center for enhanced living

So on a cold December day I took my husband to a wellness spa.  

"Step into an oasis of wellbeing and tranquility."

Turns out the spa was a converted warehouse in an industrial zone.  Oasis indeed.

"Imagine a place where your wellness is not an afterthought, but a priority."

My husband wanted to use their gym so I had taken a book with me.  Unfortunately the gym turned out to be just some treadmills and weights so he passed on it.  Given the price I had paid for entry and the double strikes (industrial zone and not up to par gym) getting us wellness became a priority, for me.

"A place centered around all the best parts of being alive."

Fortunately there was more than the gym.  We waddled in the indoor hydrotherapy pools.  There were all kinds of sauna rooms to explore (Far Infrared | Gold | Himalayan Salt | Loess Clay | Charcoal | Steam Box | Chromotherapy | Cryotherapy). 

Unfortunately even the best marketing couldn't fool those with say, a PhD in physics.  As we sat in the Far Infrared room with lights shooting up and down the sides (when does the spaceship take off? wondered my husband), even I admitted it was a bit of a bust.  

"Disconnect from the busy outside world and reconnect to yourself."

Before we left I suggested we check out the rooftop pool.  By that time the sun had gone down and temperatures freezing so we didn't intend use the outdoor pool, just have a look.  

The stairs lead us to a bar/lounge overlooking an large infinity pool. It looked like the kind of place that would be overcrowded in the summer but now, at night and in the dead of winter, it was mostly empty. We stood in the lounge in our bathrobes and stared at the steam coming off the water, erie and in a strange way, inviting.    

Probably not a good idea to go in we said to ourselves before counting to three and disrobing at the same time.  We ran through the crisp cold air before finding refuge in the heated water. We allowed the hydrotherapy jets to do their work on our tired muscles as we gazed at the moon, bright against a black cloudless sky, relaxing at last.  

cobi and the queens

So last week I had lunch in the 7th.  The host was older and so were the guests, mostly American.  The name tag handed out the beginning reminded as much.  Someone bought tairas.  It was a queen's lunch after all, she said. 

We all sat down and chatted getting to know each other.  Then the host rang a bell to get our attention.  

This bell was a wedding present, she said offhandedly. I don't know what it's for but I use it to get people's attention, she smiled.  

It's probably a bell of truce, offered one of the guests.  You're suppose to ring it during arguments to bring the couple back to one another. 

We all considered this as we moved to the table.  Lunch was served.  Afterwards the host asked us all to share a secret.  Like a good host she started.  

It was a good one. 

Followed by an even better one by an even older woman beside her. 

And so and so it went, women sharing a part of themselves oftentimes reaching far into the past and giving it life again.  Reliving it as if it were yesterday, a glimmer of mischief in their eye.  

Arcade

So we're at an arcade and my friend and I decide together to not buy anymore points for our kids.  This doesn't stop them from trying:

Kid:  Can I have more money? 

Me:  No. 

Kid:  Why?  

Me:  Because. 

Kid:  Can I have more money?

Me:  No. 

Kid:  Why?  

Me:  Because. 

Repeat for ten minutes.  The kids finally leave and we are proud of ourselves for holding strong.  

Then we watch as my friend's husband makes his way to the machine to recharge the cards with happy kids, my son included, in tow. 

Turns out he forgot his wallet so he asked my friend, his wife, for money. 

So of course I offer to pay for my son's part. 

Kids, so tricky.  

happy holidays

mini-tornado

Crazy.

10:38

So recently I went to the prefecture as part of the process to renew my visa. The last time I had to do this was ten years ago so things had changed. 

First off everything was online.  The site wasn’t great but at least I was struggling in the comfort of my own home.  I sent my paperwork into cyberspace and waited with no news for 8 months.  

Then suddenly I got an email telling me to come to the prefecture at a particular date at a specific time:  10:38.

10:38?  I thought to myself, that is definitely very specific.  They also specified the room I had to be in (1) and the widow (5B).  They also listed all the documents I had to bring.  

Easy peasy!    

Alarms went off in my head.  

Because with the French administration, it’s never easy.  

Alas since I hadn’t dealt with this in ten years, I was rusty and no longer knew where my originals of all the documents I’d ever gotten since being in France were so I stuck to the list.  Looking professional in heels was out of the question should I have to stand outside waiting in the cold.  

I have to admit, I was nervous. 

I still gave myself plenty of time before my appointment because who knows what curve ball would be thrown at me.  None were, public transport worked just fine and there was no line.  I got there 45 minutes early.  

When I got into room 1, I looked for a ticket number machine.  None were to be found so I asked a guy and he said I was just to find my window and sit and wait till they called my name. 

Ok….

So I found window 5A, found a seat and got settled.  I had 45 minutes before 10:38 and I was in the right place at the right time. I could take out my book right?  Except I couldn't shake an uneasy feeling, kind of like, a false sense of security?

Sit and wait for them to call your name. 

I started to look around.  Indeed the people at the window would call people’s names and people would go up.  The thing is, I couldn’t make out the names being called.  The native French speakers were obviously having trouble pronouncing the non-French names.  

Right… so the system is:  People who probably don’t speak French very well have to listen as native French speakers pronounce their non-French names.  No visual cues, just listening.  Read: The system for non-French people is made for French people. 

I looked at the guy at window 5A and tried to assess if he looked like he was someone who could pronounce my name in a way that I would recognize it. 

I had my doubts.  

I also realized he said the names very fast and didn’t pause much between names.  I looked at the 80 year old woman next to me with a cane.  

Right.

I inquired around me as to what time everyone had and their window.  The young woman behind me had my window and 10:21.  This is stressful, she added while scrolling on her phone.  

Logically she would be called first?  And logically they wouldn’t call my name before my allotted time of 10:38 right?  RIGHT? 

Then all my experience in dealing with the French administration came back to me.  Anything can happen.  There is no logic.  They have all the power, you have none.  Think the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.  

Oh I wanted that soup.  

I put my book away and focused on listening.  At 10:15, I heard it, or at least, I heard what I thought was my name.   So I grabbed my stuff and went up. 

Except another guy went up because, like I said, the guy didn’t pause much between names so he was probably called first but by the time he got up there the window guy had called my name. 

I sat back down, lamenting this opaque system.  Where was my name now?  In this guy’s memory?  I looked at him to gauge his short term memory capabilities.  

I had my doubts. 

When the other guy left I went up.  

I’ll call your name madame, window guy said. 

Ok, I smiled realizing now that I might have angered the soup nazi window guy which in this kind of power dynamic is bad.  Very bad. 

I sat down but stayed in his line of vision. 

He eventually calls what I think is my name (it was) and I produce what I think are the right documents (they were). 

The system has improved but then again, maybe so have I. 

Shut it down, uh, uh, uh, uh

Indeed