Lyon

As a 17 year old, I spent part of a school year homesick and lonely in Lyon, largely missing the city’s charms. Living with a French family who spoke no english and attending a local “lycée”, I was so far out of my comfort zone that I truly couldn’t appreciate it. I arrived just after Christmas to snow on the ground, which, in Seattle, is a rather rare treat. In Lyon however, the snow sat on the pavement of the sidewalks and streets getting filthy and smelly (think lots of dogs, few parks and lots of poop mixed with melting snow on the sidewalks). It was cold and gross and I had no one to talk to as I walked to and from school trying not to slip in the brown slush. With only two years of high school french under my belt, I sat through eight hours of philosophy a week, falling asleep in class nearly every day from the sheer exhaustion of trying to understand what was being said.

Returning to Lyon as an adult, I’m always surprised at how much it offers. For the last 20 years one of my Irish cousins and her husband have lived just outside the city, giving me reason to come back on several occasions. Usually, its been a stopover to meet her and her family to head off on some crazy adventure with our combined lot of six children. But this time, with the kids all well on their way to grown, I arrived to spend some time with her, her husband and sister. It had been over 10 years since I’d seen any of them, so we had a lot to catch up on. No grand adventures were planned, just being together.

Mornings usually found us long at the kitchen table munching croissants and drinking coffee regardless of the schemes concocted the night before. Whatever it was seemed to take on less urgency on the heels of yet another 2am bedtime. Some time after noon, we’d all of a sudden realize that the day was escaping and come up with an improvised plan based on how many hours remained until dinner. On one outing into town we checked out an area called “the docks” – previously warehouses along the river – which is being completely redone to house clubs, cutting edge furniture and interior design stores that cater to a hip, young, multi-cultural, international set.

An orange cube building initially caught my attention, but at further inspection, the buildings on either side matched the orange cube with their own innovative but less outrageously colorful elements.

We wandered through the medieval warren, “Vieux Lyon”, with its narrow alleys, covered walkways, and secret passages built to protect bolts of silk, (an industry for which Lyon was known up until some time in the 19th century). Theoretically, we were trying to decide where to eat dinner but got sidetracked by ice cream in a central plaza near the river, which gave us the opportunity to spend more time teasing each other, laughing and telling stories. But this is Lyon, and meals are serious business here, so after wandering and window shopping a little more, we retrieved warmer clothing to ward off the evening chill and launched ourselves into the evening’s next culinary adventure.

Some time since 1979, Lyon became home to a collective of artists who paint giant murals on the walls of the very ordinary urban residential buildings that line the banks of the Rhone and Saône rivers. Now, every other block sports a building or two painted with elaborate trompe l’oeil designs and enormous pictures of life in Lyon. I’d seen a few small, decrepit versions of these in the old part of town, but crossing the river, I looked up, stunned to see the playful, colorful paintings ornamenting the same buildings I had trudged by daily lamenting to myself the dreariness of this town where I’d landed.

After four days of hanging out with cousins, exploring the country lanes near their home as well as the contrasting newer and older parts of Lyon, I headed off on an early morning train to Italy, the second leg of my pilgrimage to reconnect with people I hadn’t seen in too long.

Saying goodbye, we vowed to do this again sooner. It was a new way of being together for all of us. No major plans, no destinations, no need to entertain young children, just hanging out, talking, eating and being. As I’ve said, I’m still learning how to do this thing, and I can’t say that there weren’t moments when I looked at the clock and thought, “Are we going to do anything today?” without an accompanying feeling of anxiety that indeed, we might not! In retrospect, I look back and think how silly that thought was. The idea behind it is that “if I’m all the way over here in France, shouldn’t I be doing something?” And being all the way over here in Seattle, I look at that and think, “how ridiculous.” Those memories of watching the royal wedding at 1am after finishing dinner somewhere close to midnight, sitting at breakfast until after noon and grilling steaks in the back yard are the ones that will stick with me long after I’ve forgotten the images from the cool trompe l’oeil paintings.

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I’m Really Not Going?

Making a Statement - the rooster at Clean Greens farm showing off his plumage

Bear with me for a moment… As I sit here typing this instead of cleaning up the mess in the other room and downstairs, it is approximately 4:30pm in Lodi, Italy. A week ago, I had my daughter’s bedroom floor covered with my packing mess. Its still there.

This morning I couldn’t help saying, “a week ago, I thought I’d be on my way to my friend’s home in the countryside outside Milan to have dinner and spend the night tonight, and instead I get to clean my house. That’s a lousy trade.” My daughter informed me that if I spend my time thinking about what I thought I’d be doing every day instead of what I am doing, its just going to bum me out. She’s right, and, to a certain extent, I can’t help it. I spent six months gearing up and planning for this adventure. Continue reading

Taking it down a notch

Prep vs Lakeside 2-1

So, I’ve been writing this blog now for almost 3 months. I’ve learned a lot. Most importantly, I’ve learned how much I treasure being able to “be there” when the “goals are scored”, both literally and figuratively. Today, I missed Robby’s assist in the first half because I was with Gillian at the orthodontist, but I got there for the goal. He says the assist was the better play…

... and its in the net.

Just as important as being there for the victories, however, and possibly even more so, is the importance of being there when things are not going well. Being there to support a the child who is suffering or struggling, whether with friends or with calculus. I can’t help with the calculus, nor even the pre-calculus, but I can still be there… make some cocoa or a sandwich, give a hug or a high five. Continue reading

Construction Projects

A Fairy House?

I had my camera with me this afternoon walking around Greenlake but it wasn’t the primary reason I was there. I was meeting a friend I hadn’t seen in far too long. As it turned out, the weather cooperated with our plan, and we circled the lake twice without making a dent in the backlog of topics we still haven’t talked about. Continue reading

Family

After Regaling Us with Her Jokes, My Neice Still Has a Mischievous Twinkle in Her Eye.

Yesterday afternoon, while I was wrestling with last years tomato plants and bean vines, the phone rang and I jumped off the vegetable garden terrace down about four feet onto the asphalt driveway to run and get it. I kind of rolled my ankle and it hurt. I have a distinct memory of thinking, “why did I do that?”, as the house phone is rarely other than some form of solicitation these days. But I wasn’t thinking at the time, I was just responding… an old habit, I guess. The other thought that went through my head was, “this better be worth it!”. It was. My brother, who travels constantly, was calling to see if we could come have dinner with his family tonight. Continue reading

Two Different Lenses

Friday Afternoon

After dragging my camera all over town with me today, it wasn’t until late this afternoon on my way home from a long list of errands that I found anything that inspired me. The warmth of real spring sunshine was distracting and I just wanted to wander aimlessly. I wasn’t really interested in finding the “great shot” for the blog.

After yesterday’s photographic excitement of the Aquarium with its coral and jellyfish, even the Arboretum, in the full glory of spring’s blossoming trees, wasn’t doing it. I love the Arboretum. Its a comfortable, familiar place. I loved walking through with my camera this afternoon, but its like being in the mountains, the photos never seem to quite capture the magnificence of the scene. Continue reading

A Threshold

Roxy

Making peace with my role as a stay-at-home mom was one idea for a sub-title for this blog. But that didn’t quite say what I wanted it to and the verbiage holds too much of an element of struggle and stress to it for it to feel “right”. Recently, I’ve been thinking about the blog as a place and space that is all mine, and within which I can do all the thrashing I need to at this moment in my life.

When I began writing, in January, I was beginning to feel the overwhelm that came with ramping up the creative part of my life. Writing this blog has in some ways exacerbated that tension, partly because the writing and photography I’m doing for the blog belong more to the moonlighting side of my life than to the stay-at-home mom side. Continue reading