Fall!

As you can see, it is turning fall in Paris. Here are some pictures from the weekend. Above and below, Parc Montsouris, located a short walk from our apartment.



Strange art in Paris:



A contrast of old and new (the new Les Halles commercial center and St. Eustache church:



The Samaritaine department store:



The very tip of the Ile de la Cité:



A narrow alley leading to Boulevard St. Germain:



Today was the Fete de Jardins, which allowed the public access to a number of private gardens that usually not open to the public. Two of them are here:





I am fighting off a bad chest cold so the blogging is going to be difficult for a while. But I have not forgotten you....

Nineteen Hundred Four-Score and Fourteen -- A Funny Misunderstanding

My son Andrew has had an ongoing problem with his stomach, so on Thursday we took him in the afternoon to see the doctor. The doctor ordered an analysis that required us to take a sample to a medical lab, so on Friday morning I found myself standing in a long line waiting to drop off the sample and pay for the service. I had the paper that the doctor had given me, which had most of the relevant information on it, so I was hoping not to have to say much of anything. And mostly that was the case. But the one thing I did have to say lead to a funny misunderstanding.

French has a funny way of counting after you get to sixty. There is no "seventy"; 70 is represented as "sixty-ten." There is no "eighty"; 80 is represented as "four-twenty," the same structure as in the famous "four-score and seven years ago" phrase in Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. All numbers from 80 to 99 are formed by using "four-twenty" and the appropriate number from 1 to 19; "ninety-five" is thus "four-twenty-fifteen," which raises the additional problem for the new French speaker of having to deal with the "teen" numbers in addition.

So I was in line, and I had handed her the paper, and I had spelled Andrew's first and last name so she could input it into the computer, and then she asked me for his year of birth. OK, I told myself, you've been here for three months, you've taken scores of French lessons (yeah, that was a nice little insertion there, wasn't it?), just slow down and think and you'll get it. Andrew was born in 1994 ... that's dix-neuf cent (nineteen hundred) quartre-vingt (four-twenty) quatorze (fourteen). That's it! So I start to say it to the lady: "Dix-neuf cent quarte-vingt ..."

"Non," the lady said, in the most affirmative way you could ever say "no," with a slight shake of her head. OK, I thought, I thought I said it right, but maybe I've screwed something up, it's morning after all and maybe the coffee hasn't fully kicked in. Parse it again ... yeah, I think that's right ... so once again I start to give her the date: "Dix-neuf cent quarter-vingt ..."

"Non," she says again, this time more firmly (if that is possible), again shaking her head, no doubt thinking, "Idiot American." But if she were thinking that, she hid it well, as she politely asked me (in French, of course, I don't think she knew English), "Would you write it for me?"

She handed me a paper and a pen and I wrote out the year "1994." I handed it back to her and she looked up at me and said:

"Oh, this is not for you?"

"No," I said, "it is for my son."

She laughed, and I said to her, "Oh, now I understand!" For me, any birth year in the 1900s beginning with "four-twenty" was certainly and obviously wrong. Her "nons" weren't due to my poor French number skills, but to a misunderstanding about who the patient was. A small victory, but I will take it.

No, I'm Still Here

I realize that I am about a week (or is it more) behind in my posts, and the reason for that is that I'm starting to get a little worn down.  I know this won't draw much sympathy given the context, but it is difficult and wearing to deal constantly with foreignness, even if the foreignness is a foreignness you have a great affection for.  Class is four hours a day, five days a week, and it simply isn't possible to space out (even a little bit) and still follow what is going on.  It requires complete, fairly intense concentration all the time.  And while my French has improved a ton, the problem is the same one well-known to golfers ... the better you get, the more you expect, so that a level that would have satisfied you completely a month ago now seems insufficient.  Or perhaps that is simply part of the human condition.  In any event, what was a vacation seems a little like (sorry, no other way to say it) work now:  Up at 6 a.m., on the Metro at 8 a.m., class 9 to 1, lunch sometimes with classmates (very fun, no doubt about it, but difficult to, dealing with people you barely know from countries you barely know in a language you know barely but not much more than that), and before I know it, it is 4:30 and the kids are back from school and the day is almost over.  Plus it doesn't seem like I'm getting enough sleep, and by the end of the week I feel really, really worn out.

But, it's not all a grind here (I should note, as I'm sure you figured out already, that I absolutely love the classes, notwithstanding their difficulty, both for the pure love of learning a new language, which is intellectually and emotionally satisfying in a way I haven't experienced before, and for the opportunity to meet so many different people).  Last weekend, for example, we had one of those "I can't believe that this is happening to us" experiences.

When we were trying to decide where to stay in France during our time off, we had corresponded with a family who lives in La Rochelle, a city on the Atlantic Coast north of Bordeaux, about exchanging houses for a year.  We eventually decided we wanted to stay in Paris, but we kept in touch with them, and as they were finishing up their year in the U.S. (they ended up in Portland, which they loved), they visited us in Santa Rosa for an evening, along with two friends of theirs.  We hardly did anything for them; they wanted a typically American restaurant so we took them to Kal's Kaffe Mocha on Airport Boulevard and treated them to the grossly large portions.  They told us to be sure to write them when we got to France, so we could come for a visit, and so we did, and the date was fixed for last weekend.

In an ideal world, we would have taken the train, as there is a TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse, or high-speed train) between Paris and La Rochelle, but the cost for the four of us was prohibitive, so we rented a car (a great, small Renault Scenic, which was a six-speed diesel and which got about 40 miles per gallon) and drove the long, long way down and back (a little tiring, but it was almost all freeway).  When we arrived on Friday evening, the husband of the couple (Alain) was packing up his car so we could stay at their house on the Ile de Re, which is (we discovered), a very pretty and very upscale vacation/resort area just off the coast of La Rochelle.

[googlemaps http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&num=10&ie=UTF8&t=h&s=AARTsJpyd699azyliAtM3dmXKkI1PHj4WQ&msa=0&msid=104194220758797817610.000457a5a0abda52f3041&ll=46.14654,-1.246948&spn=0.456691,0.878906&z=10&output=embed&w=640&h=480]

When we got to the house, we were amazed. Alain is a builder, and he had built this house a few years ago, and it was exactly the kind of house that Suzie and I would build if we had the time, the inclination, the money and, perhaps, a little more experience in interior decoration.  The house was at once both interesting and understated, warm and calming, obviously expensive and yet completely comfortable and unassuming.  Pretty much, it turns out, just like Alain and his wonderfully friendly wife Isabelle, who treated us, the entire weekend, like we were very important long lost friends.  They made us a huge, delicious dinner on Friday evening, followed by a huge, delicious breakfast Saturday morning, followed by a trip to the nearby village, where they had a huge market, including the largest selection of fresh seafood I have ever seen in my life (much of it still jumping around!), and where they purchased fresh oysters and mussels and small shrimp for dinner that evening.

After returning home, we all took advantage of one of the most outstanding features of the Ile de Re, its many kilometers of bike paths.  The island is perfectly flat, and with the many bike-only paths, biking around the island is easy and pleasurable.  Our main stop in the morning was the the village of St. Martin de Re, a walled city and port dating from the 15th century, whose fortifications are a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The village has pretty narrow streets and a picturesque harbor, in addition to the huge fortifications along the Atlantic.





After that little excursion, we returned to their house, and then went with the boys to the beach.  It was only a 5 minute walk from the house, and at the low tide there was a wide, wide expanse of sand, sun, and, of course, water, which the boys found very chilly.





After the beach it was time, yet again, for eating, this time a brief snack of shrimp and pistachios.  After an hour or so, during which the boys swam in the pool, the adults went out for a bike ride east, the the "marais," or swamps, which are now used for the production of salt.  (The boys, including Alain and Isabelle's son Arthur, occupied themselves with a Wii game, which they all loved.)  The bide ride took us through several small villages and finally into the marais, with its mudflats and its salty, rich smell and large avian population.





Here's a nice picture of the four of us, taken by a reluctant older lady who really didn't want to hold or operate my camera, but did so anyway.  You can see what a beautiful day it was; we didn't see a cloud the entire time we were there.



After returning home, we all went to the beach to watch the sunset, drink champagne, and eat Pringles and pistacios.  This beautiful photo of the sunset is courtesy of Alain.



That evening we had a very late dinner, consisting of oysters and mussels and rice and bread and, as always, cheese ... five different types of excellent, wonderful, mouth-watering delicious cheese, followed by the rest of the rhubarb crumble that we'd slowly consumed over the past two days, followed by dark chocolate, just to show that we were all really, really decadent.  I slept that night like a rock, unmoving, thanks not only to the exercise and the sun and the food, but also to the absolute dead silence of the night, so different from Paris.

The next day we were up and out relatively quickly, for a tour of La Rochelle.  First stop (after their house) was the market,



where we were treated to a butcher who wanted to show, apparently, that these really, really were ducks he was selling.



After the market, we headed toward the harbor.  On the way we passed City Hall (the Hotel de Ville), which was open to the public this weekend because of the Journees European de Patromoine, during which the public can enter and view buildings not normally accessible.  The City Hall was magnificent, both inside and out.







From the City Hall, we walked down narrow, narrow old streets to the harbor, where we were presented with stunning views of the harbor and the towers protecting it, as well as the city itself:









After touring the city, it was time, once again, to eat! Alain and Isabelle bought a roasted chicken and potatoes from the market, which we ate along with fresh bread, wine, cheese, coffee, and, to finish the whole trip off ... more dark chocolate.

Then sadly, we had to leave to drive back to Paris. This was not much fun, as it was almost 500 kilometers, the freeway was not very interesting (although we continue to marvel at the rest areas), and we hit a huge traffic jam about 20 miles outside of Paris, in which we were more or less stuck for over an hour. I dropped off Suzie and the boys at the apartment and took the rental car back to Montparnasse, safe and sound. (As an aside, when I rented the car I dealt with a very nice woman who told me, after our transaction was over, that my French was very good, which I believe was a lie, but which she claimed was the truth, and which made my afternoon.)

The entire weekend, we absolutely marveled at the friendliness of our hosts. Why did they take so very much time and effort for us? We basically used up their entire weekend, and they cooked enough food to feed a normal family for a week and a half, and they were at all times simply wonderful to be around: intelligent, funny, kind, hospitable, and easygoing. I have a standing joke with Suzie; when we come from situations like that (which seem to happen to us more often, frankly, than we probably deserve), I tell her that the people must really, really like her, because it's hard for me to see how I could draw out that kind of attention. (Those of you who know Suzie and who know me will have to grudgingly admit that there is more than a little truth there....) We appreciated so very much all they did for us, and are sad to think that we may not be able to return the favor for a long, long time.

Whew, you can see why I'm behind in my blogging ... that was only three days! I've got a lot of things saved up for you (sort of coming attractions, if you will), including Suzie's interesting experience at the stake competition, our latest interaction with the bureaucracy regarding our residency card, our meetings at the kids' schools (and more generally, how the kids are doing in France), plus other posts yet-to-be-named. So stay tuned, I will try to not go a week between posts!

The Press Needs some Lipstick

From Paris, the recent "controversy" over Barack Obama's "lipstick on a pig" remark looks just plain stupid, as does, frankly, the hand-wringing over the co-called Sarah Palin "phenomenon."  

As for the former, you can only view the statement one of two ways -- either Barack Obama innocently used an expression he's used before (as has John McCain), or he used it intentionally as a reference to Palin's statement at the Republican Convention that lipstick is the only difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull.  In either case, the appropriate response is -- who the hell cares?  If the former (an innocent statement), then the Republicans' reaction is inappropriate.  If the latter (and, personally, I hope it was an intentional reference, as I love a little clever creativity), the Republicans' reaction to me suggests that, as a "girl," Palin isn't tough enough to take a little clever shot like that, which to me means that the reaction was ... inappropriate.  But because this analysis is based upon reason, it misses the real point, which, I think is this:  Because the left has for so many years stupidly and inanely pounded the drum of identity politics and "victimhood," the right is all too ready to use that tool as a bludgeon, because, after all, what can the left really say about it?  For someone like me, who sits in the middle of the political spectrum, it is a little amusing to see the left get hoisted on its own petard.  What the left should do, if it were smart, is to reciprocate -- if the right is going to borrow from the left's playbook and play the "victim" card, the left should do likewise and borrow a little of the right's traditional emphasis on toughness.  If the right wants to pony up Palin as a "pit bull" or a "barracuda," the left ought to point out that crying foul over a remark like "lipstick on a pig" is hardly the sign of true toughness.  If I were Obama, I'd say ... 'grow up.'  What are we to expect -- Putin makes a mean, sexist remark and President Palin falls to pieces, then capitulates?  Of course not.  But this is exactly why this whole "controversy" is stupid.  I suspect that if Sarah Palin had any reaction to the "lipstick on a pig" remark, it was a grudging, 'Hey, that was pretty good.'  In other words, the whole controversy is just made up.

The real pig in all this is the press and, perhaps worse, the blogosphere, which feeds on this crap like a big old fat ugly catfish at the bottom of the Mississippi River (sorry to mix metaphors there).  With all the problems facing the U.S. and the world, we are spending time talking about something this inane?  Holy crud, I'm doing it too!  Incredible.  We are supposed to vote for Sarah Palin because she's young, nice looking (supposedly, although I confess to me there's something slightly scary about her demeanor that doesn't allow me to find her attractive), has a "hunk" for a husband (what the hell is all that commentary about?) and a down syndrome baby?  I don't get it.  I'm as qualified to be President as Sarah Palin (actually probably more qualified, since I at least have some background about things like, oh, the Constitution and American history and American political theory).  Obama needs to start getting serious.  Start calling McCain on his crap.  Be honest with the people; they want change, and McCain-Palin isn't it.  That's the bottom line.

Sorry this post was so rambling.  I'm tired, very tired, and, as an American overseas, a little embarrassed, too.  Is this the best our press can do?

Obama by a Landslide

In France, that is ... a poll published today by Le Figaro indicates that if the U.S. Presidential election were held today in France, Obama would win ... by 80% to 8%!  The article notes that a similar poll in Great Britain shows Obama ahead 49% to 12% (the rest were in pubs and unavailable for comment), and that polls in India and Kenya show Obama with leads of 9% and 82% (!) respectively.

So What's a Typical Day Like?

So you might ask.  So I might answer like this.

Up at 6:15.  Suzie puts the coffee on and we wait until we hear that lovely sound of the last bit of water in the reservoir being coughed into the grounds.  Lie in bed awhile reading the French paper from yesterday.   Finally the coffee kicks in and we try to get Will out of bed.  As will be the subject of a later post, both of the boys are handling their new French schools incredibly well.  But it's very tiring for them, and Will balks at getting up at such an early hour (he has to get out, take the Metro -- with a transfer, and get to school by 8:00 a.m.).  Eventually he rouses and Suzie and I shower and get ready for our classes.

We are both taking classes at the Alliance Francaise in Paris.  Mine is four hours per day, 5 days a week, Suzie's currently is 3 hours a day 3 times a week.  More about my class in a bit.

Get dressed (I've finally ceded the high ground and started wearing jeans in Paris, at which point, of course, I notice that tons of people in Paris, and not just tourists, wear jeans), and head out the door.  Press the button to call the little elevator from the ground floor up to ours on the 5th (in France) or the 6th (in the U.S.) floor.  This is the elevator that trapped the children between floors during our first week here (I dare say that they had something to do that, but that's another story) and which routinely stops working for certain periods of time.  So it's always a toss up as to whether to call the elevator and take the risk, or walk down the spiral staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft, which carries with it its own risk (there is something almost hypnotic about walking downstairs in a spiral; by the end it is very easy to take a misstep).  But today I'm feeling lucky, and the elevator works fine, taking me down to the lobby.  Push the buttons to open the heavy wooden interior and exterior doors, and step out onto the sidewalk.  The air is cool and fresh, and the sidewalk full of people walking to the Metro or away from the Metro.  Turn right and walk the block or so to the Alesia Metro station.

At the top of the stairs leading down to the trains there is a stack of a free paper called "20 Minutes," so named because it's designed to be read during a 20-minute Metro ride, and containing not much more than 20 minutes worth of content (even I don't take much longer than that to go through the whole thing).  This morning, this story caught my eye:  

Métro: un chien perturbe le trafic sur la ligne 13 pendant une heure

 

Un chien sème la pagaille sur la ligne 13, lundi matin. Le trafic a été interrompu entre 7h30 et 8h49 entre les stations La Fourche et Saint-Denis Université à cause de la présence d'un chien sur la voie au niveau de la station Guy Môquet, a précisé la RATP à 20minutes.fr.

«Le courant a été coupé et les pompiers cynophiles sont descendus sur la voie pour le chercher», a-t-elle ajouté. Ils l'ont finalement récupéré une heure plus tard.

La ligne 13 est une des plus fréquentées du réseau. Elle traverse la capitale du nord au sud.

You have to love this.  A dog gets on the Metro tracks right in the middle of rush hour and they shut down the line for an hour until he (or she) can be retrieved.  A beautiful thing to contemplate, really.

Wait on the quai for the train to come.  The quai is filling up with people quickly.  Alesia is a very well-used, well-traveled metro station; there are always a lot of folks getting on and off the trains there.  The train comes shortly (it's never more than 3 or 4 minutes), and it's already fairly full, but I manage to snag one of the one remaing seats.  As is usual, the train is uncomfortably hot, and the cars do not appear to have any way to circulate air, other than opening the small vents at the top of the windows.  The stops go by one-by-one, a few people getting on, more people getting on -- Mouton-Duvernet; Denfert Rochereau; Raspail; Vavin; Montparnasse-Bienvenue (a big, big station, often transfers take almost as long as the ride itself); and finally Saint-Plaicide, a block and a half away from the Alliance Francaise.  I've gotten used to the etiquette of the Metro, which is similar to that of most big cities -- don't talk, don't look, but be polite and let old ladies and men have your seat.  It's gotten to seem very familiar.

The Alliance Francaise is located on Boulevard Raspail, a pretty street in a moderately nice area in the 6th arrondissement, a few blocks west of the Luxembourg Gardens.  It's situated in two buildings, an elegant older building fronting Raspail, and a newer, less-charming building on the Rue de Fleurus.  The latter holds only classrooms, and the rest of the facilities (as well as a few classrooms) are in the former.  It is a very comfortable, well-appointed facility, with a very good (and inexpensive) cafeteria and a good library.  It feels very much like a building on the grounds of a small liberal arts college.

I always head to the cafeteria for an espresso before class.  Suzie has been taking to walking there in the mornings, so she's already there ahead of me, having a latte.  I'm running a little late so I just say hi to her and go on to my class, in the Fleurus building.

Taking French classes has been one of the biggest pleasures of this time in Paris.  Not only has the process of learning French been intellectually interesting (as well as emotionally satisfying, as my level has increased), but I have had the opportunity to meet and interact with people from all over the world.  Most of them are younger, which makes them a bit more interesting (perhaps) and lively (certainly).  In my current class I have a young woman from Venezula, a young man from Argentina, a slightly older man from Russia (although he is ethnically Asian), two young women from China, a middle-aged woman from Japan, a young woman from Brazil, and a young woman from Iran (I think, although she seems awfully Westernized for someone from Iran, but then what do I really know about that), a young woman from Germany, and a young woman from Spain.  Since a lot of the classwork is done in small groups, there is a lot of opportunity to interact, and it is interesting and rewarding to work with and connect with someone while using a language that is not native to either person.

In addition, there's something about the setting or the situation that is very conducive to connecting to people quickly and in a deeper way than you would think would be the case after interacting for only a short time.  I've made a number of friends with whom I still communicate by phone and e-mail, even though they've returned to their native countries.  How long that will last, who knows, but that it happens at all is very cool.  Just today, before my class, the woman I sat next to in my class last week (an intelligent and interesting young woman from Germany, who moved on to a somewhat more difficult class) happened to see me at the same time I happened to see her, and the feeling was like two old friends meeting again.  As I said, it is interesting and rewarding and broadening and intellectually challenging in addition to being just plain fun.

Class today wasn't particularly interesting (various and sundry uses of the pronouns "y" and "en", along with some painful, painful phonetics lessons), but I did have the opportunity to work with one of the women from China, who was obviously more comfortable speaking English than French, and who had a very cool small electronic dictionary that caused the electronics-envying part of me to wake up.  She ended up being a perfectly charming and fun work partner, although the exercise was not particularly interesting to me or to her.

After class ended at 1 p.m., I did something unusual.  Suzie had located a native French speaker on Craigslist Paris for the purpose of exchanging conversation in the two different languages, so I put a listing on also, and had a response from a woman with a legal background, which I thought would be interesting to hear about.  She had suggested meeting at 2:30 at a cafe right on the Place de la Bastille, so I had some time to kill before then.  I took the Metro up a couple of stops to St. Germain-des-Pres, found a Monoprix store (these are somewhat strange [to me] combinations of a clothing store and a grocery store, with pretty good food) and bought a sandwich and a soda, then found a bench to eat and drink them on while watching the people go by.  Then back on the Metro, transferring at my least favorite station (Chatelet, always crowded and stuffy and with long, long walks between lines) before finally getting off at Bastille.  I was, as usual, 30 minutes early, so I found a bench and did my homework to pass the time.  At 2:30 I went to the cafe and figured out pretty shortly who my conversation partner was by the way she was looking for someone that she didn't really know.

She turned out to be a very good conversation partner, her English and my French being pretty much on par (she's a little better).  Like many Parisiens, she comes from an interesting background -- an Algerian father and a Serbian mother, although she was born and raised in Paris.  We talked about various and sundry things -- the study of law in France, French and American politics, schools, her job, my job, California, etc., etc.  I told her that I think that Suzie would be a good partner for her also, so I suspect we may all get together next time.  Again, it is very gratifying to be able to have a conversation with someone in French, and actually be able to understand and communicate (it's also fun to play English teacher a little bit; learning French has made me realize just how incredibly competent I am in my own language, without ever really trying).

The Metro ride home seemed long, as I took a different route that required two transfers, and when I got home I was tired.  Suzie is working on a project, Andrew was sick today and stayed home from school, Will had a good day learning French.  I'd tell you about my and Andrew's trip to the grocery store and our experience with the French self-service checkout, but I'm out of steam.  Finally, as a treat to all of us, Suzie's father is coming to Paris, arriving tomorrow morning.

I probably don't have to say this (not again, I'm sure you thinking), but I love it here.  I thought this would be a good experience, and up to now it has greatly surpassed my expectations.  Sometimes still I can't really believe I'm here, that this is my life for now, that I'm a Metro commuter, that I'm a Parisien.  Incredible.

Pictures from a Glorious Fall Day

Yesterday I had the afternoon completely free, and it was a perfect fall day, clear and bright, so I decided to take a walk around Paris.  Sometimes I think my readers (viewers?) prefer pictures to words, so here are a few, with some limited commentary.

First, a couple of political pictures:  The Assemblee Nationale, the U.S. Embassy (sadly behind rows of concrete barriers and police), and the Elysee Palace, home of the French President.







From this area (near the Place de la Concorde), I walked through the ritzy area near Place Vendome, to the beautiful Opera building:





From there I walked back toward the Seine, passing through the beautiful garden of the Palais Royal, where for a time, unfortunately, I advertently had put the focus into manual, thus ruining all the shots until I discovered the error.  Here's one that made it.



And -- a self portrait!



There was a lady in the garden who managed to get the small flity birds to eat out of her hand.



From here, I walked through the plaza of the Louvre, into the Tuileries Gardens, which afforded a number of beautiful views.



This final one I call "Me Thinking About Leaving Paris (Naked)":



That's all for now.  The days are busy and I'm about a week behind in my posts, so there is more to come.

McCain Uncorks a Good One

We were able to watch John McCain's acceptance speech a day after he gave it, courtesy of the l'Assemblee Nationale and the Senat, which have a TV channel something like C-SPAN, and which broadcast the speech in its entirety (overdubbed, of course, by a translation in French).  It was a bit difficult to listen to, because I found myself trying to do multiple things all at once -- listen in English, listen in French, evaluate the translation, and evaluate the speech itself.  My take on the speech was that although 80% of it was slow and predictable, it reached an amazing crescendo at the end, with McCain's recitation of his time as a POW and the impact that had on his life and his politics.  Agree or disagree with his policies, in my view that ending enabled McCain to turn a mediocre speech into a good one, one that will draw voters to him personally, in much the same way that many voters are personally drawn to Obama (albeit for different reasons).

I found myself afterwards thinking about the main thrust of the last part of the speech -- how McCain's captivity caused him to grasp the idea of a cause beyond himself, and thus lead him to dedicate his life to public service.  It was this part of the speech that I found most engaging:

If you find faults with our country, make it a better one. If you're disappointed with the mistakes of government, join its ranks and work to correct them. Enlist in our Armed Forces. Become a teacher. Enter the ministry. Run for public office. Feed a hungry child. Teach an illiterate adult to read. Comfort the afflicted. Defend the rights of the oppressed. Our country will be the better, and you will be the happier. Because nothing brings greater happiness in life than to serve a cause greater than yourself.

This, I dare say, is one thing that McCain and Obama would agree on.  But what I don't understand is this:  If serving others who are in need brings "great happiness" because nothing is better than "serving a cause greater than yourself," then why is the far right so very much opposed to government programs that do just that?  If you think about it from an economic point of view, if I want to aid the fight against illiteracy in adults, it is much more efficient for me to work an hour in my regular job, and then give that money to pay someone who actually knows how to teach an illiterate person to read, than it is for me to try to do it directly.  More actual "good" will come from that than will come from me trying to teach someone to read (although it will not be as emotionally satisfying for me).  So why isn't paying taxes to aid those in need a "cause greater than yourself" that should be embraced by the right?  (There are two answers, of course.  The first is the mistrust of government that has become perhaps the single defining core belief of the right -- a belief that taxes are inevitably pissed away on bureaucrats rather than used to do "good."  The second is that not all on the right share McCain's belief in public service -- many think that if an adult is illiterate it is his or her own damn fault, so why should we help?)

But I digress.  Although I see that the general consensus in the blogosphere and media is that the speech was a dud, I didn't see it that way.  I thought the end of the speech, with its story of despair and redemption, its call to public service, spoke to a lot of voters in the middle.  I think that we are in for a race, Sarah Palin notwithstanding.

Report from the First Trimester

It pains me to think that our time in Paris is already one-third gone.  It seems to have flown by, even though (as the highly-educated, classy, consistent readers of this blog know) we have done a lot.  Here are a few reflections on the surprises so far.

The most pleasant surprise is an entirely personal one.  Before this trip, I had more than a little fear that the great amount of time that we would all be spending together would lead to unpleasant consequences.  But the exact opposite has occurred.  We've had some rough spots, but in general this trip seems to have made us all much, much closer.  That is certainly the case for me and Suzie; we were remarking the other day that despite all the time we've been together, and despite all the stresses that the travel and the move have brought to us, we have not even come close to having what I would call a real fight.  To the contrary, we have immensely enjoyed spending so much time together.  It has made us closer than ever.  It's also the case for the kids.  While they've put on a few outstanding displays of teenage fit-throwing, and while they still have the tendency to fight all the time (and although my youngest son Andrew has suddenly become more volatile and ill-tempered, thanks to the surge of testosterone running through his teenaged system), the boys have on the whole become much closer on this trip.  I think that's because they have had to rely on each other more, and because they have to rely on each other more, they appreciate each other more than before.  In particular, my oldest son Will has matured a lot on this trip; at least sometimes he seems to understand now in a way he didn't before how his actions impact the rest of his family.  I'm very, very proud of the way they have both stepped it up.

Another surprise is how much more freedom the boys have here in Paris, due mostly to the fantastic public transit system.  At home they are dependant on us if they want to go anywhere; here, they can go out anytime and go anywhere they want on their own.  They absolutely love that freedom, and we do, too, as it is helping to make them more mature and more self-reliant.

A related surprise is how much I enjoy not having to drive.  As I posted earlier, our carbon footprint here in Paris has shrunk to a small, small fraction of our carbon footprint in Sonoma County -- no cars, no dryer, no air conditioning, a small space to light and heat.  Everything is a lot more efficient in a way.  Suzie has remarked that since we have to carry all our groceries back to the apartment by hand, we only buy for the upcoming few days, and end up throwing away a lot less food.

An unpleasant surprise (which really isn't a surprise when I think about it) is how much we miss nature.  Sometimes we find ourselves having a deep, deep need for green that drives us to the park.  Related to this is how much we miss the quiet.  On our busy, busy street the traffic noise is incessant, even at night.  Now that it has gotten a little cooler, we've taken to keeping the main windows closed during the day to try to cut down on the constant din.  That helps, but we sure enjoyed being in Aigrefeuille, where (as in our home in Sonoma County) the days and nights were so very quiet and peaceful.

Having been in France previously for extended periods, we haven't had any big surprises with respect to the country or its people, other, perhaps, than our continued amazement at how friendly and helpful everyone has been (our downstairs neighbor notwithstanding -- which reminds me, I never did exactly tell that whole story, did I ... that leaves two posts I have hanging!).  We've also been amazed (perhaps me more than Suzie) at how well people we meet seem to like us.  Even in our language classes, students who are much younger than either Suzie or I make friends with us frequently and easily.  Suzie and I both have made several friends with whom we continue to correspond even though they are no longer in class with us.

My final surprise is a bit of a sad one, in a way.  Meaning no offense to any of my readers in the Western Hemisphere, I have not missed "home" at all.  If I miss anything at all, it is Elsie, our dog, but then only if  if I see a spaniel on the street.  I don't think this has anything to do with how much I appreciate my life in Sonoma County, or the people I share it with there (whom I love), as much has it has to do with two other things.  First, every day here is so full that it is hard to imagine that anything could be missing from it.  Every day seems magical, every street, alley, building, sunset, every new person I meet, every phrase I speak in French, every e-mail I send to my new acquaintances, every trip to the grocery store.  Second, there is something about Paris, and about France, that makes me feel completely at home and in-place.  Even something as simple as the weather:  In just a week, the season here has changed from summer to autumn.  The sun is lower in the sky, and the weather has turned fresh, cool, and, from time to time, drizzly.  Sweaters and jackets have replaced t-shirts and sundresses, the Metro has lost some of its stifling warmth, and the winds carry the promise of yet cooler days ahead.  Having been raised in the Midwest, I have never gotten used to California's seasons.  The lack of rain in the summer still seems unnatural to me on a primal, gut level.  Things are supposed to die during the winter, not during the summer.  And California doesn't really have my favorite season, the fall.  But here in Paris it is fall now.  I can see the leaves starting to think about drying up and turning color.  I can imgine how it will feel in December, when the cold comes, how the homes and restraurants and stores and classrooms become refuges, warm and inviting, how it feels to be bundled under layers of warm clothing.  For 20 years, I have missed the autumn, and I have missed the slow decent into winter.  Now I have a chance to have it again, and it makes me unreasonably, almost stupidly happy, and puts me very much at home, very much at ease.

If the next two months are half as interesting, half as engaging as the past two, I will be very lucky.  At times, none of this seems possible.  And at others, it seems like the most natural, most right thing I've ever done (next, of course, to marrying Suzie).  More to come....

Embarrasing Translation (TMI Warning)

I've been having a small, annoying, common medical problem that is entirely treatable by any number of products that you see advertised on TV in the U.S. during sporting events.  (No, no, no, it's not that problem ... jamais, jamais in Paris, the city of love!)  But here in France, it isn't possible to just to into a drug store and buy products like that.  Such products (and others equally common) are only available in a pharmacie, and only after a consultation with the pharmacien (or pharmacienne) behind the counter, who discusses with you the specific ailment you're looking to cure, then gives you the appropriate product.  For example, when my son Andrew had a bad intestinal problem, I had to go discuss his situation with the pharmacien before I could buy what's called Immodium in the U.S.  I couldn't just go buy it on my own.

Well my particular problem involves (here's the TMI part, look away if you are squeemish) an embarrasingly-placed itchy rash, and I knew exactly what I needed for it, but I didn't know the French words I needed to communicate with the pharmacien (nor, frankly, did I particularly want to, since in truth it's none of his business).  So Suzie and I sat down with the dictionary and tried to suss out the proper vocabulary.

First order of business ... just what do you call the offending agent in French.  Let's see ... oh, yes, here it is:  champignion.  What?!?  Champignon like the things that you cook?  So I have to walk into the pharmacy and tell the man that I have ... mushrooms?  Good God.  OK, OK, take a breath ... what's the next thing I need?  Oh yeah, a description of what is wrong.  Let's see, it's "itch," that's ... demangeaison.  Wait a minute, I see a verb I know in there ... it's manger, French for "to eat."  So that means I have to go into the pharmacy and tell the man not only that I have mushrooms, but also that they are eating me?  This is looking less likely.  One more thing, the location ... let's see, let's see, here it is ... finally, I get a break; the French word is a little better than the corresponding English word, which I've always thought was a little rough, albeit in perhaps an entirely appropriate way.

In any case, armed with my new vocabulary, and accompanied by my back-up translator Suzie, I walked down the block to the pharmacy on the corner.  I'm wishing, hoping, praying, of course, that the person behind the counter is a pharmacien and not a pharmacienne.  Preferably he'd be an old guy with warts or something who'd experienced the very same thing multiple times during his life.

But, of course, that was not to be.  The person behind the counter was a pharmacienne, a young, dark, pretty pharmacienne who could not have been more than 27 or 28.  "Madamoiselle, I have a problem.  Mushrooms are eating me dans the entrejambe and I need your assistance."

Actually, it wasn't bad at all.  She was very helpful and didn't seem at all embarassed.  She said I spoke French very well and that she loved English.  She gave me a tube of champignion-killing lotion and charged me two euros and 15 centimes.  And is all well.  Still, it does not seem right.  In my opinion, French should have different words for the champignions that grow in the forest and the champignions that grow on human beings.