This French Christmas Pot Pouri, while perhaps not sufficently memorable to print out and immortalize on your refigerator, will, I hope give you an unvarnished view(and isn’t that the best kind?) of “La Belle France” as it prepares to celebrate the death/rebirth gig of the Son of the invisible super being.

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Uh…that would be the “shopping spirit?” – The French certainly have that in quantities “beaucoup.” After all, it was the French who invented luxury by adding an “E” to otherwise non-lux words. Thus enabling merchants to charge double or more. Not to forget also, the World’s largest consortium (now there’s an illegal sounding word if I’ve ever heard one) of luxury products is French. I Forget their exact initals, but if you’ve ever enjoyed French champagne or have a certain pricey brand of luggage, you”ve “been there – done that.”

THE ECONOMY

While not in the toilet, it’s certainly circling the bowl. As is all of Europe, to varying degrees. The culprit is the same one that brings on indigestion. Having eyes that are bigger than your stomach.

The European Union, with one currency, the Euro, began with 12 countries. Then Spain, Then Greece . Then assorted Eastern European lands. Yes, dear reader, the EU has eyes too big for it’s stomach. It just can’t feed all those member nations. They’re eating up more euros than the EU has in the kitchen.

Thus the current economic crisis. The reason for so many long purposeful walks along the seashore by the most unlikely of couples,  French President Nicholas Sarkozy and Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany. It is there, the leaders of the two most affulent Euro Nations, do their “perp walk” for the TV cameras.

Supposedly to assure we mere mortals that even when they “take five” from the conference table, they never cease their search for a solution. The press here have dubbed them “Merkozy.”

Are you ready for a shocker? Most French hate the Euro. Here’s why. When France floated along blissful on the currency cleverly named “the franc” – an “entry level” loaf of bread -“le baugette ordinaire” was 4 Francs.

Then one day, the French woke up to find that francs had gone the way of the 8 track cassette. And something called “Euros” were now the cats meow. One euro being equal to about 7 francs.  And “baugette ordinaire” was now a minimum of 1.10 Euro. You can understand why this got French panties in a knot, can you not?

POLITICS

Sadly, (in the view of most French, and me) there appears to be no one capable of dethroning the current Emperor in the forthcoming election. (Anyone who lives in a guarded palace with 61 cars and his own airplane, is definitely an Emperor, folks.)

Dominique Strauss Kahn, before his descent into “moral errors”, probably could have done it. but he’s waaay damaged goods now. And, in the opnion of many, there’s more “damaged” than just his political reputation.

CRIME

Sadly, France seems to be having more  horrific sex crimes . Doubly disturbing is the fact that a seemingly overwhelming majority are committed by those under 21. IN THIS CASE  by a Male teenager who raped, murdered and then burned a Female classmate.

BOTTOM LINE : Pyschotic people come in all ages and nationalities.

France has no death penalty. Yet.

COUNTRY COUSINS

In The French Countryside, as in almost every rural setting, the locals could give a rat’s ass for the “world out there.” (As long as there’s wine in the cellar and a chicken on the table!) Their involvement with National politics is usually limited to shaking their heads in disgust as the 8 o’clock news blonde recounts the latest misuse of their money.

And they celebrate festive events, in a much simpler and uniquely Human way. As I explained last Christmas  IN THIS POST.

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 2

Another word for the “Christmas Sprit” : Hypocrisy. That’s how it hits me, folks. To designate one time of the year when we think of/try to help those less fortunate than ourselves, is, to me, not the mark of a highly evolved, truely compassionate society.

BG’s CHRISTMAS WISH

So, my Christmas wish for you this year, is that you’ll live the “Christmas Spirit” all year round.

And also, “appreciate.” Whatever you feel you “need” or “must have”, be thankful for what you have now. Remember there are those with much less. And those with nothing. Appreciate what you have. And do what you can to help those who need it.

This space will be blank until sometime in January. See ya then?

THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!

What are ya thinkin’?

(Reading Part One and/or Part Two will bring you up to speed)

Recognize This Guy?

If you remember Ichabod Crane, You’d recognize Rene. Hawk nose. Deep set piercing eyes. High cheekbones. Angular face. And a frame more “fashionably lean” than even da BG! When I tried to visualize him at school, I first thought – President of the chess club. Then, I realized, more likely, brainy loner who refused to join the chess club!

Now, hunched over his computer, heavy curtains barricading the waning Autumnal light, “computer drone” would seem to be the accurate phrase. But then, you’d be hard pressed to explain the lyrical piano music flowing from the living room in the afternoon.

Whenever he needed a break, Rene lost himself in the keys. He was, fortunately, self-taught. Free from the strait-jacket of “instruction.” Expressing maximum emotion with minimum technique. I quickly gave up asking him to show me what He’d played. Because He had no idea. But He did teach me one important thing. How to be free on the keys.

Ah – Country Life

“Papa tractor” – was what Rene’s kids called him. The height of their excitement was to perch on that shiny, red American import, with Papa at the wheel. He was their merry-go-round. And behind that wheel, Rene was at the center of his World. The French countryman. Checking fences. Moving stones. Gathering wood. Fixing what needed it. An idyllic existence. Except for one thing. Rene’s business. Although not in the toilet, it was definitely circling the bowl.

Trouble In Paradise

The problem, was Rene. A businessman of the Twentieth Century attempting business in the twentyfirst. Rene was a gentleman of the old school. Swimming in a school of Baracudas. Handshake contracts. Your word is your bond. He hand crafted his shipping boxes from furniture quality wood. With bevelled edges. Recessed brass screws. A zippered, fabric-lined plastic envelope for the shipping manifest. Artistry that drew comments even from jaded parcel truck drivers.

But Rene’s insistence that clients receive,inspect,and approve of the goods before paying, predictably resulted in a “slow pay/no pay” situation. Guaranteeing the ink in his accounts receivable ledger would be the same colour as his tractor. Rene was a nice guy. And, He was finishing last. Tho’ eating regularly. Thanks to Sacha’s gig at the hospital.

Oh, Never Mind!

Despite the black clouds, Rene put a positive spin on it all. Whenever a supplier came to lunch, above average grub, wine, and Granny’s silver, all made it to the table. The other occasion in which will triumphed over adversity, was the Sunday visit of Sacha’s parents.

This was a positive, relaxed experience for everyone except Sacha. Owing to the fact her parents thought, that after marrying Rene, (mature, positive influence) Sascha had put her days of nicotine and Bordeaux Red behind her. And She had. They were directly behind her in the liquor cabinet. And would reappear the moment Mummy and Daddy disappeared.

Marie and I enjoyed Sascha’s performance almost as much as the grub. Usually We gave her an Oscar. And I gave them all an Oscar in the category of : “Most-excessive-smoking-ever-by- three-French-people-during-aperitifs.” As you are well aware, dear reader, the aperitif ritual is numero uno on the list of all things French and sacred. To imagine the fate of any guest A.W.O.L. from this holiest of holies, is to contemplate an end more horrific than a long shower at the Bates Motel!

The Musical Solution

Fortunately, after my first night of lung-filled conviviality, I was able to finesse a solution. Positioning myself downwind, while surfing the conversation as I “noodled” on the guitar; I was able to move back further. So as to “noodle” in the correct position.

I should explain here that “noodling”, while technically “playing”,is not “playing a tune.” Nor is it, in my case,“improvising.” Suffice to say, it’s “musical”, but you can’t hum along. Fortunately, the puffing-gabbing-drinking brigade did’nt care.

Epilogue

I don’t know whether Rene revived his business. Or Marie sold hers. Or if Sascha is still working at the hospital.If changes did come, I suspect they, like the fog that cocoons the fields at dawn, crept in slowly. Without fanfare. My hope, of course, is they got more of what they needed. On their terms.

THROW ME A BONE HERE,PEOPLE!

What are ya thinkin’?