Noticed in Nice

For a variety of reasons, we skipped Christmas in the States this year.  But we didn't skip it entirely. Instead, we went to Nice.
And while it wasn't all that Christmas-y in our usual sense...There was no fried turkey, Christmas Eve service (in English) and family revelry...It was good. 

We wandered in the sunshine which was exactly what we needed after days of Norwegian darkness. We ate profiteroles as part of the daily doses of dessert.  Though neither of us are Catholic, we went to a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve---we didn't understand every single part, but could pick out The Lord's Prayer from the cadence, the good parts of Luke because we know the story and some of the carols from the tunes, so it was just enough.

And most importantly, it was what we needed for a mini-break, which will most likely be our last alone for a while. 
Instead of a play-by-play of every moment, here are a few highlights and details of the five days.


1) Nice is lovely.

2) The amount of sunshine available is in indirect proportion* to the amount of clothes worn by the locals within 20 yards of the water.   

Yes, this is how pregnant I am (as of Christmas Eve 2008)....

but look a little closer.....

3) The Niçoise** have a unique relationship with Santa.

All over the town, there are Santas hanging out on terraces and out of windows.  

Husband thought it was an acceptance of the fact that there are very few chimneys and the old elf has to get in somehow....

I was thinking that it was a gentle joke about how Santa is really a kind of benevolent burgler.

Seriously.  

While he's expected and welcomed, the truth is that St. Nicholas comes into locked houses through the chimney no less, eats cookies and drinks milk (or a few beers, when he stops by Big D's in Gainesvegas) and after pawing through the stockings, leaves some goodies.   

4) "In Nice, the fish are born in the ocean, but die in the oil."  

For seafood lovers, this is a good place to be at pretty much any time during the year.  Husband was slightly afraid when this arrived in front of him.  

But don't think we didn't tuck into it like nobody's business...And killed an anchovy pizza, as well.  

And on the last night, we chose Italian, which is a huge influence in the local food because not only was Nice part of Italy on several occasions over the past few thousand years, it's still practically next door.  I chose the lobster pasta, but didn't quite expect it to be so identifiably lobster. 

Husband, while slightly jealous of the whole lobster, kept focused on his beef, but still stabbed into my plate on occasion. 

Also there was no seafood at our last breakfast, but look closely at the photo.  There are two of everything except for one thing.  Can you see what it was?  The additional thing is another of the local specialities and it was GOOOOOD, but we could only eat about half of it...

4) Public art was all around, if you paid attention. 

Holiday lights in Massena Square...The men on top of the towers changed colors every thirty seconds or so...

Up on balconies....

And in open spaces set back on side streets.

On main boulevards, too. 

5) Look out for the good butcher shops.

I love butcher shops, fishmarkets and the like. Whenever we're anywhere, we search them out and Husband waits patiently while I examine the culinary work.  (He may tease, but he enjoys it as well.) 

6) The mani/pedis are different, but just as good. 

Why didn't I just paint my own nails before we got to Nice?

The Short answer:  Because I don't want to. 

The Longer answer: It's not about the color.

I'd never had regular ones until I moved to New York when I was about 22.  In the city, there are nail salons on practically every corner, $17 for a mani/pedi Mon-Wed, $22 for the two Thurs-Sat (closed Sun).  

So, unless it was a particularly tight week, it was a luxury I could always afford, no matter how young and poor I was.  

Every week, I would go all by myself, a few hours of "choose your color!" warm, soapy soaking, foot rubs, flipping through the magazines I longed to (and eventually did) work for, mainly just a few hours of respite and quiet to myself before heading back out into the city I loved. 

And when, almost a decade later, I moved to Atlanta, I kept it up.  And it's always been less about the color or even the cuticles...It's about just a few hours of the experience.  It calms my mood, cheers me up and gives me a minute to think about all sorts of things, because there's not much else you can do when both your hands and your feet are indisposed.

In Norway, mani/pedis are no longer one of the "affordable luxuries." 

They now fall into the category of plain-old-Norwegian priced luxury (AKA more than twice the fancy prices, while less than 1/2 the normal people quality), so I only get them when we are someone else. 

6) Nice may be the most dog-friendly town, ever.** 
There were big dogs, small dogs, furry dogs, bald dogs, dogs in purses, dogs on leash and off, dogs in our hotel, dogs (looking like small black furry Grovers from Sesame Street) sitting between their owners at swanky dinners.  And very little poop.

7) Nice is lovely any time of year, but if it's about 40 degrees (F) on December 28th, then it must be BRUTALLY hot in the summer.  

8) The end...

*Is the use of "indirect" correct?  I mean "loads of sunshine = little clothes." 

**No, I don't know if this is the correct term, but if it's the name for a salad that originated in the town, why not for a person?

***If I were more clever right now, the following would be to the rhythm of "Green Eggs and Ham."

Better than Animal Planet

We've all been watching the West Wing, episode by episode, since the very first month Husband and I started dating*.

We love them.  Not is the show smart and honorable, but full of the fascinating details about government that I never even realized that I wanted to know.  And oddly enough, right now we're now in Season Five, which are the ones featuring the Isreali/Palestinian conflict. 

Afterwards, we had a family discussion about the current situation in Gaza.

*Lillie missed the first few months, but we quickly got her up to speed.

Coffee and Ice Cream?

In a previous (and perhaps future) life, I was a celebrity reporter.*

And, in these pages, I have written about some of the fairly clear delineations between the different levels of celebrity. 

But here's another tip, one that is really not a new story, but one I started thinking about as we were wandering through Nice this week....

Many celebrities do some kind of advertising in other parts of the world, often in markets and in mediums that would be considered career suicide,** if they took part in them in the United States.  

And up until recently, most included a clause in the contract forbidding the ads from running in the US. 

But who could blame them for signing up for the ads?  It's piles of dough for relatively little work.  

For instance, just for a few tiny examples...Michael J. Fox shills for a Japanese energy drink whose slogan is "Good Afternoon!" Jennifer Aniston starred in Heineken beer commercials around the world and credit cards in the UK. And Japan is a huge market for the ads, many of which can be seen on Japander (which doesn't seen to be running well right now...)  

But it's widely accepted and usually really funny, too and often a slight indication of the level of celebrity enjoyed by the star....

So here's your quiz question...

Which celebrity is on the fairly untouchable REALLY BIG LIST, which is even higher than A level? Which celebrity is firmly settled (for now at least) on one of the slightly less prestigious letters of the alphabet?

Example A)

An advertising campaign for a coffee-like beverage---seen on giant groupings of poster panels in French airports, hilarious prime time commercials and back covers of major magazines.

Example B)

An advertising campaign for ice cream---seen on a stand-alone poster outside of a cafe on the top of Nice's Castle Hill, which is a hill, but is no longer home to a castle.

  

*To be clear:

Celebrity reporter does not equal paparazzi. 

To be more clear:

Paparazzi jump out of bushes armed with cameras, I used to knock on doors (among other adventures, which included but were not limited to red carpets, nightclubs, fried chicken in kitchens, backstages, etc....) armed with a tape recorder and a pad of paper.

**Or perhaps merely a fairly serious form of cutting.

REVISED --- Husband Knows Stuff #4: Wontons

We've been busy for the past few days....

We've been to a Holiday Cocktails/Cut-Throat Book Swap Party. 

We've cooked Chinese Food.

...including wontons. 

 

It was worth the wait.  

So well that the next night, we tried it again.  I made Spring Rolls.

What did Husband make, you wonder? 

....which is much more complicated than you would think, and it was yummy.

So whether you'll be spending Christmas Day eating Chinese food, lucky enough to gnaw on some fried turkey or even picking through some duck like we will be....

Happy happy holidays!

We'll see you in a few days!

All I Want for Christmas

We've known we weren't going to head back to the States for Christmas since we found out about the Pickle.

I will be too close to my due date to fly for long distances, over giant spaces of water, with no drugs or hospital nearby. Not that I have any reason to believe that I will be early at all, but we (and by "we" I mean Husband, most airlines and me) don't want to take that chance.

But I love Christmas. Not for the 9,000 people in line with me at the stores or for the timely and manufactured cheer, but for the traditions.*  

But this year, it's just going to be different, so we've planned great holidays in Europe. 

Not only are we going to spend five days in Nice, but we've been celebrating in a variety of ways.

We've been to Husband's company Julebord, (literally "Christmas table") which is the holiday party.

It was a seated dinner of several hundred people.  We visited, ate pinnekjøtt (salted, smoked lamb) and were entertained by a selection of disco, country and Top 40...think "Welcome to the Jungle" sung cabaret-style.  It began with the executive board skit of the ABBA classic "Dancing Queen."

But it didn't really seem Christmas-y to me.  People were dressed up and there were sparkly lights and it was festive.  

But the only place where there was one bit of Christmas was the women's bathroom.  

In the stalls, excellence like WHAM's "Last Christmas" and "Do They Know It's Christmastime" were piped in, at an adequate sound level.  

So every time I had to go to the bathroom (which was often, based on merely being me coupled with also being 7 months pregnant) I'd just stay a while and enjoy at least an entire song.**

(In case you're curious, this is how pregnant I was that night at about 28 weeks.)

But still, in search of the Christmas spirit, I hosted my own anti-Julebord.  Most of my favorite (local)  girlfriends came over and we did not have any salted lamb. 

(Jenny and me) 

We did have wine and cheese and salad and the BigD Classic.***

(Ava, Erin and Alex----And yes, I hate the plastic bottles on the table, too, but I forgot to make salad dressing.)

(Victoria and Karen)

And,  like last year, we've even gotten a tree. 
(This is last year's tree. Husband is working on the lights and we're rocking out to carols courtesy of Frank.) 

We weren't sure if we were going to even bother this year.  We're going out of town for a few days over Christmas. And putting up and taking down a tree is kind of a hassle.  But Husband could tell I was feeling a little Christmas blue, so he organized it all.  

We got our little tree and while he turned on the carols and worked on the lights, I unpacked our box of decorations.

I opened the shells, which were a gift from Jenny, the mother of my high school boyfriend.  She is hilarious and elegant and has the most lovely handwriting ever. It had been years since her son and I were an item, and I had just graduated from college and was on my way to New York. She heard I was home for a bit and called and asked me over.  As I unwrapped the lovely box she said "You'll need this for your first Christmas in your own apartment."  And every single year, I think of her.

Whenever we go somewhere, Husband and I bring home an ornament for our tree, so it's like revisiting a little bit as we decorate. We're missing a weird folk art fish from a weekend in the mountains, but everything else is ready for the tree.

I'm trying to be looser about the placement than the Big D was.  When we were little had a specific order of ornaments.  First the birds, then the heavy glass ones, then the balls and so on....And she would sit back on the couch and direct us on where things go.  And even occasionally, we'd catch her, late at night rearranging.  

(No, I don't have weird bangs and a modified mullet.  It's really just the photo.) 

These are our first family ornaments from last year. 

Lillie loves hers.

And our Santas.

And, finally the star.
But really, as much as this Christmas is going to be great and different---we're making our own traditions and our own plans---it is just not the same.  I think it's mainly that I didn't have any Gainesvegas holidays this year.  We had planned on Thanksgiving, but family matters and job things made it all wonky and we ended up on the entire opposite side of the country, which was nice....But no fried turkey...Oh well. 

I want to have Santa to have made Husband a stocking to match all of ours ---- that are, depending on our ages or how long you've been associated with our family, almost four decades old --- red and white with sparkling sequins that my Nana made one of the first holidays after my older brother was born.

I want to turn on a radio station that has switched its format to a 24/7 Christmas music program and perform an interpretive dance with my sister to the Mariah Carey classic "All I Want for Christmas" as we sit in horrendous traffic.

I want to help Bill inject the turkey with cajun-y, butter-y goodness, so it will be perfect and juicy when it comes out of the fryer.

I want to go to the 5pm Candlelight Service so I can finally for certain get the Christmas spirit, somewhere around halfway through the second verse of "Silent Night."

I want  to sneak out with my sister for a secret bloody Mary and a stop by the quickie mart to pick up some extra goodies Santa forgot. 

And the list goes on...

But next year, we'll be there and Santa, hopefully will have remembered to make two stockings, one for Husband and the second for Pickle.

*While I am all for spontaneity, I am most in favor of the kind that comes after making a plan. I like to know what to expect, then am more than happy to deviate from the norm.

**No, I don't think anyone noticed.  And also, no, I don't care if they did.  Everyone here is pregnant all the time, so I'm sure they just ascribed it to pregnant issues or general clumsiness.

***If you've ever eaten at a dinner party I've hosted, you've probably eaten it...It's a homemade Italian pasta sauce of tomatoes, garlic, zuchinni and onions.  It's Big D's homemade goodness and is only better when Husband, Mom or Bill grills out some Dale's marinated flank steak to go along with it. 

Goin' Back to Cali

It's been a busy few weeks.  

First I got on a plane last minute to head to Gainesvegas for my Nana.  After ten days there, I headed home.  

Three days after coming back to Stavanger, Husband signed a new contract keeping us here until the end of next year.  

So that evening we bought tickets to California  and took off the next morning to see his family for Thanksgiving.

We've been back for three days, but I still don't have my head around the correct time zone...

In the meantime, here's a few glimpses into the big fun in California.   

We flew into San Francisco and spent one night passed out in our hotel, wiped from the time difference.  The second night we met up with dear Andrea for some seafood.  Husband ordered crab.  The waiter came over and tied this giant bib around Husband's neck.  It was so dramatic and flourish-y that we couldn't quite tell if the waiter was overly serious or totally kidding.  Either way, it was awesome. 

Andrea did not need a bib.

The next day we were off to Roseville (right outside of Sacramento) for Thanksgiving with the Durel fam.  (Yes, those are collard greens on my plate.  The only thing that could have made me happier would have been fried turkey.) 

This was the grown-up's table.  Husband, me, Jim, Belva, Grandma Margie, Tim. Contrary to the fact that Jim is wearing the apron, Tim was the super-chef. 

Grandma Margie has spent the past few months cross-stitching our names and wedding date, then had it framed.  We love it.  Not only is it really lovely, but the effort and thoughtfulness behind it make it even better.

Then a few nights later, we all went for pizza and bowling. (Matt, Audrey, Tim and Joe) Audrey is grinning because her pizza and beer was like rocket fuel and she knew that in a very short time, she'd be smokin' all of us.

Sweet Joe is consoling Husband as he laments the fact that bowling shoes, while updated from the traditional brown and red lace-ups, still fail to meet his sartorial standards.

Belva promises she has no idea how to fix the electronic scoreboard, but for them, she would if she could. 

This was my actual birthday, so I brought cupcakes and blew out a candle, too.  

Yep, just because I am knocked up, doesn't mean I can't knock them down.  (Which I really didn't all that often.  The ball was the lightest one in the whole alley and I wasn't throwing very hard. But still I wasn't dead last, so that's something.)

Husband has mad skills.  Check those moves, too. 

The whole crew.

Then Matthew practiced the art of paparazzi.

But then I caught him catching everyone else.

The next day, we headed back to San Francisco for a night with Andrea and Deena.  Andrea, always the best hostess, guide and font of limitless information gave us a tour of the city as it spread out before us. 

Deena had to work a bit late and met us at Foreign Cinema, where they hosted us at one of the best birthday dinners, ever.  (Plus I was sitting between two of my favorite smarties.  Husband was to my left and this guy was to my right.)  Seriously, if you ever get a chance, be friends with Deena and Andrea (or even just one, if that is all you can manage.) They know good food and wine.  And they are better fun that a barrel of monkeys. 

I forget whether Deena is trying to count how many glasses of wine she's had or is vainly trying to demonstrate "L" for left. Husband is smiling because he knows the answer to both questions. 

All of us, courtesy of Andrea.

Happy birthday to me!  Notice the yummy swanky cake.  It was chocolate, chocolate and oh so good.  (It was soooooooo good, I actually carried the last three pieces alllllllll the way home with me.) And of course, Andrea hunts down the best place in the city for the cake.  

It's always an event with these two. How lucky are we?

Then the next morning, I got cleaned up in the world's tallest shower and we headed home.