Happy Haunting!

This year I will not answer the door for trick or treaters. I have an escape cat, just waiting to get out. And the foster dog barks and barks if someone rings the bell. Instead, I'll leave a bowl of candy--eyeballs and chocolate bars--on the bench out front.

Do you remember your costumes? One year I was a Dutch girl with wooden shoes and my sister had a Japanese outfit and little wooden sandals. We hobbled around the neighborhood with a large bag for candies.

Some of my favorites years were in Melbourne Beach, where neighbors really went all out for Halloween. Most of the houses had been decorated for weeks. Tombstones. Cobwebs. Ghosts. Then on the night of the 31st, when all the trick or treaters were out, the mise-en-scene were completed. The most impressive was the dinner table, complete with a covered dish. . . . You can probably guess what it contained.

My daughter just sent this photo of Halloween in the South of France. Many years earlier, I tried to buy small pumpkins for the Halloween party at one of the Opio public schools. Wedges of pumpkins (used for soups) were sold back then. No one bought a whole pumpkin. Looks like times have changed.

Wherever you may be, have a Happy Halloween! And watch out for those covered dishes.

French Parking Lots - A bit of a Squeeze!

ANTIBES, France--Given that many parking lots in apartment buildings or cities were built in an era of smaller cars, squeezing in a new car is often problematic. Certainly not advisable after a few glasses of wine. . . .

If you look at the dimensions of popular models from the 1970s, you’ll understand. The 2 CV (12.6 feet long x 4.8 feet wide) and the Renault 5 (11.5 feet long x 5 feet wide) look like toys when compared to a medium-sized car today such as the VW Eos (14.4 feet long x 5.8 feet wide). In terms of luxury cars, today’s Mercedes class S runs 17 feet long x 6 feet wide.

It’s no surprise that parking lots with the “penny drop” entrances cause problems for these larger cars.

We experienced the problem recently with a mid-size car. We had been parking on the street, where cars were routinely scratched or bumped. With the purchase of a newer car, we needed to rent a garage.

Small cars and spaces in Antibes, on the ramparts.

One neighbor, with two available garages, insisted you could park a Range Rover. We did get parked but could barely exit, and we could not close the garage. Another location has been tight—but the car is in an underground lot, not an individual garage. It takes careful maneuvering. But we squeeze in, happy to have a place off the street for now.

In retrospect, maybe we should have gone with the Smart for Two (8.2 feet long x 5 feet wide).

Musings - Dogs or Cats? The Ideal Setting. . . . .

Years ago, when I lived in the South of France, I adopted a dog. Everyone had a dog, and dogs rode buses, they waited patiently outside groceries or slept in boutiques. We later moved in with my parents in the States. Someone was always home to help with doggie walks and outings.

In the last 15 years, the kids have grown up and moved away from home. I now have two cats. When I am away, a good friend visits once a day to socialize with them and let them on the screened porch.

Currently, I am fostering a rescue dog. But I’m finding numerous challenges that I didn’t remember from earlier years with kids and pets. Not problems with the dog or compatibility of pets but the lack of personnel or places to take the dog! Dogs require attention—they need to be let out several times a day. Plus, there are few cafes that accept pets on the outside terrace.

If you can't live in France, the ideal solution seems to be to live in dog-friendly neighborhoods. Pet people know one another from walks or play in the dog parks. Usually, someone is available to keep your dog or step in several times a day to help out.

Volunteering with Animals--Musings on dog walking and pet bowls. . . . .

Most days as a volunteer at the animal shelter, I wash pet bowls or do laundry. But recently, I've gotten more involved in pet walking. The joys of interacting with these pets and letting them enjoy the great outdoors. Days in kennel can be quite long and dreary and very noisy as all dogs try to catch the attention of the walkers as if to say, "Me first!"

Two terriers named Murphy and Sam are in constant motion.

I took the dog-walking class and learned how to get the leash on an excited dog in a kennel, how to turn the dog around if he pulled too much. What I didn't realize is the woven plastic leashes give you a horrible case of rope burn, and I didn't learn how to capture those escapees.

Spot, Mr. Personality, is ready for a new home.


I also assumed the sweet-looking dogs would be gentle walkers. I'd start with them!

Sasha, a barrel-shaped bulldog, walked me around the perimeter at a fast pace.

Cleo, a tan, lanky dog with a kind face, also pulled then braked, giving me a bungee-like experience. The easiest dog was a Shiba Inu, who looked like a wolf. After several more energetic dogs, I had to stop--my hands were bleeding.

The following week I took a pair of thick gloves to protect my hands. I chose Spot, who has been a favorite due to his courage in battling a skin condition (he is better). But he thought the gloves were a play thing, so we spent our walk with my trying to keep them on and his struggle to take them off and give them a good shake.

O.k.,only small dogs from now on. How difficult could it be to take Murphy and Sam? Two pint-sized dogs on two leashes. But then one squirmed out and headed straight for the pit bull on his walk. This pair of terriers were known to staff--they squeezed through fences and gates and often got off their leads.

After these dogs, I welcomed the return to washing pet bowls. Next week, I'll return with new strategies that will enable me to spend more outside time with dogs and less with the pet bowls.

Malaise at 30,000 feet

The in-flight heart attack of a United Airlines pilot in late September brought up two issues that surprised me—a plane has no space to handle a medical emergency, and staff still asks for help from doctors on board.

My own experience seems insignificant in comparison. With three hours remaining in our transatlantic flight, I doubled over with severe cramps, back pain, sweating and nausea. Food poisoning? Getting to the bathroom was foremost in my mind. The stewardess, absorbed with her food cart, did not understand. Or maybe too many passengers faked an illness in hopes of snaring a better seat for the remainder of the flight and a wheelchair for immigration and customs. Passengers helped me down the stairs to the bathrooms.

No, it wasn’t food poisoning but kidney stones, I later learned. I got through the flight with ice packs and a cold, wet scarf around my neck, while scrunched in my economy seat. My condition was just painful, not fatal, and relatively insignificant when compared with other medical emergencies that occur at 30,000 feet.

La Grêve - Strike!

- from a 5 July 2013 article in Liberation.


Two days before our departure to Paris by the TGV, a friend casually said, “ Better check on the strike.”

Strike? Une grêve? That word instills terror in the hearts of the traveler especially when it concerns mass transit. The newscasts spoke of between 150,000-350,000 demonstrators (depending on the source). Unions asked the public to support the strike for the entire week by refraining from use of public transit.

The strike was scheduled to end Wednesday at 8 a.m., five minutes before our 8:05 a.m. departure. There was no way to get an update—the train stations were locked. Websites gave the basic information. Our TGV might leave, but we couldn’t take an early local train to Cannes. I spent a sleepless night, imaging all possible scenarios.

At the Cannes station, local trains had delays. The TGV would leave as scheduled.
We boarded, in a state of disbelief! At 8:05 a.m., our trained pulled away from the station.

We descended from the train in Paris under gray skies and joined the hundreds of other passengers, pulling rolling suitcases. The métros ran efficiently. We made our business appointments.


Our one-night stay left no time for relaxation. At the Gare de Lyon while we awaited the departure of our TGV for Cannes, we ordered our usual café gourmand, thankful the strike was no longer foremost on our minds.

Café gourmand at the Train Bleu, Gare de Lyon

Du jour au lendemain

Early September on beaches of Juan-les-Pins, France.

Colorful umbrellas line private beaches with restaurants. Small boats take tourists on tours of the coast or to the Lerins Islands.

Dateline Juan-les-Pins - Early to mid September brings the transition from thick crowds and heavy traffic on the coast to work-related traffic jams.  The clientele has changed.  No longer one of tourists or families but an increasing number of locals come because they can now find space for their towels on the sand, and retirees, who take advantage of off-season prices. 

Beach restaurants, where you wait in line for a table in high season, now have empty tables any time of day or night.   But the other cafés, open year round, will continue to draw crowds.  Boutiques return to off-season hours. 

In the late summer and early fall, the weather changes from one day to the next—mostly sunny skies, punctuated by the occasional day or gray, rainy day.  Days like this clear beaches and boardwalks.  The few hardy pedestrians are warmly dressed in sweaters or light jackets.  And there are those few people who get in a daily swim.  

A few signs advertise the end of the season.  Things will pick up slightly around the December holidays—after all, this region offers the best European climate—but only return to full season in May. 

I was an unpopular snack mom. . . . .

I was an unpopular snack mom. . . . .

At the beginning of the school year, all parents signed up to bring Kleenex, school supplies and a snack. The teachers were adamant about food--only healthy snacks. No sugar treats that gave the kids the jitters for the rest of the day.

When my turn came, I packed the carrot and celery sticks, apple slices, raisins and bananas. The teachers did specify healthy snacks, no sugar. Diet soda, not regular, and juices.

But my kids returned home, embarrassed and ashamed. The popular room mothers brought brownies, donuts. . . . .soda with all the calories. The class was happily wired. Sugar-infused behavior seemed the norm.

I was out of the loop. There was an unspoken conspiracy, a discrepancy between school rules and daily practice.

Then I remembered all those lunches my mom carefully packed. The little bags of healthy carrots and apples, the long pretzels or a few saltines. She wanted us to have good strong bodies and minds. We chomped away on our snacks, but at times we worked at trading these with friends, who had lunches packed with sweet treats--small pies with marshmallow topping or cakes with cream filling.

What snacks did you bring or trade?

Catching a few zzzzzs

The university students have returned. That means, a full night of sleep on weekends may be problematic if you have rental property behind you.

Years ago, our Gainesville neighborhoods had lots of rental properties and lots of parties. Residents with day jobs stumbled out with children or pets, somewhat bleary eyed. Other neighborhoods formed associations, talked with the police departments or the city about noise ordinances.

Turns out a lot of students hadn’t realized they were noisy, and many of the residents hadn’t realized some early morning habits (broom sweeping, neighborly shouts across the fence) could be just as detrimental to sleep as late-night parties.


I asked my friend Stan, a retired lawyer, how he handled noise. He said he didn’t want to join the ranks of old curmudgeons. Once he had made that decision, he slept soundly. I kept that in mind.


In the meantime, I moved to live on five acres of land in Provence, where the only sounds would be cicadas or owls. However, neighbors in the valley gave frequent karaoke parties that ended about midnight. Around 5 a.m. , packs of hounds began barking to be fed, and the neighbor just above me began hammering sheet metal. And there was always one sputtering Mobylette, which might not make it up the hill.


Now, I’m back in the city. To ensure sleep, I have purchased a rattling tower fan and ear plugs. Actually, the ear plugs and Stan’s philosophy are all I have needed for a good night’s sleep.

Sweet dreams! ZZZZZZs