The Artists Perch Near The Sacred Heart

Our first full day in Paris dawned sunny and bright. After we passed the gates that kept our little apartment community separated from the Paris streets, Dad got directions to Sacre Coeur. According to the man on the street, the great white basilica was "not far" and we could easily walk there. Well, it was far, but we had a grand walk and I got to snap some pictures of a city cemetery.









The gravestones were large and ornate and there were many crypts of differing sizes. It was easy for me to see why Nobody Owens could have lived comfortably with his adoptive parents in the graveyard...if you don't know what I'm talking about please read The Graveyard Book. The cemetery was on a hill and followed its slope down under a roadway bridge and out the other side - a completely fascinating find in the midst of a big and busy city.We hoofed it up a hill in the wake of a charming Frenchwoman who was kind enough to guide us to where we needed to be, and after traversing many a winding street (stopping only to ogle the pastries at the boulangerie we passed) we came to an open space...the famous artist's square.

In the mid 1800's the first artists began to live and work in the Montmartre area, and by the end of the century it was one of the principle artistic centers of Paris. Impoverished painters (and aren't they almost always down on their luck) lived and worked together in communes. Some of the most famous names in the art world converged there: Pablo Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh, Henri Matisse, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, and Salvador Dali to name a few, and they must have been quite a group...a guy who chopped off his ear, another guy who painted like he was on acid, some guy who saw the world in cubes - lots of fun I'm sure! In the tradition of these and many others, artists still gather at the Place du Tertre to set up their easels and sell their wares to touristy folks who want a bit of history.

After browsing and buying beautiful pictures of Paris, we continued our way up what was once known as Mons Martis or the "Mount of Mars" - and here is an interesting story. Mars is the Roman God of War and obviously the Mount of Mars was a pagan site - Paris itself was a Roman city - and a pious and holy man named Denis was sent with his two faithful companions Rusticus and Eleutherius to convert everyone to Christianity. He was having such good success that the local druidic priests decided he had to go, so they chopped off his head on the top of the Mount of Mars but did that stop Denis? Heck no way! He promptly picked up his head and walked seven miles preaching the gospel the entire way, so now he is Saint Denis - the patron saint of France. The hill's name was Christianised to Montmartre, or hill of the martyrs, and later gave it's name to the entire local area.

The basilica of Sacre Coeur was begun in 1875 and it's history is interesting as well. In 1871, a group of local, working class leaders known as the Paris Commune, took control of the city and ruled it for two months. The first insurrection by the communards occurred in Montmartre, they executed the Archbishop of Paris there, and many of them died when they retreated into the hill's disused gypsum mines and the Army of Versailles collapsed the openings with explosives. In 1873, the National Assembly declared that a church would be built on the Montmartre hill to "expiate the crimes of the communards." This is, I think, a depressing reason to build a church, so now it's dedicated to those who fought and died in the Franco-Prussian War, which was a major factor behind the discontent of the working class and the rise of the Paris Commune.
This is a fantastically beautiful building, whatever it's reason for being built. The name Sacre Coeur means Sacred Heart - more specifically, it is named for the sacred heart of Jesus. A man named Joseph-Hippolyte Guibert, the successor to the Archbishop killed by the communards, had a vision while climbing the Montmartre butte in 1872 and declared, "It is here, it is here where the martyrs are, it is here that the Sacred Heart must reign so that it can beckon all to come." And beckon it does, but mostly to tourists, the rest of Paris is happy to go "unbeckoned", as it were.

There was a service in progress when we went inside the church (the nuns were singing so beautifully - I could have sat happily listening to them all morning) so we quietly made our way around the interior to see what was there was to see. A small shop was selling nativities, and I seriously considered them for a time, but the view from the top of the church beckoned so we headed back outside to pay a small fee and climb a bazillion winding stairs. When we got out of the first claustrophobia-inducing stairwell we walked across one of the lower roofs to another stairwell. This is the view from the lower roof:That happy blue sky makes me smile every time I see it - it was the best weather we had while in France. We plunged back into another stairwell and all the dizziness of hundreds of stairs in a steep spiral became worth it because, despite the claims of the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur has the best view of Paris.

The city is an amazing maze of white stone buildings and is beautiful from an elevated position (not so much from up close).

The thick stone walls between me and a hideous plunge to my death helped keep my vertigo at bay.

My fascination with the Eiffel Tower continues...

I loved the gargoyles hanging from the rooftops of Sacre Coeur.

As soon as we had looked our fill, we bid farewell to the wonderful view of Paris and descended to terra firma. As we headed down the steps I thought to myself, "I didn't notice that statue on the way up!" I pointed it out to my father and he got all excited. He recognized what I did not - the statue was a man holding really still. He had seen the same thing when he and Mom went to Madrid to visit the temple there. Actors would dress up in unique costumes and be still as statues until you tossed some money in their cup - then they would move and emote or whatever. It was kinda like those horsey rides in Wal-Mart that move when you put in 50 cents, only this was way cooler. Here is dad and the white "statue." He was really fun and I wondered if he was supposed to be a ghostly Catholic priest or something. It did kinda look like he was giving out blessings or something.

The second guy looked cool, but all he did was bow when you put money in his cup. He was getting seriously upstaged by the white ghostly priest statue man...or whatever he was.

We walked down the hill and headed for the metro and our next of four stops for the day...Notre Dame.

"She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain."

I love that quote! It's by Louisa May Alcott, who wrote Little Women, which is a very good book, by the way. I have so much to say today and I am so glad for this little forum called my blog, and I'm glad to be back on the world-wide web because we've had computer woes since last Friday. It's a terrible thing to be cut off from all the information that the internet has to offer...especially when one is trying to find pictures and facts about king cobras to help a little second grader make a cool poster for school AND when one is preparing for a cub scout den meeting. Computers are crucial in these instances!! So, back to books. I have read the most wonderful books lately and I thought I would share. I am a firm believer that a book should help you think about life differently by presenting a scenario that you can place yourself in and, along with the main character, learn from. If a book teaches you nothing, and only stimulates your senses, IT ISN'T WORTH READING!! Good books "turn our brains" and open our eyes and expand our view.

The Truth About Sparrows is a gentle and simply, yet beautifully written book. It is told from the perspective of a twelve year old girl named Sadie and speaks about family, a self-worth, compassion for others, embracing new things, living up to one's potential, and learning what is of real value in life. When I read the small snippet of prose on the back of the book I knew I had to read the story because that one paragraph was so well written! This is a wonderful book!




This story is set in the early 1900's and chronicles the real-life journey of a young woman into the Canadian wilderness. I simply marveled at the experiences she had and the way of life she embraced. I'll never look at mosquitoes the same way again! Ack!! I laughed and cried my way through this book and hugged my children tight at the end, it is a simply wonderful story.






The Graveyard Book begins with a murder, which is quite an eye-popping and disturbing way to start, but the book is about death, so it is also appropriate - just beware. The story is about a boy called "Nobody Owens" who is orphaned by the aforementioned murder and is raised by ghosts in an old graveyard. The young boy grows from toddler to teen in the course of the book, learning life's lessons from the dead and coming to realize his own strengths, weaknesses, and the power to be found in living a full life. It is clever and a bit melancholy and turns modern ghost stories on their ears. The book also has the reader consider death (which I don't think we like to do) and whether or not death is the end of all things or the start of something else.

I love, Loved, LOVED this story. It grabbed me right from the beginning. What a clever and funny and imaginative book! The characters are so interesting and their is someone for everyone to identify with: straight arrow Kendra, fearless and mischievous Seth, talented and mysterious Lena, honest and hardworking Dale, competent and straightforward Grandma Sorenson, and fair minded Grandpa Sorenson. This is not only an entertaining story, but a moral story as well, one which could provide lots of opportunities to talk to other readers (including kids!) about gospel principles such as agency, obedience, justice and mercy, truthfulness, and integrity.



Hooray for good literature! If you read any of these, let me know what you think and thanks to all those who put these books in my path.

"You will return home through arches of triumph".

So said Napoleon Bonaparte to his Grande Armee after their victory at the Battle of Austerlitz. He commissioned an arch for them to march under, based on the Arch of Titus in Rome, only bigger (cuz Napoleon wanted everything connected with him to be bigger and better...including himself). The Arc de Triomphe, as it came to be called, was commissioned in 1806 and finished in 1836, long after Napoleon was ousted and exiled to the island of Elba in 1814, returned to power in 1815, was defeated at Waterloo in 1815 and exiled again - this time to St. Helena, and finally died on 5 May 1821. (Whew!) The names of 128 battles of the first French Republic and Napoleon's Empire are written on the walls under the vault, together with the names of the generals who took part in them. Also located under the arch is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, interred in 1920 in memory of those who died during the first world war, but also now representing the soldiers of World War II as well. An eternal flame burns at the site of the grave.We used the fabulous metro to go everywhere in Paris (after we ditched the car at the Alamo station that is) and the stop for the Arc de Triomphe drops you off at the perfect spot - go up the stairs, turn around, and there it is!

I was puzzled at first about how to get to the arch. I mean, it is in the center of a rond-point, or roundabout, that spins off to twelve different streets, like the spokes on a wheel. I figured trying to cross the street would mean certain death, but I really wanted to see the arch up close, so I was considering this special form of tourist suicide when we found the tunnel that goes under the rond-point and up to the arch. Hooray! The detail on the arch with all its different sculptures and friezes is amazing.

The eternal flame at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

The Arc de Triomphe is at the head of the Champs-Elysees, so instead of hopping back on the metro, we walked the length of that famous avenue gaucking at the finery in all the stores. We passed names like Cartier, Louis Vitton, Chanel, Christian Dior, and Yves Saint Laurent. I'm not much of a fashionista, but even I couldn't help drooling over the cashmere scarves, shiny boots, glittering diamonds, and elegant clothes. Dad laughed at us and exclaimed, "I can't imagine why you all are staring at things you'll never be able to afford." I gleefully parroted that back to him when he became glued to the window of a car show...













We continued all the way down the Champs-Elysees until we reached the Place de la Concorde and the Luxor Obelisk. I snapped pictures and couldn't help but think of The Da Vinci Code...oh well.

We also got our first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.
With our feet tired and sore we found our way to the nearest metro station and went home to collapse.

Test Kitchen Tuesday - What's wrong with a mushroom or two?

I found a recipe on Hot off the Garlic Press that I just had to try. The pictures looked so scrumptious but I was left with a problem. The dish was Beef Fillet with Gratin of Mushrooms and Chad doesn't like mushrooms, but I do. My spouse's taste preferences shape what kind of food I make to a great degree. He is very good, however, to at least try new dishes - but I know that some things are just persona non grata with him, like mushrooms. I figured I could get away with this dinner, though, because it's a big fat steak topped with a golden, crispy crust of mushrooms and cream. If he really didn't like it, he could always *SOB - SNIFF* scrape if off. Well, he didn't like it, but I loved it.
Beef Fillet with Gratin of Mushrooms

1 shallot, finely chopped (can use 1/4 of an onion)
1 garlic clove, crushed
4 T. olive oil
7 oz. mixed mushrooms (whatever you like - I used baby bellas and regular ole buttons)
2 T. chives, finely chopped
4 T. heavy cream (can use whipping cream)
1 large egg yolk
4 fillet steaks, about 6 to 7 ounces and 4cm thick (do the best you can or find something thinner and adjust the cooking time)
3 T. freshly grated Parmesan

Preheat oven to 400 F. Prepare the topping by gently sautéing the shallot and garlic in 1 tablespoon of olive oil for about 5 minutes until nicely softened. Add a further 2 tablespoons of olive oil and sauté the mushrooms over a high heat, stirring frequently, for about 7 minutes until browned and cooked. The mixture should be quite dry. If necessary, tip it into a sieve to drain off any remaining liquid.

Remove the garlic clove and transfer the mushrooms to a bowl, allow to cool. Whip the cream until softly stiff. Fold in the mushrooms along with the egg yolk, chives and a tablespoon of the grated Parmesan, then season with salt and pepper. Set aside.

Season the steaks all over with salt and pepper. Heat a large non-stick frying pan until you can feel a strong heat rising. Sear the steaks for about 4 -6 minutes per side (if using steaks 4 inches thick).

Remove from the pan. Put the steaks on a shallow baking tray. Pile the mushroom mixture on top of the steaks and dust with the remaining Parmesan. Cook in the oven uncovered, for about 5-7 minutes until the topping is bubbling and golden. (I put them under the broiler for a bit to get the look I wanted.)

YUM!

I DID IT!!

I just want to announce to the world that I FINISHED reading the Old Testament. In the end it took me a lot longer than I had originally planned, but that was because I was actually studying, and because I was studying, I learned a lot and my love of the Old Testament has expanded so much. I'm so grateful it is our course of study for Gospel Doctrine this year. I want to share a quick thing that I learned on my last day of study, when I read Malachi chapters 3 & 4. Malachi 3 is famous for it's verses on tithing. Whenever anyone teaches the principle of tithing, they quote Malachi 3:8-12 and bring out the temporal blessings that we receive for our obedience to this law. Children or posterity are often referred to as "fruit" in the scriptures and, with that thought in mind, verse 11 took on a new significance for me. "And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground; neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the field, saith the Lord of hosts." The "devourer" is most often seen as natural calamities, but can also be Satan, so our obedience to the law of tithing will protect our children from the power of the adversary. They will learn the importance of keeping our covenants because they see US do it, they will know the blessings that come from tithing because they will hear US testify of it, and they will be strengthened because of OUR example. Isn't it great?! I love, Love, LOVE the Old Testament!!

Test Kitchen Tuesday: "That's exactly how they make goose liver pate!"

I have been making many a mystery dinner/dessert/snack, but have forgotten to take pictures for a lot of them. :( I decided instead that for my neglected test kitchen I would highlight the four course French meal my family and I enjoyed on our trip to France. It was delightful! The Chateau Brou had a gorgeous and fancy dining area with a more private alcove that was set up just for us.
Our server was a tiny, charming, smartly dressed, young French mademoiselle who was quick to catch a joke and make one too. She recommended that we choose from the ala carte menu so we all chose those things we thought we'd like best. We were first served a tiny dish of cold tomato soup that was delicious, as well as an assortment of bread and toppings. Next came salad for everyone and foie gras for me. I like to be an adventurous eater (within reason) and I have to admit that I was wildly curious about the foie gras. You see it everywhere in France - it is sold in the gourmet food shops in the airport, it is prominently featured in the grocery stores, and in every touristy place you go, someone is selling foie gras. I'm sure you are dying to know what foie gras is by now, so here it is...goose liver. Mostly, foie gras is sold as a pate, but at a resturant you can get your goose liver without the squish. I asked the waitress what her favorite first course was and she promptly declared foie gras so that sealed it - my adventure was about to begin. While everyone else ate salad...
I tucked into this divine looking dish...Isn't the presentation amazing?! More importantly, it was actually really good. And that is a BIG compliment coming from the girl who used to drown her liver dinner in ketchup. The foie gras was served on grapefruit segments, which gave the dish a tangy-sweet undertone and all the sauces were wonderful. I could definintely see why foie gras is so popular in France and why PETA will never succeed in inducing people not to eat it. (The geese are force fed large amounts of feed to make their livers grow larger...it sounds awful but you can watch it on YouTube and see that it takes about five seconds and that the geese just look confused when it is over...yeah, yeah, I'm justifying my delicious meal.)

Main Course:
The main course options were fish, duck, or beef. I chose duck, again - adventurous me - I'd never had duck, and I wasn't disappointed in my choice. It was excellent and served in a broth with vegetables. Yummy!

In what will be a moment of supreme amazement for many, I will confess that I actually opted for the CHEESE COURSE. (I'm so brave.)
Served on a chilly piece of slate, the cheese course included a tangy salad of wild greens and sweet bread topped with goat cheese. I have to admit that I didn't eat all the cheese, but I DID scrape a thin layer over my bread and enjoyed it. I felt very French...eating cheese and all.

Finally, we had dessert. There was chocolate cake, apricot crumble, and rhubarb flambe! Of course, the idea of a flaming dessert had me all excited so I ordered it. It was delicious, but to my disappointment, they lit it on fire in the kitchen. Still, it was good and I loved all the crispy sugar carmalized on top.

We spent about three hours eating and I loved every minute of it. The conversation was excellent, the food was perfect, the setting was lovely, and I felt so lucky. When we were finished we waddled out...
and I spent the rest of the evening here:

What is a chateau??

Did anyone other than me always assume that a chateau was some kind of nice French country manor? A little bit fancy? A little bit quaint? A whole lot charming? Forget that! A chateau is a miniature castle and some of them are full on castles. The places are nutty and enormous. They scream, "I'm the lord of all I see...bow down to me French peasants!" I understand not a few of them were torched during the French Revolution - I wonder why?

The Chateau de la Rochefoucauld is a monster, a beautiful, beautiful monster. It was so easy to stand on the sloping green lawn and imagine begowned (I just made that word up) and bejeweled ladies strolling the grounds in powdered wigs and tiny hats, being attended to by fussy servants, and crushing simmering peasants beneath their heels.

I snapped a picture of everyone (note all the stylish hats) coming through the gate and up the path to the front door. The gate house was part of a much larger building...

the STABLES! Now that is one fancy horse house!! The stable of the Chateau de la Rochefoucauld could have easily held my house, and my sister Heather's house, and my parents house, and half my neighborhood. Good grief!

Here is a side view of the chateau. The ruined part in the center is actually the "keep" and is the oldest part of the building. Our understanding was that they were trying or wanted to rebuild it.

This is as close as we came to going inside. That is my one regret from the trip...I wish we would have toured the chateaus that we stopped to see. If we HAD gone inside, we would have seen a Gothic chapel, a guard's room, furnished bedrooms, a library, and the boudoir of Marguerite de Valois who was Queen of France and Navarre in the 16th century. Okay, so that got me wondering...what exactly is a boudoir? Well, it is a lady's bedroom, sitting room or dressing room and the word is derived from the French bouder, which means "to pout". Do women pout in their bedrooms? What is that all about?

Our next stop was the Chateau de Langeais, another castle/chateau that stood in the heart of Indre-et-Loire. We were walking along cobblestone streets, past charming shops, and then BAM - there it was. (Sorry, I think I just had an Emeril Lagasse moment.) It was originally built as a fortress in the 10th century by Foulques Nerra, the Black Count of Anjou (he was a really bad man - one of those raping, pillaging, burning type guys who also built two abbies and made pilgrimages to the Holy Land - freaky religious zealots are the worst!). The chateau was expanded by Richard I of England (a.k.a. Richard the Lionhearted) and later destroyed in the Hundred Years' War. King Louis XI rebuilt it in 1465, and the wedding of Anne of Brittany and King Charles VIII occurred there on December 6, 1491. I'm not much for wax figures and such but the wedding scene is recreated within the chateau and it would have been neat to see.

These gardens are part of the Chateau de Langeais' grounds...and are all fortified - of course. You never know when someone might try and take you out while you're enjoying an afternoon stroll.

In the background of this picture you can see a wall. The wall is actually part of the ruins of a donjon, or keep, which served as the dungeon. (OHHH! Donjon...Dungeon - wink!) This ruined wall is all that is left of the Black Count of Anjou's original fortress. The chateau's caretakers have set up a wooden walkway behind the wall where you can climb up and look through the windows. Sweet, eh?

Did I say we didn't go into any of the chateaus? I said that, but it's not an entirely true statement because we DID go into one...the Chateau de Brou. We, uh, actually stayed there! OVERNIGHT!! HA! Mom and Dad were really starting to hustle us along as the day stretched on. We ended up driving on all these back roads and through tiny towns that passed in a blink as we rushed by. Finally Dad pulled over to ask directions (all in a very hush-hush manner, but we couldn't have known what they were saying anyway since the entire conversation occurred in rapid-fire French) and this quintessential young French man with a hand rolled cigarette behind his ear hopped into his car and led us to where we needed to be. Dad drove down increasingly narrower roads until we pulled up to a big iron gate. Another indecipherable conversation ensued between dad and the intercom, the only part I caught was "la famille de Metcalfe", and then the gate swung wide and we drove into a forest. I'm not kidding, it was a forest, the woods, whatever you want to call it, complete with wild boar. We crept along the path feeling like we'd stepped back in time, when all of a sudden there was a break in the trees and we saw this:Of course, there was lots of girlie shrieking when we realized this was a super fancy B&B where my parents had rented four rooms and made reservations for a to die for, honest-to-goodness, four-course French dinner (more on that later). We admired the building in the rosy and quickly fading afternoon light...

walked in...and made ourselves at home. I found that my sweet parents, knowing that I am nutty about turrets, had reserved the Joan of Arc turret room for me. Jaime and squish-face Chase were my roomies. Here's mom and Chase hanging out in my room:

And here's me hanging with Joan.I still can't believe we stayed in a chateau and I stayed in the turret room...it was so much fun!

The Nap Time Bandit Strikes Again!

HA HA HA HA HA!!
He was curled up on his seat and snoring so loud I could hear him downstairs.