Celebrating A Uke

Fortunately, I haven't yet been to a french funeral. That doesn't mean that there wasn't a day when I went inside a french funeral home with an unlocked door to rinse off a bag full of watermelon juice soaked electronics and papers but that's a completely different kind of tragedy. However, last summer I was invited to a "memorial service" for a friend's father who had passed on a year earlier. I of course, showed up in a black dress thinking it was that kind of thing, but to my surprise everyone was wearing white. I was offered a very simple explanation (the simplicity may or may not have been related to my particular level of french). Basically, they were wearing white because he was buddhist and Buddhists don't mourn losses, they instead, celebrate memories. My LBD was quickly forgotten as I changed out of it into a swimsuit and spent the remainder of the party in a pool. Honestly, I really appreciated this perspective on quite possibly the most difficult aspect of life.

On a loosely related note, last weekend I lost my ukulele, Petunia. These two situations are incomparable in magnitudes of importance. Yet, the idea of celebrating the loss of something instead of mourning it really appeals to me. She was an amazing gift that was giving to me by a lifelong friend to later became my low maintenance traveling companion. When I got myself into some strange international confusions, she was in my hand waiting to strum away my moments of panic. If you've payed close attention and know me well, you know where this is going...

 Petunia's top ten list!!!!

10 ) Eau Claire : The first time I saw Petunia I didn't know anything about ukuleles. I didn't know how to strum nor could I decipher the finger placement for a single chord. Fortunately she was sitting next to a chord chart so I picked her up. At this moment in time, I carried a very heavy heart because there was something big in my life I needed to let go of but hadn't yet found the courage. Anyway, I picked her up, started strumming casually as I continued to talk with my friends. Five hours passed without me setting her down. The lovely Jaycee suggested that I borrow her. The exact details of the personal events following are unnecessary but I must say that thanks to Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah, and Petunia, the steps were significantly less painful because I was able to keep my downtime occupied without too much thinking.

9 ) Chippewa Falls, Segny : C'ukubabies. The combination makes me grin.

8 ) General airport friendliness : security officers, customs officers, flight attendants, and pilots all the same worldwide would ask me to play. It makes the entire awkward language and customs problems melt away. There was one time that I was nervously waiting in a customs line while the person in front of me was getting interrogated. As I stepped up to the counter, I prepared myself for an experience similar but instead the man simply asked me to play. A basic law of science states that anyone who can play a ukulele is harmless so the man stamped my passport without another word.

I've also had adorable and young Danish girls make the best of their basic English to ask me why my guitar is so little and missing strings.

7) Segny, France : When I was working as an au pair, I shared my birthday with the father of the family. This particular family of four had more language skills than my entire high school combined. So of course after dinner, Petunia led us through the birthday song in a variety of languages. This may be the time to mention that I never played well, but that was never the point. :D Sorry about the link but I came across size issues I didn't want to deal with. But you can still see it with a little persistance! Video on facebook!

6) Chaumont Sur Loire, France : After being lost on my bike in a giant forest for hours on a particularly rainy day, I came across two Parisians who didn't mind my company. We biked through a cats and dogs style downpour until we finally came across a campsite. Here we had a picnic, warmed up, hung out with the other campers, and enjoyed Petunia's pretty purs. (Notes from the velo : Chapitre Trois for photos) Also see Notes from the velo : Chapitre deux for an additional Petunia story during this bike adventure.

5) Amsterdam : After a long night out, my friend, John, and I were hanging out in the lounge of our hostel. There were a few other people in there hanging out when somebody asked me to play something. Naturally, I played Three Little Birds by Bob Barley, as I had been practicing it for weeks before going to Amsterdam. It turned into this awesome musical jam session as other people started picking up the instruments provided by the room. I had so much fun and stayed up so late that I missed my airplane the next morning and had to spent an extra beautiful sunny day riding a bicycle around Amsterdam.

4) Segny France : The first time that it snowed while I was living in France Klara was home sick from school. We were so excited about the snow that we decided to learn a Christmas song together. I even taught her how to play the keyboard. It was magical. 

3) Nappa Valley : When my family was cruising around checking out some vineyards in a giant van, my niece was a baby and got a little upset about all the time in the car. She loves music so My brother, Summer, my cousin Lindsay, and I all made the Chinese Animal Song for her in the car.

2) Istanbul : My bags were of course lost during my entire stay here. But the night before I was leaving the airport called offering to drop off my bag the next afternoon. I asked them if I could instead pick it up the next day on my way back to France. However, when I went to look for my bag at the airport, I was brought into a room for about 45 minutes with a very friendly man who gave me the bad news that my bag was on its way to my hostel. Of course it took me 3 weeks, daily phone calls, an angry email, and a friend yelling at the airline company before my bag returned. That's not the story here. The story is that this man asked me play while we were waiting. While I did he clapped and made up funny lyrics in his thick accent, made me tea, and introduced me to every person who passed through the room. After days of not having my soaps nor clean clothes to change into this was easily the happiest that I felt while in Istanbul.


1) San Francisco : My cousin, Lindsay, and I were on the bus when the amazing Bambi Lake picked a fight with my cousin. It went on and on she even mentioned how she would like to shoot her until I offered to buy Miss Lake a pack of cigarettes in exchange for one of her cds. Immediately following, she blamed the moodiness on her needin' a nicotine fix and her attitude flipped as quickly as crepe and she began loading us full of compliments. She went on and about how rich we will be because Lindsay has model potential, and me an obvious successful career ahead of me as an actress. Once she buttered us up, the three of us began a little street music on a sidewalk on Haight.

Saucisse

     Without doubt, some of my faux-pas-iest of faux pas happened once I started to get invited into the homes of locals. This story begins the night when I was introduced to my boyfriend’s father. It wasn’t Ben Stiller-esque, in fact the events of night progressed rather smoothly. We managed to converse although my french at this time was still under construction.

     His father had prepared two different batters so we could have galettes (crêpes salés) pour dîner and crêpes sucrés pour dessert. Beforehand, we were discussing the special sausage that would be used. Their eyes were filled with immense pride as I took my first bite. It was as if they were watching a beloved  child take its first steps. Fortunately, I’ve had enough training in tasting awful things to play it cool. On the outside I was smiles and sounds of satisfaction while my tête was searching to recall this putrid taste. Oh yes! Intestines, but with the strongest taste known to my palette. I really need to work on graceful declines because I barely managed to choke this down before a second was placed in front of me. 

     With my first bite of the second galette my body gently refused with a gag of warning. As soon as the father turned around, I pulled out the sausage and handed it off to my beau. We soon moved onto dessert. It was a charming night with a successful escape.

     The embarrassing part comes later. As I mentioned, my french communication was still entrain de developer. So when asking my petit ami about this I said something along the lines of "What is the name of that strange sausage that lives with your dad?" In case you are interested in the name so you can avoid intestines on your next visit to France, it’s called "andouille de guéméné." 

     Let me present to you two truths.

1. It’s impossible to remember a word you have only heard once sans reading. I, therefore, continued to refer to it as, "la saucisse qui habite avec ton pere." Hey, it worked. If somethin’s not broken, don’t fix it!

2. This expression is actually a commonly used french insult which has the same meaning as calling someone’s girlfriend a disgusting pig.

     Okay. I had no idea I was saying something insulting. Also, I had never met the father’s girlfriend. How was I to know that he was telling his family this and having a good laugh at my expense? He claims that he told people about this because it was just so cute how I was innocently saying something so rude and vulgar. Let’s fastforward to 3 months later.

     Dîner chez grand-mère. It’s my first time to meet the grandma. There were six of us around the table. His mom, dad, brother, him, and myself. He decides it would be super cute to tell this story to his grandma. I’m also learning for the first time as his grandma is looking at me as if I am a horrible person. Of course he better explained it later and she’s welcomed me in her home after. Nothing like a good first impression!