Which way to Versailles? The bride wants to know!

20 Dec 2014 12 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Holidays, Weddings Tags: , , , , , , ,

The subway doors whooshed shut behind us and we settled into cozy little groups for the 45 minute ride to quite possibly the most magnificent chateau ever imagined. The coach rocked rhythmically back and forth between stations with romantic names.

Earlier I’d slid the Jessica Simpson Boots onto my feet, praying that the night’s sleep had erased their memory of torture. That wasn’t the case however, and the moment I tried to walk I knew that I’d have to find alternative footwear for the rest of the time in Paris. I scanned the room hoping for…what? I’d brought my blingy slip-on sandals for wedding attire, the JS Boots for walking, and that’s all. Except…there, skulking like naughty kittens peeking out from under the bed, were my shabby black Merrell sandals.

“But it’s too cold to wear those,” I argued with myself.

“You bought warm socks in the market…”

“I refuse to wear sandals with socks!”

“Suit yourself, I’m just sayin’ you want to be comfortable? Those butt-ugly sandals are the most comfortable things you’ve got goin’ sweetheart!”

I found the socks, pulled them on and strapped my feet into the sandals. Ahhhh…heaven!

So rocking along in the tube with happy feet, I noticed Joy’s face. Joy’s face wears her thoughts without filter. When she’s happy, light radiates through her skin. She glows. When she’s sad, liquid brown puppy-eyes break your heart. But this was neither of those and I instantly knew that something wasn’t quite right. Intensity crackled and sparked around features that were frozen in concentrated focus. It was her problem-solving face. As the train slowed she jumped out of her seat.

“Everybody get off here!” she commanded, and without question we stood as one body and sluiced out the door.

“Hurry…the other side…yes, that’s it…get on!”

At some point as those sexy French names flashed by, she had realized our train was going the wrong direction. That little foible in her plans didn’t rattle her in the least. Once again I felt love and pride well up in my heart. Her competence, her smart easy way of turning a situation around without drama or fuss, impressed me right down to my ugly black socks!

We departed the train and followed the crowds for the five minute walk. Passing through a stand of trees the grandeur of the grounds and buildings of Versailles lay in a hazy sprawl before us.

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P1080490Joy handed us our tickets. We moved quickly along the corral, passed through a scanner and entered the vestibule. Twelve people with distinctly different passions cannot be expected to absorb the sights at the same pace. We agreed to meet in the courtyard at 4 p.m. The group evaporated like morning mist.

The gardens were closed when I saw Versailles for the first time. I mentioned that to Jessa and Dan.

“Let’s go to the gardens then,” they said. “But first the Hall of Mirrors…”

P1080485Perhaps even more spectacular than I remembered, the glittering, over-the-top extravagance of that room makes sense of the French Revolution. Let them eat cake, said Marie Antoinette when the peasants bemoaned that they had no bread. Royalty cavorted, feasted and played at Versailles while the people grew hungry and furious. They no doubt cheered when her head rolled from the guillotine.

Gardens and food were on the agenda as we passed, jaws gaping, through the queen’s bedchambers and room after damasked, draped, over-decorated room pressed into the herd of other bedazzled lookers. Finally we spilled through the exit into fresh open air. Checking our map we noted the spoon and fork sign near the Petit Trianon, the private residence of Marie Antoinette.

“Shall we?” one of us asked.

“Let’s!”

So off we went to the area of Versailles where two teachers from St. Hugh’s College in Oxford, England, visited in 1901 and saw things and people that hadn’t existed since 1789. As we strolled through a landscape grayed and damp, it wasn’t difficult to imagine losing our way, stumbling on a different path, and ending up one-hundred years in the past. Such adventures need fortification, however. We decided to eat first.

P1080486P1080487P1080489Have you ever in your life seen French Onion Soup like this?! Mama Mia!!! Is it any wonder I gained ten pounds in five days? And of course we didn’t JUST have French Onion Soup. We had hot mulled wine and the apple custard tart for dessert.

Versailles is an amazing place that occupies a significant part of European history. It was a fitting finish to a fairytale wedding week. Joy and Kellen, thank you! You planned and executed an exquisite event. And to repeat once again, the words of my blessing for you:

May your troubles be manageable,

may your heats remain true,

and may your lives be blessed with peace, abundance, and JOY!

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Kitchen Ballet

23 Nov 2012 11 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It started early this morning. Joy posted the schedule for Thanksgiving preparations on the refrigerator and we went to work. There would be four of us for dinner, and the plan was to have the first course, French onion soup, at 1:00. Joy was poetry in motion, chopping, basting, sauteing and maintaining a steady stream of conversation all the while keeping one eye on her spreadsheets and the other on the clock.

The kitchen is not large and counter space is limited. I was assigned the task of chief dish and bottle washer throughout the morning, keeping the counters clear while Joy did what appeared to be kitchen ballet. Gracefully pivoting and pirouetting from oven to stove top to cutting board, she worked her magic. The mouth-watering aromas must have driven the other residents on the 21st floor crazy!

When Kellen came in from his morning run I was re-assigned. I happily moved on to table decor. He joined Joy in the kitchen and the two of them functioned together like a well-oiled machine. It was as though he read her mind, anticipating her next move then supplying what she needed before she asked.

Karen  arrived and the soup was ready. A gastronomical journey of impressive proportions began!

Oh that soup…!

I’ve eaten a lot of French onion soups in my time, but Joy’s was far and away the most delicious concoction I’ve yet encountered. The delicate rich flavor of the broth was complemented by a thick slice of sourdough bread topped with the creamy gruyere. Oh bliss! The soup alone should have been enough, would have been if this were not Thanksgiving. But as soon as our bowls were empty, out came the rest of the feast.

We had the ubiquitous turkey, a 20# bird that Joy soaked in a spicy brine for 16 hours prior to roasting. She crafted her dressing from French bread that she cubed, toasted, and lovingly seasoned to perfection. The Brussels sprouts were tossed with olive oil, lemon zest and black pepper. She did a side dish of made-from-scratch macaroni and cheese with sharp cheddar and cream. Her cranberry sauce started with real cranberries and an unexpected addition of jalepeno peppers. The garlic mashed potatoes and giblet gravy were just as mouth-watering as everything else on her amazing menu.

I haven’t eaten that much at one sitting for many, many years. But I couldn’t resist the flavors of that beautiful meal prepared with such skill and love. And then…dessert. Karen brought apple pie and cheesecake that she had also made from scratch. Of course there was no way to choose one or the other. So slowly, very slowly, I ate apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream. Then even more slowly, I ate New York cheesecake with strawberries and chocolate sauce.

Some things are just worth it.

Now the day is done. The house is quiet. Neighbors in the condos across the street, those who don’t pull the draperies, are one by one turning off their TV’s and going to bed. I’m wide awake and still far too full to fall asleep. But it isn’t just my over-stuffed stomach, my heart is overflowing as well. The blessings of family, of friends, of love and acceptance, of a life filled to capacity with immeasurable goodness scroll through my consciousness like scenes in a movie. Thanksgiving. Giving thanks.

May I never grow so accustomed to plenty that I forget what a gift it is.

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