France yada yada

After a brief interlude from posting about our France trip, I've finally made the time to finish up sharing the highlights of our trip. This and one more post should do it!

Day 7
Today is Sunday, and after the exhausting day we had yesterday, we decide to stay close to the hotel. We start off the day with a trip to Isle Sur La Sorgue’s locally famous market—on Sunday practically the entire town is overrun with street vendors selling everything from spices to fruits to dresses to paintings. Amber bought a summer dress, along with our hummus, some amazing peaches, and a couple cold drinks (a rarity in France, especially if you don’t want to pay double the price).

After our time in the market, we went back to the room and swam in the hotel pool, did some laundry, took a nap, and entertained ourselves by watching Emerson run around the room.

In the evening, its back out on the town to get a good dinner (as long as Emerson can make it through the meal without crashing…). Since most places don’t open until 7:30 (the French eat late!), we went to the park and started dinner off with an ice cream cone :). And once again, Emerson was entertaining the locals, stole an older kids soccer ball, and all and all made us laugh out loud on a regular basis.

For dinner, we had a bottle of rosé wine (which is popular in the Provence region), along with our meals: mine was melon and slices of meat for my entrée and filet mignon and French fries for the plat, while Amber had escargot and salmon. Emerson was so thirsty when we first sat down that he immediately pointed at my glass of wine and was asking for it. Me thinking he wouldn't like it after the initial sip, let him try it only to have him start chugging it down! Sad to say, Emerson just couldn’t sit still and was really tired, so one of us wound up walking around town with him while the other ate dinner.

Day 8
This morning, we checked out of our hotel and are slated to drive a rental car to Les Baux in the evening. Before getting the car (let’s not even talk about how much it cost to have it for just one day!!!), we walked around Avignon to see the famous sites—the Palace of the Popes and St Benezet Bridge most of all. If you look at some of our photos from Avignon, you’ll see tons of posters hung up everywhere. That’s because we were in Avignon during the time of their famous theatre festival they’ve been having for over sixty years that attracts an extra 100,000 people to the city.

In the rental car, after our sleep deprived son had finally fallen asleep and I had figured out how to get out of the city, we were off to the Dentelles de Montmirail mountain region (not without stopping in a little tiny town to ask for directions!) where the air is electricfied with the sound of cicadas (its so loud I thought something was wrong with our rental car) We visited some wineries that were in the middle of nowhere but well worth the trip. The little Chevy Spark (a car so small you won’t find in the States!) we rented had a rough time getting up the mountainside, but it was fun driving the 5-speed manual through the winding roads. The scenery was fantastic and the wine lovely (and cheap!), both of which reminded us of the Tuscany region in Italy.

Now, it was off to find Les Baux (again, I only had to stop and ask for directions once!), a little town on the top of a hill in the Alpilles mountains that was once a powerful defensive location in the middle ages (and long before then actually). There, we stayed in a little B&B and found a nice little (and quiet) restaurant to try out some more French cuisine. Nothing really notable to mention here but it was at this moment that it occurred to us that Emerson had lived off of little more than the inside of French baguettes for a week!

More Stories From France

Day 5
Before leaving Carcassone, we visited a local park, which gave Emerson ample time to expend some of his pent up energy (I never realized stopping at so many parks would become a necessary part of my vacation...). Thankfully, after lots of running around and lots of pushing him in his strollers, he finally fell asleep (and we were able to just carry his stroller right on the train and leave him in it).

Then we spent most of the day on a very long train trip to Avignon. We got there two hours later than expected, as there was fire on the tracks (in southern France, it rains on average only one day during the entire month of July). Alas, it gave Emerson more time to flirt with the other passengers. Once to Avignon, another short train to L'Isle Sur La Sorgue, a beautiful little town with shallow clear streams of water flowing all around it and dozens of water mills. First stop after checking into the hotel: the local bakery. Not a bad dinner. We ate in a local park that gave Emerson the space to run around (again). Then we walked around town a bit and Emerson got his first kiss - from an older French gal that had a fancy for him!

Honestly, this was the first of many cultural encounters that we had that simply would not have happened had we not taken Emerson with us. Traveling with a toddler is a tiring, extra complicated experience, but it most certainly opened opportunities for us to engage with the locals in ways we never would have expected. On numerous occasions, little children just walked right up to Emerson and started chatting with him. In fact, by the end of the trip, he was mimicking the French accent and trying to talk like them!

And now a brief interlude to display the many faces of Emerson Jude:

Day 6
Today totally did not turn out as I had planned it. For starters it was just way too hot (mid 90s). We went to Pont du Gard, the remains of an ancient Roman aqueduct, and Emerson fell asleep 5 minutes before our bus arrived. Then he totally flipped out after he fell headlong into the stream we were wading in. We headed back to the bus stop to make our way to Nimes only to watch the bus roundabout just in front of our stop and drive away. Needless to say, we were not the only ones stranded and wound up calling a taxi and splitting the costs with another couple who happened to get Phds from Indiana State University.

At Nimes, hungry and exhausted, we quickly search for some grub. Our first stop: a strawberry slushie. The lady explained to us (in French but with very descriptive hand gestures) that if we were going to feed the baby (“bebe”) any of it, to use the spoon part at the end of the straw and just give him little amounts so he wouldn’t get a “slurpee tumor” (at least that’s what we called them growing up). Amber and I didn’t think anything of it until both of us got headaches from drinking it too fast! After lunch, we had just enough energy (and time) to take tour of the Arena (like the Coliseum in Rome but far more preserved-they actually had it set up for a bunch of summer concerts.

With all of us exhausted, and Emerson not having had a long enough nap, it was back to the train station - one to Avignon and another to Isle Sur La Sorgue. Knowing a nice sit down dinner wouldn't be possible tonight, we picked up a few things from a grocery store and a sandwich shop. Bought a bottle of Cotes de Rhone red wine and asked the clerk if he had a corkscrew, his friend standing by told us we could stop by his shop down the street and he'd help us out--opened up shop just to open our wine bottle! At the sandwich shop, I ordered a "French original" which turned out to be a Philly steak sub with fries on top of it... Flew around the world just so I could eat at a place like Pittsburgh’s Primanti's!

Once back in the room, Emerson was now full of energy and running around like a madman. At one moment, he grunted and kind of hunched over (a telltale sign), said "oops," and then put his hand over his mouth and nose to say "P-ewww." Then when I shut off the light and said "night night," he sprinted around the bed and flipped on Amber's bedside lamp that she had shown him how to turn on not ten minutes earlier.

Finally, with the kid asleep and a half bottle of wine remaining, Amber and I are flipping between the FIFA world cup and some French reality show akin to America’s Fear Factor.

French Diaries pt. Deux

Day 3
Had a good conversation with two other conference participants on the bus from Ireland and Hong Kong. Actually, today had fewer presentations so a lot of my time was spent chatting and networking(largely on behalf of the Duquesne Press where I work).

I often find myself uncomfortable at these things, as if being on the outside looking in. It's not that people are unfriendly (NALS is far better than SPEP), but more so that the people who have spent a long time and work on Levinas and making him a prominent thinker in continental philosophy in the US have been doing it for quite some time back when it was just a few of them, and therefore, are closely knit.It could of course have to do with the fact that they just don't have the time to give to every single person-especially not when these society meetings are almost like class reunions-not to mention that one does not gain any notoriety in academia until one has published a book.

Nevertheless I'm grateful for those young professors who are willing to associate with us grad students (that NALS doesn't separate the presentations helps lessen the rift but the gulf still persists).

Tonight, I had a wonderful French with nine other participants representing the US, Canada, Bulgaria, Switzerland, and the UK. A number of them knew French so I didn't really have to work to get my order. Regardless, around the table of good food and French wine-and a Spain victory over Germany being monitored inthe background-we conversed and shared our lives with one another. Actually, one of the individuals from Canada had very similar interests as myself, and, it turns out, had published an article that I had found immensely helpful a couple years back.

Day 4
Amber and Emerson get to Toulouse. The buses I plan to take end up taking longer than I planned so I got to the airport late. Amber is on the verge of tears-I'm late, she's spent the whole night on a plane with Emerson on her own, and she can't find her bag (thankfully we found it before we left). Given the fact that I knew how short Amber's layovers were, I'm just glad she made it on all the flights! Emerson actually slept some on the plane, but he's still in a complete daze. I think he's a bit surprised to see Dad in this strange, new place, given that he hasn't seen him in a few days (he cried when I got out of the car at the airport!).

We went straight from the airport to the train station and booked tickets to Carcassone - a well-maintained medieval city with magnificient walls (and was the set for Robin Hood:Prince of Thieves, which makes for two Costner sets I've visited this summer). After settling into our room at the Abbey (which was quite nice), I went on a hunt for diapers.... A rather long hunt. At least it provided Emerson a chance to take a nap. Afterward, it was out to the castle and one a amazing meal - mussels covered with a cream sauce, lamb (Amber got duck), and a half carafe of local red wine for about $50. I could learn to like this life! Emerson woke up in the stroller not long before we arrived at the restaurant, so he was full of energy. We were fortunate that another little boy about his age was also there (and there were very few people there when we first got there, as is often the case as American tourists eat so much earlier than the French!), so they were able to run around the outdoor dining area together.

French Diaries

The last couple weeks, I was in Southern France, first for a conference presentation, and then for some vacation with the family. The next few posts will chronicle the highlights of our journey. Enjoy!

Day 1

Sunday afternoon (July 4th), I left for France (which quickly became Monday on the flight). I had two layovers at one hour a piece for my three flight to arrive in Toulouse at 10am and then figure out the public transportation in time to arrive at the university by 2:30 to present my paper. Needless to say, I had been nervous for several days about how close I was cutting it. Add to that, I didn't sleep for the entire flight so I was going about 27 hrs w/o sleep. Then, in Frankfurt I was getting panicky. In my short layover (thankfully our flight got in 20 min late) I had a long process before I could board the next plane. Once off the plane, I had to board a bus, wait for everyone else to board it, and then ride it to the terminal. Next was a bit of a line at passport control, which then forces you out of the security area even if you have another flight. Either way, I still had to get my ticket for the next flight since it was with Lufthansa and for some strange reason US airways (which I rode from Pgh to Charlotte) couldn't print out for me before I left home. After scrambling to find their ticket counter (which was completely electronic) I had to get the machine to finally read my passport before I could go back through security and find my gate. Surprisingly through all this I still got to the gate time to spare so I wandered to find an ATM and get some Euros. On this plane, I am surrounded by businessmen finalizing PowerPoint presentations for meetings and it seems like everyone here owns at least some kind of Apple product.

Once in Toulouse, I took a bus and then a subway to get to the Universitie. Once out of the subway and noticeably bewildered as to which way to go next, a nice elderly French woman led me to where I needed to go (actually all the French I have encountered thus far have been very kind which leads me to believe either belligerent French only live in Paris or they only appear when arrogant Americans show themselves). The paper went quite well (despite my lack of sleep!) and since then I've considered myself on vacation.

I finally went to my quarters for some rest - a dorm that oddly enough is quite far from the school - and well ... Let's say for 20 Euros a night I'm still not sure I got what I paid for! But I can manage no a/c, communal bathrooms, and morning construction right outside my window for a couple nights right?

After a shower and a brief respite it was back out for a special invitation for all the conference speakers for some amazing hors-d'oeuvre and (free!!) champagne with the mayor of Toulouse (who was just as young and reportedly just as dreadfully inexperienced as Pgh's Luke Ravenstahl) at the very beautiful town hall.

Finally, off to sleep.

Day 2
Today was not nearly as hectic. I slept off and on until 8:30 (2:30 Pgh time) and then went to the conference. There was not a whole lot I was interested in today and spent a bit of my time under a tree in the cool breeze reading a book.

After more conference proceedings and chats with other participants from numerous other countries, I went out for dinner with a couple professors from the communications dept at Duq (nice to have some friendly faces around) for my first French meal - and first legitimate meal since leaving Pgh. Oh wow. I ordered a vin rouge ordinaire (red house wine) that was quite tasty. The entree was a selection of meat cuts and sliced French bread (delicieux!), the plat a medium rare piece of steak topped with foie gras (and yes I understand there are a lot of ethical concerns surrounding this French delicacy... But it was soo good just to try it once!), and for dessert a nice offering of tiramisu. Magnifique!

After dinner I decided to head back (to type this report of course) to my room. Who knows why but my 10-trip subway ticket kept getting refused. So I was off to go ask a store clerk to break a 20 euro bill into change (the ticket machine doesn't take bills and wouldn't accept my credit card) - another chance to practice my French. With my handy Rick Steves phrase book, I'm off. "Je voudrais des pieces." said very poorly, the guy says, "only if I have enough." He opens his cash drawer and says he cannot help me. Next try: "Parlez-vous anglais?" A classic response: "No I speak no English." Okay new tactic: "Vous pouvez casser ca? Je voudrais dix billet et des pieces." Success and then my old ticket suddenly decides to work again. Well at least it was good practice!

My How Things Change...and Remain the Same

A lot can happen in a year







































But the Cubs still continue to lose...

Well, at least I finally got a haircut.

Field of Dreams

Yesterday, we went up to Dyersville, IA with Amber's parents to visit the Field of Dreams movie site. I gotta admit, I was happier than a kid in a candy store and even got a little sentimental. Not that I'm a big Kevin Costner fan (who is?), but it's one of my all-time favorite movies of my all-time favorite sport. So, I was ecstatic to get out there and play some ball. On the downside, the corn wasn't very tall at this time of year. Nevertheless, with my Sandberg jersy on, I guess it was appropriate that I played some second base (if the Iowa Cubs had been playing home games this weekend, we would've been in Des Moines instead of Dyersville!), and got a hit as well. Man, I miss baseball...

In Memoriam: Mark Zonneveld

This past weekend, I had the honor of officiating the funeral of a high school friend of mine. In addition to a couple songs and a few wonderful testimonials regarding Mark's life by family members of friends, I was privileged to speak on behalf of Mark and his family, to share some of my own remembrances of Mark, and invite the packed chapel hall to invite God into their suffering. It would be an understatement to say that it was a memorable event--anytime one is involved in a funeral, it is. The bond created between me and Mark's extended family as a result of sharing this day goes beyond words, and as much as the family was so happy to have me there, I am truly grateful to have been asked to perform the service and be a part of such a special (though bittersweet) day.

I began the service with a reading of Psalm 139:1-3, 13-18 (as requested by one of Mark's uncles) and then prayed:

Father God, we are gathered here today, wishing it were under better circumstances, but here to celebrate the life of Mark Zonneveld nonetheless. We lift our eyes up to you, for our help comes from the Maker of heaven and earth. You who neither slumber nor sleeps, look on us with favor today. Help us feel the string of death and be reminded that there is something terribly wrong with this picture. Assure us that it is OK to mourn for our friend and even that it’s OK to smile, and perhaps even laugh, as we remember him. In your Son’s name, Amen.


After a number of people shared memories about Mark and thoughts regarding his death, I read some testimonials of people who could not be at the funeral. Then I spoke:

I want to being by saying that it's an honor and privilege to stand here today and speak on behalf of the Zonneveld family. Mark and I were friends from high school. And though our contact with each other became periodic over the years as we went off to college, moved, and got jobs, he's one of only a handful of individuals in our graduating class I have kept in touch with.

We met on the first day of our freshman year in German class (and since I know there are a number of people in the audience who are fluent in German, I ask that you please not test my knowledge!). I sat down in the back of the room next to an extremely tall (well, compared to me!) but friendly guy. Mark was, as I quickly found out, extremely smart. I found out too that he could be quite stubborn, and when he was, he knew how to be a really good pain in the ass. But he was also kind, sympathetic, and was particularly sensitive to people who had physical restrictions or who didn't quite fit in as a result of his own struggles with epilepsy.

I’m sure we looked like an odd couple given he was literally twice my size, but we hit it off quite well, and for three years we saw each other every day in German class. I’d say we sat right next to each other all those semesters, but if I remember correctly, we got split up at some point because we talked too much in class.

Mark loved trying new things and having fun, and for him it didn’t require having exceptional skill at something to have fun at it. It was Mark who convinced me we should sing some karaoke while we were at the Noah's Ark water park the summer Mark asked me to go along with his family's annual vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. There were were, two high school kids hanging out with a bunch of people much older than us drinking Budweisers. Mark appropriately sang the Beach Boys song, “Fun, Fun, Fun,” while I, not knowing many songs on their playlist, I must embarrassingly admit, sang Garth Brooks's “The Dance.”

Then, there was the spring break just the two of us took a road trip up to Racine, Wisconsin to meet up with some friends of mine. I drove while Mark gladly counted the changes for the tolls around Chicago, and he always swore he counted corectly when the 50 pennies we threw in one toll never made the light turn green. We drove through anyways, but during the entire trip I wondered if cops would show up behind me.

And there was the day, after a fight with his mom and dad, Mark ran out of the house and took a long road trip of his own—the fight had to do with his driving privileges—all the way to the place he used to live in Illinois. On the way back, Mark pit stopped at my house, knowing it was a safe place to talk out loud and vent his frustrations. Of course, he knew at some pont he’d have to return hom and face the warranted disciplinary measures. But for now, he just need a safe place to talk and he knew I wouldn’t rat him out to his parents. We took our anger out on a bunch of pile of wood that needed to be chopped into firewood.

Perhaps my most embarrassing memory with the Zonnevelds was the morning of December 28th, 2003. Why do I know the exact day? Because that was the morning after my wedding night and we just happened to run into each other at the breakfast bar at the Homewood Suites in Lafayette! I assume the Zonnevelds were in town to see people over the holidays but I was too focused in sheepishly hightailing it to the door to remember our conversation!

Over the years, Mark and I often had conversations about God, about the Bible, life, and death. He was brave enough to go with me to church and a myriad of youth group functions. In fact, one summer he went to church camp with me and other kids from my church. One day that week, he and I and his counselor sat down to chat after a chapel service and Mark decided he wanted to commit his life to be a follower of Jesus. One could say that was a decision made at an emotional moment or amidst the pressure of peers and authority figures, but it was also a decision made after nearly four years of conversations Mark and I on the subject.

Now, I do not want to paint a rose-colored picture of religion, as if praying a prayer makes all of one's cares just pass away. Quite the contrary, Mark’s relationship with God was a very difficult relationship—one of struggle—as it was intricately tied to his own struggles in life. Mark wondered why God made him the way he did, why he had to have embarrassing seizures in front of classmates, why he had been made to feel so childish because he wasn’t allowed to do something as minimal as drive a car.

As a result, over the years, long after that church camp decision, one could say that Mark distanced himself from God, wondered if God was even worth believing. I prefer to say that Mark's faith was honest, open, and raw. Mark was human—which is all God asks of us, to be truly human—and he was courageous enough to ask the difficult questions that many of us are afraid to ask. He struggled physically and emotionally in ways that many of us will never have to struggle. And perhaps as a result, his faith—even when it seemed like there was none at all—was more real than the majority of what we call reality in our everyday lives. As one thinker [Thomas Merton] has said, “God may be most present to us when he is absent than when he is present.”

This story may not resemble the Mark you remember—you may not have had such conversations with him. But I think it is an important part of his story and a part that I want to remember. But it is important for me because I sympathize with Mark’s story because I too have often quiestioned God, have called into question my particular religious upbringing, and remain skeptical about many of the claims people often make in the name of God or in the name of religion. But I also resonate with Marks’ struggle with god because I believe it more accurately portrays what this journey of life is all about. Far from those who reduce religion to a crutch for the weak or those who reduce it to a three-step self-help program to obtain personal happiness, the narratives we find in the Bible depict people engaged in struggle and raw honesty. They asked the tough questions. For instance, King David, who penned the words we read earlier, which beautifully depicts how we are “fearfully and wonderfull made” ends this prayer with an honest desire that his enemies would be destroyed. That’s an honest cry from a human who knows there is something wrong with the world.

But what I want to say to you today is that the God I believe in—the God Mark believed in—suffers with those who suffer and weeps with those who weep. As we mourn today, God mourns. And today as we struggle with the all-too-pugent reality of death, God beckons us to seek him who promises to be close to use, who promises that he rewards those who seek him. He asks us to take from him the grace we need to get through this day, and the next day—which may be even harder than today—and the next. And he invites you to start up a conversation with him, even if that conversation starts with, “God, I’m not even sure I believe in you.” God wants you to invite him into your struggles, into your life, to be willing to ask the difficult questions.

I want to end with a benediction. You may recognize it but it is a combination of a couple passages from Scripture. This is may prayer for all of you, but especially for the Zonneveld family:

May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.
And may those who sow in tears reap songs of joy.

We left the chapel listening to "Learn to Laugh," a song I introduced to Mark and afterward became his favorite. It might not have fit the mood, but it certainly was fitting for Mark. For those who attended the service, packets of Mark's favorite Jelly Belly's were available along with packets of sunflower seeds, which were to be planted and once reaching to their full height, would remind people of Mark. Finally, people were able to write messages to Mark on helium balloons which were then let go outside to make their way up into the heavens. I was struck with the powerful symbolism--not of sending a message to Mark up in heaven, but of the significance of the event for the person letting go of the balloon (funerals are always for the living). At this final moment, we have to let go of the one we love, who has gone on ahead, and move forward with our lives.