Frida’s Favorite F-words

Bonjour! As 2008 fades into the annals of history and 2009 is ushered in with colorful confetti, hiccup-inducing bubbly, midnight kisses and the famous ball dropping in Times Square, it’s easy to feel like little pieces of the sky are falling with it.

Since it’s New Year’s Eve, we could prattle on about resolutions, no-interest payments until 2010, or the Inauguration, but I think those angles will get coverage-exhausticus.

Let’s talk about something new and fresh, such as politely reminding all you holiday decorators out there to please throw away your Halloween pumpkins, for crying out loud! Moldy jack o’lanterns and December wreaths don’t go together. FYI: rotting orange and mildew drab are not the new red and green. And while we’re on the subject of things past their expiration dates, the election is over people, so you can remove those decomposing campaign signs. Sheesh.

What else to discuss - weight loss, the economic forecast, global cooling? Nah, too bloody depressing. Oh, I know, how about satan? I saw a man at the Holiday Market in a T-shirt bearing the message, “Everybody is satan to someone.”

Thank goodness I was wearing my John Fluevog boots, made for stomping out evil (yes, they are actually “satan resistant”), because Boogie monsters from my past momentarily loomed large as I nodded in agreement with the cotton billboard’s sentiment and gave a sinister snortle. “Sure are,” I mumbled to myself, quickly running through my highly prized list of grievances.

Even though I wake up at the crack of Don every morning (private joke unless you worked it out that I have a bird’s eye view of a human thusly named), this one dawned slowly over Frida County. Who did his T-shirt say satan was again? Everybody to somebody? What in the blazes does that mean?

If by “everybody,” that includes moi, I think the T-shirt is sadly mistaken. I could not possibly be a satan or even one of his little elves to anyone. Well, there was that one time. Crikey, I just thought of something else. Ooh, and that was naughty, too.

As I began to think of the few unkindish words I’ve softly uttered, the discernment I’ve exercised, grudges I’ve gently nurtured, it occurred to me that the casually worn slogan might be a fair assessment after all. It’s easy to recall the injustices done to us, but it takes a bit more effort to acknowledge the ways in which we’ve played the Villain in other people’s dramas.

So with the New Year in the forefront of our minds, let’s make a group resolution that we blah de blah flowery rainbows fairies and Kumbaya. Ha, you thought I was going to get all sentimental, maudlin and preachy, didn’t you?

Pssst, when it comes to our mistakes, may I suggest allowing bygones be bygones? What say we let ourselves off the hook? Let’s put all unpleasant emotional sensations behind us, let it go, man, no need to hold on, history is history, what’s done is finished, am I right?

In the spirit of forgetting the past and moving forward, let’s frolic through a few of Frida’s favorite F-words. Fluevogs? Absolutely. I’m a proud wearer. Forgiveness? Yep, we can check that off our list. How about all things frenchy, food and fashion? Oui, fa and la.

Now that my appetite is whetted and I’m in a très good mood, I must wax poetic about friendship. Years ago, when I met my bon ami, Christine La Bean for the first time, she introduced herself as being “emotionally French.” She described liberating her mother’s shower cap, placing it on her head at a jaunty angle and pretending she was wearing a beret in her make-believe Paris.

Christine La Bean never made it to Paris before she died. Drats. There are many of us out there missing loved ones, or frustrated at times by the ones still around. Too bad there’s not a celestial swap meet we could go to once a year, say on New Year’s Eve, where we could make a deal on our satans in exchange for the angels who have already passed. “I’ll trade you two sotted uncles for one slightly used Grandma.” Oh, don't act so shocked, you know what I'm talking about. Wait a minute, what if somebody invites us to the swap meet?!

One final F-note before Auld Lang Syne: Food. Props to Fleur De Lis, a Patisserie & Café in Cottage Grove, Oregon for their Quiche Lorraine, Fraisier (strawberry pastry) and Mexican mocha (mai, bien sur) and beautiful mural of Notre Dame. On this magical day, while stuffing our faces, it was easy to imagine sitting at an outdoor café and staring at the Seine. Planting a seed in the ethers of visualization.

To feed and water this seedling, Chakra Mom (a former French teacher and foodie tour group leader to Provence), cooked us Poulet en croute and Bûche de Nöel. Merci beaucoup.

Even so, Chicken Little, whether wearing polished horns, a rusty halo, or a plastic shower cap beret, Bonne Annee!