i had wanted to introduce 2 moms, who were both working on documentaries. i heard of other parents at the school who were involved in the film business, so i decided to organize a coffee. i called it the “anglophone film biz” cafe. it was fabulous – very interesting people. everyone got along great, made connections. film people are fun.
today was also the last day of work. it was supposed to be 3 months and it turned out to be 5 weeks. we finished our part of the short film and the other commercials didn’t come in. they said they hope to have more work in january.
i had been thinking of hosting thanksgiving for some american “orphans” over here in paris. was trying to decide whether to do it on thanksgiving day itself , a school night, since we have no days off here, or the friday or the saturday. we then got an invitation to dinner from one of p’s colleagues for the saturday. i was still hemming and hawing when the school-mom-fun group announced a potluck for the friday and it was to take place in an apartment on the exclusive ile st louis (one of the 2 islands in the very center of paris). i couldn’t pass that one up! so we were left with the thursday. the other new american families were already talking about thanksgiving together, so i offered to do it at our apt. a friend told me that the butcher could rotisserie the turkey. sounded perfect and much easier. all i’d have to do then was a few side courses.
there would be 11 people, but only 5 adults eating meat and 5 kids. the web recommended 1 pound of turkey per person. i converted that to kilos and went to order it. i had grown to appreciate the butcher near our old apartment 2 metro stops away. i went there to order the turkey. the lady asked how many people would there be. it was so complicated with the vegetarian and the kids counting more like a half person. i just told her the weight i wanted. her eyes widened. she did not write down the number in the order book. she just wrote “une belle” – meaning “a beauty”. you know how “everything’s bigger in america”. i figured that the french were not used to the american “plenty”. apparently, the size i requested was off the charts and they would get the biggest one they could find. i gave her a deposit and walked out the door and was at the stairs of the metro when i realized that i had made a mistake. instead of using the correct conversion of pounds to kilos, i had used the formula for converting miles to kilometers and ordered way too much turkey. not that it wasn’t a typical size for an american turkey, but it was way too much for us. i ran back in to correct it and she nodded a knowing nod uttering the typical parisian “ bah, oui...”
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