September 5, 2011
Breakthrough: I think I’m finally crossing the boundary between houseguest and family member. I couldn’t be more happy. This past weekend was a little rough because it seemed like whatever I did I caught Hell for it. In case you didn’t know, the word “no” is hardly in my vocabulary, and “you screwed up” is not something I take well. Well, luckily I haven’t heard no yet, but it seemed like whatever I did this weekend was a screwup (okay, maybe I exaggerate). First I did laundry on Friday and had to go back to SciencesPo before the drying was done. Now, I hate doing laundry, but I tolerate it simply so I have fresh clothes. I’d learned how to use the washer and dryer, and thought I had it pretty much figured out. I knew that I was supposed to hang my jeans up in the closet to dry, and that I had to empty the water bucket thing on the dryer before starting it.
Apparently I’m not supposed to dry my jeans as per the professionals (aka girls), even though I normally do at school. Here we have this big closet where the water heater lives which also has a clothes rack hanging from the ceiling on pulleys. It’s pretty nifty actually- you just unclip this rope on the wall and the rack lowers, you put on your pants, and then hoist it back up. Anyway, apparently I put too many regular clothes in the dryer, and it took two dryings, which is a no no. Well, after being out practically all night and then waking up late and having a late breakfast at which you learn you put too much in the dryer ne marche pas dans ma vie (just don’t work too good for me, as them Downeastas say). After breakfast Alexis came in and ranted about something that I didn’t really understand, but I imagine it was something trivial. Anyway, it was the next day when he went off on me after a similar night that I was really irked. Not my problem I spent 59 minutes between 2:01 am and 3am trying to flag down a taxi, dude. I wanted to sleep in. It’s not dirty or improper as you might think, it’s a fact of life, and I didn’t really ask your opinion, anyway.
I figured if it was a big deal Madame would have mentioned it, but since she didn’t I just took it to mean that Alexis wasn’t keen on me, and that’s all well and good. Not every has to really like me, that’s okay. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to piss him off, but I guessed it was better that he was pissed off than I was pissed on. I’ve since learned Madame thinks he’s keen on me, which I guess is better than a thorough detestation.
Anyway, today, after my first day of the Welcome Program today I was almost prepared to come home to an unhappy 42 year old mentally retarded host brother. He seemed nice enough and happy to see me. I was even in a pretty good mood because I’d taken the 20 minute walk from the Eiffel Tower home rather than staying on the Métro. I’d passed some really beautiful buildings (today I found 104 Passy Kennedy, which is a great Corbusian-inspired building), so I was pretty happy with life. Madame was happy to see me, since I left before she got up this morning, so all seemed good. I went into my room, and was working, and then went into the kitchen, was chatting with my host mother and then she invited me to sit down in the living room to chat. We talked about all sorts of things. I even got her talking to me about the War in Paris. She didn’t remember very much of it because she was very young, but had vivid memories of after the war. She was born in the south of France, but her family moved to Paris at some point just before or at the beginning of the war. In fact, the 4th child in the family was born on the day Paris was liberated from the Nazis.
She told me how her father was actually aiding the Jews, and hiding them and helping them escape the Nazis. (She actually never used the word Nazis, and only called them Germans.) Interestingly, he never mentioned his actions until he was on his deathbed. She mentioned that she had a vivid memory of two German soldiers coming to the house one day to interrogate her father, but never knew what it was about. She also talked about her fears of the Germans as they were posted throughout the city when she would go on walks with her mother. By the end of the War, her family had 4 kids and two parents, and food was next to impossible to come by, so they pretty much survived on nothing. She also said that what food they did have had to be cooked between midnight and 1am because the Germans shut off the gas to the city otherwise and diverted it for their own use. Therefore her mother would stay up and do all the cooking then with what little for she could acquire at what seem to have been food pantries for housewives.
She told me about her vague memories of the American, British, and German planes flying overhead and the drone that rang throughout Paris even though she was scuttled down into the basement rooms of their apartment building for safety. It seems terrifying just to think about. The most impressive part for me was the way she finished every story about her memories of the war. “Je n’ai pas du peur parce que j’étais avec papa et mamman.” “I wasn’t scared because I was with dad and mom.” She talked about the older kids in the basement crying while the planes went overhead, but made it clear that she never cried because she never felt endangered. I guess innocence truly is bliss.
Her memories of the years after the War were especially striking. Because there was no leather for shoes, they resorted to using shoes with wooden soles. Looking at the ladies in their high heels and haut couture shoes today, I can scarcely think of Parisiens being stuck with wooden-soled shoes! She said that it wasn’t bad except that in the winter the wood absorbed all the dampness of the ground and that she has never been so cold in her life since then. Even though everyone was cold though, she said that nobody cared because everyone in Paris was so enthralled to be “libre encore.”
Tonight Madame invited down Juliette, who is an 18 year old girl living in Mme’s attic studio and is going to a 2 year school which will only prepare her for the exams that allow entry into the nation’s most exclusive private universities. Juliette is very nice and it was nice to have a young face at dinner. Tonight we had an omlette for dinner (finally eggs!), homefries, and salad, followed by fromage (my favorite), and a lemon tart. After dinner we retired to the living and had coffee and talked. It was really interesting because I got to talk to Juliette some and learned about her education. Note to self: the reason the French are tri-lingual and super smart is because they go to school ALL THE TIME!
After Juliette left, Mme and I stayed in the salon and talked more. We were talking about how she had a studio in the attic (I had no idea), and she explained that they bought it because she liked the view and it allowed her a place to do her art. Apparently she was quite the artiste and specialized in restoring porcelains and fine china. I had no idea. After she had kids and had to take care of Alexis, she ran out of time to do her porcelain work and art. She told me that she would have loved to have gone to an art school, but she felt that it wasn’t a good idea financially so she went to SciencesPo for “les droits.” Reminder to the reader: SciencesPo is France’s Harvard and she was there to study human rights in the early 60s. This chick was smart, and willing to take one for the team for financial security. After she had Alexis and there was no school for him, she had to quit her studies and take care of him. It seems like she was planning stopping her studies anyway because they were planning on moving to America in the late summer, but Alexis’ birth in late spring stopped those plans completely. She felt that, although Americans were (and still are according to her) accepting of mental conditions, she just didn’t want to leave her only safety blanket (France) for a new world with a mentally handicapped child.
Of course I asked about programs for retarded kids and was amazed to hear that there are almost none in France, even today. Madame realized that Alexis loves kitchens and being around them and tried for a long time to get him a position in a commercial kitchen, but they all said no. She finally heard about one for a huge company, and they agreed to hire him. It’s been a match made in heaven for everyone. I think he clears tables and such, which is exactly what he does at hom, with remarkable efficiency. At the time he started, the company was located not far from the apartment. They’ve since moved to La Défense, the industrial park area just outside the city, and now Alexis takes an hour long bus ride every morning. When I asked if he liked it, she said he loves his job, and really loves the morning light colors on the big glass towers that one sees on the way to La Défense. I think it’s great that he finds the beauty in morning colors, even though he’s stuck in a crowded autobus for an hour.
It’s still sad though, that there are no programs for mentally handicapped people here, and Mme mentioned that there are still very few for physically handicapped people. Sort of a bummer that a first rate country like La France would do this to its citizens, but I guess I’m not a politician. After this long discussion about deep topics, which I understood remarkably well, I went to the kitchen to get a cold bottle of water from the frig and refill another, and as I left Madame held up her right hand as though to give me a high five. Instead I grabbed it and she gave me a kiss on both cheeks (elle a fait la bise in French). It’s like I’m actually family now. Yeahhhhh!
In the mean time, I’ll just chuckle when Alexis goes to the bathroom and (loudly) gives himself a play by play commentary of the occasion. At least he’s a happy guy. It will all be funny until he starts nit-picking me again.
PS - I have some funny stories to come. Adventures in the discothèque, and “Drinking: The differences between getting raped, getting screwed, and getting laid.”
PPS - Happy Belated half-century plus 1 birthday to my mom on Sunday! Love you!
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