Dear Friends,
Following the attack in Paris last night, so many people are speechless. I don't know what to say, either, and so I will share a story and hope it comforts you as it did me.
Each of us will react in his or her own way in the face of terror. Don't let anybody tell you how you *should* feel. And be careful not to model your feelings after another's. Some of us are outraged. Others stunned. Still others are desensitized given so many years of sensational news headlines. As a dear friend's mom used to say, "Feelings aren't right or wrong. They're there."
There there. Take heart. Continue to share hope and comfort at every chance. With all its broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Amicalement,
Kristi
A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE….
"The Morning After"
I was standing in Mr Bricolage, looking at a display of window blinds, when an old man walked past me only to stop in his tracks. Turning, the stranger smiled and addressed me, "Bonjour, Dame Liberté!"
It took me a second to understand–to realize that–indeed!–what with the new table lamp I was holding out in my right hand, and the way I stood frozen before all the window treatments (and their corresponding measurements…but just how big was our kitchen window?), I did look like the Statue of Liberty!
The Frenchman skipped off with a smile, his door trim and his glue, and I watched him gleefully – my heart suddenly swelling with a love for all humanity.
And for the first time since 9/11, I had the urge to reveal my roots. Despite the senseless attack on France, and a mind still trying to process it all, fear had instantly left me on hearing a Frenchman pronounce, with unbridled joy, the words "Dame Liberté."
"Oui, Monsieur!" I chirped, "…et, en plus, JE SUIS AMERICAINE!"
* * *
COMMENTS
To leave a comment, click here.
Discover more from French Word-A-Day
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Oh thank you for this story, you made me laugh. Love it.
Amen et merci, chere Krtisti! Fred
A mixed blessing was not being able to field enough students for a trip to France next June. I don’t know what I would answer parents who would ask if I could guarantee their children’s safety.
My French IV class was able to tune in France TV5 today to Francois Hollande’s speech to the French parliament, live I think. I had never heard the man speak, but he was articulate and inspiring. Also moving was everyone singing the Marseillaise at the end of his speech.
Vive la France!
Hi Kristin
I hope hope you get this message. Jack & I have just made an offer on a house in the Hérault! Unfortunately we will have to stay here at least another night, so we will not be able to come to your wine tasting today. I am so disappointed and sorry!! Also my email is not working for some reason, so I don’t know if Jean-Marc has emailed. We would love to visit you another time. Please accept my apologies. I will keep you posted!
Kind regards, Kate xoxo
(It took me several days to process and write the following.)
Bereft
The heinous acts of inhumanity committed against innocent, young people enjoying a rare warm November evening at Paris cafes left me chilled to the marrow. How? Why? Through my tears and misty grief, one word floated, “bereft”–I am bereft.
Looking it up this morning in my dictionary, I understand why that one word was so strongly living me. It means, “Deprived or robbed of the possession or use of something.” Yes, I am grieving for all the students who are now bereft, deprived of their lives. And for those who survived, will they ever know Paris as I did at eighteen? Non. C’est ne pas possible.
At eighteen, I was a student in Paris and in the South of France at Antibes. So began a life long love affair with all things French. As it is estimated that 84 million tourists annually visit France, I am hardly alone.
At thirty-five, I walked hand-in-hand through the Left Bank with my husband and again at forty and again at forty-five. Often he was attending to business affairs so I had the days free to do as I please, wearing skirts and boots, speaking French, following my own odd social anthropology urges. Sometimes exploring the outer arrondisments, like the 10th, which in 2008 was becoming a destination for talented young bankers with start-up cash. And on Fri., Nov. 13, the same neighborhood was an appalling scene of bullet riddled cafe windows, over turned tables, bloody pavement with bodies draped in tablecloths.
Will students ever know again the innocent pleasure of leisurely exploring Paris? One afternoon, I wondered if what I had read was true, had the French workingman eschewed the traditional lunch for fast food? I stationed myself at a corner market in the 11th, sipping coffee, watching men in coveralls ordering la jambon sandwiches. No Big Macs in sight.
Another November afternoon, I gave up standing in the drizzle and long line to get into the Picasso Museum. I flagged a cab and asked the driver to take me to Le Printemps. The cab driver, a man in his sixties and right out of central casting, waggled his finger at me in the rear view mirror. Grinning, he said to me, “Non. You shop too much!” What fun–I laughed with him as he was right. We chatted in French and English, he took me on a sightseeing tour with the meter off before dropping me at the department store, the windows richly decorated for Christmas.
It was all a lark and now “Tears fall in my heart. Il pleure dans mon coeur.” –Paul Verlaine.
The hearts of the world are hurting with you. We must keep believing that good will conquer this evil.
Today we are all French.