Tuesday, April 6, 2010


So, en fait, I'm home. During the past week I've been experiencing a bit of culture shock, adjusting from 2 hours spent over an espresso back to watching my dad eat a bagel in under 2 minutes flat... in a car. Quel horror! After watching mildly depressing television shows (Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution reinforces everything I wish food, or food-like substances, were not), anxious and pushy drivers tailgating my every move to and from, and mostly to, the slow lane, and the constant blaring of bass-ed out music around every street corner... I remember that I am, after all home. After realizing how much I loathe some things about the states, I remember how much I love some things about being home. Some of mon petits triumphs:

I visited the Fruit Bowl, our answer to local bakery slash veggie/fruit center, and returned home with fresh backyard eggs and ciabatta. The eggs were even better than the ones I love so in Paris.... the bread on the other hand my friends... is a different story...

An amazing dinner with my couzzles at their house, cooking and laughing together, and making fun of... in the best of ways... the frenchies and our fellow statesmen. They always give me hope for Americans.

Asparagus Season!

I can order something at a restaurant, voice concerns, problems, or stupid ramblings without practicing to myself beforehand looking like some kind of psychopath on the street. French is beautiful, but god its nice to be back.

Sun. Espresso. Back Patio. Enough. Said.

Morning Routine. Plus Yoga. Heaven.

After lunching, my mom and I stopped in at the post office to grab some stamps. Momentarily preoccupied by a 6 year old-ish child crawling all over the extremely well kept floor, our attention was re-directed to the cock-a-doodle-doos coming from the backroom. The lady in front of us dismissed it as a ringtone. Well, I know better. Welcome back.

Sacramento Co-op. Id like the frenchies show me a place they have teff, quinoa, buckwheat, amaranth, and four types of wheat flour in one store... in bulk. Now thats what I call my oh la la.

Et plus.... mon famille et mes amies. The best dans le monde... with no bias whatsoever.


Driving home the other night, upon returning to the driveway that has welcomed me back home for the past 20-ish years of my life, I thought about how many different stages of Stephanie Stein that driveway has seen. Its been there there, time and time again, not judging, not laughing, not crying, just being there to welcome me back. I thought about the different ways I had entered this driveway in the past and how telling it has been of my different selves over the years. As a passenger for most of my life, taking in my surroundings, actually listening and absorbing each word my parents told me.... As a teenager whipping ferociously into the driveway when my parents told me to slow down... As a college student, not even realizing where I was, and now just being grateful that its been there, and stayed put through all these years. I know... I just moved from Paris back to Stockton, but theres something about that driveway. that means to my home that no place on Earth could ever replicate.... even if their are gunshots as a backdrop.

My home, just another one of the many journeys I find on the road.


-San Fran with the lovely Xtina
-Farmers Market
-Lunch with my old Frenchie teach. Can't wait for that great look of disappointment when my first "Bonjour", avec un accent tres americain, slips out.
-Pool. Sun. Burning. Shade.
-People apparently want to join me in the above activities.... awaiting visits... wifey, KK the Great, et Michy... A tres bientot...

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