Lest We Forget

Yesterday morning, we attended a Memorial Day Service at the American cemetery in Draguignan. The service was on Sunday morning because, surprise, today is not a holiday, three-day-weekend in France *sigh, I was getting so used to that schedule*.

It was a very cool experience to see. Phil wasn't involved in any official way at all, so we blended in with the public and hung out in the back to let the elderly in attendance have the available seats and in case the kids started crying. I was surprised at the number of people (mostly French--older French) who were there, because from our earlier conversations with French friends we found they didn't know the what, when, or why of Memorial Day (nor does there seem to be an equivalent in France).

Two months after the Normandy invasion, soldiers from the US Seventh Army, as well as units from the French First Army, stormed the beaches of the French Riviera in an effort to provide a new front in the fight against the Germans. While operation was somewhat controversial among the Allied political-military leadership at the time, it provided new major supply lines with the liberation of the ports in Toulon and Marseille. The invasion was not without cost, this cemetery, the Rhone American Cemetery is the final resting place for 861 American soldiers, from Private to Brigadier General.

In a touching gesture of gratitude, every year, the local Franco-American Club pays for one of the fallen soldier's families to come to France for the ceremony. This year, the fallen soldier was a Private First Class, who just before shipping out, had signed a contract to play professional baseball with the NY Yankees.

The landscaping is beautiful in its simplicity, and the grounds are impeccably maintained. There are acres of grass---an huge rarity in the region- combined with the typical cypress and olive trees of Provence. Just walking through the imposing, iron gates at the entrance is a moving experience.

Living in this France has helped me appreciate how much Americans honor and esteem those who serve and have served in the military. We've seen with our own eyes, and heard from French men serving in the French military, that it's not necessarily the same here. The level of patriotism and love of country don't seem to compare either. It's hard to explain, the French are very proud of their country, but not necessarily in the same way. They are proud of their culture, their food, their art, etc. But, the military is not treated with the same respect. I've never, ever seen a house flying a French flag, or anything equivalent to yellow ribbons, or Support-the-Troops signs or bumper stickers. For many, it seems that military service is the same as any other job.

For us, the ceremony, which included speakers from France and the US, as well as the Navy Band from Naples, was a well-needed dose of "God Bless America" on Memorial Day. Our nation is a great nation. We have made mistakes but we've done so, so much good. Our nation is one that sacrificed so many, and in return, we have asked only for enough land to bury our dead. The men who died here believed in freedom and peace and fought so that others could have it. The wall of the chapel in the background is inscribed with the words "We who lie here, died so that future generations might live in peace."

I love being an American, and here, we are often assumed to be English due to our mauvaise accents. When asked, we respond quickly and with a great sense of pride "...and why shouldn't we... We are Americans."

If you are planning a trip to Europe, you can find a list of the American Cemeteries, like this one, at http://www.abmc.gov, or maybe you can meet us in Normandy next year.

The Trails

Running has always been a big part of my life. I began to fall in love with my husband while running high school track and cross country. During my college years I trained for several marathons. On our wedding day, I ran ten miles with my sisters and best friend hours before the ceremony. Almost all of this running and training happened on the "Olentangy Bike Trails" in Columbus Ohio. I don't know how many miles I've logged running there in my lifetime, but it's A LOT--like in the thousands! Whenever I go "home" I am sure to return for a run and it always makes my soul feel better. I'm a pretty nostalgic person--clinging to all sorts of happy memories in my life, times where I felt a sense of security and belonging--probably because of all the moving and "starting over" I've done in the last seven years--so truly, just running on the familiar trails is a spiritual moment for me.

And in the middle of Toulon, I found the closest thing to the Columbus trails that I ever found in all the cities we've lived in. Miles and miles (although they would say kilometers and kilometers) of a paved, flat, bike trail. There's even a water fountain and dirt paths broken into the soil from all the bikers and runners choosing to "off road"--just like in Columbus.

I brought the jogging stroller out of retirement (a stroller that big would never work for everyday use on the crazy, narrow, sidewalks that also double as parking spaces) and strapped Zachary in for a ride. With his blue blanket blowing in the breeze, I knew he would be happy and not fuss, allowing me to fully enjoy the run.

And today I did it. I didn't run super far (I'm very much out of pushing-the-jogger-shape), but it was so therapeutic for me. I felt like I could manage living here for one more day....like this place can slowly become a new home. Because finally I've found something that reminds me of home.

Of course, there are funny moments that will be a reminder of the reality of living in France-first, I planned to run right after dropping Lily off at school. Not a problem, except that I stood out like an Olympic athlete with all the other Mom's dressed in their fancy French clothes smoking cigarettes---hello, it's not a big deal to wear work out clothes in public where I come from. Secondly, there was the issue of saying hello to the people I passed on the trail. This is a GIVEN on the Columbus trails. Runners' courtesy, you always say hello while passing someone. But not in France, apparently. After the third person passed doing everything they could to avoid eye contact, I just started saying "bonjour" first. They could answer if they wanted or they could ignore me. At least I was going to be friendly.

Finding the trails is not a huge deal...I would have loved to meet a new friend...but in a way, I did...because now I can go there during my free time and push Zachary (who was so comfortable and peaceful today he snoozed nearly the entire time) and do something I love and be reminded of home while living so, so far away from it.

Careful with your Cognates

There are a lot of words that are the same in both the French and English language. The words are pronounced differently, of course, but one can understand the meaning and way the word is used by the speaker. I am finding all the cognates between the languages to be invaluable to me as I learn French. And now-a-days, if there is a word that I want to say in French, and I don't know the particular word, I'll make a guess-- saying the English word with my best attempt at a French accent. And it works sometimes, and other times, like yesterday, you say something you didn't mean to say all all.

Example: I was speaking with a very nice French lady who comes to my house so I can practice my French with her. (We have a reciprocating agreement: on a different day of the week I meet with her fourteen year old daughter and speak English with her, because she wants her speaking to improve. Her daughter's English is far better than my French, but whatever). Anyway, we were having a conversation about food. I was trying to tell her how much better, healthier, fresher, our family is eating here in France. She asked why I thought that was the case, and I tried to explain it's because most of the food I buy here if very, very fresh...there aren't a lot of processed foods here....and the bread doesn't have "preservatives" in it.

I didn't know the word for "preservatives" in French...but I guessed that it could be a cognate. A lot of the cognates are long words kinda like that. The facial expression she made when I said the word "preservatifs" (my guess at how to say the word sounding French) told me I was wrong in that guess.

And guess what? "Preservatif" in French translates to "condom" in English...yeah, that was embarrassing. I'm going to be much, much more carefully about making up cognates on my own from now on. Lesson learned.

Slow News Week & Building Bridges

To say it's been a slow week could be an understatement. Last week we had friends who we knew from our time in Jacksonville come and visit us. They came with their three boys and it was a busy week of playing, visiting, and English speaking for everyone. And maybe this week just seems very slow in comparison...or maybe the loneliness and quiet are just more difficult to deal with after a week of being around good friends.

And I must not have been the only one feeling bored. On Wednesday when I asked Lily to entertain herself for a half an hour while I was busy, she decided to give herself a haircut. I don't know where the idea came from or why she thought she would be allowed to begin such an endeavor. But she triumphantly reappeared down stairs with wet slicked-back hair and a smile on her face. I didn't really pay that much attention until I saw the clumps of beautiful, blond, wavy hair lying in the bathroom with her preschool scissors on the sink.

Oh my word...my little born-in-Florida-girl gave herself a mullet. Apparently, she could only reach the sides so the back stayed long. The sides were very short...she must have cut off over four inches. I do not have a picture of it. When she saw my reaction she became very embarrassed and wouldn't let me take any pictures.

Two days, an hour's wait, and twenty euros later, she has a new look. And it's very short. The lady had to use the clippers on her neck! Of course she's still adorable--and maybe it's because I think the hair cut makes her look older that I'm not yet a huge fan. But hey, at least it gave us a mission and event for the day!

In better news, I'm not spending the end of my slow week at home alone. Thursday was a holiday in France (Ascension Day), so all the schools and government offices were closed. And because the day happened to be on Thursday, Friday is also a day off. They call it "faire le pont", "make the bridge"--have a long weekend! So, Phil is again off work. And now that the hair drama is over, we'll sip rosé, eat delicious French pastries, and make the best our lonely, but restful life in France.