CESEDA L315-1

Well, we did it! We've got our CESEDA L315-1 visas in hand, finally!

What, exactly, this means, I'm not sure though; the nice fellow at the French consulate said the Paris prefectures have been acting odd lately, denying people their actual residency cards once they arrive.

"Hold on a minute here," I said to Monsieur Calvet. "We're packing up our entire lives and moving to France and you're saying we may not have a legal right to reside or work there?!"

"Fingers crossed," he said, gesturing with two hands and four fingers in a manner that did not instill confidence. "Call me if there is any problem, but you should be OK."

Well, fuck it. We're still going.

To celebrate, we went to Bruno's for Coral's going-away party. Coral, who just turned 20, is the daughter of one of our oldest and dearest friends, Candace. We've known Coral since she was in her mother's womb, and have loved her to bits since we first held her tiny body in our arms all those years ago.

When Coral was nine, we took her to France with us for vacation. We had a lot of fun doing really goofy things, like spending all day at Disneyland Paris just to ride a total of three rides. (But the It's A Small World ride was worth all that standing in line, just for the look on that kid's face.)

Now, Coral is making her first trip back to Europe to accomplish two specific goals: 1. To get some chef's training at a French culinary academy, and 2. To spend some time working on an organic farm as part of the WWOOF program. She'll be gone three months, and we'll be meeting up with her in Paris in July before she heads back home.

Bruno's, by the way, has a very vegan-friendly bar menu: fried okra, french fries, and hushpuppies, for starters, and pints of beer are only $3 during happy hour.

p.s. The red beret was our bon voyage gift to Coral; I'd told her I had something silly for her, and she was sure it was going to be a bottle of that mustard salad dressing we ate at every picnic during that long-ago vacation. I wish I'd thought of that!

Checklist Chekhov Check-off

One of my new-ish favorite writers is Chekhov. In particular, I loved the story The Chorus Girl, for its heart-rending drama, and for all the unanswered questions it leaves: Why did Pasha give her jewelry away to a demanding stranger? Was she just swindled by the man she loved in a clever, duplicitous scheme? Is this chorus girl a complete idiot or just blinded by a fear-love combo? Like another Chekhov favorite, The Lady With The Dog, The Chorus Girl left me wondering what happened to the characters whose lives I'd become emotionally invested in once Chekhov put his pen down.

This move to France feels a bit Chekhovian in that we're going through the motions, getting things done, creating little dramas along the way, but it's the narrative we write when we board that plane and say goodbye to friends and family that's the big question mark. Remembering that is a good exercise for staying focused on the present, if anything.

Jen came over last night, toting unexpected presents from a recent trip to China (she's a fellow travel fanatic and frequent visitor to Asia; we took our own trip to Beijing together two years ago, and Tokyo this past October), and her enormous Canon for snapping photos for the visa applications we're submitting to the French consulate. (Our appointments are scheduled on the portentous Ides of March). We also planned to have dinner together, but photos first to avoid the dreaded purple-teeth syndrome that always seems to accompany a wine-fueled Italian-themed meal.

The picture-taking didn't take long, which meant we were able to get down to the very important task of eating sooner rather than later. Jeff made one of his delicious pasta sauces, I made the salad, Acme made the bread, and Trader Joe's made the fake meatballs. TJ's is probably the one American institution that I'll really miss in France. No more Tofurky deli slices and Italian sausages? Whatever will we do? Thank goodness for Monoprix, Naturalia, and Bio Coop.