Death is sweet

“Death is the last station on the road to freedom”. Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer said those words to his friends when he was taken away to be executed, two weeks before the end of the war. He was part of the plot to kill Hitler. I just finished his biography. 

In a sermon written several years before, he talked about death, bringing a perspective we rarely get to hear about.

“No one has yet believed in God and the Kingdom of God, no one has yet heard of the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting  and looking forward to be released from bodily existence. Whether we are young or old, makes no difference. What are 20, 30 or 50 years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal?

Life only really begins when it ends on earth. All that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up. That is for young and old to think alike.  What do we are so afraid when we think about death?

Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible. If only we can be still and hold fast to God’s word, Death is not bitter if we have not become bitter ourselves.

Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild. Death is sweet and gentle. It beckons to us with heavenly power if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of our joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows rather in our human anguish we are shivering at the most glorious heavenly, blessed event in the world! Death is hell and night and cold if it is not transformed by our faith.  But that is just what is so marvelous. - that we can transform death.” 

Christmas Tree 2012

Over the years, Irvin has gathered an impressive collection of Christmas ornaments. A small army of Christmas Trees would be needed to show them all! This year, because we were both so busy, I came back home one night to find a small tree he put up decorated with ornaments he purchased recently at the cultural center in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

And of course, a few additional ones celebrating our family faithful companions. Merry Christmas to all! 

Dear Sugar and the Sister Ship

Sometimes, I consider some choices in my life, and what my days would look like if, for instance, I had not felt led to go to the US for my fourth year when I was a student at the Faculté Protestante de théologie in Paris, or if, a few years before, I had remained a lawyer at the Bar of Pontoise, or at the Council of Medical doctors of the Val d’Oise area…

The lines written by Dear Sugar went straight to my heart. Sugar (writer Cheryl Strayed) writes an advices column in the online magazine Rumpus. A selection was recently published. Those columns are like no others: luminous words, sharing of intimate experiences often described with provocative language, and ultimately pertinent and wise responses.

Answering to a reader wondering if he was ready to be a father, Sugar mentioned a poem written by Swedish Tomas Tranströmer:  “I think of it every time I consider questions about the irrevocable choices we make… Every life, Tranströmer writes, has a sister ship, one that follows quite another route than the one we ended up taking. We want it to be otherwise, but it cannot be: the people we might have been live a different, phantom life than the people we are.”

Sugar mentioned her own choices and concluded “I will never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important, and beautiful, and not ours. It was the ghost ship that did not carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore”. 

Apprehension and Holy Spirit

How will that day go? Who will I meet ? Will a patient die? Which one? Will I be up to it? When I drive to the Hospice house, those questions turn in my mind. On the first days, they were like upset bees, fast and restless. After three months, the bees have slowed down. It is winter time; they go from one place to another, chilled and quiet. In other words I am calmer.

Apprehension is still here but only as a feature in the landscape of my mind, not an overwhelming emotion. I cannot foresee the meetings to come, or get ready for difficult question or unexpected situations. Serenity comes with accepting myself and trusting that I will face whatever is on my way – and that I will not be alone.  

In the heavy binder that we received during orientation, I found this before-visit prayer, written by Chaplain Ray Kelleher:

“Something  important is about to happen to me. Somebody important is waiting for me. I am walking onto Holy Ground, stepping into Sacred Space, going to meet, in a vulnerable human being, the beloved of God. I will be receptive. I do not know what words to say, what thoughts to think, or what actions might be necessary, so I trust in the Holy Spirit, who will guide me from the inside. In that mood of confidence I open the door, to offer my truest and best self in the time that I have.”

There is no other way. I notice that I find myself regularly at the right place at the right moment. I see a patient’s loved one in tears in the hallway just when I come up so I am able to suggest we talk in the little chapel. Another day, I sit down with a husband by the patient’s bedside and he suddenly realizes with a scream that she just passed. Later on, he will tell me “Fortunately, I was not alone in the room when she died…”

I recommend a blanket to a patient whose sadness is perceptible. His cancer is spreading and at any time so this older emaciated gentleman can fall and get hurt. He would like to go home. His wife and doctors have a hard time explaining this can’t happen. He is sitting in an armchair in the semidarkness of the room – he refuses to lay down in the bed – and he can’t get warm. He is pleased to receive the blanket which was heated in a special oven. He does not like to talk about his feelings nor religion. I lay the blanket on his laps and put my hands on his – they are so cold. We spend long minutes that way, without talking. He is the beloved of God. 

A bridge to the unknown.

The hospice house is a homey place that receives patients whose life expectancy does not exceed 6 months.

Usually patients are close to their last days when they are admitted. They need intensive care so they can be as comfortable as possible: getting their pain under control, helping with their breathing… Most patients expire in the days following their admission.

There are many things I cannot accomplish here – and realizing it has been instrumental to lighten the initial apprehension.  

What I cannot do: I cannot cure those patients. I cannot dissipate the sorrow of their loved ones. What I can do: be with them. Listen to their stories, if they want to share it. Reflect with them on the meaning of their journey. Pray with them if they so wish. And be there for those two most important moments there is, two moments mentioned in the “Hail Mary” prayer that I learned as a Catholic child: “pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death”.  This is not much – and yet it is essential.

Sometimes, I am reminded of an airport when I think of the hospice house. “the passenger for the destination to beyond is expected for immediate departure…”

Sometimes, I think of a bridge. A bridge toward a place so often imagined and yet totally unfamiliar. We help the travelers to cross the bridge, we support their families.   

One afternoon, I was helping the son of a patient who had passed in our presence a few hours earlier – we were carrying his belonging to his car. He had slept in his father’s room for the few last nights. While walking by him, I suddenly realized that this was like the work I was doing here: accompany the patients and their loved ones and help them carry their baggage.

This is not much – and yet essential. 

Thanksgiving – already ??

The fourth Thursday of November is a special day in the US : a day where everyone traditionally gather with family around a turkey meal. I had the opportunity to mention this unparalleled tradition before.

This break in the middle of the very rainy Fall season happens right at the end of the first unit of the residency. The whole residency will actually be 4 units back to back. It is time to evaluate the weeks that went by with such disconcerting speed. Yesterday it seems, I was being oriented like any new employee of Franciscan Health. And here we are, November is here.

Weeks went by fast : 24 hours of the week take place at the Hospice house. I also have classes (“didactics” actually) at St Joe. I am also on call at St Joe one night every 10 days.

I was apprehensive when I got to the Hospice house on that first Monday. I was thinking of the hours to come. One of patients was probably going to die… Would I be able to face those situations?

I parked on the employees parking lot, on the side and under the trees. I was not alone: a deer was standing by the cars. She allowed me to look at her and even take pictures, before jumping out of sight. On that first day, this welcoming deer uplifted my spirit…

AC gets oriented

Once my identity and my non-addiction established, I received a badge that will prove who I am when I will be going from one place to another in the hospital and the hospice house.

The security person who took my (very unflattering) picture stumbled when she tried to say my name. This happens often – my name is not very easy to pronounce (Annacicill? Anncelice?) and I suggested to only list my initials. Many friends and my in-laws already call me AC.

AC, pronounced by French people sounds like “assez” which means “enough”. Not very welcoming. But the American way is much more opened.

The next step was the orientation day. I was with Su, my Korean friend, also selected for this residency, as well as 60 others new employees from all departments.

The orientation was taking place from 8 to 4. Most of those hours were dedicated to describe the values of the new employer. I confess I sometimes dozed off… Some of the new employees had to try some isolating suits, which suddenly created an impression of science-fiction. This energized me.

On the afternoon, it was all about patients safety. We were taught to handle a fire extinguisher and to carry out patients in emergency situations. In an earthquake prone area shadowed by a volcano, this can be handy.

Good, I am not a felon!

Not a single drop of rain fell the month of August! It’s a record beaten and in our region, known for it’s humidity, everyone tends to look up at the sky, disoriented and almost worried.

If the change is in the air, it is not the weather, but in the work department. It’s time for me to get ready and begin my residency— for one year,  in the department of Pastoral Care of the Franciscans Group Health Hospital . I will be Chaplain Resident from September 2012 until August, 2013.

As the internship is a paid position, I follow the requirements of any new employee. At the beginning of the week, I was called to St. Joseph Hospital of Tacoma by the Department of Human Resources to show my identity papers, which  they copied, and give my consent to verify my background.

The hospital resembles a beehive, a large while building with windows like ovals, and the view of Puget Sound is beautiful.

I also promised that I do not smoke cigarettes. I was surprised to learn that my new employer won’t hire any smoker anymore. If you smoke, they offer you a class to help you stop. If you are not ready, resubmit your application when you are.

Next stop the same day, a drug test. Producing urine in a narrow plastic cup is anatomically acrobatic. “Above all, do not flush .” said the technician. “Why?” I asked with the innocence of never having undertaken the Tour de France. “We do not want anyone to use the water from the toilet to dilute the contents of the cup.”

Some days later, the results reached me. Good! I am not a felon. I do not smoke. Nicotine is absent from my system.

And what relief that caffeine and chocolate do not appear on the list of illegal substances...

(thank you, Phyllis Smith, for the great translation! J)

Children of the Promise

«He is not here» said the angel to the women on this very first Easter Sunday. Those words are the heart of our faith – and an invitation to adventure, said Raphaël Picon in his Easter predication. He concluded with those words:

“Christianity was born on this Easter Sunday. We were born on this Easter Sunday. We are the children of the promise. We are the children of a foolish promise… Nobody, nothing can condemn us anymore to failure or despair. Christ stated the infinite worth of each of us. His predication makes up the whole flavor of the Christianity we love and we are part of. This Christianity transforms us into adventurous pilgrims, walking alongside the poet to roll away every stones of the tombs, ripping away the fascination of death and make life possible again”.

Life is given back to us, beyond death. “He is not here” – those words resonate in my mind as I remember Hugues Madesclaire, who left us two years ago this week. His life did not end at the doorstep of his unsolved untimely death.  The memories he left, the influence he had on those who got to know him mysteriously keep on nurturing the world of the livings. His tomb is empty as well. We will find his presence in the light of the Risen one.

Resurrection at Work

Resurrection will always be a mystery.  But, we know it when it happens. This is what Bruce Epperly wrote and if this was about Easter, Bruce was also reflecting on the resurrection that takes place in our daily lives.

The women who first witnessed the resurrection were left stunned and speechless. Still the empty grave offers new perspectives of hope and life. “the empty tomb portends an open future in which the Risen One goes ahead us as companion, guide, and inspiration,  wrote Epperly. I have seen resurrection in unexpected courage and surprising love; …in willingness to sacrifice for a great cause; and in the persistent quest for justice despite the odds”

Where did I see the resurrection at work this week of Easter ? During the service where we commemorated the Last supper and Jesus’ promise that our remembering Him would bring us closer to God.

When I shared a Seder meal on Passover night on Friday, with my Seattle family. I enjoy spending time with my loved ones! And I felt inspired by the exploration of the Exodus story, revisited with depth and significance. The Exodus story invites us to ponder on our freedom and the state of the world around us. That night gave me energy and joy in the midst of a marathon-week.

In a very full church on Sunday morning – the church is an old house built in 1949 that did not age that well, located on the Puyallup tribe cemetery. This church almost closed several times. But on that Easter morning 2012, families gathered and remembered a friend who just passed away, witnessed two baptisms, watched their children look for Easter eggs in the flowery ground, and prayed and worshiped together, celebrating the victory over death that keeps give meaning to our life.

The Frog Had the Answer

The answer finally came last Wednesday, on Leap Year Day. I was not on leaping mood that day - I had spent most of it getting more pessimistic by the hour.

Then the long expected email arrived at 5:34 PM and its title was an answer in itself “Acceptance to our Residency position…”

Before I fully realized it, an appeasing wave of relief was sweeping over me.

The residency will start next September and will last one year, which will allow me to achieve the chaplain training I still need. I will work mostly at the Hospice house but will have one night on call at the hospital every week. And I found out later that night that my Korean friend was also accepted!

It was snowing that night. As I spent some time in the dark yard with the puppies, enjoying the crisp air, I felt like screaming actor Jean Dujardin’s exact words when he received his Oscar last Sunday “Putain c’est génial thank you merci!!!”

Leaping day indeed!

Interview at the Hospice House

Today, I met with Rev. Susan, the chaplain coordinator of the Hospice House in Tacoma. Two of the chaplain residents – out of three- will be working there. Susan is a petite woman with short white hair, brilliant blue eyes and a warm smile ; I immediately felt comfortable with her.

We talked for a long time – she had some specific questions for me, my interest in this type of chaplaincy, the grief and mourning I experienced in my life, the way I connect with people that have different views and religious traditions but mostly she listened to me.

As I mentioned before, an interview with a chaplain is different: imagine a conversation with an amazing and compassionate listener. I had a great time with Susan who also showed me the facility. She will not make the final decision but her input will certainly be significant.

As I was driving home under the sun, in this bright cold afternoon, I was trying to anticipate what decision would come my way. This morning Susan had met with another applicant that I know well, a wonderful talented Korean woman, certainly worthy of this resident spot. Her knowledge of the Korean language and culture is a great asset in our area. So many good applicants, so few places…

I noticed in the sky a dozens of tiny parachutes – military training above McChord Air Force base. This could be a living metaphor of my situation. Now that I am certified “ready to be ordained”, I am the parachutist wondering where I will land, wondering where God’s wind will direct me… (To be followed… )

The "Textured Tapestry of Existence"

I will meet with Susan, the chaplain coordinator of the Hospice House on February 27^th and the finale decision for the residency will take place later that week.

If it works, the residency will start in September and will last one year. I remain serene but my thoughts have been gravitating a lot  toward this possibility…  

What kind of help and care is a chaplain able to bring to a hospice patient? Judith Leipzig wrote a beautiful article on her experience in a hospice service at the Calvary Hospital in the Bronx. It can be found at this link.

http://blog.onbeing.org/post/11176428414/hope-at-the-end-of-life                   

I translated parts of it in my French blog – I found out Judith’s rich writing was much more difficult to translate than I had thought!  

Judith Leipzig shares what she learned as a hospice chaplain and her discovery of what she can bring to patients at the very end of life: not a service, but a presence and a profound listening that provides the patient with a sense of meaning and a renewed and deep connection to what Judith calls the “textured tapestry of existence”.

Residency – a new twist

After the interviews in January at St Joseph hospital in Tacoma, the answer is still to come. I have some hope to be accepted as a resident for a yearlong internship (the residency) starting in September although the spots are very limited. I should hear back some time in February. Of course, I remain totally zen and serene while being deeply aware of the passing days.

This morning, I got some news. I received an email from the supervisor, wondering if I would be interested in the Hospice House Residency, an “intense but dynamite learning environment with a lot of death, as well as healing and grace”. If so, I could meet with the chaplain coordinator.

It took me some time to reflect on this – at least 30 seconds. My heartbeat quickened. Yes, I am very interested. The two crucial moments of our lives are “now and at the hour of death” as we read in the “Hail Mary” prayer I learned as a Catholic child. I hope to get an interview with the chaplain coordinator in the coming days. To be followed…

Why we live here

Our region, the Pacific Northwest, is the cloudiest place in the US, notorious for never-ending rains. Unwelcoming? No! There are many good reasons to live here. Rather than using word, let me show you. (click on the pictures to see them on their real scale).

1)    The Pacific Ocean cohabits with mountains and nature – and the city.

This picture was taken last Tuesday by our friend Jett Brooks who has the eye and the talent – her photos are exceptional.

2)    Indeed, the sky is mightily clouded, but clouds do their best to be remarkable.

Above Mount Rainier, we see once in a while those stunning flying saucers – actually lenticular clouds that form when stable moist air flows over a mountain. Beautiful with a hint of science-fiction. This picture was published on the website of the local TV station King 5.

Those Essential Questions

Still waiting to hear from the residency… I was told I would hear back some time in February, so it is coming up. Although I have (repeatedly) told myself that ultimately everything is in God’s hands, my mind turns toward chaplaincy a lot.

My internship this summer at the hospital was therapeutic. I learned to let go of fears and anxiety. At first, I would be apprehensive not be up to facing tragic circumstances. I worried about being awkward and adding to the pain of a mourning family.  

Ironically, the true issue turned out to be about finding available patients who were willing to chat. Once the contact was established, even in a critical context, it would be fluid, essential, natural. Being a chaplain, I realized, was not about acting in a certain way, or saying some specific words, rather about… being there.

- what do people who are sick and dying talk to the student chaplain about?"asked one day a professor of theology to one of his students, a 26 year old chaplain intern. I am quoting here from her wonderful article, written years later. [1]

- Mostly we talk about their families.”

“Do you talk about God?

“Umm, not usually.”

“Or their religion?”

“Not so much.”

“The meaning of their lives?”

“Sometimes.”

“And prayer?  Do you lead them in prayer?  Or ritual?”

“Well…Sometimes.  But not usually, not really.”

Kerry Egan, the student, felt derision creeping into the professor's voice.  “So you just visit people and talk about their families?”

“Well, they talk.  I mostly listen.”

“Huh.”  He leaned back in his chair.

One week later, recalled Kerry, in the middle of a lecture in this professor's packed class, he started to tell a story about a student he once met who was a chaplain intern at a hospital.

“And I asked her, 'What exactly do you do as a chaplain?'  And she replied, 'Well, I talk to people about their families.'” He paused for effect. “And that was this student's understanding of  faith!  That was as deep as this person's spiritual life went!  Talking about other people's families!”

The students laughed at the shallowness of the silly student.  The professor was on a roll.

“And I thought to myself,” he continued, “that if I was ever sick in the hospital, if I was ever dying, that the last person I would ever want to see is some Harvard Divinity School student chaplain wanting to talk to me about my family.”(…)

Today, 13 years later, I am a hospice chaplain, Kerry goes on.  I visit people who are dying...   And if you were to ask me the same question - I would give you the same answer. Mostly, they talk about their families. They talk about the love they felt, and the love they gave…  Or did not gave… And sometimes, when they are actively dying, they call out to their parents:  Mama, Daddy, Mother.

…What I would explain to that professor now, is that people talk to the chaplain about their families because that is how we talk about God.  That is how we talk about the meaning of our lives.  That is how we talk about the big spiritual questions of human existence.

We don't live our lives in our heads, in theology and theories.  We live our lives in our families:  the families we are born into, the families we create. This is where we create our lives, this is where we find meaning, this is where our purpose becomes clear.

Family is where we first experience love and where we first give it.  It's probably the first place we've been hurt by someone we love, and hopefully the place we learn that love can overcome even the most painful rejection.

This crucible of love is where we start to ask those big spiritual questions, and ultimately where they end…If God is love, and we believe that to be true, then we learn about God when we learn about love. The first, and usually the last, classroom of love is the family.

Sometimes that love is not only imperfect, it seems to be missing entirely.  Monstrous things can happen in families….Even in these cases, I am amazed at the strength of the human soul.  People who did not know love in their families know that they should have been loved.  They somehow know what was missing, and what they deserved as children and adults.

When the love is imperfect, or a family is destructive, something else can be learned:  forgiveness.  The spiritual work of being human is learning how to love and how to forgive.

We don’t have to use words of theology to talk about God; people who are close to death almost never do. We should learn from those who are dying that the best way to teach our children about God is by loving each other wholly and forgiving each other fully - just as each of us longs to be loved and forgiven by our mothers and fathers, sons and daughters.

Who is your neighbor ? This is a question we read in the Gospels. My neighbor is the one I may walk along in the midst of those oceanic moments where life deeply changes and sometimes ends. My neighbor is the one that leads me to the answers of those essential questions life throws at me.

[1] http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/28/my-faith-what-people-talk-about-before-they-die/

Temporary Shepherds

I went from ice storm to spring sunshine as I flew to Atlanta, Georgia where I took the interim pastor training. In our denomination, those interim pastors fill the gap between two installed pastors, allowing a congregation to heal after a conflict, or go through a mourning process when a long-time beloved pastor leaves or retires. The next installed pastor then will start his or her work on healed ground.

The Calvin Center, where the training took place is located at 25 miles from Atlanta, under the trees and next to a small lake. The food was scrumptious, with gourmet entrées at every meals – prepared by a Chef, a talented man from New Zealand who used to work in a local restaurant. Brian was his name and he received praises daily from the 36 trainees.

We had rain on the first day (they said I had brought Seattle weather!) then sunshine came back. Walking around the lake was wonderful between two workshops.

The Atlanta Airport is also a scenic place and a place to stretch your legs after a 5 hours flight. A little train is available to go from and to the gate but I preferred walking. This allowed me to admire an exhibition of sculptures from Zimbabwe artists.

There was a 3-hours difference between Atlanta and Seattle. No big deal for this traveler used to deal with 9 hours jet lag. Yet the next day, a Saturday, I woke with the typical exhaustion: everything, including walking around, was exhausting. My arms felt too heavy for my shoulders. I was supposed to get ready for preaching on Sunday…. Fortunately, I had written most of the sermon during the flight back the day before. Smart move…

The Day the Icicles Ruled

Each storm has its own way to transform the daily lives of whoever meets its path. We were used to face guts of winds and abundant showers. This time, the real disruption arrived silently, discreetly after the snow.

For 12 hours, a relentless freezing rain fell. Every surface got coated with ice. Ice is heavy… The branches of the trees started to lean then broke, taking with them cables and phone lines along the roads.

On the morning of the 19th, we lost power for the second time. We were not the only ones: the radio (powered by batteries) let us know that over 250 000 homes were in the dark too. Teams from California and Oregon were called to assist the exhausted repair teams. The icy roads were treacherous. And our home was getting fresh.  

The puppies were interested by the turn of event: after they experienced their paws sinking deep in the snow, they now were able to walk on the white smooth shell.

The next day, the temperature rose. We were still in the dark but the icy roads were turning into slush. So we went looking for food – and a warm drink. It was 57 in our living room.  Our whole neighborhood was cut off power. Even Walmart or Target were closed. What happened to their generators? After a few miles of traffic jam on Meridian, we reached an opened (and very full) Starbuck. Ah, the joy of a Tall Hot Chocolate with No Whip!

Later that afternoon, the light came back. Our phone line stayed mute for two more days but with our cell phones and our computers back on track, we were ok. Poor Irvin… He spent his birthday in the semi-darkness of the icicles shadows.

Impromptu Wedding

The phone rang early that morning - a woman’s worried voice. I feared the worse (I always do) but fortunately, the perceptible fretfulness did not mean a tragedy had happened. Quite the opposite. “I need to get married today! Would the pastor marry us?”

On this snowy day, the combination of a soon-to-expire license, the gathering of parents, friends and witnesses, as well as the absence of the judge of the Puyallup tribe (due to the weather?) led to this call. But black ice was preventing anyone to go up to the church. This is how the whole party ended two hours later in our living room, surrounding the bride – a tall and strong tattooed Native woman, full of life and humor.

The liturgy was simple and moving. I passed around boxes of Kleenex. “That was really good, said one of the witnesses to Irvin. I am sorry I did not know you before I got married”. I appreciated the command to be a united couple while remaining fully oneself. “Be together and yet respect the sacred places between you.  You are not alike.  Celebrate your individuality.  Be one in purpose, yet two persons”. 

The closing blessing is poetic and inspiring.             

Now for you the North wind does not blow;

You are shelter to one another.

Now for you there is no hunger;

Each brings what the other needs.

Now for you there is no darkness;

You have learned to see with the heart.

Now for you there is no loneliness;

Two have become one.

It was still snowing when the newlyweds and their loved ones left.

This Alien Has American Roots

My baby cousin Younis is going on 4 and since Christmas Eve, he has a baby brother, Adam. Last Saturday, we were invited by his parents, my first cousin Danielle and her husband Imad, to celebrate Adam’s arrival.

Shawn

Every time I have the opportunity to spend time with my American family in Seattle, several side effects occur: long-lasting joyfulness, intellectual stimulation and gleeful taste buds. Danielle and Imad made up delightful children and every time I see them, the happiness surrounding them is infectious.

My cousin Shawn, Danielle’s sister, speaks 3 languages and she travels around the world, part of the micro financing movement that grants loans and study grants to people, allowing them to realize their dreams and change their lives. On Saturday night, I also chatted with their own first cousin Marisol, who is a MD becoming a psychiatrist in Portland.

Marisol

There was an impressive cake welcoming Adam to the world. Is there is a better way to welcome anyone to the world than scrumptious chocolate ganache?

Last September, a small crowd of family and friends gathered to celebrate the 75^th birthday of my uncle Jean-Loup in a French restaurant of Seattle. We all had a great time.

That was a great opportunity to catch up with my cousin Marc, his wife Hannah and their beautiful children Sebastian and Olivia who are growing up so fast. They live in Los Angeles. Danielle and Shawn had prepared a trivia game about their dad, his tastes and pet peeves, his trips and his life. There were fun French prizes for those who had most good answers. I discovered a few things about my uncle – and on the world around us. I never knew foie gras flavored chewing-gum existed for instance… (I did not try it)

This alien is very lucky… 

Younis and Adam