Season of Visitations - a report abridged

Fall 2015 was the season to be filled with visitations.  Here's a brief run-down on who came through town and what we did together.

Visitation One - The wonderful Miz Kitty alerted us that friends of her's were coming over for a visit.  We shared contact information and when Dina and Bill showed up we were ready share with them a little of Our World.  They were to start off our Season of Visitations.

We were happy that le Cafe du Commerce was serving decent food, and we ate and drank our way through lunch all the while making new friends.  After catching up on the latest news from the Old Country, they wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.  So we went for a nice walk up the street and around the corner to the Champs de Mars.  Bill could take photos (he's a camera nut, too).  By the end Dina promised to send Jude a few Rincola cough drops as a thank you for our hospitality.

Album

Visitation Two - Daniel, Jude's son, and his partner were here for a 9 day visit.  It was a Whirl Wind visit to everything they could take in.  It was crazy nuts good.

We took the Cars Rouge (they're called something else now) to share an oversight of the city.  We visited the Musee Cluny, the Louvre, and went on a shopping trip through Little Sri Lanka while on our way to visit the Romanesque church that sits up on Montmartre.  We were in Chartres to see the labyrinth and the next day we were off to la porte de Vanves and the marche de puce before going to lunch in our favorite cafe up on rue du Commerce.

The trip was entirely too short.  It was good to see Dan and to get to know his partner better.  We'll be heading back to the States later next year.  Dan proposed marriage under the Eiffel Tower.  How romantic is that???

Album

Visitation Three - Back in the Old Country I have a photographer friend who asked if I'd like to participate in a group of Fellow Nutters.  From there I met many wonderful artists, any of whom remain friends to this day.  Well, they were on their way back to France and were interested in getting together.

Patrick and MaryJo had been visiting places around France and were spending the last of their vacation here in Paris.  So it was easy, we'd meet over lunch and talk about how things are from their perspective back home.  Before lunch we shared with them the beautiful Square Saint-Lambert.

In all we covered a lot of ground in our conversations, shared another wonderful meal, and enjoyed being with people of like mind and similar spirit.

Album

Visitation Four - In the Old Country I was hired several times by an engineering manager at various times in my career as a software engineer and program manager.  Creig Smith is a Prince of a Man and we share a surprisingly deep history of work and business travel together.  He took me to India, which led to my many year involvement with an engineering center in Bangalore.  He took me to Tokyo, which led to a several year involvement with an engineering center there, too.  He and I worked to develop, plan, and then execute several far-reaching software initiatives, one of which led to the direct contribution to the bottom line of $3billion over a 10 year period.

When Creig said he was coming to town for a business meeting, I knew I'd finally have a chance to thank him for all he did for me.

Back to the favored lunch spot we went.  All around town we visited.  Talk.  Talk.  Talk.  It was wonderful to catch up on old time and to remember we have more than a few deep relationships of meaning and value.

Album

Visitation Five - My brother and father were in Spain and Jude and I made arrangements to see them in Madrid while they were on their homeward leg of their journey.  I'd not seen my family in over a year, so this was a good and important trip to make.

To take in a museum we hadn't seen the first time we were in Madrid Jude and I showed up a day early.  But with this came the incredible adventure (previously recounted here) and with this, start of our visit under less than the Best of Circumstances.

Still, we were able to visit the surprisingly good naval history museum (near the Prado museum) and to visit the incredible Palace.  Everyone seemed to enjoy everything we took in.  It was an incredibly short two days, and we knew we were headed back into a War Zone.

Mystery Solved - For several weeks we received telephone calls telling us we had a package to pick up, but I could never write the telephone number down fast enough.  I never knew when a call would come in, either.  We had enough solicitors calling to keep things really mixed up.  I could never anticipate the weird "you have a package" call.

Just this week we received a ring on our entry door buzzer and it was our facture/postman.  He had a package for us.  I went down to collect it and he was apologetic about the lateness of the delivery.  He said "we've been trying to call you."

Ah ha!  You're the ones who've been bugging me.  This is great!  Well, what's in the package?  It was Jude's Rincola cough drops and a nicely framed photograph of Jude and I.  Dina had been as good as her word.  What a wonderful surprise!

Floating away in barrels of wine...

Ever onward.  In the interest of giving fear and hate the middle finger held high Jude and I made our way down to la porte de Versailles for the Vigneron Independant wine fair.

Last year over 1,100 vintners installed themselves in Building 3 for 5 days to offer samples of their wares and to try and sell us a few bottles of wine.  This year they changed buildings to Building 7 which is a much smaller space.  Only 600 vintners could fit into the show space.

Previously I had trouble finding wine growers who did not add sulfites to their wines.  Yes, many/most folks say chemicals are required to stabilize the wine and to keep their harvesting yields up.  But by chance I stumbled upon Chateau l'Escart (Bordeaux).  They, in turn, pointed me to Binner (Colmar) and another vineyard from the Loire.

Jude absolutely loves the different wines offered by Chateau l'Escart.  Their wines are bio-dynamically grown and their fields are tilled with the aid of heavy horses.  No steek'n dinosaur-juice guzzling tractors for these folks!  Even better, no sulfites are added to anything they cultivate and ferment.

We also found a wonderful vineyard in Colmar that offers bio white wines.  They don't even add yeast to their mix.  Everything is as nature intended from vine to crush through fermentation and into the bottle.  Their Rieslings and Gewurztraminers are finished dry, light, and they are very lovely, indeed.  Though they're perhaps just a wee bit out of our price range.

So it came as a surprise to find this year that there were to be 20 bio-dynamic vintners in attendance.  I wrote them all down and Jude and I started our Wine Trek the day the fair opened.  I was hoping for a Near Religious Experience.




Day One - None (the ninth hour)

First stop after gathering our free wine glasses at the entrance was, of course, Chateau l'Escart - yum!  It was great to see the man and woman again.  They remembered us from last year.  Such a lovely couple and they seemed to want to share a good conversation with us.  But damn! do they give Big Big Pours.  Our First Stop knocked us on our butts right quick.  It put to paid our "serious tasting" for the rest of the day.

We learned that the show the prior weekend in Lille was a bust.  Nobody from Brussels came to the event.  They were in lock-down over terrorist threats the entire weekend, so it didn't surprise us that not even free wine sampling could bust the Belgians loose from home and hearth.

The Day's Haul included enough cartons to make hauling home a chore without an aid of some kind.  Our Hunting and Gathering included some things Jude found from one of the bio-dynamic vintners on our list of Things To Try.  It was a Good Thing(tm) that we took le diable with us.  It made the Day's Haul easier to get safely home.




Day Two - Terce (the third hour)

I met our good friend Jacki at the exit to the Metro station across the street from the expo center.  He arrived by bicycle in 0 degree centigrade weather.  He wore no hat.  He sported no gloves.  He said he as comfortably warm.  The guy's An Animal! I tell you.

Before stepping into the vast Wine Tasting Space we set plans for our pre-dejuner adventure: Vin de plaisir.  These, I learned, are wines poured during an apero or desert, or during a fete.  They are typically white, sweet, and/or champagne/cremant avec les bulles.

I suggested that Jacki lead the way since he seemed to know where he was going, so off we went, stalking les vins de plaisir.

At one of the counters we talked with two physicists who have a friend who works at Lawerence Livermore in CA.  What started the conversation was the that they'd overheard that I was from the US and had lived in California.  It was a fun conversation and they proudly showed off T-shirts with a photo of their French Friend who lives in California.  I didn't understand the humor, but the pictured man had a clump of yard in the shape of a bow on his bald forehead.

I really enjoy going to the fair with Jacki as I learn something new and unexpected each time we go.  This time I learned about wines from Jurancon, and Monbazillac.  The Monbazillac we tried was a fabulous semillon cepage.  The wines from Jurancon were equally interesting and had a bit more bite to them.  Still, very nice, those.

Next, we stopped at a counter of a man who's vineyard had not been represented at the fair before now.  His vineyard was from the property sitting right next door to Chateau Yequim.  It was glorious stuff, but it gave me a headache.  It contained too much sulfite.  Every bio or bio-dynamic vintner I talked with said the same thing; sulfites can give some people headaches.  So Jude's not the only one in our house who can't drink just any bottle of cheap swill.  I don't care what US-based wine marketing propaganda wants me to believe (which say all this is "bunk").  For me, too, wine must be sulfite-free (or as nearly as possible).

In our wanderings, Jacki and I stumbled upon one of the vintners I'd noted as bio-dynamic.  These folks were from a small town just oustide Colmar and aren't too far from the Binner vineyard we liked so much last year (when we were flush with money and flush with wine).  We started with Francois Baur's normal Gewurztraminer and moved on to their tardive Gewurztraminers.  Oh.  My.  Gawd! those wines were tasty.

I was able to trot out my Story of Shame about where I believed the Alsace region was.  When I was a Young Man I tried a number of wines with labels written in German.  They were from the Alsace.  So I naturally thought all Alsatian wines came from Germany.  I am happy to report that my System of Belief and Understanding has been properly updated.  Proper Alsatian wines come from France.  So there!

The Day's Haul included biodynamic Rieslings, Gewurztraminers (incredible late harvest/tardive), amazing bio Monbazillac (semillon), and cremants d'Alsace.  Le diable stayed home this day, but Jude had the good insight to suggest I take our much smaller than le diable M. Caddy (our normal every day French-style shopping cart).  M. Caddy was filled to be brim with bottles of wine as I bid Jacki a bonne journee.




Day Three - Sext (the sixth hour)

Anyone remember those late night/early morning adverts on TV in California?  Sunday!  Sunday!  Sunday!  Yes that was us.  We had to return to the Vignerons Independent on SSSunday!!  Two more free wine glasses never hurt, right?

The cremant d'Alsace I'd brought home had been chilled, poured, enjoyed, and consumed.  It was deemed Champagne Diet Worthy as the taste and price were perfect.  Back to the Francois Baur bio-dynamic Colmar vintner's counter we went.  Trois cartons de cremant, s'il vous plait.

What's this?  Jude wants to taste some of their other wines, too?  Well, OK then.  Reds.  Whites.  Dry.  Sweet.  We tried them all.  She found she loves not only the wines I'd already purchased, but a few more these folks had on offer as well.  It gave me a chance to talk a little with the fine folks about this and that and nothing in general before loading up le diable.

Later, at one of the wine stands we tried they listed their Bordeaux as bio-dynamically grown.  But only the expensive bottles were labeled as such, so I asked about the two wines we were considering trying.  We were told non, those are regular wines, sulfites and all.  It seemed like they were being a bit misleading by proudly displaying their AB signs all over and not pointing out their non-organic products.  Fortunately they were the only people we found who did this.  Everyone else was quite clear about what was in or not in their products.

A little miffed from the mis-leading labeling experience we headed off back up the aisle to a bio-labeled Rhone valley offering I spied moments earlier.  Their cheap stuff (at 6.50Euro a bottle) turned out to be perfect as a table wine.  It's 100percent Syrah and it's eminently quaff-able.  OK.  How many do we want?

By this point le diable had become heavily laden.  Such are the spoils of Hunting and Gathering on a Sunday morning in Paris.  It took me a minute to sort out how to strap the teetering stack of cartons to Super Caddy.  Once secured we were on our way back to the apartment.


Conclusion - Vespers (le couche du soleil)

Next year I think we'll use the delivery service.  Yes, it'll likely cost us something, but it might save my back.  Cartons of wine can be rather heavy and I'm getting a little too old for this kind of heavy lifting.  Besides, we might be able to buy even more wine if someone else is going to do the hauling, right?

By Jude's calculations we now have around two hundred and ten days of Pure Drinking Enjoyment stored in our cave.  There are more varieties of wine than we ever hoped to find, all resting quietly while waiting for us to pull or pop their corks.

Yes.  The Near Religious Experience has been achieved.  Nirvana has been attained.  Life is good.  There's no need to hold the Middle Finger high.  We have better things to do.  The Middle Finger Of Fate is needed to help hold un verre de vin.

When would we know it's time to leave?

When would we know it's time to leave?

This was the question Jude posed to me when we were talking about moving to Paris.  It felt like consumption culture, politics, and the overall level of violence in America has gotten out of control.  The answer to her question was instrumental to our leaving to live One Last Great Dream overseas.

Having had a strange day trying to get to Madrid on 13 November, 2015 (not having our passports during our first trip to the airport and spending a lot of money to buy tickets for a later flight), and after coming back to our hotel room relaxed and ready for a nice sleep (after having enjoyed a full bottle of tempranillo) before visiting a museum the next day, it was quite shocking to see our paradise had for the second time in less than a year been shot and blown to pieces.  My first thought was to Jude's original question.

A week has passed and I feel the better question is what would it take to make us leave?  Yes, we love living here that much, but we don't want to be willfully ignorant about our decision to stay.  I feel it important to take a rational approach to evaluating our situation.  I don't want to respond in a purely emotional manner.  Fear is a very powerful feeling, after all.

To illustrate my thought processes I want to compare and contrast the American and European responses to similarly graphic violent tragedies.  By doing so we might be able to arrive at a well considered (and hopefully not temporary) decision.

Immediately after the Paris attacks France started a military campaign against ISIS in Syria.  It's not using (at this time) this as an excuse to attack a country nor organization that had nothing to do with the murders.

By contrast, after a short military intervention in Afghanistan where al qaeda and Osama bin Laden (the perpetrator of the events of 9/11) actually were, the then US President GWBush decided it was better to attack and occupy Iraq. This led directly to the creation of the group that carried out the attacks against France.

Even as the saftey of the people is being debated, France is continuing to open it's country to Syrian refugees.  America's response is a disappointing "no."  What is remarkable about this is that France recognizes that the Paris attackers were home-grown (they were Belgian in most cases) and were not Syrian refugees.  Why do many Americans (led by Republican politicians) not want to recognize this?  What are Americans really afraid of?

Heavy weapon were used in the Paris attacks.  Instead of ignoring the problem, the EU, with France leading the way, is working to enact stronger control of these kinds of weapons.  Small arms are already controlled.  While the real benefits of new controls may take some time to realize, this seems to me to be prudent concrete action.

By contrast, Americans are not afraid of mass shootings shootings, even as the number of dead is quite staggering.   It was recently reported that there were 994 mass shootings in 1004 days.  No serious effort is presently being made by US politicians to control the weapons used in these (ongoing) attacks.  It's unclear to me what, if anything, is being done about the on-going tragic violence in America.  So why would we want to go to a clearly unsafe place?

There are also large cultural differences between how the US and Europe responds to these kinds of tragedies.  For instance, after the horrible attacks of 9/11, then President GWBush told Americans to go out and shop.  He didn't want al qaeda to "win" by letting the economy collapse.

By contrast, the French media has brought on experts on trauma, psychology, and philosophy.  They talk with people about how to work with their emotions and fears.  They tell people where good resources can be found and where to get support.  They explore how best to help children feel safe.  The French are not going to let ISIS "win" by not enjoying life.

It's not over, yet.  No.  Not by a long shot.  The trauma in fact continues.  It's very disturbing to see Brussels locked down.  Emotionally we feel battered.  We sometimes feel like running away.

Rationally what would we rather have?  Isn't it better to have governments that tell the people the truth and actively work toward keeping citizens safe?  Or would it be better to live in America's dream world of continued violence and un-founded/mis-directed fears?  Asked this way an answer should be clear.  But there remains an very palpable underlying concern for our safety.

When my father got into the cab that took he and my brother to the Madrid airport the morning we said our goodbyes he said to me "come back."  I know he's very frightened for us, and it's hard not to feel the strong urge for something that might pass at this moment for a peaceful place.  This is an emotional response.   A rational response is one of caution, observation, listening, and action.  With perhaps a bit more cremant in our diet than is normally consumed (as coping medicine).

The answer the question of what would it take to drive us away seems at first to be larger than the present situation.  If nations were to throw themselves against each other (such as Russia invading Germany while on it's way to France) then we would be "out of here" right quick.  If the EU is unable to contain it's own (radicalized) citizens and if attacks continue, then we will need to re-evaluate where we live.

I just hope the month of March where we intend to spend our time in Lisbon isn't too far off.  I shudder to think we would have to reconsider our place in the world before then.  We're already overly tired and ready for a long stretch of life and living that might pass for "normal."

In the mean time, we will do as the Parisians are doing.  We'll try and go on with our lives as an act of political defiance against those who would do us harm.  I just hope we're not being brashly stupid.

My photos of Scenes of Mourning can be found here

On being out of town...

Up early and out the door to catch a flight to Madrid we were like a  small storm cell on the move.  We were to meet my father and brother in Spain while on their homeward leg of a trip to Andalusia.

It took a while to sort out where the counter was to drop our bags off.  We'd printed our boarding passes the night before and thought we were in a good position to have lunch in Madrid and to visit a museum in the afternoon that we'd missed the last time we were there.

We hand over our paperwork to the man behind the counter and... um... wot's all this then?  We need our passports?  When did this start?  Ugh.  Our Carte de Sejour aren't sufficient?  Non! There's no time to rush back to the apartment and be back in time for our flight, right?  Geez!  OK.  OK.  What to do now?

Over at the ticket counter we sort out our Next Steps.  These include buying new tickets.  At near full price.  For a 17h00 flight later the same day.  That would give us just enough time to return home, have lunch, nap a few minutes, and head back out to the airport.

An easy start to our trip had been disrupted.  Oh well, such is life, right?

Our return to the airport went much easier the second time around.  Even though my arm was tired from pulling the suitcases back and forth, to and fro, it was good to climb into the aircraft and be ready to head to Madrid.  A little asperine would keep any dull arm pains at bay.

Once installed at the hotel we headed out to dinner.  We missed our reservation for a famous place down near the mercado, but found what looked to be a decent place just down the street.  Suckling pig and lamb shoulder were on the menu, so why not give it a try?

Well, here's why.  The lamb was overcooked by French standards and looked like something the Egyptians mummified.  We confirmed this was normal practice after seeing other mummified lamb remains being hauled out of the kitchen.  As for the suckling pig, all I can see is that it's an acquired taste.  Much like andouillette sausage is an acquired taste.  The flavor is, oh, how shall we say?  Different.

After such a long and arduous day I felt we could do with a nice bottle of wine.  Red.  Delicious.  Just what the Doctor Ordered.  It left us a little tipsy for the walk up the street to our hotel and very ill-prepared for what came next.

Flopped out on the bed I thought I should check my messages to see if there was anything from my brother.  They'd be coming up from Cordoba the next day and I wanted to see if there'd been any changes in their plans.  Nope.  Nothing from my brother.

Instead the tablet's HD screen was lit up with questions/chats/emails demanding to know if we were all right.  I didn't know what was going on but quickly told everyone I could that we were safe and sound.  Jude kept asking me to see what was going on, even as I was frantically trying to reply to everyone.  With the first round of responses out of the way, I checked the news.  Horror of Horrors, Paris had again been attacked.  This would be the second time in less than a year.

An odd and frustrating day had instantly turned into a nightmare.

All we could do was watch the nightmare unfold and to try and contact as many people we could to inquire as to their safety.

In the end, an MUA I know still hasn't heard from two friends of hers and a shopkeeper's husband has a cousin who was shot in the leg.  We've not caught up with everyone, but it's looking like most of the people we know are still thankfully with us.

We weren't sure what we were heading home to, but after a four day stay in Madrid we are happy to report that security is very tight here.  Finally, some would say.  The idea of an open and free Europe that stretches from Greece to Brittany served rather well some who would do us harm.  That's changed.

Jude said we shouldn't let the Bastards win by staying home.  So we went out for dinner to a place where the burgers aren't half bad and une coupe de champ is a prerequisite to any meal.  At first the place seemed a little empty.  Not bad, mind you, just not quite as bustling as it sometimes is.

I can't explain it, but it gives me comfort to recognize the faces of people we've seen as we walk the streets in our neighborhood.  I don't know their names.  All I know is that they live.  It's a joy to me to see them.

A nearby table was clearing out after three elders had finished their drinks (it was far too early for a proper French meal - those start after 20h00 normally and it was only 18h00 when we sat down).  The man stopped to comment approvingly about my increasingly bushy beard.  His wife did the same.  We wished them both a bonne soiree.

A few moments later the woman returned returned.

"Vous êtes d'ou?"

"Nous venons des Etats-Unis", I replied

"Mais nous habitons ce quartier, en fait" said Jude

"Vive l’Amerique!" the older woman exclaimed.

"Vive la France!" I told her.

With a broad smile she leaned in a little closer and said in a rather quiet voice "Merci."

A pastry shop in Madrid decorated their window with

this symbol of solidarity.  It's amazing how quickly

a meme such as this can spread.

Fall...

I have to admit that Fall is my favorite time of the year.  It has been since I was in high school, lo those many years ago.


After a long summer with little access to a decent library (Dana Point was small then and some of the social infrastructure was weak) I looked forward to going back to school.  My academic and social life became rich, then.  The school library was a well stocked.  My friends and I could play chess for hours.  Music classes meant I needed to practice one thing or another.  September meant all these things could start anew.

The American tradition of Friday night high school football meant I'd be out with the band on a cool (by southern California standards) night.  The air seemed crisp and clean (even as it was humid and polluted).  The lights over the stadium had an interesting quality that made seeing the action on the field difficult.  Sometimes I could see my breath as I played an alto sax.  Fall was magic and I was happy.

As a young man I worked a contract out on Long Island in New York.  My first Fall spent there helped me realize that California really didn't have seasons as the rest of the country might know them.  Fall on Long Island meant the sugars in the leaves of the trees could turn into amazing brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds.


On a NY style crisp and cold autumn day a colleague and I stumbled upon Bridgehampton Raceway.  It was Ferrari Day and we found ourselves track-side watching the prancing horses run.  The sound of a V12 carries rather well on cold days.  We knew when a fast runner was on his way well before he actually came into view.  The magic of the experience was capped by the setting.  The fall colored trees at the raceway were nearly impossible to look at, so sharp and bright were their colors.

As a married man with children I always looked forward to our children heading out on All Hallows Eve.  Everyone was usually excited to be dressed up in their favorite costumes.  The Hunt for Candy would begin and some hours later the Spoils of the Hunt were richly displayed on the livingroom floor.  When we lived in Hillsboro this meant the livingroom was heated by a nice fire gently burning in the fireplace.

Now that we live in Paris, my wife and I experience autumn in rather different ways.  The traditions of Fall would clearly not be the same and we set out to experience it.


Yesterday we headed out to BHV.  Our expedition was to find and capture a much needed "Defense de Fumer" sign.  We require one for the entry to our buildings underground parking garage.  The children (children! I tell you) from the school just next door congregate in the space just in front of the garage door.  There they smoke like only the French (children!!!) can smoke.  The problem for us is that their smoke comes up into the building air system and collects just outside our apartment door.  So a "Defense de Fumer" is required.  After four years of living here, the time seemed right to do something about the problem.

Jude did a little shopping and scored a very nice coat.  We then descended into the basement/cave where I asked where the signs were.  Once directed we scored our "Defense de Fumer" and made our way to la caisse.

An elderly lady seemed a little confused as to where the end of the queue was.  She'd walked up the side the cordon that led to the cash registers and she needed to be on the other side of the ribbon where Jude and I stood.


The French must be competition people with a spirit of "You Snooze, You Loose."  The elderly lady was completely taken aback by our offer to let her in front of us (which is where she would've been had she not taken a confused detour).  She didn't expect kindness as simple as letting her have a place in front of someone who was already standing in a queue.

Let it Never Be Said that the French don't like to talk with strangers.  Foreign strangers at that.  This was by no means our first encounter with talkative French and this one only added to our growing list of delightful conversations.  Our Little Kindness launched the elderly lady into a long conversation about this and that.  She showed us her intended purchase and rambled on about what she was going to do with them (little tacks from the looks of things).

Seeing la caisse was a bit understaffed, Jude mentioned it must be lunchtime.  At this the elderly lady launched into une petite histoire of her eating habits.  To begin, she did not eat lunch.  She ate only breakfast.  Breakfast for her consisted of a baguette with honey poured on it.  Skipping lunch meant that she needed a 16h00 goute.  16h00 is indeed Standardized French Goute Hour.  We've seen school children work their way into pain au chocolate right on schedule at 16h00.  Goute was required to keep one's strength ahead of le diner, which begins at 20h00 in these parts.


I must have had a questioning look on my face because she started to explain that this way of eating was her habit.  That's just the way things are.  And, she added, it's worked out very well indeed.  She asked if we could deviner her age.  86! she told us.  "Just look at me" as she pulled back her overcoat to reveal a very svelte and shapely (fully clothed, I must add) 86 year old body.  She looked great!  In her younger years she must've been the Talk of the Town.  "See?  It's because of how I eat.  Isn't it great?"  Before a "vous etes vraiment joli, madame" could cross my lips the queue to la caisse moved and we found ourselves in front of yet another kind lady, this one who was ready to take our money in exchange for a new "Defense de Fumer".

Yes, it was time for lunch and we were hungry.  There was no way I was going to start down the path of the elderly lady and try and follow her life long diet.  So I suggested to Jude that pay Le Petit SP a wee visit for une ou deux coupes and steak frites.  One metro stop down from BHV we found ourselves trinquer deux coupes, and all remained right with our world.  The early afternoon light was golden and the sky was a deep, nearly Montana blue

It's not for this missive for me to explain my  transition from medium-well cooked steak to saignant (which means bloody - and I'm not using the English swear word here).  Suffice it to say, the steak frites were wonderful.  Jude had ordered one as well and loved it.  Accompanied with 25cl of St. Somethingorother from Bordeaux we soon found our plates empty and our tastes anticipating un peu de dessert.  We were part of what we call the Clean Plates Club.


This time it was Jude's turn to suggest something to do next.  Who could possibly say "no" to a gorgeous Fall day?  A beautiful passage, l'hotel de Sens, across les deux Ponts, a lovely stroll across l'isle Saint Louis, over another quai and through the Old City to la rue Saint Germain des Pres we went.  All taken at a slow strolling pace.

Half way across the second pont we paused a looked back toward Notre Dame de Paris.  There is something special about the light of Fall.  I think I like it here as much, if not more, than when we lived in the US.

Time for yet another rant...

Sorry to do this, but I feel I have to.

Someone just went nuts and killed students in a school located in our old home state.

Need I point out?  All it took was one failed shoe bomb attempt and all of us take our shoes off to go thru airport security checkpoints.

Yet just this year there have been 45 school shootings.  Since Sandy Hook there have been 142 shootings in schools.

Why do people in America feel that the problem of the shoe bomber can be "solved" and yet seem to do nothing when it comes to their own children being at risk while in school?

If arming teachers is somehow the answer, why is it that for every criminal killed in self defense, 34 innocent people die?

If taking guns away from anyone not part of a "well regulated militia" is somehow not part of a solution, then what is?

By comparison, when was the last time you heard about a school shooting in, well, just about anywhere else in the world?  Literally.

If a solution to the problem of killings in America is to be implemented, why not take an example of any of the over 180 democratic and free nations where children are not at risk for living beyond their young years?

... and some people still wonder why we left the US to live overseas.

Catching up...

Gods!  The last post was in June, fer cry'n out loud!!!  Where to begin?  Are we still in the midst of the On-Going Madness?  Or are we at An End yet?


Winter 2015 saw both Jude and I sick with various virus for nearly three months. We followed this with a Five Day Stay in a hotel in Tours to stabilize Jude's blood pressure meds and a month or two to sort it all out back in Paris.  Disaster wouldn't leave well enough alone.  Jude then came down with shingles on her face.

So, as you can see, we've been rather busy.  "Laying low" as they say.

Jude wasn't the only one to come down with it in our quartier.  At the local pharmacy we were told that six other people had also developed zona, as shingles are called here, on their faces, too.  It's taken two and a half months of terrible blisters, deep/hard pain, and countless nights of near no sleep to begin to get out the other side.  Fortunately Jude is beginning to feeling well enough that she is down to taking ibuprofen only twice a day to control the lingering pain.


During these illnesses I had more than enough time on my hands and couldn't help but note a few things as they unfolded around me.

I learned that deep histories of struggle, Catholics against Republicans and Anarchists, still have the power to divide families.  A vendeuse at Bio C'est Bon told us that she was getting married and that her future husband deliberately planned for the two families to meet in Beaune so everyone could get to know each other.  One side of the family are staunch Catholic and the other sound like they are strongly-idealist Republican or Anarchist (think descendants of the Communards - pretty serious stuff, that).  He hoped to lay to rest some of the divisions between families who have lived very different ideologies for what sounded like several centuries.

It was from the same vendeuse that we learned an interesting French expression.  It goes something like this - a happy woman creates a village.  Which is to mean that for some women there is joy in having children.  Enough, it seems, to populate a village.  It was wonderful the way she described this to us in French.  It seemed so civilized and natural.

While out on rare outtings we can't help but be horrified at how Americans behave when visiting.  A recent visit to Chartres only added to our horror.


The labyrinth in the cathedral was closed due to renovations taking place overhead.  That didn't stop a group of Americans from occupying the center of the labyrinth.  They were bottling up the flow of visitors so they, the Americans, could have their "oh so special" spiritual/religious moment.  It was weird seeing something that the Europeans have had for 1,000+ years being discovered and laid claim to by Americans.  It was even weirder watching their guru hovering over them with a cell phone on a "selfie stick" while he shot video of his disciples (all women) in prayer.  He made no attempt to improve the flow of visitors by moving his disciples out of the way.

During lunch we couldn't help but notice the very same guru and his followers sitting near by.  The guru was loudly talking about his own path to enlightenment.  His path seemed to be strewn with one master after another.  Each had problems of various kinds that caused the guru to move on to the next sack of nuts with yet another sack of problems.  It was all nonsense to me, but his group of disciples hung on his every blessed word.

There was another group of Americans on the other corner from us.  At one point Jude got up to wash her hands and asked the woman, who was from NY, if she would please move her chair slightly so Jude could slip by.  The NY woman told her rather loudly and very bruskly "NO!"  So Jude asked her again as there really was no way to get to where she needed to go but through this narrow area.  The NY bitch, er, sorry, woman huffed and puffed as her friends suggested she move.  The NY Bitch inched her chair forward an inch.  It seemed as if the bitch was trying to lay claim to it's her own patch of France.


A little later we were sitting around the back side of the cathedral when I heard a woman tell me "I'm not being presumptuous..." as she reached under my seat and between my legs for something rather important.  It was definitely sacred to her.  Apparently it had been delivered from the sky and this little rolly polly bat-faced girl was filled with all kinds of "wonderful spiritual energy."  She was part of the American "spiritualists" group and felt it her duty to let me know something sacred had just taken place.  She told me "it's your's" as she held up a downy pigeon feather.  It took me a moment to realize what was going on and replied "No.  Really. It's your's."  Her face lit up, her puffy hands carefully caressed the feather, and she moved away in an obvious (oblivious?) state of "grace."

Oh, these have indeed been trying times.  A long hard winter followed by a long hot summer has given me the impression that I've become rather cranky.

Fortunately France remains a very sweet, civilized place to live.  Even as they have their very own brand of Special Olympic qualifying events.

Take, for instance, that wedding cake of a church sitting on top of Montmartre.  I shared with an American couple that Sacre Coeur is an abomination against all that is good and decent in Paris.  You can imagine the puzzled looks on their faces as I said this.  The obvious question is "why?".


Well, you see, a hundred years of history has done little to dampen the ardent hatred many Parisians have for that site.  Afterall, how can you blame them?  The royalist/monarchist Catholics built it in honor of their "victory" over the Communards who tried to rule Paris in a very true and interesting Anarchist way.  The event was a slaughter, actually.  French slaughtering their own.  All because someone needed to have things their way and only their way.

A Parisian I spoke with this week suggested the best view of Paris is indeed from Montmartre.  It's the only view of the city where you don't see that abomination of Sacre Coeur.

I must be becoming Parisian of some persuasion as I couldn't agree more with this.  To me it's incredibly moving to visit the place inside Pere Lachaise cemetery where the last of the Communards were stood against a wall and slaughtered by the Royalist/Monarchist army.

Often I see fresh flowers at the site.