Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

I have given this a bit of thought- to come clean-or not- about me lying on the floor, sobbing so much that I HAD to sit up to be able to breathe through my highly strung sinuses.  It’s not easy to admit to moments of despair and sadness, but I have decided to be honest with you, mostly because I am beginning to think that these lapses into an abyss of ‘non-reasoning’ has largely got to do with hormones, so please, don’t worry about me.

Friday dawned, overcast and grey, my head clear again, with strength to see me through more e-mails from the Euro-Group shipping company where-in they continue to defer delivery date confirmation.

Seriously, is it too much to ask that I can bake my daughter a cake for her 3^rd birthday, in my own cake tins, with my own Kenwood?  Yes, the partial source of my floor-sniveling session had a lot to do with missing my house and furniture, and I had really hoped that we would be settled in at Rue Sellenick in time for the up-coming birthdays.  Alas, this will not be the case it seems, and I am sure it won’t bother Beth too much.  As for me, Mom, if you’re reading, please will you bake me an ‘Aunty Helen Chocolate Sponge Cake’, topped with Strawberries from your garden? We’ll have a ‘virtual’ tea party over Skype shall we?

After taking the girls to Stefan’s for lunch (we were expecting rain, and the Hovarth’s have been so helpful in loaning us their home during rainy cold lunch times), the sun came out, and Beth toodled off back to her class room for an afternoon nap, I was left surprisingly childless and task-less, with 2-1/2 hours to spare.

So, what would any normal, post PMS woman do?

Shop.  And yes, I succumbed.  I bought a pair of skinny jeans. They look good with my Tsonga boots.

Last night- Saturday- we entertained.  It’s one of my favourite activities.  Anton was craving Lasagne like his Mum (&I) taught him to make.  (It was delicious as usual).  I made Chocolate Brownies, which were as yummy as always, and to start with, I prepared a platter of Norwegian Salmon Ceviche with Avocado.

It was a stroke of luck, really.  We saw one of the supermarkets advertising Norwegian Salmon for 10 euro’s per kilo, and I knew that one of my guests loves raw salmon, so I took the opportunity to buy the salmon, some limes and I found a ripe avocado for a decent price.

Ceviche, for those that don’t know, is raw fish marinated in lime juice, fresh coriander and chilli.  You can’t marinate it for too long-30 minutes will do, as the acidic lime juice destroys the delicate proteins of the raw fish.

In case anyone feels confident enough to try it out, this is what I did:

• Extract the juice from 2 small limes; add an equal amount of olive oil.  I chopped a small bunch of Italian Parsley, but traditionally you should use Coriander (Dhania).

• I diced up tomato ‘petals’ into a concasse dice (- ½ x ½ cubic centimeters) , and thinly sliced spring onions, adding it to the lime juice and olive oil, with a dash of salt and freshly ground black pepper. (You could substitute finely julienned red onion for of the spring onion if you want).

• About 45 minutes before I served it, I thinly sliced the Salmon, and placed it on a small platter.  It is important that the salmon is less than ½ a centimeter thick, unless you really do prefer salmon tartare.

• Once the salmon is plattered, pour the lime juice and olive oil over, as well as the tomato dice and onion.  Finish off with slices of avocado.  I served it with thin crutés made from old baguettes

I used 500g cleaned Salmon fillet for 5 of us, with 1 tomato; 1 spring onion and 1 avocado.

Even I, who am VERY fussy about eating fish, enjoyed it.

If you know me well enough, you know that a protracted evening around the dinner table, surrounded by friends, candles, wine and good food is enough to keep me happy, so memories of my Thursday spent sniveling on the floor are well behind me now.

This morning started late, our house shutters blocking out the late rising sun, but after a breakfast of leftover lasagne en croute, we Garmin’d a Catholic Church/Monastery called Mont Saint Odile that is situated just outside town and set off for a little jaunt.

During the car trip there, I was reminded why my Mum loves autumn so much.

This morning was so crisp and fresh, and the golden light was clear and unfiltered.  The blue sky stretched vividly to the Vosges Mountain range.  In the mountains, the evergreen trees remain dark, the deciduous ones shining yellow, gold and red like beacons.

Once off the highway, the villages trailed passed our windows, Obernai, Ottrot, Klingenthal.  The black strip of tar started climbing, twisting, turning.  The flat Pinot-noir vineyards, fields of cabbages and corn disappeared, turning into a maze of tall pine trees.  Under the pine trees, the foliage became bracken and moss, rough and smooth.  There was a stream tumbling over the rocks, and the golden sunlight filtered through the evergreen leaves.  When we reached the summit, we arrived at the Roman Catholic Church, and Monastery, referred to as Hohenbourg Abbey, which was home to the Saint Odile, who made it her home in the 7^th century and died there in 720AD.

Saint Odile is the patron saint of Alsace.  She was blind, and history refers to her regaining her eyesight at her baptism.

I am unable to provide you with an exact layout of what building are there, and from what era they have come from. With Alex and Beth as little as they are, it’s difficult to wonder around reading and learning about each mosaic, statue, platform or garden.  The mountain also houses a hotel, so it was busy.  We were, however, free to roam around, and I intend to return as often as I am able to.  The history is rich, and one thing is for certain- the Catholics put on a good show!  (That is indeed a tongue in cheek comment, but my observations of the difference between Catholicism and Protestantism is that Catholics are more aesthetic and their places of worship are rich in architecture, colour and tapestry, more so than I have observed of the Protestant Churches.)  At the same time, the Abbey sits at a summit, the Alsace plains fall away below you, there are some beautiful trees, the wind whispers around you, it becomes a place of peace, I have a need to return, and just be, without distractions.

In truth, this week has not been uneventful.  It has been filled with a nervous mixture of emotions, each swaying on a single word, being catapulted between what is acceptable to feel, and what should really be forgotten about.

We have signed our Rue Sellenick rental contract, but to be honest, I’m sad to be leaving the ‘heim.  I was able to walk the canal early in the week, with the forest and farm lands around me, and on Wednesday Beth walked past the first school they attended at the beginning of September, and asked when she was going back there. This village life we have experienced has been absolutely perfect for me, and to give it up is going to be sad.  We are slowly getting caught up in the American circle at Vauban school through Halloween and birthday parties, and secretly I am terrified about what will become of me.

But before then, I have school holidays starting up at the end of the week, and in theory, we will be able to move into our apartment on the weekend.  And yet, my furniture is STILL sitting in a container in England, so we continue to wait.

My hair goes greyer with every passing day; my wrinkles making me look more mature than ever.  Maybe, just maybe, I am having a birthday crisis.

Maybe.  Maybe not.