The Tragedy of the Hawaiian in the Snow

True to form, Christmas came and went. And, contrary to previous worry and despite not being in my warm island chain, I'm mentally sound. I gave TMI a Nintendo 64 after discovering it was his habitually unfulfilled childhood Christmas wish and had my mom mail over all of my old games in a flat rate envelope. He was totally beside himself with excitement even though the games didn't make it time for Christmas day. When they finally did, however, TMI regained his old broken faith in Santa when we discovered so very downheartedly that the games from US don't work on the system from France. welps, thats how the Christmas cookie crumbles :/

As for me I got a French edition of my favorite read, Zorba the Greek, along with a ring with pressed flowers and some oh-my-gosh-the-goodness-of-this-gift-is-awkward-because-you-arent-my-family fabulous red ankle boots from Kookai.

All in all I was holding myself together pretty well until the Wednesday after Christmas ski trip. Dear God, the horror. Let me remind you all that I am from Hawaii; my time to polish my Snowboarding has been.. limited, to say the least. So! There I am, on top of the mountain in the French Alps, strapped into the only Snowboard the resort could dig up for me and escorted by a pack of experts on skis. As if I all ready didn't feel enough the outsider, I was now the American on a snowboard. Naturally, even though he had been reassuring me all month that he was no good at Skiing, TMI was beyond competent and whizzed off down the mountain and over little jumps while I literally rolled down behind him.

The day was mortifying. TMI and a guy pal, his sister and her friend, all having to wait for me every fifty feet as I slowly made my paranoid turns down the mountain where they just whizzed along happily. Finally, half way through the day, I fell one time too many trying to keep up with their speed and hurt my butt. I cried like a pathetic child and insisted I stop.

That night and finally back at home, I peeled off my snowboard pants to discover I had a very unflattering blue butt and an inability to sit. Thrilled with all of this and feeling particularly great about myself, I cried in the shower. I can only hope this weekend in the Alps goes a little easier on my self esteem.. and my rear end :/

Into the Woods

I've been in quaint little Sauzet since Sunday mentally preparing for Christmas with someone else's family. It was a little rough the first day, but things are settling and I'm managing to get into the spirit. It's tough spending a Christmas cooped up indoors with the cold, rain and snow outside when I'm used to sunny mornings, tea on the porch, and Saturday beach trips between present wrapping.

Did you know that in France it's tradition to put your shoes under the tree for Santa to put candy and... oranges in?? Everyone here thinks I'm crazy for not knowing about it.

Today TMI and I went foraging in the cold winter woods above the village to take some clippings from pine trees and red berried bushes to decorate the home. While we were out there I'm pleased to say we couldn't resist the primal urge and made love like the cavemen before us pressed up against a frosty tree; keeping an eye out for mammoths, or.. hikers.

Also TMI's sister shares her brother's good looks and is making me very self conscious about my own physical appearance as she breezes around the house ever day. I think it's karma from how persistently indifferent I was to my brother's girlfriend the first several Christmases she spent with our family. The "I know she desires my approval but I'm going to stay completely smug in the knowledge that my brother is my brother regardless of what ladies may come in and out of his life" syndrome. For the record, she's now prego with my first and future nephew and I love her as part of the family, but still, I didn't make her acclimation easy. I can only hope TMI's sister accepts me without me having to pull the parental card just yet.

Snow

Well, after all that scurrying and worrying, the plans have changed and yet a few more French adventures (and naps and sex and boredom and challenges) lie ahead. The airline prices never went down and I wasn't able to cushion my emotional turmoil with a return plan before Christmas, so it appears I will be in France with TMI and his family after all. It will be my first Christmas without warm Hawaii sand and temperate outdoor dinner parties, and the consequential homesick of this reality has been pelting me like a sudden hail storm, but the good news: I will be here until February and thus have time to endure necessary French exams, scary phone interviews, and essay writing that could get me into a Masters program here in Dijon; granting me the ever sought after student visa and means to come back to the country I love. This means I can weather the 18 hours of flight time without attempting lost-love-themed suicide in the bathroom.

So this means my first Christmas day with my significant other's family, possibly a New Year's adventure in Prague, (which could require all night partying, death, and sharing a hostle room with 5 French guys) and a ski trip in the Alps. Probably all wrinkle inducing but at least blog material, right?

Last but not least, yesterday I ate raclette with TMI and two of his friends. It's this crazy grill + cheese melter thing that you put charcuterie and maybe mushrooms on while cheese melts- than you sort of pile it all together on potatoes on your plate in one big fat festival of social weight gain. I don't know if it was the comfort food or just common sense, but Mr. J finally eased off a bit and the happiness that's supposed to come from good love seems to be peeking out from all that icy insecurity and worry. There's still a lot of snow shoveling to do, I mean, but hey at least there's hope.

Dreams After Breakfast

It's in those moments when, tossing in bed at 5am because of a fever or menstrual cramps or nightmares or headaches or any other self-pity inducing symptoms, and your significant other, even though they too are trying to sleep and probably bothered by your restlessness, rolls over and pulls you close to their body, coos sympathetically and kisses your nose, that any doubt melts like the memory of your dreams after breakfast.

Is it normal to doubt when the words "I love you" are flying out of your mouth 100 times a day? I seem to be irreversibly prone to wonder if really I'm not being deluded by insecurity, good looks, soft skin, etc, and I worry that I shouldn't dare make any sacrifices for what my young brain thinks is love.

And yet, last night, feeling totally sorry for myself since I'm on some pretty heavy antibiotics to fight my endless onslaught of urinary tract infections (awesome!) which make my skin rosy red as I roll around with fever all night; plus my boobs are hurting like crazy because of my contraceptives, while expecting TMI to be totally pissed off with my tossing and turning, he comforted me so effectively that I experienced a moment of complete doubtless bliss. And I'll be honest, its been happening a lot.

So what's with the second guessing?

I'm considering staying here with TMI's family for Christmas this year to put off our dreaded separation and give me more time to move out of my little apartment. But, it would be my first Christmas away from my family in the Hawaiian islands, and let me tell you, I am a serious family girl. And while all young adults face that first Christmas without their immediate family, my parents are older than most, and, my Robert-Redford-sailing-legend of a father had a difficult year with skin cancer. My family Christmases no longer seem like a forever given.

I said it in the post before last and I'll say it again: how much is love really worth these days? There are sacrifices on both ends of my plane ride and at present I don't know which is worth being more panicked about.

After some restless hours of light sleep in the morning, I awoke in a sweat, totally terrified. Nightmares. ..But by the time I sat up I'd forgotten them.