Frenchy Fifteen

This morning I was not an Early Riser. I dare say, I arose rather late. It was nearly 8:00 AM when I went down to the lobby in search of my morning Joe. Which actually turned out to be an escapade, because I guess the late waking Francais en vacances, don't ask for coffee at 8:00 AM. The garcon in the restaurant was confused at my request, but being a member of the diligent service staff at La Belle Rive hotel, he met my needs and accompanied me back to my room with a tray of cafe American and its accoutrement.


I have a theory behind my tardy reveille this morning. Basically, my alarm didn't go off. See, my standard wake-up time of 5:00 or 5:30 AM is not only insured by an external alarm, which I've not been setting on vacation, but also by a little internal alarm. Each morning my stomach sounds a growl telling me it needs to be fed again. This morning, there was no stomach growl. In fact, my stomach was still full. And that is a feeling, I haven't had since oh I don't know, Freshman year of college - the other time of my life when I was a late riser as I was perpetually full on Papa Johns bread sticks and Natty Ice.

See I've basically been on a diet since the seventh grade. I went off it Freshman year of college, indulged in the characteristic late night fare of undergraduate culture, and bulked up to the size of a linebacker, perhaps mistaking what sport I had signed up to play at Notre Dame.

After the noticeable shift in my proportions, I returned to my ongoing diet, and with varying success over the years, have remained focused on healthy food and exercise. During the couple months leading up to the wedding, I was really focused - focused on lots of greens and lean protein, lots of long runs and walks, less wine, a little more gin and diet tonics, and a staunch directive to stay clear of the dessert table. I did well I think too. Having sworn off scales earlier in the year, I don't know if I actually dropped any weight. But my dress fit, and I felt good in it.

But this week, and perhaps this morning, it hit - I went off my diet again. I haven't counted calories this week, I have definitely indulged, and the return of Frenchzilla starring yours truly, doesn't even scare me. I'm en France - home of not only the best dinners, but the best dining. And I'm here to take full advantage of it.

Peter and I packed up from Monaco yesterday, paid our eye popping bill, and meandered along the scenic coastline toward Antibes, the second destination on our honeymoon. We stopped in the small medieval town of Eze en route. It was charming - classic - out of a fairy tale. It had two parfumeries, a beautiful neo classical chapel, a Relais et Chateaux that I definitely want to stay in some day, and the most spectacular view.

You can make an appointment to make your own perfume, but it costs about 200 Euro. I opted for a couple bottles of the ready made stuff.

The quaint town of Eze was gorgeous.

The neoclassical chapel was built in the late 1700s by Antonio Spinelli

From there, we drove the rest of the way, until we reached our hotel, La Belle Rive, a boutique hotel on the Cap D'Antibes where F. Scott Fitzgerald stayed just after he published the Great Gatsby. It is pure luxury and pure France. And I have decided to go all out Frenchie with it.

That's our room - second floor in the niche with the window open. Spectacular!

This was how they made up our bed when we arrived.

Of course there is honeybee wallpaper in our room.

The most stunning dining room.

So I will take my coffee au lait.

I will not bust out the stow away Fiber 1 bars for breakfast. I will eat un baguette avec un peu de beurre. I will have salad nicoise for lunch with un verre de Champagne on the side. While strolling through the farmers market I will not turn down the slices of chevre and morbier that the fromagier is handing to me.

And at dinner, I will not have the poisson du jour sans beurre, I will embrace my John Dory, cheeks and all, being spooned over with buerre blanc.

Oh, and I'll take the petit gateaux aux noissettes as well and un autre verre de Champagne. Then I will slump down in my chair, sad that the gastronomic experience is over so soon.

I perk up knowing that there is a glacier around the corner from the Musee Picasso though.

Here's the thing though. In France, the portions are small and the Frenchies that dine on them are very small too. In fact, I haven't seen one oversized French person since we've been here. I've seen fat English, Americans and Deutschers, but not one French fatty. It's not to say that the French have perfect bodies, in fact they seem to all have a slight butter belly. But they are petite and above all seem relaxed and confident in their appearance, down to the proud display of their bosoms on the beaches.

While Americans spend significant time and resources finding the cure for unfluctuating weight, a flat stomach, skinny thighs, toned arms, and a perfect behind, the French know when to say when at the end of a meal, they walk it off, and they don't deny themselves the culinary pleasures that we tend to crave then overeat.

While, I might just gain the Frenchie five while we're here, because my body is not used to eating this richly, I'm kind of okay with it. Because getting a little butter belly, would make me that much more French, and if the people that we've met in the South of France do one thing right, it's live well. And their key - doing it with a side of butter.

Lo.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

I'm afraid to count the number of glasses of champagne I have had in Monte Carlo. Yesterday alone brought four (and that might just be an understatement.)

Apparently, being the honeymooners at the hotel grants you some level of celebrity status. Even though I'm not that familiar with my name, everyone at the Fairmont seems to know it. Meeeesus Schoolt. Oh, that's me. We have now received not one, but two Tattinger Champagne bottles in fancy ice buckets. The hotel manager wanted to take our photo at dinner, frame it and give it to us as a memento. We got turn down service every night. And they even brought me extra trail mix at the pool. 

Being a honeymooner only gets you so far in Monte Carlo though. The city is meant not only for the somewhat famous, but for the uber wealthy. It is tres, tres cher! The teeny, tiny nation, only .75 square miles big, has the highest per capita income, there are more Lamborghinis on the streets of Monaco than there are soldiers in their army (a mere 80 guards), the starting price on the mega yachts docked in Monaco's harbor is about $100 million, and the minimums at the Casino aren't $5, they're 50 Euro. 

Given our fleeting celebrity and desire to famously live up our honeymoon, but without the financial means to do it, we remembered a little something that we had - an incentive from the Fairmont Pittsburgh for a well done wedding reception. They gave us a gift card valued at a small percentage of what was spent on the wedding - a prize, that honestly should have gone to my parents, but instead went to us. 

This was our golden ticket yesterday to offset the Monaco prices. It enabled two amazing massages at the beautiful spa at the Fairmont. A lovely lunch by the pool. Postcard writing with champagne cocktails. And finally, a dinner at the hotel's more "gastronomique" restaurant, L'Argentin. We started with a split appetizer of cream of pea soup with crab ravioli, then Peter had the cote de boeuf and I had the salt crusted sea bass. 

The sites and sounds of Monaco were free more or less, so we took full advantage of them in the afternoon. We toured Prince Albert's palace, le jardin exotique, la Poste (interesting to see because their stamps are rarities. We bought some of the latest stamps which were perfect for me - Princess Grace winning her Oscar!) and an absolutely amazing aquarium and oceanographic museum. (Peter was in heaven ... and I was too, when I saw that there was a special exhibit at the museum about Prince Albert's wedding. Gotta say, I liked my dress better.) 

Looking up at a turret on Prince Albert's Palace. 

The renegade Italian dressed as a monk who founded the Principality of Monaco.

Lots of little Omega Supremes at the Aquarium

The logo for the Oceanographic Institute looks oddly similar to the Starbucks logo.

Had to get some of that for later!

After dinner we ventured off the Fairmont's property to try our luck at the Casino. It is a stunning piece of architecture, built at the beginning of the 20th century as a consolation prize for Monaco losing half of its land mass to France. The Casino accounts for 5% of the GDP of the minute country. The minimums for the tables are steep, and its clientele even steeper. Although dressed for the part, we were out of place. In hopes of winning it big and buying one of the amazing condos I saw today, I put my money on my lacrosse number - 7. And just as she did time and time again on the field, Meredith beat me. 27 won, my Euros were gone, and Peter and I headed back to the hotel. 

Peter and I most likely will never know the level of wealth that exists in Monaco, and our honeymooner fame will fade as fast as our wedding went by, but as long as there is champagne, dreams of fun adventures ahead, and a gift card or two in the future, I think we'll be living as high off the hog as all the black tie clad hommes in the Salons Privees.

And to Mom and Dad - thank you not only for throwing the wedding of a lifetime, thank you for doing it at the Fairmont and passing along that gift card to the honeymooners. 

Lo.  

The Honeymoon Look

We were asking people to take photos of us left and right last night - who wouldn't? The sun was setting, we had beautiful cocktail after beautiful cocktail, we were dressed up, and we were at a pretty magical place. Each photographer asked, and what brings you here, as if he or she already knew.
It's our honeymoon. We just got married.
They would reply, I knew it! They just have that look - you know? 

That look last night was somewhere in between delirium and pure delight, but I guess it looked good. And it was made possible by a serious (I now have towels creases all over my face) cat nap at the pool in the afternoon, followed by a rejuvinating jog on the treadmill, then the popping of some comped champagne.

Earlier in the never-ending day/night/whatever you call the hours on the plane, we never got asked if it was our honeymoon. We didn't have the look I guess. In fact, looking at us, you might have only seen me, because Peter was entirely covered in a red blanket for most of the time.

We boarded the plane from Pittburgh to Paris at 6:00 PM on Sunday and found our 35 B and C seats next to a friendly Texan and the bathroom.

Optimistic about our destination and high on the wedding weekend, we didn't over analyze our positioning, settled in and concentrated on preparing for our six-hour nap. A couple hours into it though, post delayed plane food service, the bathroom line became quite a grievance, the Texan went from friendly, to the heaviest mouth breather and most annoying sniffler on the planet, and the Euros on the plane went from stinky to stanky. All of this lead Peter to drape a red blanket over his head and body, while I fell victim to a right leg that perpetually kept falling asleep, waking up, cramping, and then doing it all over again. People kept mistaking Peter's red blob form for a leaning post next to the bathroom, and each time someone put their hands on Peter's head, he would take off the blanket wrap and give them a look that crossed all language barriers. Our combined look was not so hot as we made our final descent into Paris.

After a coffee and a croisant in Charles de Gaule, we started to get that honeymooner look back I guess, and by the time we hit the Budget counter in Nice, we apparently had it as they upgraded our standard Renault to a Beemer.

We hit Monte Carlo around 1:30 PM France time on Monday. We spent the afternoon on the rooftop pool, the evening at one of the most beautiful restaurants I've ever been to, and the night walking around Monte Carlo. Dressed in, what else, but the color of money, we struck many poses and I pretended I was in a movie a couple times. Amazed at the beauty and bounty that continues to come our way, our big smiles said it all - we were very happy honeymooners.

Lo.

PS - Peter and I will be Fairmont loyalists for the rest of our lives. The Tattinger champagne in our room was over the top!

Heaven

There are some things that are difficult to explain – some questions, that you just can’t answer.

How didn’t I sweat through my dress and ruin my hair in a non-air conditioned church on a 95 degree day? No idea. 

How is it possible for the city of Pittsburgh of all places to have THE best wedding band ever? Got me.

What did I do to deserve such an amazing day? Don't know.

Beyond the secular, there are many faith-based mysteries that can stump the questioner as well. The Holy Trinity, transubstantiation, the sacraments, and of course the concept of heaven. 

From a very young age, we each come to a personal understanding of what "heaven" means to us. Some of us see angels and puffy white clouds. Some of us see never ending buffet lines, iconic football stadiums, paradise islands, or favorite nooks and niches from our home sweet homes. I generally used the puffy white cloud vision. 

Later in life though, after attending a theology class in Italy, I learned about a different vision for heaven. The teacher, Father Michael, said the best understanding he had was a comparison between it and a never ending wedding feast - an eternal banquet with friends and family, ever-flowing wine, sumptuous food and energetic dancing. I liked that analogy. I thought - must be nice, but it still seemed a mystery - a question that couldn't quite be answered.

On Saturday though, I found the answer - I got a preview of heaven, and it made me cry all the way down the longest aisle in Pittsburgh. 

After the bells tolled, after my ten beautiful bridesmaids strutted their stuff in their silver gowns, and after the trumpet sounded, I stood in the doorway arm in arm with my Dad. He squeezed my hand and said, "I'm so proud of you" - basically, the best thing that I could hear from my mom or dad. I looked down the aisle, and saw it. Heaven.

We started walking. Slowly, but surely, we made it deeper into the congregation, and without taking my eyes too far off Peter, I saw the faces of all the people in my life - those present and those not able to be there - smiling, crying, nodding their heads, holding their hearts, offering me their support, all under Gods watchful eyes and loving embrace. When I got to the end, and my Dad gave my hand to Peter and told him to take good care of me, I knew right then, exactly what Father Michael was talking about. That - this is what heaven looks and feels like. 

If that was the entrance into heaven, the inside got even better - listening to holy scripture, saying our vows, receiving the Eucharist, making a pilgrimage to Mary's Chapel, giving Peter that first public kiss. Then the reception - wining, dining and of course dancing until the wee hours of the morning.

My girlfriends asked me at Brunch on Sunday, was it all you dreamed it would be? I didn't know how to answer. It was so much more - it outdid any dream. They followed up by asking, well then, what was your favorite part? It was that vision of the Church - Peter, Trent and Father Greco at the top, my family and friends surrounded me on all sides, and my Dad standing right by my side. 

The goal now is to continue to come back to that place. To feel the sense of peace, excitement, community, love, and magic in my marriage every day. And to continue to bring those with us on our special day into our lives - to enrich us, strengthen our relationship, and keep heaven in our hearts. 

Just touched down in the paradise island version of heaven - Peter's renting the car, and we're off to Monte Carlo. 

Lo.

The Dress Rehearsal

Before the lights come up; before you quell the stage fright and spit out your first line; before the tears, laughter, and thunderous applause from the audience, comes the dress rehearsal. That ever important part of making sure that the production goes as close to flawlessly as possible.

I have been through many, MANY dress rehearsals in the past: From long, hot dance recital ones at Chatham College's Chapel, to Charlie Appel and Charles Altman school play ones at St. Edmund's and Ellis. From Glee Club concert dress rehearsals at Heinz Chapel to piano recital dress rehearsals at the Jewish Community Center. From walk-throughs the morning before the big game to final run-throughs of the presentation for the Board, I am versed in the art of the perfect dress rehearsal.

I know how to dress as closely as possible without spoiling the finishing touch. I know how moving from practice to final, full hair and make-up makes the execution of each scene just a little more real. I know how the lines that you've been saying over and over again, all of a sudden take on a new meaning and you say them with a little more oomph and gusto. I know how dress rehearsals make you stand up a little straighter and smile a little bigger. And I know how they start to shake your core with jitters you haven't felt since the last play .

I also know you should have a supporter in the audience. And I always had a special friend or family member, usually someone who couldn't make the final production at my dress rehearsals. Sometimes it was Grandma or Grandpa, sometimes it was Mom or Dad, sometimes it was Patty or Debbie, and once it was even Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick. It was just nice to know that my fans took the dress rehearsal as seriously as I did and that I would have practice applause to go along with the practice curtain call.

Last night, I added another dress rehearsal to my portfolio. And I've got to say, it was just about the best rehearsal yet. The chemistry with my leading man, was better than it had ever been. My costume - a pearl, off the shoulder dress, Kate Spade pumps, BIG hair, and full make-up looked awesome.

My lines - short, simple, sweet - "I have" - "I will" - "I do" were executed without error.
Like rehearsals past, I did get a little more nervous, the final production became a little more real, and I hammed it up the best I could. But unlike rehearsals past, it wasn't just a friend or family member cheering me on, it was a crowd of supporters that was a hundred fold. And it was so special.

It was a beautiful, memory-making night at Sacred Heart and the Phipps Conservatory, and I can't thank my family and friends enough for being there to shower Peter and I with their support. I don't have the pictures to share yet, but they will be up soon enough.

And although, I know it's supposed to be a surprise, I'll give you a teaser of the big unveil - the climax of the show. It ends in a kiss. And at the dress rehearsal, it looked really good.

Lo.

Before the Wedding Comes the Run

On Monday, an article about first time marathoners came across my desk. In anticipation of the Chicago Marathon on October 9, Crain’s Business Journal wrote about the training, injuries, tears and fears of a couple runners, gearing up for their first marathon. Each had their own reason for racing, each had a different take on training, but one sentiment seemed to resonate with all of them. That is, running a Marathon is a complete drain on your time. You are forced to push aside your social life, relaxing Saturday and Sunday mornings, that third glass of wine, your televiewing habits, etc, all so you can go that 26.2-mile distance.

As a second time marathoner – as an overconfident sophomore who believes I’ve got the next one is in the bag – I had to respond. Training consumes your life? Really? I’ve had a much difference experience.

I remember talking about Marathon recruitment back in November of last year at one of my full department meetings. I remember the team pressuring me to run again. I laughed it off and shook my head no (way!) I had a great excuse too – I was getting married next year, and I didn’t think my fiancé would appreciate me training (and training and training) throughout our engagement, and especially during the wedding week and honeymoon, which just happened to be the week of the crucial 20-mile training run.

I don’t know if it was my legs, itching to do more than seven or eight miles, or my competitive spirit wanting to beat the first timer experience, or the desire to be part of a special team again, but in February, when registration opened I signed up. Despite the eye rolls and the “remember whens” from the guy in boat shoes who let the expletives that I uttered just a mile away from the finish line resurface, I couldn’t turn down the challenge.

My friend, Charles, Team manager and honorary spirit captain, told me something as I signed on the dotted line. That if I had too much to do, and this was just going to be burden on top of that, I shouldn’t do it. BUT if I was going to approach it as an accent – a way to relieve stress – and as an energizing element to my day-to-day life, then he would encourage my participation more than ever. I signed up under the latter pretences, and it was an excellent decision.

I have not given my life up to Marathon training. At most, I spend an hour during the weekdays running around (and spying on) Naperville. And on the weekends, I spend between two and three hours depending on the mileage. And if you run right, eat right, drink LOTS of water, and take lots of deep breaths along the course, you will find that the recovery is quick, and you need to not make sacrifice upon sacrifice.

Take this week. I did 20 miles last Saturday. And cumulatively, I’ve run about 21 in the last four days. I’ve also moved from my apartment into Peter’s house, gone out with friends, launched and rolled out (with success!) the Intranet site project that I’ve been managing, presented the state of our business at a two-day planning meeting, cooked dinner every night, colored, and flown and landed in Pittsburgh for the other thing that people also blame for taking up ALL of their time – the wedding.

My advice to getting it all done – Get a good night sleep. Run a little faster. Don’t think about the fatigue (or the weird indigestion you get when stress and hummus start reacting badly in your stomach.) And when you are doing one thing, concentrate on that one thing. As much as we all love to multitask, it can be completely counterproductive.

The one thing I’m concentrating on now – getting ready and getting married. But before the Bridal Luncheon, a little run.

Lo.