GourmandeMom™

The Single Person's Life Lessons * Valentine's Day 2014 * France

My trainer had been asking me a couple of weeks ago, repeatedly, what I am doing for Valentine's Day--and telling me she needs to find me a date--though she knows full well that date is a four-letter word for me, way down low on the priority list, because like my situation with Excel spreadsheets, I (i) am hopelessly terrible at it, and (ii) have neither the patience nor mental energy or motivation to work on improving said lameness.  And I would not have even thought much about this at all, but for her mentioning this at every one of our recent 6am workouts.  Good thing that with all this "snow and ice" in Austin we have had to cancel some workouts, leaving some breathing room from the "let's find Liz a date" conversation as my abs are burning from plank walks with push-ups. And in these critical lead-up days to Valentine's Day, she has been sick, further diminishing the opportunities for having to listen to this.

Luxembourg Gardens, Paris, January 2013

Years and years and years ago, in the early post-divorce stage, my [awesome] therapist back then mused out loud if my renewed France focus, bubbbling up around that time with intense vigor, was an escape from dealing with all that other, harder stuff.  I'm not saying it is, she said, just wondering.  Right.

As much as I loved chatting with said therapist, it was finally time to leave that nest. Eventually some equilibrium was attained, and eventually I started to notice le 14 février kept coming around, again and again.  And because of that annoying repetition, two years ago I chose to leave for a business trip to France on that day. That meant I enjoyed a Valentine's Day dinner meal contained in small plastic dishes, covered with foil, comprising mashed potatoes perfectly formed to the foil container and mushed into and around an unnaturally formed piece of chicken covered in a gelatinous brown sauce.  The red wine was from a little plastic bottle.  

I did this on purpose, thinking I'd wade on into pathos confidently. Whatever.  It makes for a nice little vignette, barely, but the more important thing is I ended up in Paris.  Where there is no barrage of Jared's commercials (or that Turbo Tax commercial this year that makes me weepy with that sweet little couple getting married, and all the adorable couple moments of carefree togetherness the commercial goes through to get to the point). 

Walking over to, or maybe from, the Ile Saint-Louis, in the snow, January 2013

Only now, years later, I am willing to admit that said therapist may have been on to something.  For many many years later, I would find myself questioning the personal life such that I thought my lodging in Paris for a business trip regarding the agricultural sector should envelop me cozily, like a big hug, and that would mitigate wasted energy in that arena.  The fluffy down comforter in the studio was indeed super soft and comfy, but that escapist lodging choice turned into the place where I would stay for 30 hours straight with some vicious norovirus, but for a few minutes for the walk down to the high-end Monoprix on the rue du Bac to buy crackers, toast, more crackers, something close to ginger ale, and a bottle of bleach to sanitize for everyone else's protection the cool whites and greys of that very chic, little studio near the Serge Gainsbourg wall.

A small portion of the Serge Gainsbourg wall, 5, rue de Verneuil, Paris.

Some people reflect on their lives and how they are doing on all fronts--professionally, physically, spiritually, emotionally--on their birthdays or the start of a new calendar year.  For me, that day of reflection tends to be Valentine's Day, perhaps because it has been such a longtime nemesis.  This year, like last year, and much like last year's 2013 musings, I am not going anywhere for that day, which is not just fine but also very necessary given the overload of fun this past weekend squeezed into a working weekend.   

On Valentine's Day Night 2014 I will probably be cozied up another way: pondering the new mantras for the year, and dealing with that other thing I'm really bad at--if not Excel spreadsheets per se, learning how to use Quicken, finally, and tackling a year's worth of bookkeeping for 2013.  

Fortunately there is a little bit of France in the fridge to help with all that: a bottle of Taittinger.  

 

 

 

 

 

Considering Valentine's Day

I have been thinking much these past few days on Valentine's Day: specifically, the fact that the romantic dinner is so the thing to do on Valentine's Day with a Significant Other a/k/a boyfriend or girlfriend, and the angst that this ritual can pose to the outsiders, those in a rut of singlehood, and to even the most seemingly successful, together, and hip of single women.  The day is just a big in-your-face reminder that, yes, you're on your own - go get your own flowers and artisanal chocolate - and you're, yes, in a state of being that is contrary to the societal inclinations toward considering "normal" as the couple and not the Table for One person.  

(Spread at Mollie's Annual Pink Tea)

For many years, this holiday, or whatever it is, conjured up for me about the same level of warm fuzzies as do memories of P.E. class at my small Catholic grade school and my being inevitably among the last dregs of the class to be picked for whatever awesome team sport was on tap for that day.  (To this day just hearing "dodge ball" makes me flinch.)  

But this year is different.  I wonder what on earth I would actually want from a beloved Significant Other, if I had one, on such a day.  I realize I don't know.  If I don't know, I wonder how on earth a guy in this equation is supposed to know.  (As it seems to me, again from observation only, that it is typically the female in the equation that has the expectations about this day along the same lines as daydreams about the gorgeous trimmings of The Wedding Day and the Dress but not so much the realities of Marriage.)

I guess the ideal is that the SO would know you so well he could come up with something interesting.  [You know, in my case it would be easy. I could be surprised with, for example, an order of a case of a certain wine that I loved somewhere, sometime, and Tweeted about.  (Except I would perhaps note the fact it is wrong for an ordinary busy single mom to have so much red wine in her house at one time.)  Or I could be surprised with a certain outrageously decadent salted caramel chocolate bar over $10 at Antonelli's (wrapped up and presented very nicely of course), which I cannot bring myself to buy for myself but would not turn down if someone else showed up with it. (But for the fact it is Lent and that outrageously decadent chocolate at this price is a bad choice for a time of year when decadence avoidance is more the norm....See?  It's complicated.  Even for me thinking of my own appropriate token of thoughtfulness.)]  

But does one really want this forced thinking on what an appropriate sign of affection would be on this particular day just because everyone else, so it seems, is on that bandwagon?   Seems like one would gladly trade a bust on this one overcommercialized day for a healthy, fun relationship the 364 other days of the year.

One big problem I have these days, as 50 looms closer than I like to think (and I still haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up), is that because my food-centric life has recently been so, well, fulfilling in terms of going to great places and being with great people, that a non-spontaneous going out again for Valentine's Day almost sounds like a chore.  Indeed, it has been a fantastic food week already leading up to 14 February:

1)    Friends from Angers, France arrived to prep for the SxSW indie rock bands they are bringing for SxSW.  Had lunch with them at Second and their P.R. agent. I of course wanted to use this as an excuse of having wine with lunch.  (Only one other person joined me.)  And on Wednesday we visited with (1) Iliana de le Vega at El Naranjo - she truly is a lovely person in addition to being a spectacular cook - and (2) Valerie Broussard at the W Hotel, as a "forager" or scout of the best of the best produce for the restaurant, Trace, and so in touch with local produce, local farms, and game for future collaborations with our sister city Angers.  

2)    Had dinner with new or putative potential friends at Winflo Osteria who just wrote me here, on the blog, and thought it would be neat to get together with me for dinner.   Yes, that definitely counts as pretty dang awesome (though if Hugo (Desnoyer) wanted to track me down this way, sure, that may be a few degrees cooler in the cool things column).  

3)    Party-giver extraordinare neighbor had her annual Pink Tea on Saturday, and continues the streak with a small dinner party on Saturday.

(Mollie's Pink Tea spread...I'm not a sweets person really, but these cupcakes...not sure what she put in them.  Delish.)

3)    Gratitude is front and center this week:  I am grateful that after much away time the past few weeks, it just feels so right to be (mostly) at home and cooking (sort of) real meals for the son, whose smile on his face when I walk in the door from a long trip, despite his best efforts to hide it, he cannot suppress because it is so involuntarily genuine and spontaneous.  

In light of the blessings of friends and family, I wonder why we (i.e., some womenfolk) persist in thinking this one day is the barometer of our lives in general -- in terms of "success" or "failure," even though most of the single moms (mostly lawyers) I know do not have the energy left, if they were honest with themselves (which I am on this front), to even entertain the option of a relationship beyond a few dates. 

In short, I am looking forward to thoroughly enjoying Thursday evening at home, making something perhaps with my overload of turnips from my Greenling Local Box, drinking a lot of water given the wine and great food overload these past few days, making sure the son has finished his note cards for chemistry class, and - if I'm really lucky - I'll catch an NCIS marathon.

And I will have no one else to blame for what is this year, for me, the perfect Valentine's Day.