Father's Day, 2009

I spent my Sunday morning as I frequently do, drinking coffee and reading the two Times, the Seattle Times and the New York Times. I have found a new venue that I really like, though it is a bit unconventional and hard to imagine as a destination. It's the grocery store. Huh, you say? Yep, Haggin's grocery store. It has a food court, a Starbucks in the store, and, I suppose, an almost unlimited food supply. Sounds a bit better, I think, when it is described like that rather than just a grocery store. I buy a croissant, a muffin, and a cup of coffee (or two) and I am set for about three and a half hours-longer if the newspaper or the food is filling.

Aside from the obvious attributes of the place, it is also a better place to watch people. Not ever in a million years would I cast aspersions on Starbucks customers, but they (people other than me) can be a tiny bit snobby. Maybe snobby isn't the right word--focused is perhaps a better description. They want their "half, half, three pump, venti, no-foam, vanilla latte sooner rather than later, and while some dawdle in their coffee bliss, most flee quickly and enjoy their caffeine high elsewhere.

That's not true of most grocery store customers, especially those with kids. I suspect that there are questions to answer, like why the bananas are yellow and the oranges are orange. There is also an awful lot of teaching going on when a parent takes a child or children to the grocery store. Some of that teaching is active: "no, junior, you can't eat part of a papaya and then put it back," or "no, Sally, these are not bumper car(t)s." Far more of the teaching is less active but broader and includes the economics of a grocery shopping--what kid hasn't been told in some way that the family can't afford all the brand name foods that they have seen on TV? There are nutrition lessons galore, as children are told that they can't have the really yummy things (Captain Crunch) but instead have to get (and eat!) the yukky things, like yogurt for breakfast.

So what does this have to do with Father's Day? A lot, I suppose. My grocery store visit gave me the inspiration for this post, as I saw numerous instances of why we celebrate today. I saw kids picking out donuts and pastries that Daddy would like, often causing long conversations and delays while deciding at the bakery counter. I saw the father's love when he picked up his daughter, who had a pretty visible "accident" and hugged her and told her it would be OK. I saw the same when I saw a dad let his twelve-year-old son pick out which salmon fillets to grill later today a Father's Day meal. And I saw and felt this when I saw a dad having his hand held by a child who still thought that her dad could lift the world.

I am more sensitive than I think I have ever been to the idea of Father's Day. My dad passed away a little more than a year ago, but last Father's Day I was consumed by my own issues and struggles and the day passed by in a blur. Perhaps it was a reverse and perverse version of the song "Cats in the Cradle." Today, as I saw the expressions of and perhaps the meaning of Father's Day, I felt the loss of my dad acutely. I think part of what made me sensitive is that I can't remember similar instances of grocery store love with my dad. It's not that I don't think that they happened--there must have been many such instances. But I don't remember or certainly don't remember enough of them, and that increased my sadness. My dad helped raise us in an era when things like I saw today happened along the way, and were seldom remarked upon or, apparently, remembered. Far more of my dad's love was shown by not being there, by picking up that extra shift, or doing that off the books wiring job for a few bucks. That was the era, that was his generation, and that was my my dad.

I wonder if I am unqualified to relish the day. I have no kids, and while I love and care about children of others, many of those parents roll their eyes and laugh loudly when they see me cringe as their chocolate-faced, sticky-handed little monsters head my way. Ooops, did I really just write that? I love kids. Really. But I think differently. Father's Day isn't just about having someone call you Dad, but perhaps it is more about being able to call someone Dad. And today, I miss being able to do that.

So I have no less reason or responsibility to recognize (and remember) Father's Day. Even if it is only because I used to be able say "dad."

Kenneth R. Tetzloff, December 25, 1925 to April 17, 2008.

"Dad"

Reflections

This trip was to be and was planned primarily as a tool for reflection, and I did have time to reflect on things and life…I would like to say that while in Notre Dame, a saint came down and smacked me in the head, called me stupid, and then laid out a life plan for me.  The closest I came to that was when a rather large German woman stepped on my foot and called me stupid—no life plan from her, either.  I am not sure I reached any real conclusions but perhaps I have ascertained some directions to follow. 

I do know that I have to get off my rather large butt (hey, the bread was REALLY good) and start looking for work.  That same saint will not come down and offer me a job, or at least she/he hasn’t yet.  There is a job in St Cloud MN that I will pursue, and I will look hard elsewhere if it seems like a good job—or rather if it seems like a career move that makes sense.  That said, I will start actively pursuing jobs around here, though perhaps they will be just jobs, not careers.  I need to go knock on doors for teaching gigs and paper the place with my Vita.  As they say, times “a-wasting.”

If I had my druthers I would like to stay around here.  I love it here, and it feels right, and I think I feel right here.  I can do with a lot less, but perennial poverty is not my goal, either.  I have to find that balance, and what scares me about that is the only way you can find that balance is to jump in and see if you can swim with the sharks/economy.  That is hard, with but a small safety net, and only a few months of savings.  And no insurance and and and…  Hey, welcome to the world that another 600,000 or so a week get to experience.

I can’t help but do a skills assessment or really a SWOT assessment of me and my life.  I do some things very well, I think.  Despite what Whatcom may think, I have the potential to be a pretty good dean.  I just received my last teacher evals, and they were gratifyingly good, and I do love to teach.  All things considered, I am an OK photographer, and while the jury is still out on this, I think that I am a competent writer.  I am an OK and sometimes, even successful as a communicator, recent examples not withstanding.  As they say in Lake Woebegone, I am mostly above average.

 That does not mean that I am not self-reflective enough to recognize weaknesses.  I know people will be shocked but I do have a temper and am limited in my ability to be patient, and sometimes let my frustration/impatience show.  I was just told that I wear my heart and soul on my sleeve. Really, you say…yep, that is me. I also know that I have squandered some personal and professional opportunities that I do and will regret for a long time.  Opportunities are out there.  I am pretty well equipped for the world, even this new world that changes so fast.  Whether I have all or the exact job skills necessary for this new world economy is unknown, but I think that I jump into it pretty well equipped. 

What I did discover is that I am optimistic—you know me, glass half full and all that.  Seriously, I am optimistic.  I don’t have those rosy tinted glasses which would let me imagine that all will be perfect, and all the changes seamless and smooth in the next few months.  But it will be manageable and bearable. Doors will open.  And you know what?  It might even be fun.

Art, in several forms

The Metro was remarkable, and I used all of the 50 tickets that I bought.  I found things and got lost with its help.  I loved the older metro signs, though they are fading into the modernity of the city.  My local stop took me right to the the museums.  The five Cezannes were admired by five people.  It is clear that I.M. Pei got it right, as the entryway into the Louvre has become iconic.  I may be tagged for taking the picture of a nude portrait, but what was this person taking a picture of?

More color

One of the nice things about Paris are the flowers.  People take them seriously, and place and pot them everywhere.

What Paris looks like through a 300mm lens.  Love the colors and love the humor, both of which are so evident no matter where you look in Paris.  Thankfully, there are more dogs to see than cats.

Speaking of symbols...

The arch rival of the other two symbols of Paris.  Sorry, that wasn't very punny...

A force to contemplate

While we see this place as a tourist spot, it is also a church, a place of worship that is central to the Catholic Church in France.  And to everyone who has seen (and to the 12 people who have read) The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Millions visit, millions probably light candles.  And some may stop and contemplate why the place was built in the first place.

Gargoyles and other medieval things

If the Eiffel Tower is one symbol of Paris, certainly the other is Notre Dame.  To climb and to look  from the north tower is to see Paris, the old Paris.  That this view is framed by a host of gargoyles --what do you call a multiple of gargoyles?  A gaggle? A group?  A gathering?  I digress.  These creatures are as famous as the building they protect, and a fun picture to take to show a slice, and a symbol of Paris.

Tower of Power, or something like that...

You can't avoid it.  While it is the is on the other side of the invisible line of tourist Paris and the real, normal part of Paris, it can't be avoided.  The trick is to try and get a different, semi-original view, and forgoing that, at least get a good picture.  I think at best I got a good picture, or two, of the tower that dominates.  And inspires.  And symbolizes Paris.

Street scenes...

I love the plain, and often the simple.  Some of the street scenes were near where I stayed, near Canal St. Martin--the bakery was where I bought and enjoyed a croissant.  Or 10.  The canal was an interesting feature of Paris, and it spawned several different and distinct neighborhoods.  The tree, well, the tree was simply great.  It was near or rather on the path towards the Sacre Coeur.

The normal city

What is hard to see and to accept in such a large city that has such a large, almost mythological image for visitors is that it is a city filled with people who are, well, just living. They do normal things like stop on the street to talk to friend, or take their children to work or to daycare. They do not really notice the visitors, and rarely, I think, do the visitors really notice them.

The "city of love"

Paris is sometimes seen as the "city of love" and certainly it is romantic. And that feeling of romance is most noticeable near the river. Lovers stroll, couples walk and hold hands and cuddle in the nooks and crannies of the walled river bank. Happy? Probably.

Paris is a place but it is also so identified with its people. The cafe culture is dominant and people watching at these cafes is almost sublime. I saw this man reading the paper every morning I was there--he was carefully marking the paper, perhaps looking for a job or for a place to live, perhaps for the best thing to bet on, but he was there every morning at 8 in the morning, same chair, same pose.

I of course went to the Louvre and the Rodin museum, and enjoyed both, but this shot of a man outside of the Louve in the old tile works garden spoke to me almost as much as any of the statues or paintings. What a great place that allows you to be so contemplative and relaxed, and thoughtful, all in such great space and light.

I took this photo in the neighborhood near the Sacre Couer in the montemarte area. Danielle, an absolutely beautiful young woman from Germany was getting her portrait done by one of the many street artists, in part because her father had his portrait done 20 years before in the same place. She was working in Paris for several months, and was, like me, being a tourist.

The accordionist would switch from Eastern European folk tunes to Bach to waltzes to Gershwin, so quickly it was almost disconcerting. He didn't want to me to take his photo at first, and it wasn't until I contributed enough coins to his hat that he said OK...for the record, to take his photo required about a $10.00 contribution, and then he posed willingly. Commerce rules the arts...

Left Bank

The Seine divides the city and ties it together, and it is in many ways the heartbeat of Paris. The idea of being a bookseller or even a browser at the many small shops on along the river has been a romantic ideal of the city for decades. Countless writers, famous or not, have browsed these stands, and millions of visitors have looked for that perfect treasure from Paris. Or, the cheapest "metal" Eiffel Tower trinket or that unique, except for the millions of others just like it, Le Chat Noir poster. Here are two of the more interesting vendors. I do want their jobs...

Paris People

People, Places, and Things

I have been remiss in not posting anything, any “results” or stories from Paris. Lots of reasons for this, I suppose. I came back to a friendly virus that wiped me out for most of a week, then had company, and despite the fact that I don’t really have a job, I do have work things, a lot of them lately, to do in my remaining time at WCC. I know, excuses, excuses, excuses… I suppose that continuing uncertainty and in some instances even certainty has slowed the process. I have said this before about blogging and while some have cheered for this and others have scolded me for this, blogging is so self-indulgent. Perhaps as I simplify my life I feel this more intensely. Or, perhaps it is because I have been seeing and reading Russian writers, and their focus on the simple belief that nothing really matters because either you die or you are insignificant in the scheme of things. I am fighting that sentiment—I am, of course, Mr. Sunshine, (Dr. Sunshine?) and my glass is half-full!!! And besides, while the commentary that I will share is less than important, some do, I hope, want to at least see the pictures.

I know, that was self-indulgent in its entirety—I will move on and in three pieces, one for people one for places, and one for things, and try and give a snapshot of my experiences. For what it is worth, or really, what they are worth, I am making the photos as big as possible on this site. If you are interested in or want to purchase larger prints, let me know—I think these will print any size up to 30X40 or so.

People

Parisians get a bad rap as rude “American-haters.” I did not personally talk to every Parisian, but I rarely if ever felt this from the people I interacted with during my week in Paris. I think that there were several reasons for this. First was my atrocious French that I trotted out at any occasion. Honestly, it’s bad! Twice, people actually laughed and begged, “English, English, please speak English.” At one Thai restaurant, I stumbled through ordering Thai food in French, and must have ordered some unseemly combo. The waitress, who was at least tri-lingual, said, “no, no, no,” and went and got me the menu in English asked me to try again! I wonder what I ordered the first time? But I tried, and it was, as every guidebook said, appreciated. As was greeting people that you might interact with “Bonjour” etc. But they were wonderful, from the street sweeper who asked about my cameras to the absolutely adorable young woman who curtsied when I said “bonjour” to her after I bought my croissant. OK, bought my croissants from her.

The second reason is that as much as Parisians might not like to admit it, they do need Americans. I would say that historically that was the case, but let’s not bring up old history like WWI, WWII. etc. (Is saying “old history” redundant?) Americans flock to Paris with their money and their over sized, well, their over sized every things, fill the little cafes and shops. Paris depends on this. And the number of visitors is down and that is very easy to see. Never once, no matter the time of day or place, did I have to wait to eat or drink. Not at 1PM next to Notre Dame, or at 8PM in the Latin Quarter. (though I didn’t eat where the Obamas ate. I didn’t spend even close to that to eat all week). So I suspect that Parisians and Paris itself was a bit more willing to put on the happy face and listen to horrific French from people who take up more space than they should.

The last reason is that while I visited a few of the Kodak Moment touristy spots, I did not take the busman’s tour of Paris. Many who visit stay in the single digit arrondissments, but I ranged further afield, and actually was in either 15 or 16 of the districts, most of them away from the city center. In these areas, I think I encountered more of a “are you lost” curiosity than any rudeness. And, I might say, the food was better, and cheaper, and served with more flair than in the touristy hot spots.

Perhaps my most interesting observation came from seeing more of the city, either intentionally, or, more likely, because I was hopelessly lost. The face of or any expectation of what a Frenchwoman/man/person is or would be was far different than you might expect, especially further from the formal city. I have spent months in London, and recognize that major city as extremely multicultural. Former colonists and people from the Commonwealth have, some say, taken over London. I think that might be a bit extreme, but certainly you are more likely to see Black family (or a SE Asian, or or or…) in London than Seattle, or about 50 times more often than say Columbus. Many of the neighborhoods that I visited in Paris were just like some of the neighborhoods in London, and they were incredibly diverse. Though England was known as the colonial power of note, it is important to remember that France had a huge empire, and much of it was in Africa and the Middle East. Believe me, in most areas I was in, it was far more like to see people in traditional African garb than in Channel or Dior.

This might be related to the cultural changes and diversity, but I was struck by how conservatively the French, of any color or stripe, dress. It’s not like I wear mesh sleeveless t-shirts with gold chains, but I realized that I dressed positively flamboyantly. You know, by wearing say, a blue shirt and one day, gasp, a red shirt. You simply don’t see that. Black and dark gray are the colors for all. Women dressed even more noticeably conservatively. Honestly, I see more skin, though I am never really looking, on students on cloudy rainy days on campus than I saw on a 75-degree sunny day in Paris. My friend Steve kept me apprised on the state of undress/clothing styles in Prague (again, I never noticed) and it is a world of difference between the two capitals. I find that an interesting thing, as France has such a different reputation than this. Even on the fashionable streets, you never saw any amount of skin, no bellies, little cleavage, and no tattoos. Even where I stayed, near two colleges (though one was a church school…) I never saw what we see on any college campus. Well, except perhaps in Utah.

Generally, I found the people interesting and kind, and open as much as my miserable French allowed. I found some great pictures of people that moved me, at least enough to take their pictures. I am not sure that I took a definitive portrait of what a “French-type” person be like. Very likely I was not inclusive enough in my viewfinder. Still, I hope that you enjoy these snapshots of Parisian people/life.

the first of many...

I still haven't figured out how to make this vertical, but you get the idea..more to come!