Janet Hulstrand's Blog, page 11

Shuttling between Paris and Champagne

[image error]One of my favorite activities in Paris: sitting in a neighborhood cafe with a good book and either a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

I’ve been lucky enough to be shuttling between two of my favorite places in France (and I guess therefore in the world) this month: Paris, and “my” little village of Essoyes in Champagne.

It’s only about 2 1/2 hours from Paris to Essoyes, and I usually do most of that trip by train, either from Troyes or Vendeuvre-sur-Barse. So it really can be done as a day trip, and occasionally I have done that, for example to attend my friend Adrian Leeds’s Après-Midi meetups in the Marais. My timing was lucky this month, in that I was able to attend the first in-person Après-Midi to be held at the Café de la Mairie since the lockdown began last spring.

Adrian has been conducting Zoom meet-ups since April: this time the guest speaker was the wonderful Cara Black, who was talking about her latest book, Three Hours in Paris, which is a thriller set in newly-occupied Paris. Cara lives in San Francisco and was not able to come to Paris as planned (because most Americans–understandably–aren’t allowed into France for now

The lovely ringing of the bells in France…

[image error]L’Eglise St. Remy d’Essoyes

I have in the past mentioned how much I love the ringing of the church bells in France generally, and in particular the ringing of the church bells in “my” little village in Champagne.

I have also promised to expand upon this topic someday, and I have chosen today as the day to do that.

Before beginning I should probably say that there quite a few questions about this topic that I don’t yet know the answers to. And so I would invite anyone who can provide additional perspective or knowledge on the subject to please feel free to do so by commenting below.

Some of the things I wonder about are 1) Why recently the church bells in our town are ringing much more frequently than they used to–for example, every Sunday morning, not just the Sunday mornings when a mass is being celebrated here. It seems to me this started sometime into the period of confinement, or it might have even been during the beginning stages of déconfinement. In any case, lately, every Sunday morning, usually around 10:30 the bells begin to peal and they peal for a lovely 10 minutes or so. And then they peal again, maybe about 45 minutes later. 2) I would like to know how to learn more about the various patterns and meaning of the ringing. I have learned to recognize the tolling of the bells calling mourners to the church before a funeral, and I have been told that the ringing of the bells at 7 am and 7 pm each day is called “Angelus,” and that it is an ancient pattern of bell-ringing that is a call to prayer for Catholics, to pray a particular prayer commemorating the incarnation of Jesus, which includes a Hail Mary.

Before starting to write this post I looked to see who else had written on this topic to learn what I could from them. I did so a year or so ago and found this really interesting post written a few years ago by an Australian woman. I find this post interesting for the perspective and information she received from locals in the village where she was vacationing, when she asked the about the patterns of the ringing of the church bells there.

This time I found another post, this one by an American woman, also written a couple of years ago. I found this post interesting for the change of opinion this woman experienced when she first encountered the very frequent (and quite loud) ringing of the church bells in the French town she was vacationing in.

Like many people, at first she found the ringing (which continued through the night) annoying. But eventually she came to appreciate it to the extent that she actually missed the ringing of the bells when she had returned home to Huntington Beach, California.

I have never been bothered by the ringing of the bells; au contraire. I should probably add that like the husband of the woman from California, sleeping through innocent ambient background sounds is not a problem for me: therefore, the sound of bells ringing through the night does not interfere with my peaceful slumber.

But, as the Californian woman herself eventually came to feel, I find the regular ringing of the bells–not just on the hour, but on each quarter-hour also–to be comforting/grounding/orienting in a deep and fundamentally human way.

I think perhaps what bothers many people about this bell-ringing is that it is a regular and–some might feel unwelcome–imposition of the outside world into each of our individual private worlds–the one that exists in our minds. And I will readily admit that it indeed does do that.

However, far from resenting this imposition, I find it a very healthy and pleasant reminder that my own internal world, much as I value, respect, and protect it from all manner of unwelcome outside intrusions on a pretty much constant basis, does exist within a much larger world–a world formed by a local, national, international human community. In that regard, I find the ringing of the church bells, though an imposition, unlike many of the sounds that surround me daily in the 21st century, a very welcome one.

I am not a Catholic, but I feel lucky to be included in the daily reminders that Catholic churches around the world offer all within hearing that there is a power greater than and outside ourselves that we can benefit from remembering and calling upon, if we so desire; that we are surrounded by people, not only in our own local communities, but around the world who have a need for and appreciation of such reminders; and that whether we choose to listen to them or not, to appreciate them or not, these church bells, with their lovely musical sounds, will go on ringing through all manner of the chaos, worry, and strife that also surround us constantly.

I was going to say that they ring on “no matter what.” But in fact, I learned through my recent research, that the bells of France did stop ringing during World War II, from the time of the Occupation of the country until the moment of its liberation nearly five years later. That silence surely must have been a sad absence of sound for the French people: and the return of the ringing of the bells when they finally sounded again, incredibly joyful.

I wish I could share with you with the lovely sound of the ringing of the church bells in Essoyes, but my audio tech skills are just not there yet. So instead I will share with you the ringing of the bells from Sacre Coeur in Paris from a few months ago. Although one of the joys of church bells in France is that they do not all sound exactly the same, not at all; yet, in a general way, the sound is quite similar. And to me at least, deeply comforting.

Stay safe, stay well, everyone. Wear those masks, wash those hands, prenez soin de vous…

Janet Hulstrand is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who divides her time between the U.S. and France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and is currently working on her next book, a literary memoir entitled “ A Long Way from Iowa.”

An Interview with the Author of Sense the Vibration: Hidden Stories

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Sense the Vibration: Hidden Stories is a collection of five short stories set in an imaginary town. These stories provide a glimpse into the lives of women in cultures where prevailing social customs as well as legal restrictions keep them trapped in very limiting roles. The author of these stories grew up in such a culture, and has chosen to publish them under a pseudonym to protect her family from prejudice and ostracism. She answered my questions about her book via email. Here is our exchange. Janet Hulstrand

Janet: What made you want to write this book? Who did you most want to reach through these stories?

Seraphina: The purpose of my stories is to bring attention to the plight of women who are living the restricted lives described in them, as well as to urge men to respect women as equals.  These stories reflect what some women and children experience in extremely backward, paternalistic societies in many parts of the world. It is also a plea to parents to educate their daughters, and abandon outmoded and cruel traditions.

Janet: What was most challenging about writing these stories? What was most rewarding or satisfying?

Seraphina: The biggest challenge was to not sound depressing. Accordingly, I avoided dwelling on women who did not, or could not, summon up the courage to struggle against unreasonable strictures, but who actually were subdued or crushed by them.  The rewarding part was writing about women who bravely challenged the old-fashioned customs to better their lives. These women are inspiring.

Janet: What do you hope your readers will learn from reading these stories? Is there any particular awareness you would like them to gain?  Are there any actions you’d like them to take?

Seraphina: Certainly, the hope is that readers will become aware of these cruel conditions in many parts of the world, and provide sympathy and resources to support the resistance these women are putting up against centuries-old male dominance. There are many resources one can support, for example charities that support shelters for abused women,  or law practices that specialize in defending abused women pro bono.

I also hope that men will read these stories with an open mind.    

Janet Hulstrand is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who divides her time between the U.S. and France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and is currently working on her next book, a literary memoir entitled “A Long Way from Iowa.”

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Drought, and wasps, and COVID, oh my!

[image error]The promise of rain, but no rain. The clouds are still beautiful, though…

I do not like to dwell on the negative, so this post is probably going to be rather short, and lacking in detail

Interview with Renée-Michele Payne, Author of Every Time We Say Goodbye

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Suzanne and Jean, a handsome young couple, meet and fall in love in the vibrant artistic atmosphere of Nancy in 1928. They marry and move to Paris, which is for Suzanne a dream come true. But their marriage is far from trouble-free, and even before war comes to Europe, much of their time is spent apart. The story of their love affair, which is enduringly passionate, but ultimately tragic, is played out on an international stage from Paris to Tangiers, Morocco, Spain, and various locations in France, as well as prison camps in Germany and escape routes through the Netherlands and Belgium.

A novel inspired by a true story,“Every Time We Say Goodbye” is a compelling story of sacrifice, love, and suffering, rich in period detail. Ultimately it is a story of phenomenal courage, of fierce devotion to country and freedom, of the resiliency and endurance of love. It is also about the devastating and persistent intergenerational wounds of war. I recently interviewed the author, Renée-Michele Payne, about the background of her book, and the process of writing it, via email. Here is our conversation. Janet Hulstrand

Janet: What inspired you want to write this story? And how long did it take you? 

Renee: I worked on this book for about 20 years. In 1997, my mother and I were at a department store in the Washington area, when she noticed an elderly woman sitting in a chair at the counter of the beauty salon. My mother approached her, and called out her name. The woman looked up at her, and said: “Forgive me. It was the circumstances.” They cried together for a moment before the woman was called away, for her appointment for a facial.

That was the woman on whom the character of Suzanne is based.

Ever since I learned the details about the couple who was the inspiration for the characters in my novel, I have wanted to write their story. I wanted to solve the mysteries that surrounded them: about the choices they made, their successes and failures, and how the tragedy of the Second World War changed their future together.

The young writer that the character of Jean is based upon had received many positive reviews for his first book, which was a collection of poetic musings. He was asked to write critiques of new publications for many well-known literary journals. An artist painted his portrait, Henri Martinie snapped his photo. The book was translated into Italian, and it was reviewed in the United States, in the Saturday Review. Yet, in spite of an announcement of new works to come, he published nothing after 1930, two years after his early success. Why? What could have happened? I wanted to know.

Another reason I wanted to tell his story was my reaction to what one of the critics had written: that the young writer had to be great, or be nothing. In a factual account I read of a prison escape that “Jean” had helped to engineer, a version of which is detailed in the novel, one of the freed prisoners called him “a pure hero,” the kind of man with whom the Resistance would do miracles to free the country from the jaws of the occupiers and their collaborators. That line brought me to tears. I didn’t want the legacy of such a man to be “nothing.”

At first I was hoping to write a biography, but there were too many gaps that were impossible to fill in through my research, so I decided to use what I already knew, and was able to find out, as the framework for a fictional story, and imagine the details.

The character of Suzanne presented another mystery. As in the book, she changed her identity during the war, and cut off communication with her family. I remember her as a shadowy figure, appearing and disappearing in our lives. My mother loved her, and would tell me stories about her. I mourned her absence from my life. I wanted to know why she had made the choices she did. Was it a result of the trauma of the war? Or was it due to a character flaw? Whenever my mother met someone from her past, they would ask about “Suzanne.” She was clearly someone to be remembered.

I changed the characters’ names for reasons of privacy. I never met the model for Jean, as he was killed before I was born, but the stories I heard about him were the impetus for my research. At the beginning, I knew little about his role in the Resistance, or where he had lost his life. I formed the character not only from the stories I had heard about him, but from the countless queries I sent out, and the research I did.

Unfortunately, most of his family had already passed, and the distant cousins I managed to find knew nothing about him. I was able to obtain a copy of his book, and I was excited to see that it was dedicated to a friend. I began buying multiple copies of his books, and learning about his circle of friends from the dedications he had written in them.

I learned about the place where he had died from the Center for Jewish Documentation in Paris. That also gave me his birthdate. When I received that information, he became alive for me. As in the novel, he was a young writer, born in Paris to a Jewish family originally from the Alsace-Lorraine region. He was the youngest ever to receive a doctorate in letters from the University of Caen, in 1924, at the age of 21, a fact that was reported in several newspapers at that time. His book of poetic musings was published in 1928. In 1930, he married a young Jewish woman from Morocco. She began to study mathematics and physics, and later she worked in a laboratory in Paris.

When the war broke out, Jean joined the fight. He was captured and sent to a prison camp in Germany, from which he escaped. He then joined the Resistance. It was after D-Day, but still in June of 1944 that he was arrested and executed. Suzanne did not learn of the location of his death until a few months later. He was buried initially in the cemetery of the town where the execution took place. Sometime later his body was moved, but I have been unable to find the location of his final resting place.

Janet: What was the hardest thing about writing it? The saddest? The most rewarding? 

Renee: The hardest part of writing the novel was the creation of believable three-dimensional characters who would spark and maintain the interest of readers. The saddest part was learning about the traumas and tragedies that befell them at the hands of the Nazis. The most rewarding part was learning each new detail, receiving each new document with another clue, and meeting members of the French Resistance. I also was able to visit the town where Jean and the other résistants were executed, and made a good friend in the president of the local veterans’ association there. My family and I were welcomed to a special ceremony to commemorate V-E day, the day the Nazis were expelled from Europe. That indeed was very special, and rewarding. The president of the veterans’ association was a retired baker. Every year after our visit, he sent us a box of homemade chocolates. I was privileged to know him and his family, and I was touched when his wife called me to tell me of his passing. He was a great man, and a hero of the Resistance.

Janet Hulstrand is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who divides her time between the U.S. and France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and is currently working on her next book, a literary memoir entitled “ A Long Way from Iowa.”

Summer in Essoyes

[image error]Essoyes on a summer evening. Photo by Phineas Rueckert.

I don’t really think of Essoyes as a tourist town, but it is, among other things, a wonderful place for tourists to visit. This is partly the legacy of Alain Cintrat, who has just ended 20 years of public service as our mayor, and partly the legacy of his mother. Of course there were many other people involved in making their dream of memorializing the history of the Renoir family in Essoyes come true; but if not for their dedication and determination over a period of many years, it would probably not have happened.

In any case, it did happen, and as a result Essoyes has become a lovely and very interesting place for tourists to visit, along with the many other lovely villages in this part of southern Champagne, very near the Burgundian border.

So it was that, just before the quatorze juillet, I noticed that the village square was suddenly full of cars, the physically distanced lines outside the bakery and in our little grocery store were longer, and there were lots of tourists strolling through the town. (You can tell which ones are the tourists: they are the ones wearing sporty casual vacation wear, walking at a very leisurely pace through the streets of the town, rather than on the sidewalks. This is irritating only when you are trying to drive a car through those narrow streets, but it is irritation tempered by the knowledge that having tourists come here is a good thing for Essoyes. It is…)

The rate of COVID cases has begun to tick up in France again, and France is responding. Everywhere you go there are signs reminding people what they can, and in some cases must, do to help protect themselves and others, and slow the rate of infection. In Essoyes, starting in August there will be testing available once a week in the community center. And everyone is hoping that, if everyone continues (or begins!) to follow the recommended guidelines for containing the virus, we can avoid a second wave that would be worse than the first. I suspect health care workers are hoping that more than anyone, let’s try to help them out with that, everyone, shall we?

And so, life has returned more or less to normal–well, to the “new normal”–at least for now. For our family that means raspberry tartes for July birthdays–and we celebrated two of them in our home this month.

[image error]Happy Birthday, Phineas!

The tartes at lunch were followed by a delicious meal at La Guingette des Arts, on the banks of the Ource River, which flows through the center of Essoyes. (The photo at the top of this post, by the way, taken by “the birthday boy” that night, is not retouched. Believe it or not!) And here’s a photo of him enjoying his escargots at La Guingette.

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There will be an organ concert in the church in Essoyes this weekend. How exciting is that? (After nothing happening in the churches for such a long time? Very!)

Wishing everyone a safe, happy continuation. Stay well. Stay safe. Prenez soin de vous.

Janet Hulstrand is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who divides her time between the U.S. and France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and is currently working on her next book, a literary memoir entitled “ A Long Way from Iowa.”

Merci, M. le Maire d’Essoyes

 



 














 



Maire d’Essoyes depuis 2001, M. Alain CINTRAT ne s’est pas présenté à la mairie en 2020. Il a ensuite été élu conseiller municipale dans la liste électorale de notre nouveau maire, M. Thierry MERCUZOT, et continuera de s’engager au service du commune d’Essoyes dans ce role — celui aussi important. 



 



 



Son service en tant que maire désormais achevé, j’ai pensé que ce serait un bon moment de réfléchir sur son mandat, et de lui remercier de tout ce qu’il a fait pour notre commune. Alors, en janvier, je lui ai envoyé plusieurs questions, et il m’a répondu par mail. J’ai pensé de publier ce poste juste après les élections municipales, au mois de mars, mais à cause de la crise sanitaire, le deuxième tour a été reporté et son mandat prolongé pendant quelques mois. Enfin, voila ses réponses à mes questions envoyées en hiver :



 



(An English-language version follows the original, which was conducted in French.) Janet Hulstrand  



 



Parisien de naissance, j’ai grandi à Essoyes, qui est mon village même si j’aime Paris ou je vais toujours avec grand plaisir; c’est le berceau d’une partie de ma famille qui y réside encore en partie.



 



J’ai grandi à Essoyes, j’y ai travaillé, je m’y suis marié, et j’en suis devenu le maire en 2001. Mes parents m’avaient ouvert la voie: mon père en plus d’un travail très prenant s’était engagé dans les pompiers, il en est devenu le chef, j’ai suivi sa trace en étant moi même pompier, et je lui ai succédé comme chef du centre de secours.



 



Ma mère a toujours été portée vers les autres, c’était naturel chez elle, la maison était ouverte à ceux qui en avait besoin pour remplir des papiers, pour des aides diverses, ou pour se faire faire une piqûre à une époque ou il n’y avait pas d’infirmières. Elle a été conseillère municipale, je pense qu’un de ses regrets a été de ne pas être maire. Elle a compensé en créant avec quelques passionnés l’association Renoir, elle s’est investie avec toute la fougue qui la caractérisait. Aujourd’hui ce qui existe autour de Renoir c’est en grande partie grâce à elle.



 



 




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M. le maire Alain CINTRAT (a gauche) et sa mere (a droit)





 



J’ai suivi la trace peut-être inconsciemment, c’était naturel; quand on m’a proposé d’intégrer le conseil municipal je n’ai pas hésité. C’était mon devoir de travailler pour ce village qui a accueilli ma famille et ou nous nous sentons bien; j’ai la chance que mes enfants puissent y vivre. Je n’avais pas d’idées préconçues, je n’avais pas de plan, j’apportais ma pierre à l’édifice sans ambition autre que celle de participer activement à la vie d’Essoyes.



 



Je suis devenu maire naturellement; j’étais passé de conseiller municipal à adjoint, puis 1er adjoint. Maire était la suite logique, c’est une fonction lourde, prenante, qui demande beaucoup de disponibilité; c’est surtout une fonction passionnante au service des habitants. Je crois qu’il faut aimer les gens pour exercer cette fonction, car c’est parfois (meme souvent) ingrat; il faut savoir faire abstraction des critiques, il ne faut pas attendre de remerciements, ce qui va bien aux yeux des habitants c’est normal, par contre dès que quelque chose ne plaît pas, la critique est là. Il faut être fort pour être maire.



 



Le quotidien est relativement simple: c’est de la gestion, il faut gérer le personnel, animer l’équipe municipale. La plus grande qualité pour être maire est à mes yeux d’être visionnaire: il faut savoir ce que l’on veut pour Essoyes dans les années futures, préparer des dossiers, lancer les études, demander les subventions demandent beaucoup de temps. Il ne peut pas y avoir d’improvisation, un mandat de six ans peut paraître long mais c’est très court pour des dossiers de plus en plus complexes à monter.



 



Un village qui perd des habitants est un village qui meurt à petit feu, c’est le constat que j’ai fait quand j’ai été élu maire, j’ai mis toute mon énergie à inverser cette spirale négative et si je dois aujourd’hui être fier d’une action que j’ai mené c’est celle ci. Essoyes gagne des habitants c’est suffisamment rare pour être signalé.



 



C’est une fonction enrichissante que j’ai exercé avec passion mais qui demande un engagement personnel important, il faut parfois être fort c’est le maire qui annonce les mauvaises nouvelles (par exemple les décès), et qui gère les situations difficiles–incendies, accidents…



 








 



 



Le conjoint doit accepter cet engagement permanent au service des administrés.



 



Je m’apprête à quitter cette fonction sans regret: il faut que des idées nouvelles émergent, c’est nécessaire pour continuer à progresser.



 



 



ENGLISH-LANGUAGE VERSION (translated by Janet Hulstrand)



 




 
Mayor of Essoyes since 2001, M. Alain CINTRAT did not run for mayor this year. He was recently elected as a member of the municipal council, along with the team of our new mayor, M. Thierry MERCUZOT. So he will continue to be involved in serving the commune of Essoyes in this also quite important role.
 
But, since his term of service as mayor is now over, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on his years of leadership, and to thank him for all he has done for our community. So, last winter, I sent him some questions, and he responded to me via email. I had thought to publish this post just after the municipal elections in March, but the pandemic caused everything to be prolonged, including the mayor’s term of service. Now, at last, here are the answers he wrote in response to my questions back in January.




 



I was born in Paris, but I grew up in Essoyes, which is my home, even though I love Paris, and I always love going there; it’s the home of some members of my family, who still live there.



 




I grew up in Essoyes, it is here that I worked, I was married, and where I became mayor in 2001. My parents prepared the way for me: my father, on top of a very demanding job, was a volunteer firefighter, and he became the chief. I followed in his footsteps, becoming a firefighter myself; and I also followed him as chief of the centre de secours.




 





My mother was always engaged with others, it was natural for her: our home was open to those who needed help filling out paperwork, or various other things, even to have a shot given in a period where there were no nurses in town. She was a member of the municipal council; I think that one of her regrets was to never have been mayor. She made up for it by creating, along with several other enthusiasts, the Renoir Association, and she gave to it all the energy that was characteristic of her. What exists today in Essoyes about the Renoirs is in large part thanks to her efforts.











I followed a path more or less subconsciously, it was just natural: when it was proposed that I run for municipal council, I didn’t hesitate to do so. I felt it was my duty to work for this village that had welcomed my family, and where we had done so well. I’m fortunate that my children can live here. I didn’t have any preconceived notions, I didn’t have a plan, I just added my stone to the building, without any ambition other than to participate actively in the life of Essoyes.



 



I became mayor also quite naturally: I went from municipal council member to deputy, then first deputy. Mayor was a logical next step. It’s a heavy responsibility, very demanding, and it requires a lot of availability; above all it’s passionate service to the residents of a village. I think you have to like people to do this job, because it is sometimes (even often) thankless: you have to know how to take criticism, you can’t expect thanks, when things go well, the people accept it as a matter of course; on the other hand, as soon as they don’t like something, they’re critical. It takes a strong person to be mayor.



 



The daily duties are relatively simple: it’s a question of management, you have to manage staff, and inspire the municipal team. The most important quality in a mayor in my opinion is to be visionary. You have to know what will be good for Essoyes in the coming years, prepare documents, launch studies, request grants. It all takes a lot of time. It can’t be improvised: a term of six years may seem long, but it’s actually very short given the more and more complex dossiers that must be prepared.



 



A village that is losing inhabitants is a village that is dying bit by bit. That’s what was happening when I became mayor. I have put all my energy into reversing this downward spiral, and if I can be proud of anything it is that. Essoyes is gaining inhabitants, which is rare enough to be noteworthy. It’s been rewarding work that I have done with passionate engagement; it requires significant personal dedication. Sometimes you have to announce bad news, or manage difficult situations: fires, accidents.



 



 

















 



The mayor’s spouse also has to accept this constant personal engagement in the service of the town. I’m ready to leave this position without regret; it’s important for new ideas to emerge: that is necessary for things to continue to progress.



 

Janet Hulstrand is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who divides her time between the U.S. and France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and is currently working on her next book, a literary memoir entitled “A Long Way from Iowa.”



 



 

Bastille Day in Essoyes 2020

[image error]Sam and Morgane au stade d’Essoyes. Photo by Felix Hoffmann.

Yesterday was a huge national holiday in France, probably the biggest. It is referred to by Americans as Bastille Day, but the French do not call it that, not at all. (And if they did–just a little tip about that eternally tricky French pronunciation–they would say “Bas-tee,” not “Bas-teel”

Déconfinement, Paris-style

[image error]Masks are required in the bus in Paris. Photo by Adrian Leeds.

It was time for another trip to Paris last week, and oh how lovely (and interesting! and joyful!) to be there again.

There are lots of new rules to be followed: the main ones are keeping one’s distance (ideally, at least one meter away from others), and wearing masks when such distancing is not possible. (In any case, masks are required on all public transportation, including in taxis, and in stores and other public places). The city has extended the limits of the sidewalks so that restaurants can put more people at outside tables, meaning that there is MORE room for people, less for cars. (It’s a move in the right direction…).

With these rules there has been a gradual, and very welcome, return to life in Paris as Parisians (and people from around the world) love it: with lots of time to enjoy the beauty of the parks, the river, the buildings, and to be surrounded by people enjoying life.

[image error]Sous le ciel de Paris. Champ de Mars. Photo by Janet Hulstrand.

The French are known for being very organized (and also rather bossy, to be honest). These qualities are quite beneficial in times when everything needs to be rethought and reorganized, in order for people to stay well and healthy, in order for life to begin to return to some kind of “new normal.”

So, everywhere you go in Paris, there are reminders of how to honor these gestes barrieres: tape on the floors of stores marking out the places where people should stand when in line, stickers on the seats in the buses so that you don’t forget, and sit down too close to someone else. And so on.

And it’s working pretty well: people need to keep following all these rules in order for the very good work everyone has done at beating back the virus to remain. But: so far, so good. Although it is not gone, and the danger is not past, for now France seems to have the situation more or less under control.

I had a wonderful time enjoying Paris with my pal Adrian Leeds: she wrote about some of it here. One of the highlights was an afternoon spent in the Luxembourg Gardens with an obligatory (for me, anyway!) visit to the wonderful Red Wheelbarrow bookstore which is just across the street from the gardens. Penelope Fletcher is there, doing what she always does: making excellent suggestions of books for people to read, ordering new ones on request, filling the shelves, creating an atmosphere of lively, intelligent, friendly interaction among a community of readers. She is the quintessential perfect bookseller!

I had the chance to see my son, also, while I was there. And I even got interviewed for a second time by the wonderful Oliver Gee, and finally got to meet his wife, the “lovely Lina.” (She is indeed lovely, in every way. I knew she would be from the way she is described in his new book.) After the interview we had dinner together at a lovely restaurant Oliver took us to, the Fontaine de Mars, a very sympa restaurant that apparently is a favorite spot of Robert DeNiro, and has been graced also with the presence of the Obamas. How I managed not to think of taking a photo of us on this occasion I guess is that I was simply enjoying our time together too much. (You see, that is the problem always about photography: you can either be in the moment, or take a picture of it. Which means we should all be very grateful to the dedicated photographers of this world, who seriously devote themselves to capturing beautiful, poignant, important moments for the rest of us and let some of those moments pass them by so that the rest of us can enjoy them forever. (I’m talking to you, Roger Foley, and David Schroeder!

Déconfinement continued…

[image error]Basket of Cherries, Merci, Morgane! Photo by Phineas Rueckert

I guess I could start by saying I’ve found it hard to know what to say about anything recently. The words of the poet W. B. Yeats come frequently to my mind about “the center not holding…” It does feel like the world as we have known it is coming apart at the seams, which is unsettling (to say the least).

But also, in some ways this is a good thing. Because I think most of us would be ready to admit that the world could be better managed than we (that is, we humans) have done so far. And while not everyone admits it yet, the young people of the world are urging us, with ever-increasing urgency, to wake up and realize that if we don’t do something pretty fast about dismantling our current way of doing things, and work together to safeguard our ability to live on this planet, we are doomed. (I know: that sounds melodramatic. Unfortunately, it is also true.)

So, although I had thought my next post would be about Macron’s speech to the nation on June 14, in which he announced the next steps toward a resumption of “normal” life in France–normal life lived with “the virus” that is–just as he found it necessary to address other concerns as well in his speech, things he had not anticipated talking about, I am finding it hard to know which overwhelming concern to comment on. And (an even bigger problem), what to say about it.

I did find much of what Macron had to say on June 14 somewhat comforting, and as usual his (for the most part) calm and intelligent way of expressing himself, as well as his clear concern for the common good are reassuring. France has done a pretty good job of flattening the COVID curve. Lots of people (though not enough) are wearing masks. People have stopped shaking hands, and there is no more faireing la bise (I find the latter sad, but also necessary). The numbers of cases are going down, and the government is working hard to figure out what to do next to avoid a resurgence of the disease.

But Macron was not able to focus only on the coronovirus in his speech this time, because the rising tide of (very justifiable) anger about police brutality that started in my hometown in Minnesota has swept the world, including France. And that has brought about a whole new set of concerns.

Of course it is not just contemporary racism and police brutality that is the problem. It’s the whole ugly history of colonialism, imperialism, that is being confronted.

I guess it is about time, isn’t it?

France has plenty of guilt when it comes to the ugly legacy of colonialism, that is for sure, and much of it has not yet been fully acknowledged. But the thing is, every country has racism; and the particular shape and form it takes is different in each country. These local differences seem to give people an opportunity (well, an excuse, really) to point fingers at other countries and say how much worse they are “there” than “here” (wherever “here” is).

The problem is, pointing fingers at others doesn’t solve anything. (Also, it isn’t really true. Racism is just plain bad. Let’s not lose sight of that central fact, in arguing about the details…)

What is needed is not more finger-pointing, but less avoiding the truth. “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced,” James Baldwin said, and he begged (and begged and begged) his countrymen to face the truth about our ugly racism, before it destroys us. (He always emphasized that racism hurts everyone: the innocent, and the guilty; blacks and whites; those who see the ugliness, and those who are blind to it.) And he was right about all that

So. I don’t know what to say about the state of the world. It is not good. (How’s that for concision and indisputability?)

I am deeply sad about what happened to George Floyd, and of course to all the literally thousands (no, millions) of black men and women who have suffered similar fates due to the racial hatred that to me is among other things, really just so damn hard to understand.