Departures are always a bit tricky… There is the excitement that comes with leaving, the stress of making sure you take everything you need, and of course the goodbye’s to those you love. In my case, that would be my 22 month old son and Im having a tough time… I continue to remind myself that I love him madly and deeply and that to continue being an interesting, happy human being I must continue to be inspired- and inspiration to me comes in the form of putting myself in elements that test my abilities… I fully expect he will point at the sky when he sees me after my 10 day voyage and say pleh ( for plane ) without missing a beat. Why is it that we project so much of our own baggage/ feeling/ emotion on others when none might be felt. I personally feel that its in part easier to live with the feeling that you are doing the right, safe thing over not- But what are those right, safe things?  How many decisions did my parents make without asking whether I was cool with them? ( 0 ) In fact I moved schools every year until 11th grade and never thought my parents were irresponsible because of their career decisions or financial situtions. ( I mean I thought other things about them but then again I was a teenager ) I must say that this adventure of starting a business in France is a big one. One that comes with great costs. But when I really take a look at life, and all the available choices we can make or not,  I soon realize that doing nothing has its own costs as well- And frankly I would rather choose the former. Trudge on petite peche- and all you out there pushing for your own dream~ Trudge on.

Our lovely friends, Pierre and Justine, finally threw open the doors to their French Bistro last Wednesday eve, on the far east side of Austin- far enough East, that we are neighbors. The proximity factor is tremendous as we have been enslaved to mexican food unless we wish to venture 20 minutes accross town, and honestly the fare is similar. Its Austin after all. And so, donning our petanque shoes and lipitor, we happily drove the 4 minutes to what I deemed, a heavenly slice of France- southern France as it was warm and relaxed. I was practically hurling every french word I remembered to the frightened door girls who clearly knew that the bar was the best place to send me, and where I remained happily ensconced for most the evening… Having so many friends and people we knew coming through the same doors, I was on one hand happy for them and on the other shocked that I hadn’t managed to get a few to show up to dinner at chez moi. Its almost like living in Brooklyn- Its cool, hip, and all that, but the ” commute”  often gets in the way- 

The first thing I noticed was how uncomplicated the menu was. Steak Frites, Escargot -all drunk in their butter baths, french onion soup, asparagus w sabayon sauce, le pork chop, cocquille st jacques and so much more. At a table that kept growing, we supped on the escargot, ourselves drunk with happiness and wine by then, and a medley of entrees- The food was superb although I would have happily eaten a stick of butter just to be there. It was REALLY really good. Hundreds of warm bodies poured in all night and as the temperature rose, so did the mood- It was such a lovely reminder that good company, great food and well, free alcohol go pretty darn good together. 

So as the countdown begins before we set sail on our Culinary Adventure extraordinaire, I have been overcome with feelings of guilt. Paris does this to me however. I know how much she seduces me and Im petrified that I won’t have the willpower to say no to her this time. No, as in, Im leaving. I have often likened her to an old flame. The one you don’t want to see for fear you might go weak in the knees as you mumble something about your kids and busy schedules. The one you desperately wish would come to you instead, and sweep you off your feet without you having to come to any decision, or threaten what you have already determined to be the life you desire. That is how I feel about Paris. Simply. And Im going as a woman, not the 21 yr old who left. So perhaps there is a bit of fear in the mix too.. 

 What if she doesn’t love me anymore? Or finds me too plump? But the ultimate casualty would be if it were I who decided my heart had turned. We all know what happens when that happens… Those old loves are usually the ones that make us question our sanity and frankly this whole ” I luuuuuv Paris ” and ” I desperately wish to live where I am truly loved ” thing has been a broken record kind of theme in my life. Any friends of mine, or sadly even acquaintances reading this will be rolling their eyes in acceptance.  As I sigh loudly to myself, I realize that this could be the beginning, or worse the end, of my 10 year infatuation and full blown affair with Paris. Sadly an affair she probably knows nothing about. She has been casting her wicked little spell on millions, 29 I am told, of people every year. Well, maybe there are a few that manage to escape loving her, but mon dieu- not me. Even as an exchange student at the Sorbonne, with tiny french women telling me that they are desolee for my probleme with being in the wrong class (where I remained all semester) and otherwise at times very frustrating experiences, I would happily trade in the 120* heat in Texas for some Parisian abuse… 

Anyway, I will keep you posted on my continued state of excitement, terror, boredom and otherwise highs and lows as I prepare to embrace the best thing that happened to me 10 years ago.