Rest in Peace Good and Faithful Servant

Today we are celebrating Dad's long and loving life with a service at the Methodist Church for anyone in the community who wishes to participate. Yesterday the family experienced a tender moment when the Military Honor Guard recognized Dad's faithful service to this country in WWII by playing Taps, displaying the flag, and then folding it and presenting it to my brother. The slow-motion salute was a powerful symbol of respect, one that had a more profound impact on me than I expected. Actually, I did not know what to expect.



My brother, sister and I placed Dad's ashes next to Mom's in their niche. The finality of this simple act is also profound, as if to say, "This chapter of your life is over." The notion of closure may be elusive to some, but as I saw their matching oak boxes side by side, I felt they were once again complete. And for that, I am grateful.

Catharsis for $161.25

In high school English class I was introduced to the notion of "catharsis", experiencing spiritual release through an intense emotional experience, or in the case of the Greeks, purification through tragedy. The notion seemed very grand, something that ought to involve blinding light and the parting of the clouds so that a heavenly voice could speak directly to the stunned mortals. I imagined the score would include the swelling of an angelic choir and the obligatory pipe organ deep pedal note.

Everyday life can offer a similar, if not more modest, experience when long-deferred projects come to fruition, when actual process is made. This weekend was made up a collection of tasks which when taken individually are pretty mundane. But taken as a whole, I think I might have just had a mini-catharsis without the tragic plot. The amazingly good weather motivated me to change the oil in the truck, a long overdue chore which I used to do with a regularity that would make my Dad proud. He was an automotive engineer and taught me the importance of routine and preventive maintenance for engines. As I removed the drain plug and oil filter, the wrench slipped from my hand and fell into the used oil. When something like this happened while Dad tutored me, I recall him saying, "That's exactly what I didn't want to happen." The memory made me smile.

After replacing the drain plug, installing a new filter and refilling the crankcase with oil, I topped off the brake fluid reservoir and took Roman to the p-a-r-k. The truck ran quietly and confidently, despite its 265,000 miles and 21 year-old frame. So the logical next step was to load the truck with as many crates of "stuff" destined for the swap meet as would fit.

Arriving at the Solano Drive-in about 9am, we were well-behind the regulars and hard-core swap meet crowd who setup at 6am to hawk their wares and prowl for treasure. Before we had unloaded our crates and setup our humble display, shoppers were helping themselves by looking in the truck bed, opening boxes and asking "How much?" I thought their behavior oddly bold, but then I realized this is a different community with its own norms for acceptable or customary behavior.

Interacting with and observing the humanity at the swap meet was fascinating. Generally, people were very nice, if not eccentric. One elderly gentleman made several visits to our table, declaring each time, "I'm not here to mess around!" On his final visit, he bought an imitation Persian runner, a hose spigot and a German license plate for $4. It's true what they say about "one man's junk." Interest in our table came and went in small waves of families strolling, hard-core shoppers looking for a deal and kind people who had time for conversation.

We sold over half of the stuff by volume but not by value. Most transactions were for less than $5, so it took quite awhile to amass our earnings of $161.25. After failing to sell a Lebadang lithograph I purchased in 1981 for $150, we looked it up on the Internet and found out it is worth $1,300. Another transaction, and another mini-catharsis to come.

Decompressing in the Alps

There is good reason why people come to Annecy, the City and the alpine lake. Here one can feel any hint of stress disappear. The air is so clean that I find myself taking many deep breaths in disbelief, savoring the freshness and clarity, especially after experiencing so much second-hand smoke in Monaco and Cannes. A former Chateau transformed into Hotel Tresoms provides the perfect setting for complete relaxation. We are set apart from the traffic of the City on a mountainside above the lake. Here one eats only when hungry, rests when drowsy, and enjoys the birdsong of Spring without any interruption. This is perfect place to affirm the health benefits of vacation: the absense of schedule, deep rest and extraordinary cuisine.

The Old Town (la vielle ville) is a mere 15-minute hike down the hill. Pictured above is the 12th - 16th Century Island house which has served as a fortress, castle and prison. The river flowing around both sides of this tiny isle is fed from the clear waters of Lake Annecy. On a sunny 40F afternoon around, the locals were lined up for ice cream, walking their dogs and pushing strollers. People here are more apt to jog or ride a bike than smoke, a refreshing change for visitors from elsewhere in France. For dinner in the Old Town We enjoyed a wood-fired calzone, essentially a pizza folded over at the last minute of baking. Here they insert a fresh egg just before pressing the lip of the dough closed. Upon cutting the calzone open, one finds the delicious yolk blending with rest of the contents: ham, fresh mushrooms and mozarella.

At Les Tresoms, lunch was a 5-course gourmand experience. None of the courses were familiar to me, but all of there were uniquely delicious and satisfying. A gespacho of tomatoes and pesto provided a savory introduction to the meal, with just a hint of aged parmasean. A frail cylinder of thin and crispy frites held chunks of local freshwater white fish and asparagus in a light sauce. Spring lamb chops prepared a point were tucked next to seasonal vegetables with the juices of the meat providing a natural compliment. Local fresh cheese was served with orange marmolade (a first for me to combine sweet and savory in this manner) which yielded an unexpectedly delightful contrast on the pallet. The dessert came in a 3-tiered glass presentation. We were instructed to eat from the largest to the smallest: vanilla custard with a fragile, flakey pastry; diced pineapple with vanilla bean; and a lavendar infused shaved ice with a dollop of rich white gelato to cleanse the mouth.

The French have an expression for food which tickles the mouth: amuse-bouche, literally "to amuse the mouth". Truly our experience here has amused our entire beings!

Monaco Grand Prix

The Grand Prix of Monaco is quite an affair. Formula 1 race car engines are just like any ordinary 3 liter engine, except they produce 800 horsepower at 15,000 rpm, numbers which were beyond engineering possibility a few years ago. Using the City streets, the course is laid out and barricaded off so that only those who pay for tickets can observe the action in real-time. However, if you climb the palace ramparts you are afforded a view of the pits (see photo above) and you can hear the screaming engines echoing through the high rises like so many super hornets. Large video screens across the City display the action for the ultra rich patrons viewing from their yachts moored in the harbor.

The Serendipity of travel struck again when we found ourselves in this Camelot like principality known as Monaco. The Grimaldi family negotiated well several centuries ago to retain their little slice of the French/Italian Riviera without becoming part of any other country. France provides military protection in case any marauding bandits show up with evil intent for the throne. The son of Prince Rainier III and Princess Grace (the actress Grace Kelly) is the current monarch (Albert II), and his focus is to make Monaco a sustainable and unique place on earth for the Monogasques (citizens) and visitors alike. First impressions suggest he is succeeding.

Today there was a break in the driving of the Grand Prix, allowing the wealthy to drive their high-end cars on the course. We sat at a Cafe beside the Royal Casino and let the parade come to us as Porches, Lambourghinis, Ferraris, Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Mercedes and Audis drove by. The pedestrians and photographers limited the speed at our S-turn from 0 to maybe 8 mph. It was time to see and be seen.

The only thing more expensive than the cars was the female footwear. I have never seen such exotic and improbable shoes. Paparazzi were busy photographing anyone who could even remotely have been "someone".

Papal Time in Avignon

The audio guides are a brilliant invention because they give the tourist a quick summary of why something is historically significant. Touring the Palace of the Popes in Avignon, France, one is reminded of the turmoil of the 14th century in Europe. The Pope fled Rome and set up camp in Avignon, ordering a new palace/fortress to be built of course. So in 1309, work began on the complex above and continued for 30 years or so. Politics were such that 9 Popes in succession lived here before returning the Holy See to Rome. I think the duration of 9 Popes' reign is a long time, even in Papal time.

The many rooms open to the public include the various vaults and treasuries where valuables were stored, the "Jesus" room, the Pope's apartments, vast dining halls, the kitchen and an unremarkable chapel. Wherever a window is located one can see the thickness of the walls. In some cases, I estimated this to be over 10 feet of solid limestone. No wonder this structure has survived 6 centuries and counting. The audio guide provided interesting observations about the lavish feasts which occurred here. The Pope and his trusted "carver" had the only knives in the room for fear of assassination. Even the King of France, when he deigned to visit, sat at a table below the Pope. Oddly, superstition reigned in terms of detecting treasonous plans: a probe made of whale bone and precious ivory was believed to have the ability to detect poisons in the food.

The bridge at Avignon (le pont d'Avignon) is famous for many reasons, not the least of which is the children's rhyme "Sur le pont d'Avignon, on y danse, on y danse, sur le pont d'Avignon, on y danse tous en ronde" which translates to "On the bridge at Avignon, we all dance there, we all dance there, on the bridge at Avignon, we all dance there all in a circle." Any French citizen today of a certain generation can sing this song, just as Americans can sing "Ring around the rosie".

The bridge was created as a result of a conversation God had with a certain Monsieur Benezek. He claimed that God told him to build a bridge across the Rhone river, everyone laughed, and the church leaders said that if it was true then he should be able to lift a massive boulder as a proof of God's sponsorship. The story of Benezek's sainthood declares that he, indeed, lifted the boulder and threw it into the river as the first foundation of the original bridge (which fell down in the 17th century). Again, superstition reigned in this society regarding floods and the dangers of crossing a bridge. Men of letters of the day wrote that "...one cannot cross the bridge at Avignon without meeting 2 monks, 2 mules and 2 whores."

We enjoyed a Galette for lunch which is a savory crepe with contents of your choosing. I had spinach and goat cheese while Dennis enjoyed ham, tomatoes, mushrooms and goat cheese. The Galette is very filling and healthy at the same time. Yet another recipe to work on at home.

L'economie en France

The notion of economy is broad here, and it manifests itself from macro to micro. While Europe is considering a $1 trillion bailout for Greece, Portugal and the rest of the "Eurozone", we see the signs of conservation and sound economic practices in every day life. The hotels often require your room key/card to be inserted in a reader to keep the lights on. The objective is clear: when you leave the room, why waste electricity? Toilets have two flushing options, a light flush for liquid waste and a more substantial one for solid, therby conserving water. Our VW Passat rental car is comfortably getting 40 mpg (diesel) even when driven at the autoroute speed limit of 130 kph (81 mph). Rather than indulging in excess, the French use just as much as is needed.

When it comes to food, the portions are modest by American standards, but still provide ample quantities to savor the meal and feel pleasantly satisfied. Last night we enjoyed local lamb chopes and ratatoille, the latter being a very delicious mixture of tomoatoes, zuchini, eggplant, bell peppers, onions and olive oil. The melded flavors were amazing, so this is one dish I resolve to learn upon returning home. My lunchtime chef salad came with the dressing spread on the plate, then the salad and other ingredients place on top. This approach provided just enough dressing for each bite, and none was wasted. But does the notion of excess exist in other cuisine? Croissants are buttery because their extraordinarily flakey dough uses just as much butter as needed to meet the French standards of what a croissant is. Rather than attempting to pass a simple roll as something more, each kind of pastry is made following centuries old rescipes precisely. My mille feuilles patry (literally "thousand leaves" of exceedingly thin dough with strawberries and custard filling) tasted exactly as it should have, and as I remember it to be, because no corners were cut when selecting ingredients or preparation.

I am impressed how conservation of resources and predictable outcomes can live side by side in a society which prides itself on uniqueness and sustaining the culture. Lesson learned!

3 Centuries

Sometimes it is difficult to imagine how long a century is. Attending the Paris ballet in the former home of the Opera is a means to grasp the notion when one notices the hall was dedicated in 1669 and the ceiling was painted nearly 300 years later by Chagall in 1964. Chagall picked up where the original architects left off naming composers by including Berlioz and Rameau on his fresco. Outside one finds the names of Bach, Mozart and other classical composers carved into the building with larger than life letters.

Seating in the 5 levels is quite tight, perhaps reminding us that 17th and 18th century Parisians were shorter and more compact than 21st century ballet patrons. Our box had 6 individual, movable chairs; however, only the front 2 had an unobstructed view of the stage. Being in seats 3 and 4 (effectively a 2nd row) we enjoyed it when the dancers happened to leap into view, whether on point or not. Regrettably, the two patrons behind us saw nothing but could hear the beautiful music by Chopin.

The tribute to Jerome Robbins included a hilarious reenactment of The Mistake Waltz during which 1 of the 6 ballerinas always lands in the wrong location, faces the wrong way, or in some other obvious way ruins the choreography. The audience roared with laughter, applauding wildly when the music stopped while she realized her mistake and walked defiantly to the correct position. At the end, the male dancers literally folded the women like chairs and props, carrying them off stage helter skelter. The female dancers demonstrated amazing physical conditioning, holding their bodies stiff as manikins as they disappeared from view.

Leaving the Opera House, the crowd walks down the same marble steps used by more than 3 centuries of patrons, continuing the wear patterns on each step. To think of who has walked there before leaves me truly aware, as aware as I can be, of how long a century is.