Hey! What's that white stuff?

Well, another sunny day in Provence. Ho-hum. I think I'll just take a lazy look out the dining room window and - What the...!? That looks like...No, it can't be... Let me just clean my glasses and...Mon Dieu! It IS! A blizzard! These pictures were taken from our apartment last Thursday afternoon, shortly before I had to drive the 12 miles to pick Mike up from school. (Despite the date indicated at the heading of this post, I'm writing this on Monday the 19th.) Fortunately the snow wasn't sticking very much on the roads but my fellow drivers were quite traumatized and driving VERY slowly (which is a welcome change from their usual habits!). After all, some of them (the younger ones, anyway) may never have encountered snow before - this doesn't happen every year. (Forgive me. I sound just like one of those people from Wisconsin or Saskatchewan or similar arctic wilderness [among them some dear friends] who, although practically perfect in every other way, have the unfortunate habit of sneering in a superior manner at the winter driving skills of us Oregonians every time it snows.)

(This picture downloaded (or is it 'uploaded') mysteriously. It is of one of the fields I jog through and was taken the day after the snowfall, and it has nothing whatever to do with the narrative above. Or below.)

Yesterday we went hiking on Mt. St. Victoire, the famous fault-block mountain (like Steens in Oregon) which dominates the horizon and supplies the water for Aix-en-Provence. We went expecting to find peace, quiet and solitude but it turns out to be a very popular place. Our hike was a circular route encompassing two reservoirs which was supposed to be about 6 miles long, but we made a couple wrong turns (what else is new?) and ended up walking

at least 7. There are some BIG hills on the route, so our calves are letting us know about it today. ("Oh, really, Tom? What, are they mooing?")

(Hydrological and Literary Note: The lake in the picture below was created by the installation of a dam which was built by Emile Zola's father!)

It's interesting to write things for all y'all in the States without knowing what kind of coverage French current events are receiving over there and what you already know about. I assume you're aware of the symphony of strikes which began last week and is building to a crescendo by the end of this one. It's hard to judge the sentiment of the majority. The Right (this is actually how the French media refer to the political poles - Le Droit and Le Gauche, like Whig and Tory or Democrat and Neanderthal. Oh, sorry. It just slipped out.) claims that the majority oppose the strikes, believing the unions to represent spoiled minorities like the railroad workers whose early retirements and generous pensions are elitist and detrimental to other workers and to the French economy in general. In fact, there was a demonstration in Paris yesterday against the strikes. Some of the unions want to negotiate, some have already agreed to work longer before retirement, but the hard core is as militant as ever. I'd say they trust Sarkozy about as far as they could throw him, but he's pretty small and some of these railroad guys are big, so I'll just say they don't trust him.

The chart below appeared in La Provence last week. It's a public-spirited attempt to present the many confusing, intertwined issues in a clear, graphic reader-friendly format, telling us who's protesting, how and when. Among its many notable features are the bold characterizations of various occupational groups, from train drivers (cheminots) to bureaucrats (fonctionnaires) and including (just look at that drawing!) opera singers. Also, one can't help but notice that the judges are walking out on the 29th, which offers the interesting possibility of hundreds of picketers being arrested and held for trial, but no one behind the bench to hear the cases because they're all out picketing. Meanwhile the students at universities nationwide are striking to protest a new law which is seen as a step on the road to privatization of higher education.

So, as you see, there's plenty going on to engage the attention of the French public. But the issue that is REALLY agitating the citizenry, which appeared on the front page of La Provence yesterday, and which was referred to in a revised version of the chart which appeared today, is the fact that on January 1 all smoking in public places will be banned! This includes the Tabac, that unique smoke-filled French institution which strives to be, and largely succeeds in being, all things to all people: community center, bar, coffee shop, lottery vendor and source for magazines, newspapers and, of course, tobacco. (I went into our local tabac to buy the papers Sunday morning, I was inside for maybe 2 minutes, and when I reentered the car Mike said, "Eew, Dad, you stink!" I think, and hope, that he was referring to the miasma of cigarette smoke which clung to me.) Appearing in the revised version of the chart, among new notices of walkouts by the Bank of France, postal workers and the meteorologists' union (which reminds me, there are some very interesting weather "presenters" on the tube over here), is a notification of "une manifestation nationale" by the "debitants (retailers) de tabac" to protest (denoncer) the prohibition of smoking in public places. It'll probably be one of the shortest protest marches in history. "Liberte, Egali - hack - te, Frat - cough -erni - splutter-gasp." I speak as a former addict whose most satisfying smoke was always the one right after a 4-mile run. Is that sick, or what?

We attended our first parent-teacher conferences at Mike's school on Saturday morning. It was bitterly cold and painfully early, like 8:00, but at least it wasn't snowing. There were no unpleasant surprises. He's popular, well-behaved (!) in class, attentive and his work is improving. Whew! What a relief. The consensus is that these first years of middle school are a challenging time for most kids, even his peers at Sellwood, without the additional burden of a new worldview, culture and language, so we're delighted with his performance. (Performance? Sounds like a trained seal or something.) He likes it there and has a bunch of good friends from many different backgrounds. But 12-year old boys are remarkably similar whatever their origin. They're ALL crazy! The week after next is midterms, or their French equivalent, so we'll be doing a lot of studying.

On a final, completely irrevelant note, the Times of London, a Rupert Murdoch production which we're stuck with sometimes if the other english-language papers are sold out (but which, in fairness, has a great sports section and crossword puzzle) is running a contest to find a slogan for England of 5 words or less which will help the beleaguered PM, Gordon Brown, define his vision of a New, Bold and Progressive England. The response has been overwhelming and the suggestions run the gamut from the treacly nationalistic to the insanely irreverent. My favorite so far is, "At least we're not French!" Ah, that droll British humor, so refreshingly sane, so perceptive. (There has been another submission on the same theme, but which, somehow, isn't as funny, in fact is downright maladjusted: "At least we're not American!" Poor, pathetic Brits, still suffering from collapse-of-empire malaise and bitter xenophobia.)

Until next time, Pip-Pip!

Tom