view from Assisi 

kinda looks like 'our' St. Clares 

The night in Assisi

We left Rome and traveled by train to Assisi. It is a beautiful small town in the hills northeast of Rome. The cab driver told us that there are usually lots of tourists in town but in the wintertime it is pretty slow. That was a good thing! It was so peaceful and serene. It was rainy and cold but that really didn’t matter much to us.

At the hotel where we stayed, I noticed a poster for a concert that very night. It was being presented by the Gregorian Choir from St. Peters and Paul Cathedral from Providence, Rhode Island. We went to the concert, then went to dinner, and then went to another concert in a different church. The second concert was by an all-girls school choir from England. What a wonderful way to spend our one evening in Assisi.

Needless to say, we stopped at all the churches within walking distance and in particular, the church of St. Clare which has a very special place in our hearts since we attended St. Clare church back home. I was disappointed that we could only stay one night. I could have stayed a week in Assisi.

what a concert!

  

the sights of Rome 

great Italian classic.... My Way 

Anti-Mafia..... yeah, ok 

A few footnotes about Rome

There is so much to see and do in Rome and we only had three days there. The objective was to visit the daughter so seeing the sights took a backseat to our visit. So rather than spend a whole lot of time in lines at the various sights, we opted to spend a lot of time drinking the wonderful coffee (espresso) and watching the people go by as we sat at small cafes that could be found everywhere. First thing I observed... there are way too many Americans in Rome. And that’s not so bad... After all, we were there too! But I got the feeling that the Italians catered to Americans too much. English was spoken everywhere.

We were sitting at a café near Kate’s apartment enjoying the sunshine (which we hadn’t seen in months) and some musicians came by to play for us. Ahhh...I thought... what could be better than this... sipping an espresso in the sun and being serenaded by Italian musicians... and then he started to play “My Way” (an American classic). I tried really hard to make the connection.. oh, ok, Frank Sinatra was Italian, wasn’t he?

Sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a wonderful meal and the great atmosphere... listening to AMERICAN oldies... just didn’t quite hold the mood. Almost all of the restaurants and cafes played American music... kinda like the music you hear in the supermarket in America. What a shame.

Some interesting things... Paul went to buy a La Monde (French newspaper) at a newsstand. In France it costs 1,30 euros, but in Italy I guess it costs more... 1,80. Paul didn’t speak...he just put the 1,30 euros on the counter at the tabac stand and the person behind the counter said to him IN ENGLISH, “In Italy La Monde costs 1, 80 euros”. Now why did she say that in English? I supposed we scream American even though we try really hard not to.

But then, in another tabac shop, I stopped in to buy some birthday cards. It was time to send them to my sister and to my son who has ‘moved’ his birthday to February. We went to pay for the cards, and again... saying really nothing ... just waiting for her to ring up the purchase... it rang up and she said the price to us.... drum roll here... in French!

Hello Mom and Dad! 

touring around the city 

classmates, at the apartment 

view from the studio window looking down onto Campo di Fiori 

when in Rome

We arrived in Rome and found our way to the Campo de Fiori, where Kate is living with about 20 other architecture students for the spring semester. She actually lives on the square... her bedroom window overlooks the market below. We stayed in a hotel that was about 2 blocks from her apartment. Her studio classes are held in a building that is also on the square so the door to her studio is just a few steps away from where she lives.

We played tourist Sunday and rode around Rome on one of those busses without a top. On Monday we toured the Vatican while Kate had class at the Pantheon and a few other places. At dinner she told us all about what she learned about the Pantheon... how it was constructed... the miracles of the design and the ‘mistakes’ in the construction. It was pretty fascinating stuff ... so after dinner and the mini-lesson, it was off to visit the Pantheon at night when it was all lit up and truly beautiful (mistakes and all).

On the last night there, we brought pizza to the gang for dinner and said our goodbyes....

Architecture studio in Rome 

She really is working! 

don't try this at home

  

Train ride to Rome

We thought it would be a good idea to take the train to Rome. We thought it would be an “adventure” to travel there on the overnight train...in one of those sleeper cars. We just didn’t know it would be such a bad idea. We arrived in our “car” that had 4 beds, two on top, two on the bottom. We were assigned the bottom ones and the two top ones were already occupied by a young French woman and the other by an old Italian man. They had both settled in before we arrived and so I was under the old man and couldn't see him. I could only see the young woman propped in the bed reading.

It wasn’t too bad until it was time to try to go to sleep. The lights were bright and they were needed by the woman who was reading. The shades were all pulled so it could have been dark, but it was so bright ... not much we could do until the woman decided to go to bed... and that was well into the wee hours of the morning.

Finally... the lights were out... time for sleep... Except the young woman had a cough and the old man snored. And the room was unbelievably hot. I think I took a few catnaps along the way.

Morning arrived and my internal alarm clock was still working perfectly. But what do you do when in a really dark room and everyone else is asleep? Believe me, I was very tempted to turn the bright lights on! But all I could do was leave the car and go stand in the hallway and wait. Paul got up and we decided to visit the dining car for breakfast.

After breakfast, we returned to our car and hoped we would arrive in Rome as fast as possible. And we decided that we won’t ever do that again!

off to Rome

The daughter is studying abroad in Rome this semester and it's time to pay her a visit. We leave tonight on the overnight train and will arrive at her place on Saturday morning. After a few days there, we will travel to Assisi then on to Florence. We will take the train back home and arrive next weekend.

So, the "adventures" will be dormant for a while.

 

the dinner party

The dinner at the home of our neighbor’s was quite wonderful. French dinners are quite an affair. Everything seems so uniquely choreographed with the same script. We have champagne and conversation. This particular evening seemed to go so much more smoothly than previous dinners where our French was so bad that we just felt like additional pieces of furniture in the room. There were two reasons, maybe... one, our French is better and the second... only one guest in the 6 spoke no English. The conversations, however, were mostly in French. I think my understanding was at about 70%. Not too bad.

The dinner party consisted of us and 2 other couples and our hostess. One couple was a woman from the states and her French husband. No problem there... seems she preferred to talk to me in English. The other couple was French and the man spoke English quite well... he was a professor of classic languages!

After champagne, we began dinner. I’ve noticed that French hostesses always have a very well-thought-out seating arrangement for dinner. It makes for an interesting evening. Everything is so very formal and the table usually looks like it came straight out of a decorating magazine. And of course, candles are a must!

Another interesting thing I have observed is that there is no pre-fussing over the preparation of the meal. Last summer when we had our first French meal at the country home of Marie and Pierre, I asked if she had cooked the meal. She laughed and said, “well no...I didn’t want to spend my time doing that... I want to enjoy my guests!” And then each time we have eaten at the home of our other French friends, the food was very simple. Lots of it, but simple. So I guess I wasn’t surprised when our meal on Saturday night was not cooked by our hostess. She prepared dishes that seemed to be “some assembly required” but not “home cooked.” And it was a great meal that I struggled to finish.

After dinner, we went back to the living room for more conversation, coffee and chocolate. Everyone was dressed as though they were going to a fancy cocktail party. The guys had on coats with the very-French black mock-turtleneck sweater that they always wear and the French women were exquisite. The American woman was... well... dressed more American than French.

It was quite an evening!

invitation to the third floor

 
 

the invitation

It was probably during the second week that I was here that I met a really nice lady in our apartment building. She was so nice and welcomed me to the neighborhood. She even spoke English when I told her that my French was pretty bad. I later discovered that she was the ONLY person who was kind enough to take the time to really talk to me, other than just a friendly “hello.” We didn’t know where exactly that she lived in the building, but we saw her often and chatted with her a bit.

Just after the Christmas holidays, she showed up at our door one night and invited us to dinner and asked if we had plans for Feb. 11. Six weeks away... Non! So we marked our calendars without a clue as to when to arrive or where to go.

The big day was approaching and I was expecting her to come by and give us the details – maybe on the weekend before the big event. But we never saw her. We were getting worried that maybe something had come up and the plans were cancelled. She did finally come by on Thursday night and tell us to show up around 8 and that she lived on the 3rd floor. Paul said d’accord, (OK) see you then.

Then we started to become puzzled. We live one floor up from the street. We would call that the 2nd floor but over here it’s le premier etage (first floor). But the problem is, when you get into the elevator and you press floor 1, you end up on the floor above us. Seems we live on the mezzanine floor. OK, with all the confusion, where does our hostess actually live? Thank goodness Paul ran into her on Friday and, being a stupid American, asked exactly which floor is the third floor. She laughed and pointed to the list of call buttons at the inner entrance door where her name was listed (which was also nice because we didn’t know her name.) Yeah, in the elevator, you would press 3, but from our place, you go up the stairs for 3 flights. In American terms it’s the 5th floor (go figure!).

good friends, good food, good wine 

I'm glad you approve

It was going to be a good night. We were planning on watching the opening ceremonies (live!) of the Olympics and have dinner with our American friends. On the menu for the night was Beef Bourguignon so it called for a good wine. We decided to bring along a St. Emillion that was recommended to us by our “cave man.” (The wine store around the corner is called a “cave” and the man who works in the store and guides our weekly wine purchases is who I lovingly have named the “caveman”.)

On the way to our friends’ house, we have to pass lots of really interesting art galleries. I can’t help but occasionally stop and look into the windows. Paul was carrying the bottle of wine and had walked on as I had gotten distracted by another shop window. As I turned to catch up with him, I noticed a young man following very closely behind Paul, straining his neck to read the label on the wine bottle that Paul was carrying. At some point he figured out what the label said. At that time, I saw his face... he made a typical French expression... pushing out his bottom lip and nodding his head as if to say...’ah oui, good choice’. That made the wine taste all the better.

thanks for asking...

for those who often ask us how family is doing after Katrina, here is another beau-frere sighting.

help wanted

 
 

jobs

Anyone want to work in France this summer?
Here's a great job opportunity for 19-30 year olds.

i know, i know

My film kiddo sent me a link to the trailer of the upcoming film "The Pink Panther". I don't know if anyone will appreciate this as much as I have... but I can certainly sympathize with the final scene in this trailer.

Watch and enjoy!

recognize this? 

Always music in the air

What do you idly whistle? “Take Me out to the Ball Game?” or “Yankee Doodle” or “Yellow Rose of Texas”? or something else?

Today at work Paul said that there were some guys working on installing a false ceiling in the building. They were busy working and whistling. Paul recognized the tune that he was hearing as Beethoven’s Rondo a Capriccio in G major, Op. 129 ('Rage Over A Lost Penny')

What a country!

Scroll down to #3 on the list and click on LISTEN to hear it here.

bonne journee 

now what?

I heard a tune outside of my window today and thought to myself...”ah, its probably just an organ grinder.” Then I realized what I had just thought...

1. I correctly recognized the sound of an organ grinder
2. that hearing an organ grinder playing outside the window is an ordinary thing!

I went to the window and sure enough, there he was. He saw me at the window and paused to serenade me. I took a few pictures... he finished... and waved goodbye.

Just an ordinary day.

the neighborhood organ grinder

 
 

"the" knife

 
 

Oh what a tangled web we weave

We simply wanted to purchase a cheese knife. Nothing more, nothing less. But instead... we got a history lesson and then that happened to tie into a bit of genealogy... We just wanted to buy a knife!

French meals always include a cheese course. After the plat (plate, or main course), a salad is served to “clear the palate”. Then, after the salad comes a cheese board with an assortment of various cheeses. We've grown to appreciate this ritual and decided to buy a nice cheese board and a knife… the kind with the little prongs that you use to stab the cheese to pick it up. I found a cheese board but the knife was a bit more elusive. So off we went to hunt for a couteau à fromage.

When we finally found one at a specialty knife store, Paul just had to ask where the knife was made... and oh boy... here comes the history lesson. Seems the knife we had just purchased has a boxwood handle. It is made in an area of France known as the Dordogne and the city of Périgord. We were told that this is the kind of knife with which King Henry IV was stabbed and killed.

from a tourist web site: http://www.perigord-hotel.com/activitesgb.htm
To the North is the town of Nontron with its museum of antique dolls. It has a famous cutlery industry (knives with box-wood handles). Legend tells that King Henry IV was assassinated by Ravaillac with a Nontron knife.


I am currently reading a book on the life and times of Catherine de Medici. Henry IV hasn’t yet become king in the book (but geez... the lady in the store spoiled the ending for me!) And next to add to my reading list... Henry IV... again with a whole new perspective.

So what does all this have to do with geneology? Well, my great great grandmother’s (maw maw’s grandmother) last name was Pedigo... a name morphed from Perigord.

Copied from someone's personal geneology website:
The evolution of the name Pedigo received a new impetus at this time. In investigating some old records in Henry County, one deed of Robert's was found where the family name was spelled five different ways. For example: Peregoy, Pedigoy, Pedigoe, and Pedigo. All the Pedigos in the South are descended from these two runaway brothers. They are scattered from the Potomac to the Rio Grande. Wherever, you meet them you will find among them a well crystallized tradition that they descended from the Perogords of Southern France and that royal blood flows in their veins. The name Perigord, from which Peregoy and afterwards Pedigo are derived, is an extremely ancient and illustrious name in France.

Check it out: web

We found a lot more than just a simple cheese knife!

so where's the library?

 
 

Ou est la Bibliothèque?

My sister told me that she ran into one of my high school friends the other day. My sister told her that I was living in France “a ce moment”. My friend’s reply was that I should be getting along just fine with all I learned in High School French class with La Soeur Monique (Sister Monica). It was a “laughing out loud” moment.

It was funny, but not totally absurd, to think that some of that high school French would come tumbling out of my brain almost 40 years later. The way our class was taught back then... each week we had to memorize a dialogue in French. I think they told us that if we could learn some important phrases, then when we need to speak in French, we could just spit out a line from one of those dialogues.

“Oh yeah, that should come in handy...” I remember thinking as I started at a young age to develop my cynical mind. “Alons, debut, ne restes pas dans la neige!” (Let’s go, get up, don’t stay there in the snow!) Considering at that time in high school ... I had only seen snow ONE TIME in my entire 14 years of life in south Louisiana. But just recently, I had an “ah ha” moment ... (thank you Soeur Monique) when we were skiing in the Alps... I fell... and tumbling from my brain was that handy little phrase from my 9th grade French dialoge!

And "que tu es bette mon pauvre petit frere" (You are stupid my poor little brother) - now that was pretty useful because back when I learned it, I could substitute 'sister' for 'brother' and at the time I did indeed use it on my younger sister!

And then there is... "Ou est la bibliothèque?" (Where is the library?). That was another of the dialog lines I remember. One of the first days here, I was looking for the post office and got kinda turned around (as happens quite often for a directionally challenged person like me). I knew I had to ask someone... and suddenly the cobwebs cleared and that old phrase was right there when I needed it. But it’s astonishing to me that the phrase was in the dialogue like that. The French are SO polite and would NEVER walk up to someone and just ask where the library is... One would have to first say hello... then apologize for bothering you... before asking something so direct! I don’t remember if that was in the dialogue.

But I do get asked where the library is quite often. So maybe the dialog writers weren’t too far off. The first time it happened, I really didn’t know where it was. I don’t read French books!! How would I know! So I apologized for not knowing and felt bad for the rest of the day. Paul later told me where the library is... and I tucked the information in a brain-area nowhere near the 9th grade stuff because the next time I was asked... I was clueless... couldn’t remember! So Paul told me again... I got asked ANOTHER time where the library was... and sadly... couldn’t remember, encore. So the next time I asked Paul, “Ou est la bibliothèque?”, he told me and it is in with the 9th grade stuff and I’m ready for the next time!

ready, set, go!

 
 

It’s a small world

In my French school today we did an exercise where we did some role-playing. I really don’t like those activites but they usually do turn out to be worthwhile and occasionally fun. In today’s exercise, half the class (4 of us) were roommates from different countries who were interviewing a person to be the 5th roommate. So we “interviewed” 3 of the others in the class.

One person “role-played” being a Norwegian fisherman. That was pretty bizarre. Another person played a young girl from Italy and the last person played a man from Germany.

After we asked questions and laughed a lot, we had to decide which one to pick for our roommate. Nobody wanted the fisherman... we thought his dirty clothes would smell up the apartment. So it was a tie between the other two and we couldn’t decide. Finally, two of our classmates (one Swiss and the other Japanese) decided to settle it by doing the “ROCK PAPER SCISSORS” thing. I was pretty shocked that it worked just like I did it when I was a kid. The only difference was that they started by placing their hands behind their backs instead of onto the other hand. So I showed them the “American way” to do it!

It’s a small world after all. Well no wonder... click here!