Staging by Jane Tolbert

Anyone walking into my house these days will marvel at the minimalist “look.” Gone are the scuffed tango shoes that lined the hall. The Bijou drawings and Post-It notes no longer cover the dining room table. A few live plants (that are truly alive) seem to thrive indoors. And the guest towels actually match.

Staging is a term I had associated with the theatre or military operations until my daughter and I watched reality shows in France in which realtors brought in professionals to prepare a residence for sale. The goal is to make a house look inviting, like people could live there without revealing a trace of the current residents.

What “staging” means is the pets can no longer shed hair. The springs paintings and Sirena series have come down. The nail holes have been filled with Spackle. Our lives have been reduced to cardboard boxes and suitcases stashed away in closets. We can’t find anything. My new employers ask for numerous types of documentation. These requirements differ from those for a Florida driver license. In the midst of the staging, I have misplaced . . . a few important pieces of paper.

Staging is not that easy. I purchased the wrong color of paint for touchups. Someone suggested tie backs for curtains, but they seem to require nail holes for hooks. We move furniture to discover baseboards that have never been painted. What seemed comfortable to us could appear mismatched or even. . . “ghetto” to anyone else. The house will never make the pages of Dwell or Metropolitan Home, but it is slowly changing.

The couch has pillows that complement the noncommittal brown. The wall oven, stove top and refrigerator have been cleaned. Please, no more cooking! I have scrubbed baseboards and washed windows. Even my brief stint in hotel work two years ago did not prepare me for this amount of cleaning. I’m almost ready for tomorrow’s inspection. Then WHOOSH. The road construction machinery has just spewed a coating of white dust on the cars in my driveway and on the front porch plants.

Now that I am through staging for today, I hope to work on the outline of a book. It’s a collaborative effort with a close friend. The little hand-written notes I need to update the computer files are in. . . that Tortilla chip box. . . . or . . . .have they, too, been staged?

On the Move . . . A sense of déjà vu by Jane Tolbert

We all do it, but we all say, “This is the last time.” Circumstances change, and once again we find ourselves making a reservation for a rental truck.

Years ago, I had made two international moves. On one occasion, my family helped to construct a crate that was shipped out of Jacksonville and arrived in Le Havre. Years later, international moves became less complex. I could have a partial container. At the same time, the U.S. post office had a reasonable bulk shipping rate for books. Then, I enjoyed a hiatus—only one local move in a 10-year period. But the desire to travel kicked in. But in 2008, the moving companies did not return my calls about partial containers, and the post office no longer shipped books. It seemed all shipments were express (two day or overnight) and everything had to fit in a pre-paid box.



My belongings do not fit in a pre-paid box. . .

Because I wanted to take projects to complete and personal items that did not fit in the dimensions of a pre-paid box, I went the route of a consolidator. My shipment would arrive in Marseille in less than a month. . . . Friends offered to help me rent a truck and make the drive to the port. How complicated could it be?

The dock workers went on six-week strike. By the time the strike ended, the backlog of unloading had taken place at the port, and the notice arrived that I had several days to pick up my things or be charged storage fees, my friends could no longer help because of work commitments.

The drive to Marseille was only about 90 minutes from where I was staying in Grasse. But I had three stops to make at the port--pickup paperwork from the consolidator, then take those documents to customs and then go to a warehouse to pick up my things. I assumed the port would be small and manageable, and everything would be in the same proximity. And I could make those three stops before the two-hour lunch break.

The port at Marseille presented many challenges. I never found any directional signs, and the lines of trucks bent on quick delivery had little patience for the amateur. I had to stop at cafés on many occasions to ask directions. Most everyone was friendly, and I had to turn down many an offer for pastis. I did have a head-on confrontation with a bus driver on a very narrow street—no physical damage, just a slightly scathed ego.

When I exited the port area and asked directions for the A-8, the autoroute that would take me to toward Grasse, the toll lady understood my exhaustion, laughing, “Madame, vous êtes sauvées.” For the first time that day, I knew where I was going.

In comparison, yesterday’s move from Melbourne to Gainesville seemed relatively simple. . . . Still, I would rather not do it again.

Fermeture exceptionnelle by Jane Tolbert

A magnum bottle of Veuve Clicquot in front of La Cave, Juan-les-Pins

Given that I have my favorite watering holes in the South of France, the only missing ingredient to ensure my comfort may be considered something of a quirk with me--the opening hours of stores. Growing up in the States, one of our guiding principles is that at least one convenience store is open from 7 a.m. till 11 p.m.

In contrast, among the guiding principles that underlie French society (in addition to the culinary exigencies) have been that the journée continue was the rule rather than the exception, and dogs were admitted anywhere. Corporations close for a month in the summer. And restaurants and pastry shops generally close for a month in the late fall or early winter when tourism dropped and the weather turned dreary.

Some things have changed. Today, most of the larger supermarkets like Carrefour, Casino or LeClerc remain open at lunch. Some service stations have minimarkets.





La Cave is closed. . . exceptionally!

Although most stores remain open Monday through Saturday until about 8 p.m., Sunday morning remains the wild card—whether a store opens may depend on the town and season. In smaller towns like Vallauris, schedules varied for the library, grocery, the dry cleaner, museums and the post office (oui, on ferme à midi).

I arrived too many times to find the shop closed, and the hands of a little clock in the window indicating it would reopen at 14h. I kept a digital folder of opening hours that I consulted for various merchants. For example, I knew my wine merchant across from the Square Dulys in Juan-les-Pins would be open that evening when I planned to stock up on that wonderful dry white wine to use for my kir. But when I arrived at La Cave, the metal shutter was closed tight and carried a sign, Fermeture exceptionnelle. The store was closed. It was an unscheduled closure. I would have to check the wine selection at the corner gas station, Agip. Already that morning I had found the bakery across the street closed (fermeture annuelle).

Fortunately, the French feeling about dogs remains relatively unchanged. Or so I thought.


Dogs seem to be admitted nearly everywhere except in supermarkets. Pets remain outside, attached in pet-designated areas. Supermarkets, soit! But the bookmobile had a small sign indicating, “Les chiens ne sont pas admis.” Although pets can no longer check out books, at least they can travel. Mass transit still allows pets to accompany their owners, usually for half fare.





Dogs are not allowed in the book mobile



A dog awaits an owner at the Centre LeClerc in Antibes-les-Pins

Soccer Sidelines by Jane Tolbert

Allez les bleus. . . Well. . .

Le foot, or soccer, is a popular sport that has spread from Europe to the States only recently. Years ago, a friend rejoiced over spending a year in France (to be away from American football and baseball), but she found her husband equally enthralled with Le Foot and Le Tour de France and its maillot jaune. This year, most non-soccer fans have been caught up. . . .if not in the game, at least in the sideline activity. In fact, the occurrences both on and off the field have made this World Cup one to remember. Here are some examples:

World cup horns, or vuvuzela (like swarms of bees), may lead to hearing loss (what will become of these horns at the end of the World Cup?).

The French team has lost face due to the strike and other non-sporting types of behavior. The Equipe de France de Foot, or the Fédération française de football, has more than 71,398 unhappy FaceBook followers who have posted comments that are anything but supportive.

Like my daughter Sandra commented, “If the American football teams went on strike during the Super Bowl, they would have to go in a witness protection program.”

In a country in which a campaign has been launched to encourage polite and civic behavior, the French soccer team committed many an egregious offense. “It’s hard to top this French team's performance, which stands out in two major categories: gross incompetence and cartoonish dysfunction,” writes Darren Everson in his article, “Even the French Hate the French.” (Wall Street Journal, June 23, 2010).

On a more positive note, Paul, the psychic octopus, has gained international recognition for his ability to predict the outcomes of matches in this World Cup. He predicted Spain’s defeat of Germany in today’s semi finals, which, given his residency at the zoo in Oberhausen, could be risky. We will see if he has to request asylum in another country. Prior to this match, Paul had 15,548 very supportive FB fans. By the end of the match Spain v. Germany, he had 18,809 followers, and he posted, “Six for six, mis amigos.”

The lingerie queen from Paraguay, Larissa Riquelme (with 235,752 followers on FB), promised to run naked through the streets in the event of a victory of her home team. Many others made similar patriotic promises for their countries.

Now that the World Cup is coming to an end with the finals (Netherlands v. Spain) on Sunday, sports enthusiasts can shift to the Tour de France. But will the sideline activities be as interesting?