THE ART OF CONVERSATION – FRANCE VS THE USA

November 19, 2015 ~ LouLou ~ 4 Comments

SANTA FE, NM.

LAST NIGHT AT LA POSADA, the hotel across the street from where I live, I cushioned myself fireside to read the newspaper. The circle of conversation across from me was loud enough to hear and so I listened.

” The rental rates of vacation rentals has skyrocketed. We have a vacation rental in Colorado and it is always occupied. You know you can make a lot of money, it is very hard work.” It has taken many years to listen objectively rather than critically. I’m not underlining the narrative as much as why would they discuss finance in the midst of terrorist mayhem.

I sat there for at least forty-five minutes and the conversation thread did not waver from personal income. I’ve approached the subject of terrorism with friends and acquaintances since Friday the 13th. Only one couple who’ve just relocated here engaged. The gentleman was born in Belgium and he was eager to share his European opinions.

Over the last few days I’ve been watching Sky News. http://news.sky.com/watch-live. This is an international online station. The journalists report news, they do not debate, criticize, or condemn those they interview. During the program the scenes in Paris, London, and around the world capture the public’s activity, conversations, triumphs and tragedy. What this illustrates is that conversation in many US arenas must pass the political censorship exam.

I understand political discussions strike fiery bantering and this may cause a rouse and attract attention, and that is unacceptable in respectful society. Not so in France! For me, this truly illuminates the difference between our cultures. They are educated in the art of conversation, and in love with expression.

When I lived in Malibu last summer, most of the guests of the owner were Parisians. This artistic and talented group talked without pause from dusk to dark, drank bottles of wine and smoked, a mise- en- scene from the French salons of the thirties. They raised their voices, shouted, laughed in unison, teased and taunted without restraint. At the end of the evening cheeks are kissed, hands held, and appetites satisfied.

Discussion with the Queen of Conversation

Harriet Dautel Funk. San Diego Opera 2006

WHAT WE CAN DO

November 18, 2015 ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

Fans of England and France united to sing a defiant rendition of the French national anthem at Wembley four days after the Paris attacks.

Prince William and David Cameron were among 71,223 people in the stadium as La Marseillaise rang out ahead of a minute’s silence to remember the 129 people who died.

England fans held aloft a mosaic of the French flag during the anthem.

Armed police stood guard at the stadium throughout the day after three suicide bombers attacked areas outside the Stade de France during the French national team’s last game on Friday.

It is the first time armed police have patrolled an English football match.

Wembley

PARIS WILL NOT PERISH

November 15, 2015November 15, 2015 ~ LouLou ~ 5 Comments

I watched coverage today in Paris from an online British station. It is important to me. More important than writing or dressing or going out. The journalists were sympathetic, the interviews soulful, the images–silencing. I don’t believe prayers are enough. President Hollande declared war.

Last night I watched a French film, Lola, before I heard the news. This was a film of Paris as golden and grainy as autumn. I thought I must go to Paris. Today I still must go to Paris.

THE LEGEND LADY OF PALACE AVE

Featured ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

The throw of the dice this week lands on adventures in livingness; one day at a time. People with terminal illness, suffering from a shattered romance, a death of a friend, a natural disaster, always say the same thing; One day at a time.

Walking up Palace Avenue on a day spread with sunlight, and a continuum of power walkers, bikers and runners, passing by in whiffs of urgency, I took my time. I didn’t feel like flexing, just evaporating into the shadows, and the moving clouds. I walked by a little adobe, that once was a dump site for empty bottles, cartons, worn out furniture, and piles of wood. A year later, the yard is almost condominium clean. Just as I was passing the driveway, the little woman whom I’d seen walking up Palace with her bag of groceries, appeared like a gust of history in the driveway of her adobe casita. She wore her heavy blanket like coat and a bandanna on her head. Regardless of weather, she’s bundled up in the same woven Indian coat and long wool skirt. I stood next to her, a foot or so taller, and she unraveled history, without my prompting. She told me about the Martinez family, the Montoyas, and the Abeytas, all families she knew, all with streets named after them. Estelle asked me my name, and then took my hand in her weathered unyielding grip, ‘Oh I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.’ She didn’t let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names I’ve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. ‘You know how many houses the Garcias bought? Five! Then they fixed them up and sold them.’

I could have stood there in the gravel driveway listening to Estelle all afternoon. She owns the oral history I love to record; but it is difficult to understand her, she talks with the speed of a southwest wind. We parted and I thought about the times in my life when the smallest of interactions elevates my spirit. In older people, who are not addicted to gadgets and distant intimacy, I’m reminded of how speed socializing has diminished the opportunity for a sidewalk chat.