, eventually those glorious parking gates opened and we floored it out after the car in the front of us. 

Like a bat out of hell we made for the highway, laughing at our experience. Before making it to the highway though, we started to feel guilty for just leaving our parking garage friends behind when some had been so kind as to help in the beginning. After short deliberation we went back to check on our parking garage friends. The car in front of us had finally gotten ahold of someone and help was said to have been on the way to aid them in the return of their credit card. After affirmation that they were fine and thanking us for returning, we left again, never to return to the H&R Block parking garage.

Why these sorts of things happen when Stephanie and I are together I may never know or understand, but at least it provides material for good, long lasting laughs.

“I’m gonna give you to the count of 10, to get your ugly, yella, no-good keister outta my parking garage before I pump your guts full of lead!”

The One with Wrestling

In high school I knew zilch about wrestling, yet now, super post high school, I am starting to learn. Last night I attended my first wrestling dual. I always thought it was called a match, but the matches are between individual wrestlers whereas, a dual is between two teams.

The drive to Olathe was a long one. Accident traffic is never fun, especially when you have somewhere to be, and I was anxious to pick up my best friend from high school and head to the dual. Finally, we arrived at the school and laughed our way inside where we looked in a number of windows and peeked behind many doors before finding any wrestlers. We almost just went to watch the band concert instead.

We got many stares from the high school students as we sat in the bleachers to cheer on a team we hardly knew for a sport we knew even less about. In was fun and funny to be sitting in a high school again with my high school best friend recounting our own glory days and rehashing all the ways we did not fit in at our own high school and laughing at how we did not fit in at ONW either.

As the dual went on we got better at figuring out the rules. Or maybe we were just having too much fun and were actually making up our own rules. Either way, wrestling started to make sense to us. And then it was over in an eruption of cheers. It was a fun win and I am glad I got to see it happen.

After a celebratory dinner it was time for me to drive back to Independence, but not before getting pulled over. There are some similarities in the two times I have been pulled over. First time I was sitting at a red light and waiting to turn left, same last night. First time I had just made the turn and the lights came on behind me, same last night. First time I had no idea why I was being pulled over, same last night. First time it was for expired plates, last night was for a malfunctioning headlight. First time, I got a ticket; last night I only got a warning. First time was the exact day that my new insurance card went into effect, same last night. 

What I have learned. Olathe police are nice, Independence police are not. Oh, and wrestling is fun.

The One With Riz Au Lait

Sometime since about January I have been meaning to attempt making the French dessert riz au lait. The standards were set extremely high as my French mum made the last batch that I consumed such an abundance of. Last week I perused the Internet for some simple yet still French style recipes and came across a blog that I have since come to read and enjoy often.

This particular recipe came with a story about memories with a grandmother so I was even keener on attempting this one. The first skepticism, however, came when the recipe’s first ingredient was Arborio rice. Lucikly, a dear friend and cousin helped me in my search for this. Thanks Price Chopper for providing. Also feeling skeptical of the vanilla bean and seeding it I continued my Internet search for some tips. Feeling confident in at least knowing what a vanilla bean looked like I made my way back to Price Chopper and was yet again successful in my search. Finding things in grocery stores always proves to be a chore so I consider both of these findings great successes.

Finally having all the necessary ingredients, enough rest, and a night with no plans I decided to indulge in some French cooking fun. I enthusiastically split open the vanilla bean and seeded it like a pro. It is insanely simple but it was a proud moment nonetheless. The smell of the vanilla, mixed with milk and cream, immediately made me want to melt into the pot that I had just added it to. Vanilla is my most favorite scent and I knew the dessert was going to be delectable. Twenty minutes later after countless stirs, a fair amount of sniffs, and uncontainable excitement I added the sugar and waited a whole two seconds before I started eating my own bowl of homemade riz au lait.

The first spoonful melted away all my cares of today, took me back to the holidays with my French family, and more than satisfied my eager taste buds. I know that my French family waits until Christmas to eat this dessert, but I am uncertain that I can say the same for me. Christmas will most definitely be a time for riz au lait, but I cannot say that it will be a specialty just for the day. Mom’s coffee café will have to remain the dish that we reserve strictly for Christmas.

Bon appétit!

The One With Remy

Four weeks ago tonight I took a picture of my Dharma-bear resting with her grandpa before Mr. Remington Gregory (as I affectionately refer to him) graced our household.

The first encounter between the two dogs did not in any way happen as I had envisioned. I imagined rear-end sniffs, face licks, and happy jumps. Instead Remy growled and lunged in the front yard, which left Dharma scared, traumatized, and later confused when we brought him inside with us.

The first few days they both remained on their leashes although Remy had already warmed to Dharma. She was reluctant to share any sort of affection or attention and was no stranger to turning her head away when he trotted by. Finally, feeling a surge of braveness, I unhooked the leashes from both of their collars and took a deep breath. It was fine. They both just sat where they were.

Things have remained relatively chill since then. There has been an occasional growl when one takes the other’s spot on the couch, a few barks when Remy wants to play and Dharma does not comprehend the idea behind fetch, and a minimal amount of redirection during the one night that they both stayed in bed with me.

It is nice to have another dog around even when all 36 pounds of him jumps into my lap and leaves my crotch aching for longer than welcomed. Even though Dharma does not like to share it is pleasant to see her sharing her tricks and blankets with her new brother.

Cheers to puppy buddies!

The One With the Butterfly

The smell of flowers at a funeral home is always so overwhelming. Today as I sat and waited for the eulogizing words of my friend's father, those flowers brought tears to my eyes and heart just like they always have and always will.

During the ceremony and graveside service I was keenly aware of all the young life that surrounded me. On one side of me sat a dear friend with his snoring son in his arms and on the other side sat an old friend with his daughter sprawled lovingly in his lap. That same precious girl later found innocence and love in a butterfly that she captured in her hands after rescuing it from the grass. As shameful as it is, I'll admit that I stepped on Butterfly before getting into the car.

It is the laughter, the love, and the little things that make my life worth it. Worth the pain and heartache. Worth the struggle and tears. So long as I recognize the good times and make the most of them then I'm considering that a miracle.

I was blessed today to see some great love even though it was in the midst of grief. I pray my friend and her family are able to find the coming laughter, love, and little things worthwhile.

The One With Bizi Rocket Tapley

 7/29/10-7/29/13

          Spunky, feisty, energetic, busy- that was our Bizi alright. Bizi became a Tapley not more than a month after my move home. She was still a young pup and I remember the night we took Dharma to my Cousin Bob’s house to meet her. Dharma came along so we could see if they would get along- which they did more often times than not. For the longest time Bizi could not figure out how to cuddle and teaching a dog to cuddle is not easy. I remember her collapsing onto me and contorting into an awkward cuddle, yet with time, her cuddles became much more natural and precious.

            Bizi was often a lot to handle. She barked a lot, picked a lot of fights, peed a lot, and chewed on shoes a lot. Through all those stubborn moments though, she was smart. She knew when to take herself to her crate when she was upset, she knew when to cuddle when someone else was upset, and she knew how to keep the backyard free of wild animals (moles, birds, bunnies, raccoons, etc.) She gave us much to write about and much to learn from.

            There was always some sort of trouble or near death experience that Bizi was narrowly escaping. Once she broke loose from her leash and went flying through the neighborhood only to get hit by a car. We nursed her back to health and she survived, although she did have a lasting limp. Another time she drank Dharma’s liquid flea medicine and was force fed hydrogen peroxide to vomit it out of her system. Again, she survived, although that did not stop her from eating or drinking things that were bad for her. It was these incidents that gave up hope that she would recover after having eaten rotten trash and not eating anything else for days. It was the vet’s persistent attempts that made us optimistic, and it is our love that continues to mend the brokenness in our hearts.

            I am thankful for the moments I took advantage of and played with Bizi in the snow, sucked it up and took her on walks, allowed her onto my bed to play (even though she still peed nearly every time), and the one time I took her to the dog park with Dad and Dharma.

       She was a crazy cool pup and for as awful as her early departure was, she will forever have a special place in my heart. Much love Bizi. Now, go find Pappy John and play with him if you have not yet done so. 

The One With Stopping Time

Recently, time stopped for a very special and unique soul. She was a social and fashion forward woman I served through my job. Through honoring her life by telling stories and remembering her joking ways I am reminded to take a deep breath (because I can) and to take in everything I can about the good moments when they come my way. Learning to take advantage of the good times is my way of making it through this crazy life.

There are a lot of moments in my life when I feel time stop, although maybe pause is a better word. These moments are most often the times I spend with my silly family and the times I spend with friends that I choose to call family. I feel incredibly blessed to experience so many of these moments and continue breathing when the next moment comes.

In the last few weeks time has paused when I chat with my best friend and love on her newborn daughter, when I stand at the waterfront and watch my friends attempt to light lanterns, when I dance the night away after witnessing an awesome couple vow their lives to each other, when I cheers to life with Italian Margaritas shared with fun girls, when I am invited to celebrated the birthday of a long time friend, when I go vintage shopping with my parents and my aunts, when I eat crepe, and when I celebrate the marriage of a fun couple at an annual anniversary party.

Time is a weird thing. Sometimes it speeds by and sometimes is passes in slow motion. All in all, there is never enough. It is the moments when time is irrelevant that I know something special is happening and it is those moments that I remember when all else fails. 

The One With Graduation and Fate

For the last number of weeks my younger cousin has been tweeting and status updating about prom, the last day of school, baccalaureate, and graduation. I have been unable to stop reminiscing about that time in my own life.

Listening to all the graduation speeches made me ponder what I would say if I were asked to give a graduation address. The ideas expressed would, in some way, resemble this.

The following was a quote used in one of the speeches-

"I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." (William Ernest Henley). I can get on board with the second half of that quote. Fate is bigger than I am so I want to refrain from saying that I am master of my own, but I can guide the decisions that lead to my fate. Much as a captain guides his ship to shore. The wind and waves may push me to and fro, high and low, near and far but the responsibility of guiding my decisions remains mine. I will, therefore, assemble all my loved ones onto the ship with me and steer myself to a life of loving, laughing, and learning.

Living for something/ someone bigger than yourself creates a sense of belonging, fulfillment, and purpose. That something bigger can be God, family, job, a worthy cause, and maybe even fate. Living for fate seems ridiculous, but in some way it is merely another way of saying, "chase your dreams".

Today, as I remember the liberating feeling of the small rebellious act of tossing my graduation cap after the tassel switched sides and the school song resounded throughout the auditorium, I say to those just knowing the feeling of liberation for the first time to keep your loved ones on board and always steer your ship towards love and eventually fate will show its face just after the horizon.

Congrats class of 2013!

The One With the Table

“The table is where time stops.” I love that. The Table brings people together in a way like not much else can. Being around the table requires commitment and energy and once time stops around the Table, at least for me, a sense of fulfillment and relief floods my head, heart, and belly. I am overcome with love and acceptance. The Table is a safe place for sharing. Sharing food, sharing laughs, sharing tears, and sharing time.

I read an article recently about A New Approach to the Table. This article spoke metaphorically of the Table as the beating heart and center of the body, the home. It made reference to the Table being the sustainer of life and health. “If the home is a body, the table is the heart, the beating center, the sustainer of life and health.” I passionately agree with this idea. The times I feel the most alive and the most fed are the times I share meals and time around the Table with the people I love.

Last night I enjoyed a take-out meal with some lovely ladies who I feel special to have spent the evening with. On the 40 minute drive home in the rain, my brain could not let go of the idea of the Table. The Table as an object is so common place yet it serves such a greater purpose than to simply seat folk and be dressed in fancy cloth for the holidays. Holidays are not the only special occasions to prepare the Table. Special occasions are all the times that loved ones gather and commit time and meals together- much like my time in Olathe last night. 

I am thankful for the effort my parents made when I was a child to instill in me the necessity of sharing and making room at the table.

The article that inspired my thoughts and words regarding the Table:

http://storylineblog.com/2013/04/10/a-new-approach-to-the-table/

The One With College

Late night in the dining hall, air soft guns in the dorm, ramen noodles, making up words, skipping class, sledding down snow covered hills on a rubber maid lid, gossiping at softball games, road tripping- college.

College was a collection of stories to last a life time. It was a time to feel grown up and mature without fully being those things. I wish I had realized what a special time that was and exactly how quickly it would pass me by. College was a unique time when all my favorite friends lived in the same hallway as me and we did everything together. It was almost a cruel trick, an unjust preparation for the real world, to become accustomed to that lifestyle and those people and then for it to all change so suddenly. I wished to grow up too quickly and now I crave ever so much to go back.

Tonight I'm living on the fourth floor of the UCC on the UCM campus with some of the coolest kids around. Air soft guns are firing and I'm pelted in the back of the head. Tonight I am eating an endless bowl of ramen noodles from an orange bowl and playing football in the hall even though we are threatened with getting written up. Tonight I am watching my friends throw all the commons area couch cushions out of the fourth floor window down into the snow. Tonight I remember not getting those cushions back for a long time. Tonight I am at a softball game. Tonight I hear pounding on my door to join the clan for our usual 4pm dinner- is it any wonder why Late Night was such a usual part of our routine? Tonight I am playing Monopoly in the commons area and witness my first streaker. Tonight I am apart of silly fights during seriously planned for study sessions. Tonight I engage in heart to hearts with new friends and learn. Tonight I sit at the front desk at 3 am and do math homework (ok, maybe that part I don't really miss so much). Tonight I eat peanut butter shakes and fried pickles at Goodies. Tonight I drive boys to the ER after cage fight practice. Tonight I roll down the hallway in a wheel-y chair for races. Tonight I ride around in a white Jeep. Tonight I stand on my desk chair and sing my heart out for anyone willing to listen. Tonight I attend a Hall Council meeting. Tonight I watch Kid Nation and cry. Tonight I dress up and attend my first fraternity party. Tonight I decorate my bathroom in feminine product ads. Tonight I go to Wal-Mart for fun. Tonight is game night and I learn who my competitive friends are and who thinks they know more about the opposite sex. Tonight is Family Guy marathon. Tonight is any kind of television marathon. Tonight I place a double order of crab Rangoon with my Chinese food delivery. Tonight I listen to live covers of Jack Johnson songs in the commons area. Tonight I sleep close after a scary movie. Tonight I pack for Boston. Tonight I get locked in my bathroom. Tonight I teach boys how to clean a bathroom. Tonight I cook spaghetti and garlic bread and drink sparkling grape juice.

Tonight I learn. Tonight I grow. Tonight I remember. Just for tonight I am a college kid again.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I choose to make forever friends, so my heart is destined to always miss someone- especially my fellow Mules.

This is all to thank my college friends for giving me some of my best memories.

The one with France

There is absolutely no way to fully capture my French holiday. Words do their best to describe, photos help the memories, and videos make it possible to relive certain chosen moments, but nothing compares to have actually experineced it.

Adrenaline was pumping through my body so much when I walked down the stairs from that little plane once it landed in Nantes. It was pumping so hard I thought I might actually jump out of my own skin. That was especially true once I spotted Louise, Gildas, Pauline, and Denis waiting on the other side of the glass. I waved, blew kisses, hopped around, and attempt to make introductions through the glass while Stephanie and I waited for our bags.

Once we had our bags and rounded the corner towards my friends, culture shock immediately set in. I wanted to run to them and hug them around their necks. In French culture it is bisous (kiss kiss on the cheek) that is the norm. For as many French lessons as I had allowed myself to practice prior to the trip, I was under prepared for actual conversation. Many blank stares were given, "quoi"s spoken, and interpretations from Stephanie who does not even know French.

We all sat awkwardly at an airport table trying to make small talk and make plans. I was still sweating and shaking from the coursing adrenaline- it was almost an out of body experiene. Stephanie took a picture and that started to break the ice. Finally we making the hour drive from Nantes to Rennes where Louise and Gildas live. We piled into the BMW, sang along to mostly American songs on the radio, and attempted naps. We made a stop for tea at Adeline and Anthony's flat before lugging our bags to our flat. Adeline and Anthony have a dog named Figi and enjoyed watching videos of Dharma and Bizi playing in the snow.

The English/French dicrionary first came out when talking about Whiskey. I made a major attempt to explain honey whiskey when Gildas pulled a whiskey bottle from their liquor cabinet. I flipped through the dictionary to find the word for honey (miel) and proceeded to fail in my explaination of honey whiskey. Next thing I know I have a small glass of whiskey in front of me along with a bottle of honey and a spoon. That experience and taste was far from similair to American style honey whiskey.

For the first day we took a trip to Mont St Michel. There were many steps, a famous omlette restaurant, a picnic in the rain, and many photo opts. That night Louise took Stephanie and me into Rennes where we met Marina at a popular coffee/tea shop. Marina and Louise had not seen each other since school ended, so there was a lot of catching up to do for all involved. After coffee and tea we walked to the parliment building and watched a holiday animation displayed on the front.

After the animation show we all went back to Louise's flat to partake in a galette/crepe dinner that Gildas had prepared. Ham, eggs, cheese, creme freche, and tuna were available for building the indivual galettes. Everything was tastey and my belly filled up long before it was time to finish eating. This was the case most of the trip. There was always so much food. When we had all finished dinner the girls played a couple games of Rumikub. Rumikub is played fondly by many of the French folk.

St Malo was ours for the adventuring on day two. J'adore St Malo. It is an old, walled in, pirate town. The streets are made of stone, seafood is inexpensive and delicious, the sea can be seen from walking in the walls of town, and on this particular trip Christmas tunes could be heard down each alley. The wind was extreme that day and there was mist in the air which made carrying umbrellas and taking photos memorable. For lunch we all ate mussels (moules), frites, and cider. Stephanie and I also shared a galette. Crepes were again enjoyed for dessert. During the meal we enjoyed conersation about how expensive mussles are in America and what a delicacy they can be. We also cheered and chinked glasses, shared vocabulary (fork/forchette, knife/couteau, tree/arbre, ), and took photos- per the usual.

Naps were a must when we arrived back to the flat after exploring St Malo for the day. We lounged for a short time, Stephanie braided my hair, and once the BMW was packed with everyone's bags we hit the road towards Chateaubriant. It was time for an old fashioned French family Christmas. It was astounding the greetings that we received just from Mum, Papa, Eugenie, and Melanie. I cannot think of any situation more surreal than being back in that house, bisous from the sisters, and walking upstairs, as if I remembered the place like the back of my hand, to stow luggage.

Although Christmas had passed, it was time for presents and celebrating. Stephanie and I opened our gifts first. We received scarves, tea sets, handmade bracelets, and other beautiful and thoughtful things. My nerves set in as I handed presents to each of the Belays. I was nervous that my French used in their cards to explain the gifts might be insuffiencent or just terrible, but all was well when I head Mum and Papa speak, "tu es tres gentil." It was a winderful time watching everyone read their cards and inspect their gifts. I will always remember Papa wearing his new KC Chiefs blanket like a cape, pointing to the couch, making snoring sounds, and indicating that it would stay there forever- as would the miniture Statue of Liberty forever stay on the buffet.

In no time at all, the rest of the family had arrived and we were all seated around the table. There is no possble way to remember each dish that we were served for dinner and the accompanying bottle of wine or champagne. I cannot even remember how many courses there were at dinner that night. I simply remember eating and eating and eating. I also remember drinking more wine than ever before and provoking many laughs. There was a good amount of singing and dancing around the table that night too. The singing started with the cousins and then Stephanie and I were strongly encouraged to stand up and sing an American song for all to hear. After many embarrasing moments in attempting to choose a song, there we were, in front of all of my French family singing Home by Phillip Phillips. Somewhere out there exists a video, but fortunately, I know not where.

Through the remainder of our time in Chateaubriant, many such dinner parties transpired. Bread, wine, cheese, wine, chocolate, wine... The pattern seems clear to me. One of the best events was eating a pile, a literal pile, of crepe with Nutella and homemade honey after a walk through the forest with the cousins. Chateaubriant is something of a country town. The clear vast skies were advantageous for our walk and the creek and woods made for a beautiful backrop for our continuous photo opts. The adventure through the forest reminded me of adventures with my own cousins through the creek at grandma and grandpa's house. Singing, walking, posing for pictures, climbing, being silly- all things that make for lasting memories whether in Independence or Chateaubriant.

Funny thing about New Year's Eve- last year after having been in New York City to ring in the new year I decided to ring in 2013 by sitting at home in my pyjamas. Instead of being at home and in my pyjamas to ring in 2013 I was at a party in France disguised as The Queen of Hearts. Stephanie was clad in a red beret and was a fine looking Le Petit Chapeau Rouge (Little Red Riding Hood). Louise was impecibly dressed as an Incredible and Gildas was a poorly costumed John Lennon. The celebration consisted of many exciting and memorable things: alcohol; food-escargot, chips and dip, shrimp with eyes and tails, crab legs, bread, and the list is forever long; games of song and action; dancing; fireworks, costumes; a questionably gendered bunny. Oh and more alcohol (with ice cream) and food. There were so many courses that tea and coffee eventually came at 3am. I will give the French a few things, one of which is that they know how to party.

Saying goodbyes was not as heartbreaking this trip as I know for certain that I will see everyone again. Louise and Gildas were gracious enough to drop us as the Rennes train station; Pauline and Denis were patient enough to pick us up at the Paris train station. Facebook saved our asses as we could not locate Pauline and Denis and did not have a phone. Thank you Facebook.

From the train station we dropped our bags at the hotel and walked to a cafe for lunch where Simon, Pauline's friend, met us. Simon lives near Paris and was kind enough to give up his entire day to be our personal, patient, tour guide. We saw what seemed like everything: la tour eiffel, l'arc de triomphe, les invalides, le louvre, montmartre, le moulin rouge, notre dame, le centre pompidou, sacre coeur, les champs-élysées, et al.

After saying farewell to Pauline, Denis, and Simon we went to the hotel to form a plan while I soaked my blistered feet. Our plan was to find Le Petit Chatelet, but not before stumbling upon an awesome used book store which we perused for a good long while. I was most excited to find the following books en français: Ramona the Pest, Sherlock Holmes, Alice in Wonderland, and The Polar Express. Once we were able to pull away from the bookstore we again checked the map and successfully located the restaurant across the avenue from Notre Dame. Speaking only en français to our waitor, successfully placing our orders en français, and understanding some conversations en français quickly sprang to the top of My Proudest Moments list. I was beyond estatic to have had such luck in French conversation.

Prior to departure from Paris we toured the Palace of Versailles where I was utterly mesmerized by the splendor and shine that The Hall of Mirrors offered. Steph seemed to greatly enjoy strolling through the gardens. Two last Must Do's before leaving- purchase rings from Pylones and stock up on Chocolate. Finding Pylones might be one of the biggest achievements of my life. With avenues changing names mid-block and directions en français we had some struggles with arrival. Once we walked through the front door and heaved a sigh of relief we marched directly to the ring counter and began choosing rings of varied size, shape, color, and inner fillings. A great amount of Euros were spent that night in the Pylones store and now the women of both my French family and my American family are connected by jewelry. More Euros were spent on the way back to our hotel as we made multiple stops for chocolate and candy.

To skip ahead a bit and summarize- there were issues getting to our last hotel, more issues checking my luggage at CDG airport, iPad with 3% battery life for a seven hour flight, watched episodes of Sherlock on the flight, handsome man with an accent and runny nose next to me on the airport shuttle to Grand Central Station, Thai food delivery, chatty girl on flight to Kansas City, and visits from family and friends once I was once again at home.

My desire of all things French has not been quenced it has simply grown to be more adoring.

Merci à tous qui a rendu ce voyage possible. Merci à ceux qui ont été patient, aimable et hospitalier. J'aime ma famille français et je suis très heureux de les accueillir un jour dans le missouri. Merci pour l'amour et les souvenirs. A plus.

The one with London

Heathrow Airport is a big place. We were supposed to have a seven hour layover there. Instead we faced a nightmare and were detained through the holidays. Luckily, we were able to leave the airport and our nightmare slowly became less of a disappointment. The airline put us up in a fancy hotel the first night which a singing bus driving delivered us to. We had vouchers for dinner along with breakfast and lunch the following day. Although the meals were buffet style they were delicious.

Our first morning was spent trying to find a place to leave our bags for the day and rest our heads that night. We decided on a Shakespeare Hotel on the other side of the city to be closer to the consulate. Due to the holiday tube strike we chose to stay close to the consulate. Although the Shakespeare Hotel sounded fancy, it was not. We were supposed to have two beds, but only one was to be shared. Stephanie's side of the bed was partly in the fireplace. We had to place a coffee cup in the windowsill to prop the window open to breath fresh air. We were four flights up with no lift and a number of bags. We paid for the internet and had a terrible time accessing it. After complaining to the front desk I had to sit in the stairwell to Skype with my entire family on Christmas Eve. Our shower leaked when other people utilized the pipes and our bathroom faucet randomly spewed water. To our advantage, we were out exploring most of the day and did not have to endure the smallness of the room until the evening.

The Big Bus (tour) became our friend. We were walking to the consulate so that we would know how to get there when the time came and a man stopped us to inquire about the Big Bus Tour. We obliged and it all worked out beautifully. Although it was a hop on-hop off tour we rode the entire way through. We saw a multitude of neat things and made a list of the places to which we wished to return. With our tour came a free Harry Potter walking tour which showed us seven locations used in the films. It was awesome and, of course, rainy. After our tour we went to dinner at a Taylor Walker pub. Stephanie had lamb. I had salmon and a Carling beer. We both nommed on Camamberet cheese. Since it was Christmas Eve we decided a bottle of wine and an assortment of wafer chocolates seemed a good way to celebrate. Two days later and we still had about half a bottle of wine. We never did finish it.

Christmas Day most places were closed, including public transit, so we walked the city. We actually walked all the way to the consulate this time. Once there a friendly, everyone in London is friendly, armed guard pointed us in the direction of Shepards Market, where he assured us some pubs would be open. What we found was a Turkish restaurant with a few Christmas specials on the menu. After some time of deliberation over what to chose from the menu our server arrived. As we pointed to the menu and voiced our desired selections he informed us that we would be served every item listed under each special. We spent all that time deliberating only to be served small portions of all the options. Lamb, tabouli, broad beans, falafel, spicy shrimp, etc etc was feast before us. After picking though those options it was time for dessert. I decided on what sounded traditional- Christmas pudding. I was quite displeased with my Christmas pudding. It was not pudding at all. In fact, it was a sort of dense chocolate cake with prunes deep inside and something of an egg drizzle atop. It was not good. Stephanie made the best dessert decision; she ordered Eton mess. It was fruity, meringue-y, delicious, and light. She was nice enough to share with me since I could not even stomach mine.

From the Turkish restaurant we walked to Buckingham Palace. We arrived at the Palace a short time before the rain did. We oogled over the grandness of everything and took loads of photos. We next walked to Westminster Abbey, stopping along the way to take photos of Big Ben. At this point the mist had started and the rain was moving in. Of course we took photos while at Westminster also, and could not resist getting some fresh roasted nuts to munch on for the walk back. The rain was really falling now, but we marched on and although we were freezing we stopped for ice cream at Baskin Robbins. We had to leave before I finished my cone due to Stephanie feeling sick from all the Hookah smoke from the nearby lounges.

Other things seen and experienced in London: Picidillay Circus, Tower of London, London Bridge, Fleet Street, Baker Street, The Sherlock Holmes Museum, The London Eye, Regent Streeet (owned by the Queen and Norway), Margaret Thatcher's house, The Prime Minister's house, Bridget Jones' "house", Abbey Road, eating fish and chips with our Big Bus tour guide on Boxing Day, etc etc. Oh, and my new favorite television show is 8 Out of 10 Cats.

Our time in London ended once Stephanie and I had waited in the queue at the consulate, made various phone calls from one of the infamous Red Booths, sipped hot cocoa at Starbucks (where I napped and waited for Steph while she was at the colsulate for a second and then third time), received a new passport, and boarded our plane to Madrid.

Thanks London for being so friendly and for not completely ruining Christmas.

The One With the Flight Before Christmas

"Twas the flight before Christmas and all through the plane the passengers were all snug in their seats and no one complained."

Southwest proves time again to be the most creative and enjoyable airline to travel with. After riding the airport emloyee shuttle to the terminal with my uncle and a decent flight to Chicago with barking dogs, this was a first for me, I boarded another plane to Newark. The flight commenced with an entire rendition of Twas the Night Before Christmas. It entailed safety precautions and airline procedures. There was even a time for passenger participation. The flight itself was fine, full but fine. Here is a little something I have learned during this flight. If you know that your Southwest flight is full then opt for a seat other than the window. If you chose a window seat then anyone can choose to sit next to you, especially the creepers. Be the chooser and not the choosee. I have learned this from experience.

I am not yet sure what useful things I have learned from my flight from JFK to Heathrow. Some facts have been reiterated, but nothing new has come to light. Things that have been reiterated: Christmas is a busy time especially for travelers, people as a general public tend to not listen and they also like to sit next to their travel mate on their flight especially if they paid extra for a seat assignment, people get impatient, and yet there is always someone willing to help. Sometimes that helpful person heaves your luggage over a carousel that you are obviously struggling with and sometimes that helpful person shoves your luggage into the overhead bin after people have stowed their coats there first even after advised not to. It is nice to know that there is always that helpful person out there. That thought makes me wonder how often and when I present myself as that helpful person.

Boarding the flight at JKF proved to be rather nightmare-ish. The flight was cancelled the day before we were scheduled to leave, so Steph and I were frantically calling to make new plans and get things in place. Once we got to the airport, late, our boarding passes could not be located and by the time they were found it was almost boarding time. Steph got her bag checked and in the time that took it was supposedly too late to check me in- it was too close to boarding time. The airport personnel did not seem to understand that we had been there waiting and that we were travelling together. All things said and done, I got through. We made it through security, somehow, and then we ran with significant haste to our gate. I heard the Home Alone music in my head the whole time. Our flight was not even boarding when we arrived at our gate.

All things considered the actual flight was not so bad, except for the mini asthma attck I had once I finally sat down and not being seated near my travel mate. Little did we know what nightmare loomed ahead once our plane was to land in London.