It's been quiet around these parts of the blogosphere lately because I've swept off to New York for a long weekend. It's been almost nine months since I've been back in the States, and I must say, it's been nice being back.
So far my days have been crammed with errands, organizing, going through old photos, cat cuddles, a few doctor's appointments, and of course Golden Girl marathons on one of the many networks the show is in syndication on. Good thing I'm still on Paris time and have been getting up at 6 am without a problem to bulldoze through some of these tasks. One of the more tedious tasks on my infinite to-do list is a trip to the Vital Records (n' stuff) Office of New York City to pick up my birth certificate. For the wedding, French officials require a copy of my birth certificate translated in French. At first I foolishly thought, no problem! I did that a few years ago for my first French visa that I ended up never using! With the pride of feeling one step ahead of the game, I placed this precious document in our dossier of paperwork and did my victory shuffle around my living room. But not so fast. This beautifully sealed and signed official birth certificate that I have is not good enough. They want a fresh birth certificate. One that was issued, translated, signed, sealed and delivered within the last three months. Quoi? This, I simply don't understand. Who cares when the certificate was issued. To the best of my knowledge, none of the information has changed since 1981.
Annoying yet necessary, but this little trip is just another adventure in getting married in France. And why not, while I'm downtown, I'll pick up a slice of cake or a cupcake at one of the many bakeries to celebrate the day of my birth and that one more item has been checked off my list.
Bon week-end!
On a side note: Digging up childhood photos, I came across this dramatic shot of me posing in front of the building where I grew up. That red building behind me is L'Église Évangélique Française de New York. Of course it is.
