A Nice Place to Visit, N'est Pas?

Well, my husband and I are all checked into our hotel room in Nice. I finally did it: I flew on a plane that my husband--oh captain, my captain!--was piloting. I was very proud! I flew to Europe and I got my passport stamped for the first time. (The stamp included the words "Cote d'Azur," which made me realize that I misspelled that phrase in my post on Nov. 30--there's no "e" on the end.)

The flight last night was awesome! The only problem is that I think it spoiled me for life: I don't know if I'll ever be able to ride in coach again! The seats up in front were huge and cushy, and they reclined. I had a regular-sized pillow, not one of those tiny ones they give you in the back, and it was a great squishin' pillow to boot (which is important to me). The blanket was way cozier than those thin fleece ones they give you in coach, too. And I had so much space around me up where the beautiful people sit; I could have been 6'4", and I would have had leg room to spare

No sooner had I taken my seat and set up my little "nest," when a flight attendant came around with flutes of champagne. And then she came around again a little while later--the champagne was flowing like wine. I declined (I didn't want to start out my big European adventure with a headache), but I had a coffee in my hand, in a real porcelain mug, before take-off. Oh yes, and a bowl of warmed mixed nuts--you know, just a little something to hold me over until the meal service.

When we were at cruising altitude, the wine was flowing like wine (I declined again and stuck with my old pal, coffee, but flight attendants were walking around pouring refills of vino all over business class). Soon, it was dinner time. There were two hors d'oeuvres to choose from for the first course, and I went with crab salad and melon (delectable!). Then there was a green salad course. And finally, the main course. There were three choices for the entree: fish, pasta, or beef. I chose filet mignon with risotto and broccoli, and it was delicious. When the dessert cart came around, I didn't have much room left, and I probably should have let it pass me by. But I'd made the decision to enjoy all the freebies I could...and they had ice cream with chocolate sauce...and you know that no matter how full you are, you can always manage to fit ice cream. So I had a sundae, and I wasn't the least bit sorry I did.

After dinner, I watched two movies on my little personal T.V. screen: a Steve Carrell movie called (I think) Stupid, Crazy Love, and a Tom Hanks movie called Larry Crowne. Neither one was anything to write home about, but they helped to pass the time. I also watched an episode of a T.V. show called "Up All Night," which was funny. I couldn't sleep at all. Everyone around me, it seemed, had sleep masks on and were out cold under their blankets; but I was just too excited. Periodically, I would watch our trip's progress on my little screen. Here's what it looked like when we were out in the middle of the Atlantic:

Before we landed, I had a nice light breakfast of fruit, yogurt and granola (coffee, too, of course!). I would have had the cheese and mushroom omelette, but after my enormous dinner, I didn't think I could manage it! The adrenalin is still pumping, I guess, My husband just got in bed to get a little shut-eye, and here I am blogging. I just looked at the clock, and it's 10:45 a.m. in Nice--but to my body, it's 4:45 a.m., and I didn't sleep a wink all night. So I'm going to sign off now and force myself to nap. But before I do, I just wanted to show you a picture I took from the balcony of our hotel room right after we arrived:

Doesn't Nice look nice? And very European (how odd)! I can't wait to go out and do a little sightseeing later on! I'm sure I'll be posting more pictures tomorrow.

It's Bon Voyage!

Today's the day! In a few hours, we head to NYC and from there, to Nice, France. And I'm looking forward to a real bon voyage. I'm not kidding. I may be a white knuckle flyer, but I really AM looking forward to this trip, and I'm sure it WILL be a good one. I'm nervous about the flight, but so far have not found any reason to weasle out of it. The flights to Nice and back still have about a gazillion open seats on them, and there's nothing I have to do back here that's so important it can't wait until four days from now. So. I guess I'm now the jet-setter I never had any desire to become. But who knows? I may get hooked on flying and start accompanying my husband on his trips all the time--stranger things have happened, I suppose.

I'm trying to think only of the positive aspects of the trip: how beautiful Nice is (my husband has been there before and says I'll love it); how lucky I am to be able to make a trip like this, without spending a penny on airfare or hotels; how proud I'm going to be, sitting in the back knowing that MY HUSBAND IS FLYING THE PLANE!; and how much fun I'm going to have (fun being a relative term) if I get to sit up in business class, which it looks like I'm going to be able to do. My #2 son was here last night, having his belated Thanksgiving dinner with us, and he was regaling me with stories about sitting up front on his trip to Rome a couple of summers ago. In business class on overseas flights, you have a great big reclining chair that's practically a bed, and a personal television set right in front of you--with a list of movies and T.V. shows to choose from, so that you can watch anything your little heart desires. They feed you dinner, snacks, and breakfast. You want for nothing up there. (If that's true, I think the coffee is going to be flowing like wine!) My son told me I'm going to love it, and I'm sure I will (love being a relative term). It's definitely better than having to sit in the back for seven hours, that's for sure. Have you ever seen comedian Brian Regan? He does this comedy bit about the difference between the snooty people up in first class and the riff-raff relegated to the cheap seats behind the curtain that is absolutely hilarious. (If you've never seen Brian Regan, you really must! His comedy is not only clean, but LOL funny.)

My husband has told me that I'd be surprised how many people are afraid of flying, just like me. From time to time during the boarding process, a passenger will look at him and tell him how nervous they are, and ask for reassurances that he and the plane are in good shape for the trip. Or when deplaning, every now and then a relieved passenger will thank him for getting everyone there safely. My husband has a stock reply for these people: he'll smile and say, "Hey, the father of my children is on this plane."

That just made me think about how much I adore our children (and our grandchildren!), so I'm going to post some pictures of the people my husband thinks about when he's flying passengers across the Atlantic.

Here are our four younger sons:

Awww. What a cute bunch they are. And here's our oldest, with his wife and twin daughters:

Cuteness abounds in this picture, too. Sigh...these are the people I'll be thinking about on this Friday, Friday, while I'm kickin' it with my frands up in business class. (Sorry, that won't happen again--I promise. I just can't get that ridiculous YouTube song out of my head!)

Let Him Eat Pie

Advent began last Sunday, so the countdown to Christmas has officially begun. And today is December 1...which means that there are only 24 days to go! Woo hoo! This really is the most wonderful time of the year. I'm going to be ticking off the days on this magnetic calendar, as excited as a small child awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus.

When I look out my window, it doesn't seem like Christmas is around the corner. The lawn is still fairly green--and I don't know if my eyes were playing tricks on me or not, but the other day I thought I saw new green shoots popping out of the brown, crusty piles of what is left of the daylilies that bloomed last spring. It's only about 6:00 a.m. here and it's already a balmy 40ish degrees. We got hit with a wicked big Nor'easter in October and had a white Halloween, but I'm not so sure at this point if we're going to have a white Christmas.

Tonight, our #2 son--the one who was all alone (sick in bed with the flu, the poor guy) on Thanksgiving day--is coming over to have a belated turkey dinner, with all the trimmings, with his father and me. He had no appetite at all last Thursday; but then when he finally started feeling better a few days later, he bought himself a pre-cooked chicken at the Wal-Mart deli, whipped up some Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, and tried to put together some gravy, using chicken broth and the meager drippings from the package the chicken had come in. "It wasn't too bad, but it just wasn't the same," he admitted--an understatement if I've ever heard one. It was a valiant effort by a young bachelor with limited culinary talents, and I had to give him credit for trying. But this would not do, I decided. I got to sit and relax on Thanksgiving this year at my oldest son's house, while he and his wife put on the feast. But I need to don my trusty apron and get to work, because I just can't let one of my boys go without an honest-to-goodness, homecooked Thanksgiving dinner.

I had already made two pumpkin pies over Thanksgiving weekend, and my #2 son doesn't even like pumpkin pie; so I really didn't have any plans to make another one. But last night when my husband and I were out shopping for supplies for tonight's dinner, he asked if I was making pumpkin pie--and if you could have seen the hopeful look on his face, you would have rushed to the baking aisle to get the ingredients just like I did. You have to understand something about my husband: pumpkin pie is his favorite dessert in all the world--I mean, to him 1 serving of pumpkin pie=1/4 of the pie. True story. When it's in the house, that's what he has for breakfast. He cannot eat a Thanksgiving dinner (even his second Thanksgiving dinner in the span of a week) without pumpkin pie. I'd much prefer a piece of cake for dessert myself, but I just have to let him eat pie. So I'm going to make him a pie.

I'm actually kind of excited about this pie, because I'm making a homemade pie crust for it. I love to bake cakes and other dessert items from scratch, but I've always been lazy when it comes to pie crusts. I usually just get the frozen ones when I make pumpkin pies for my hubby. But today, I'm making my own crust, using a recipe I found on-line--one that calls for butter rather than Crisco. Mmmm...butter... I'm hoping this is going to be the best pumpkin pie I've ever made. I'll let you know how this crust turns out, and if it's awesome, I'll post the recipe.

Trip Essentials

I've spent the past few days preparing myself (mostly mentally) for my trip to Nice on Friday. This will be my first time ever accompanying my husband on a working trip--where he will be up front in the cockpit, driving the airplane!--in the almost 24 years he's been a pilot for the airline. I'm flying standby, and so far (gulp!) the flights both there and back look wide open, so I should have no problem getting a seat. The flights are so empty as of now that I may even end up in business class, which I've heard is definitely the way to go when you're flying across the Atlantic. The Atlantic Ocean...that big, scary ocean...water, water, everywhere...flying in the dark of night...flying through vast, black emptiness--flying as only birds should do, really--when you could be snug at home, on good old terra firma, in your cozy house that's all decorated for Christmas...WHAT HAPPENED? I think I blacked out for a minute. Where was I? Oh, yes: I was talking about my upcoming trip to Nice, the French city on the Riviera that's a stone's throw from the fabled principality of Monaco. Just about anyone would like to be in my shoes, right? Flying across the Atlantic to the French Riviera, in business class (hopefully), no charge, with a free hotel room waiting over there on the Cote d'Azure, as they call it. So...do you by any chance wear between an 8 and 1/2 and a 9? (Ah, je m'amuse.)

Yesterday, I went out and bought this slim paperback book, See It and Say It in French, to take along with me to Nice. I used to be somewhat fluent in French back in my younger days. In fact, during a French Lit class my senior year of college, I took all my notes and wrote all my papers en francaise, and had even gotten to the point where I was actually thinking in French and didn't have to take the time to translate in my head. Mes amis, those days are long gone. I'm as rusty now as my passport (which I got in 2002 and have never taken out of the fire safe until now, which is a good thing because it expires in a matter of months!). If what they say about the French is true, however, I shouldn't even bother trying to converse in their native tongue. If they pretend not to understand ugly Americans who endeavor to speak their language and mangle it beyond recognition, I may be in trouble. But I do hope to have the opportunity to order un cafe au lait at a restaurant, parler a bit with the locals, and to tell everyone who'll listen about how j'ai pris l'avion! Across the great, big ocean, no less!

So these are my trip essentials: my Sparknotes-style French language book; my never-been-used passport; and my St. Joseph's prayer card, which I have with me every time I board an airplane. Before takeoff, I like to recite the "Unfailing Petition to St. Joseph," which I've posted on this blog before: O St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God, I place in thee all my interests and desires. O St. Joseph, do assist me by thy powerful intercession and obtain for me from thy Divine Son all spiritual blessings, through Jesus Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below thy heavenly power, I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating thee and Jesus asleep in thy arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near thy heart. Press Him in my name and kiss His fine head for me and ask Him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for me. Amen." 

Saying this prayer, and holding onto this card for dear life as the plane lifts off the ground, helps to calm my nerves. Am I looking forward to the actual cross-Atlantic flight on Friday? Je pense que non. But I am, certainement, looking forward to the mini-vacation with my husband. And this trip should give me some interesting material to blog about! 

Translations: 

Cote d'Azure: Sky Blue Coast 

je m'amuse: I amuse myself 

en francaise: in French 

mes amis: my friends 

un cafe au lait: a coffee with milk 

parler: to talk 

j'ai pris l'avion: I took the airplane 

Je pense que non.: I don't think so. 

certainement: certainly, of course

Not Just a Face in the Crowd

My mother--Mimi to her grandchildren--is a very stylish person. There is nothing the least bit tomboyish about the way she dresses; in fact, most of her outfits absolutely scream "girly-girl." She loves to have an excuse to get all dressed up--or as she might say, "all dolled up." She favors bright, vibrant colors, and fancy feminine touches like ruffles, sequins, feathers, fur, and sparkly costume jewelry. And she loves hats, the bigger and more ostentatious the better. (She would have fit right in there with all the mad hatters at the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.) I used to think that she was way too "out there" and theatrical with her hats, and I myself was always much too self-conscious to wear them. But you know what they say: the older a woman gets, the more like her mother she becomes. Oh no, it's happening...because (yikes!) all of a sudden in my fifties, I have become a bit of a hat person.

The hats I wear have nothing on Mimi's, though. As an example, I give you the one she wore to my oldest son's high school graduation about a decade ago.On that special day, the graduation of her oldest grandchild, my mom wore a hot pinkish/purplish/ fuschia? (I'm not sure what to call this color) silk suit that was comprised of a jacket and cropped pants. We would have called those pants "highwaters" when I was growing up, but they were actually very chic* (translation: chic) and en mode* (translation: in style). Mimi topped the whole ensemble off with a wide-brimmed straw hat in a matching shade of purple. She was hands down the best-looking grandmother at that graduation! She looked fabulous that day--very purply, to quote Buddy the Elf--and she stood out in a staid New England crowd that was dressed, for the most part, in beiges, navy blues, and blacks.

My #2 son was watching the proceedings from a balcony in the gym that resembles a choir loft in a church. A friend asked him which of his family members had come to the graduation, and he named off all of his brothers, his parents, and then Bigfoot--stopping to explain that, yes, that's what his grandfather was called...and then he looked down and spied a lone spot of color amidst the hundreds of hatless heads in the crowd. He paused and shook his head. He'd been taken by surprise, because he hadn't seen Mimi's get-up before this moment. "And see that gigantic purple hat?" he said. "That's my grandmother." (This story is a lot funnier when my son tells it himself. The way he describes his reaction to seeing Mimi's big, crazy hat is hilarious.)

My mother is so beautiful, and she's never just a face in the crowd. She's a huge, brightly-colored hat in the crowd. You can't miss her. And you wouldn't want to.

*Excuse my French, as they say. I'm very rusty and I'm trying to brush up; because on Friday, I plan to accompany my husband on a four-day trip to Nice! It's going to be impressionnant (translation: awesome)!

Like Father, Like Son

These images taken at my oldest son's house yesterday morning show that when it comes to my boy and his babies--to his comfort level with them, his tenderness and patience, and his overall style of fatherhood--the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Here is my hubby, the doting grandfather, nuzzling Bonny Babe's utterly irresistible cheek, just like he used to do with our five little guys:

And here is his son, the newly minted daddy, kissing the equally irresitible cheek of little Cutie Pie:

Like father, like son, right? You can hardly tell the two of them apart. (That goes for the twins, too, of course. They're identical, after all.)

The Good News and the Bad News

The good news is that today is the first Sunday of Advent. The season of Advent is a time of great joy and anticipation, as we prepare our souls for the birth of Our Lord on Christmas day. My husband and I returned from our oldest son's house in Upstate NY tonight, and when we got home we lit one of the purple candles on our Advent wreath. I made this large Advent wreath in 1999, the same year that we purchased our church-sized Nativity set. At this wonderful time of year, as we begin our preparations for the Christmas season, we love to adorn our home with garlands and wreaths and poinsettias and lights--and of course, to set up our beautiful Nativity and put up a sparkling Christmas tree so full of ornaments that there isn't an empty branch to be found; but we always feel particularly joyful when we light our Advent wreath. The tall votive candles stay lit continuously for a week (or just shy of that), and each Sunday we replace and re-light the ones that have gone out and then light up a new one while reciting special Advent prayers.

It's Advent, and the Christmas season is almost upon us. That's the good news.

The bad news is that this afternoon, we had to say good-bye to our two precious baby granddaughters, after spending a wonderful week and a half with them and their dear parents. We already miss these girls so much! Look at them: aren't they just the most adorable little creatures you've ever laid eyes on?

The twins hanging out on their "tummy time" mat.

But Christmas is only weeks away, and we'll be seeing them the day after. So there's some more good news.