It’s Furious Balancing

Before I went to Paris, I picked up, once again, À la recherche du temps perdu.  I love reading Proust.  It’s not for everyone, but I enjoy the slower pace and intricacies of psychological detail.

When browsing a stationery store in the 6th arrondissement, I found a note card, Questionnaire de Marcel Proust.  It posed about two dozen questions — in French — and I thought it was poking fun at Proust’s detailed observations of peoples’ characters.  A little research on the Innernets proved otherwise.

So, without further ado, here are my answers:

Le principal trait de mon caractère (the main feature of my character). I’m trying to come up with one word that encompasses reserved, quiet, and observant. Introverted is too frequently misunderstood, primarily by people who aren’t introverts.

Le qualité que je désire chez un homme (the quality I want in a man). Wit. He also has to be able to do his own laundry.

Le qualité que je préfère chez une femme (the quality I like in a woman). Discretion.

Ce que j’apprécie le plus chez mes amis (what I appreciate most among my friends). They get my jokes – or they pretend to.

Mon principal défaut (my main defect). In my opinion – stubbornness; in others’ – selfishness.

Mon occupation préfèree (my favorite pursuit). Despite the closet full of yarn, I still can honestly say “reading.”

Mon rêve de bonheur (my idea of happiness). A book, several cats, a cup of something hot, and a long stretch of uninterrupted time. Bonus points if it’s winter and there’s a fireplace involved.

Quel serait mon plus grand malheur (what would be my greatest misfortune). To be trapped by children and be unable to spend any time, energy, or money on myself for decades.

Ce que je voudrais être (who I would want to be – if not myself). Michelle Obama.  She’s one class act and has a handsome, brilliant husband who is crazy in love with her.

Le pays où je désirerais vivre (the country where I’d live). I’d split my time between France (an apartment in Paris)  and the United States (my home in Ann Arbor).

Le couleur que je préfère (the color I prefer). Cobalt blue.

La fleur que j’aime (the flower I love). Violets.

L’oiseau que je préfère (the bird that I prefer). Ravens.

Mes auteurs favoris en prose (my favorite prose authors). Other than Proust, Jorge Luis Borges and Ian McEwan.

Mes poètes préférés (my favorite poets). T.S. Eliot and Anne Sexton.

Mes héros favoris dans la fiction (my favorite heroes in fiction). Stephen Maturin (from Patrick O’Brian’s books); Neville Longbottom (from the Harry Potter books); and Randolph Carter (H.P. Lovecraft’s Dream saga).

Mes héroïnes favorites dans la fiction (my favorite heroines in fiction). Elizabeth Bennett (Pride and Prejudice) and Harriet the Spy.

Mes compositeurs préférés (my favorite composers). I’m assuming this means “classical music,” so my answers are Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky.

Mes peintres favoris (my favorite painters). Monet and Vermeer.

Mes héros dan la vie réelle (my heroes in real life). Barack Obama, Winston Churchill, and Apsley Cherry-Garrard.

Mes héroïnes dans l’histoire (my heroines in history). Queen Victoria.

Mes noms favoris (my favorite names). Genevieve, Scooter, and Cecil.

Ce que je déteste par-dessus tout (what I hate the most). Prejudice and intolerance.  I really hate homophobes and racists of all stripes.

Caractères que je méprise le plus (characters that I despise most). Dick Cheney. The man is the incarnation of True Evil. Deceitful, self-serving, fear-mongering. He has set the standard for vile, cowardly behavior and has not one atom of integrity in his entire body.

Le fait militaire que j’estime le plus (the military event I esteem the most). This is the oddest question I’ve ever seen in a meme.  My answer — the invasion of Normandy; June 6, 1944.

Le réforme que j’admire le plus (the reform that I admire most). This is the second oddest question I’ve ever seen in a meme.  Off the top of my head, I’d have to say the 19th amendment to the United States Constitution.

Le don de la nature que je voudrais avoir (the natural talent I would like to have). I would love to be able to dance well or do gymnastics.  Actually, I would give my eye teeth to have any kinesthetic sense whatsoever.

Comment j’aimerais mourir (how I wish to die). I intend to live forever. So far, so good.

État présent de mon esprit (my present state of mind). Stretched thin.  I’ve been working on this questionnaire for far too long.

Fautes qui m’inspirent le plus d’indulgence (the fault I find easiest to tolerate). Narcissism.  It keeps the focus off of me and it can be endlessly entertaining if you’re in the right frame of mind.

Ma devise (my motto). Can you solo it? and if not that, then Hell is other people.

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

Ernest Hemingway

I’ve been juggling two alternatives in my mind this morning,  whether to (a) dive back into blogging after a long absence and a Paris vacation, or (b) vacuum the floor of my study, which, in the light of day, looks like it has been covered in enough cat hair to knit half a dozen cats.   I’m choosing the first of the two, but I need to remind myself every now and then not to turn around and look at the floor because it really, really needs some attention with The Cat Sucking-Up Monster (i.e., the Dyson vacuum cleaner).  Distracting, that.  It’s best to pretend that the cat hair just isn’t there.

There certainly isn’t anything that I can add to all the words ever used to describe the City of Lights.  I can easily romanticize the city, but my words seem meager, paltry, and few.  I’m  completely inept at photographing a cityscape, and it seems as though people are more interested in “What museums did you go to?” or “Did you see this, that, or the other thing?” than in hearing about feelings or impressions.

I joke that I need to leave the United States every few years.  The U.S.  is too loud, too brash,  and too shallow.  It’s all about SUV’s, “bling,” trashy celebrities, bad television, the Super Bowl, Wal-mart, Starbucks, and the never-ending dumbing down of the media with its non-investigative, non-challenging journalism and 10-second sound bites.  The banality of culture.  The poverty of thought and expression.   I could go on, but I’m only agitating myself.  Let’s just say that if you can’t understand my need to get away from the United States, my reasons for traveling to Paris aren’t going to make much sense.

I go to Paris for the human scale.

I go for its antiquity  — America is so very, very young.

I go for the bread, cheese, chocolate, butter, and wine (and, that in a Paris restaurant, “slow service” equals “good service”).

I go because it is a city of museums, even though I didn’t go to a single one.

I go because it reminds me that I really need to get around to reading Voltaire. 

I go because “the older woman” is still valued.

I go because it is perfectly acceptable to have a glass of champagne as an apéritif.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Oh, of course The Husband and I did some of the Tourist Things, and we have pictures to prove it. Well, he has pictures. All I really wanted to take pictures of was Père Lachaise and I did that. In spades.

The whole set can be found on Flickr, and I may (or may not) pretty them up some and publish them here.

My neck hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m still working on adjusting back to my usual hours — which aren’t that usual to begin with.  Later, cats and kittens.

Say fromage –