To zen or not to zen

Yesterday my husband and I went to yoga together. We got there as we always do a few minutes early so we can set up our mats and settle in before the class starts. There are some people who don’t really care where they may end up in the class, but there are others who are very adamant about not only their personal space, but where in proportion to the rest of the class it may be. I fall somewhere in the middle.

Class started, we were working on bumble bee breath, which I had never done so I was trying to concentrate on the instructions, but someone arrived late and the distraction began. I could see out of the corner of my eye that she had nowhere to put her mat and the teacher, I don’t know whether it was to make a point or not, really wasn’t helping her. Once we finished our bumble bee breaths, which I bumbled pretty badly, the late woman came over to me and asked me to move my mat so she could put hers down.

This was yoga, but man was I bugged. It was the way she asked, which was more of a command and without any apology. I moved of course and staggered my mat, but she chose not to stand at the top of hers, but rather in the middle. Mats are staggered not because the mats bump into each other, but because people do, but if you’re not going to stand where you’re supposed to, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Aggravated, I moved again and let her hand bump into me on the next swan dive forward just to make my point.

Half an hour in to class and I was still irked, but now it was because she was one of those over achievers. The teacher would call out a pose and she would take it to the next level – I hate that. What I hated even more though was that here I was in yoga of all places filled with so much hate.

The studio where we practice is the studio where I actually got my certificate to teach yoga. Although it’s changed ownership since then, it’s continued its atmosphere of pretty down to earth yoga and by this I mean, it stays away from a very spiritually led practice. For me, this is not a deal breaker – truth be told, I started going there because of its proximity to where I live, but I like the classes and find them challenging. The clientele, however, I think very much likes that the spiritual side is not really included apart from a few Om’s and a Namaste once in a while.

There was an article in the paper yesterday about this very thing as it related to teaching yoga to schoolchildren. Most schools insist that the instructors refrain from chanting Om or using the prayer position or even saying Namaste, which struck me as a bit extreme.

Om, for a simple definition, represents the sound of the universe, which we all do unarguably inhabit regardless of what religion you follow. Namaste means “the divine in me bows to the divine in you” and who doesn’t want to be divine?! Anjali Mudra or hands in prayer is really just a position where your hands are pressed together in front of your heart, which I find hard to believe could offend anyone.

To take this topic to a more controversial level and across the pond, France passed a ban on head scarves or hijabs for Muslim school girls, which raised a lot of protest. Taking it a step further, they also want to ban the niquab and burka as the traditional full face veil for women in public. These are seen as oppressive to women and against the secular nature of the French government.

But where does it end? What about the orthodox Jewish women who also cover their heads, whether it be by a scarf or many times a wig? What about the yarmulke or the kippah as the French call it? What about people wearing crucifixes or Stars of David? What about the red dot or bindi worn on Indian women’s foreheads? What about lip plates or neck rings worn by African and Burmese-Thai women? True the latter are seen more commonly in their native lands, but hasn’t western culture adopted all sorts of body modification practices itself, the most common among them, tattoos?

It’s interesting that the French culture, which is much less puritanical than ours and where topless sunbathing is the norm has bigger issues with too much covering of the female body. I understand there are more complex issues that are behind the burka ban with regards to women’s rights. Further complex still is the fact that many of the people protesting the ban were the women themselves.

I unfortunately have no answers, only questions. I know it’s far too simplistic to say live and let live even if I don’t know how I got all the way from an annoying yoga moment to questions about religious freedom. But that is the journey that began yesterday and who knows where it will end. For this moment, however, deep breath in, deep breath out and Namaste.

Désabonner

v. – un-subscribe

It’s been three months now since we moved back to New York from Paris and while I have had no trouble letting go of living in France, it seems France has had trouble letting go of me.

Despite the fact that I asked the bank manager to close my account before I even left, it remained open until only recently. My fault, I suppose for moving in July because just the anticipation of vacation and then the sacrosanct August vacation itself completely distracted him from doing his duty. This was a bad thing because despite the fact that I let the cell phone company know I was leaving the country, they continued to debit my account.

I think I’ve already explained the system of “debit immédiate” vs. “debit diferée,” but to clarify, the French don’t really allow credit like we do. If you use your ATM card to pay for something, the money comes out almost immediately, like in the States, but if you have a credit card you can only defer payment until the end of the month, not decide how much you want to pay.

Most services like cell phone bills and utilities use the same system linking directly to your bank account. I don’t necessarily have a problem with that since I like to pay my bills in full and on time, but only while I’m using those services. The two payments taken out from the cell phone company after we moved put me in the red from a contract I had cancelled and in an account I didn’t want to keep.

While I was finally able to get that all sorted, I still receive a French newsletter by email even though I continue to un-subscribe to it. This is much less bothersome obviously, but no less amusing to me that it won’t let me go. It’s not to say that I don’t have similar issues here. I’d forgotten how annoying telemarketers are and in the first month of setting up our landline (yes we still have one of those), I would get numerous calls daily including calls from the provider of the phone service itself. When I asked how I could remedy this, I was told I could put all the offending numbers on a blocked list so that they would no longer be able to get through, including the number of the phone service provider. Sounded like a great idea so I asked them to sign me up, which the customer service representative did right away. She then asked if I got a call from a telephone survey, could I give her a good review. But didn’t I just say I wanted to be blocked from these calls?!

Times are tough everywhere and everyone who has your business wants to keep it – I get it. But France doesn’t have to worry about losing me forever – there were many happy memories we made during our time there and many wonderful friends. So we’ll be back – sooner than later. In the meantime, I will continue to find more material in Manhattan.

À bientôt!

Apéritif

n. - cocktails

It only just struck me as strange that while the word for cocktails is apéritif, the nickname, or what it most commonly goes by is apéro. Why not apéri? And come to think of it, cocktails may be stretching the translation because the French aren't really known for their bar-tending skills like the Americans or even the British are. Drinks are more delicate tinctures of a wine based nature. Scotch can be readily found, but you will get a strange look if you order a vodka and don't get me started again on martinis since I already covered that in another post. They simply do not exist. I do like that the French toast with "santé" or to your health and the way they drink really is quite healthy.

On a completely separate note, someone recently pointed out the difference between the word parapluie and parasol. I always knew that parapluie was an umbrella, but I didn’t make the distinction between the fact that it was literally to protect from the rain (pluie) while a parasol, was to protect from the sun (soleil).

One thing you are sure never to find in Paris, however, would be an umbrella IN your cocktail. Santé!

Fête du travail

n. – Labor Day holiday

With only a few exceptions, the French like to adhere to dates vs. days for their numerous holidays. In the US, Labor Day, Memorial Day, even Presidents’ Day, Martin Luther King Day and Columbus Day always fall on a Monday. This ensures the day of celebration can actually be celebrated with a day off work.

It’s ironic however that in a country where vacation is so sacrosanct, the French version of Labor Day always falls on May 1 no matter what. So inevitably there will be two years in a row when it falls on Saturday and then Sunday resulting in no impact on the work week whatsoever.

The French have so many vacations, they have to divide the country into zones so it doesn’t all but shut down. Soon after the Christmas holidays are the vacances in February followed by the vacances in April, followed by Easter. Even the television shows and newspapers go on holiday. Le Figaro, the daily newspaper that comes with magazine supplements on Saturday simply re-prints Friday’s edition on Saturday to run with the magazines over Easter weekend. Sometimes, the whole newsstand will go on holiday so then it doesn’t really matter.

One newsstand comes to mind in the neighborhood, whose hours at best are questionable. Once when I asked how late they stayed open, the owner responded “Dix-neuf heure, dix-neuf trente,” 7:00, 7:30. I asked again to clarify because there is a gaping half hour difference between the two to which she begrudgingly agreed to 7:30, but I understood that if things were quiet, those doors would be closing up much closer to 7:00!

It reminds me of the news show called Sept a Huit which runs on Sunday. Sept a Huit means Seven to Eight, but I notice that it actually ends at 7:45. I guess Sept a Sept Heure Quarante Cinq isn’t as catchy a name though.

It’s hard to tape shows on the drive as a result of timing. Better to add some time on either end of the show in order to not miss the end or beginning. The French have a reputation for being late, which doesn’t really fit with a culture that insists on keeping military time. When meeting someone, I usually build in “un bon quart d’heure” or a good fifteen minutes of waiting time. And by “un bon quart d’heure,” the French usually mean half an hour.

Because tardiness is somewhat expected, there is rarely a sense of feeling rushed. If you’re running late, chances are your friends may be running even later. That is unless it’s time to go on vacation.

Anniversaire

n. – anniversary or birthday
Ami(e)
n – friend

While I try not to name names in my posts, it will be inevitable for everyone to know what I’m talking about when I refer to a wildly popular social networking site. I have used it since before we moved to Paris, but find it even more convenient – comforting even – now that I’m that much further away from family and friends.

Only now though on my most recent birthday did I decide to update my profile to show my date of birth (month and date only of course!) I think the only reason I hadn’t done this before was because I didn’t realize you could opt for that vs. including the year as well. All of this being rather silly anyway since most of my “friends” know how old I am!

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, I was overwhelmed with the amount of comments I received. Based on the number of “friends” I have, over 30% posted something, impressive as anyone in the direct response business knows. And I put quotes around friends because let’s face it, no pun intended, not everyone we’re connected to is a true friend – some are barely acquaintances and some total strangers with just one six degree of separation between us. You see I’m the kind of person who can’t really not accept a friend request. I also have never accepted and then un-friended someone as I know people do. So taking that into account and if I eliminated the people who I’m really not that close with from the overall total, my percentage rate would grow even higher.

I had comments from people I am in touch with regularly as well as comments from people I haven’t seen in almost 30 years! I asked my husband what the protocol was for responding since almost all the comments were posted to my wall and he said it wasn’t necessary – just that I should be sure to do the same for each of their birthdays.

I know we can all become cynical over time and social networking sites can at times be a strange phenomenon, even bordering on voyeuristic and intrusive, but I still found myself moved by an outpouring only made possible by such technology.

So, thank you internet super highway as you were first called, and thank you creators of social networks whoever you all may be, but most of all, thank you dear friends who reached out, for while the time and space between us may or may not have grown, your sentiments reached me and touched my heart.

Il ne faut pas pousser mémé dans les orties

exp. – literally – don’t push granny in the poison ivy – figuratively – don’t take advantage. This conjures up a much more interesting picture than giving an inch and taking a mile. I also like “c’est la camembert qui dit au roquefort tu pues,” it’s the camembert that tells the roquefort it stinks vs. our pot calling the kettle black. Some of the French expressions can be so colourful. At other times, they can be more restrained. Where in English something can cost an arm and a leg, here it only costs an arm.

“Qui va a la chasse perd sa place,” he who goes hunting loses his place, which is a variation of our you snooze, you lose. Here there is hope though because “mais qui va à la pêche va repêche,” or but he who goes fishing gets it back.

One expression where I think we’ve got it right is with the early bird catching the worm. The French say “l'avenir appartient à celui qui se lève tôt,” or the future comes to he who wakes early. Direct and literal, it lacks the visual of the little bird eating the worm. But not being an early riser myself, I’ve always said, who wants a worm! The future on the other hand…

“Mettre de beurre dans les épinards” or “mettre poire dans ma soupe” are two expressions referencing food, putting butter on one’s spinach or pepper in one’s soup, that really mean trying to make a living. Beating around the bush here is “tourner autour du pot” or turning around the pot. “Langue de bois,” literally tongue of wood, means giving pat answers. “Geule de bois” or wooden mouth is the expression for a hangover. And “cheque en bois” or wooden check is the equivalent of our rubber check or one that bounces. In this case, rubber does make more sense than wood.

“Mieux vaut prevenir que guerir,” better to prevent than to heal is like our ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure or better safe than sorry.

“Main fer dans un gant velour” is the equivalent of our steel fist in a velvet glove – pretty much literally translated unless you want to split hairs over iron and steel. And for that, the French “couper les cheveux en quatre” or cut them in four so also pretty much the same as us.

I usually try to circle back to where I started with my posts, but since I had no real theme for this one other than to share some of these expressions I’ve been collecting, I have nowhere to go. I certainly don’t want to be pushed into the ivy so I will just leave it here where sleeping dogs lie as mine is doing right now.

Ordonnance

n. prescription
I recently decided to go for a physical, something I try to avoid on a regular basis preferring the head in the sand approach of what I don’t know can’t hurt me. In the US, doctors suggest a yearly exam, but here they tend to be more laid back. One doctor told me I could go every five years, which I thought was a splendid idea, but another suggested that after a certain age (!), every two years was recommended.

The exam was relatively straightforward, blood pressure – good, weight – good, no EKG even though I had one the last time in New York, so all that was left was the “prise de sang” or blood test. The doctor actually doesn’t take the blood though, but instead writes a prescription to take to any lab that’s convenient for you.

There are labs all over the city and you don’t even need an appointment. You do need to be “a jeun,” however, meaning on an empty stomach, so the morning is a popular time slot. After I had my blood drawn, I was told I could either return the next day or they could mail me the results. Since I live a block away, I decided I could make it back over there and save them a stamp. The funny thing is that when you pick them up, the technician takes the sheet of paper with an envelope and sticks it in a machine that folds and seals it. I guess they want you to still have the fun of opening it up when you get home.

And so I did and there I was faced with the results – numbers I didn’t understand, many of them in bold with asterisks and next to all of them the “normal” ranges. Obviously the ones that were bolded were the ones where I was not in the range. Some were below, some were above. After googling, never a good idea, I concluded that I was anemic, had high cholesterol and may be close to dying from a severe Vitamin D deficiency.

It was Friday night, I wouldn’t be able to talk to the doctor until Monday and that was hoping she had received the results herself. It made me question the wisdom of allowing a patient to review results without the benefit of a medical degree.

Monday came and calmly I called the doctor only to find out to my relief that I was actually not that far from the normal range in any of the things I was concerned about and in fact, the cholesterol was the good kind so I was ahead of the game there, too.

The Vitamin D was still a problem though. Apparently so much so that I now have to take a dose every three months for the next year! Without adequate levels of Vitamin D, the body can’t absorb calcium, which is necessary to keep the bones strong, especially in women, especially after a certain age and especially with a history of osteoporosis in the family of which I fall into all three categories.

The sun provides Vitamin D, but there is none here in the winter. Sardines and mackerel have Vitamin D, but I don’t often eat those. I was eager to get started so I could get back on track, but now I had to wait for my prescription, which was being mailed to me. They can’t email it, which I understand and they won’t call the pharmacy, which I don’t understand. But knowing that I needed something and not being able to get it right away was mildly frustrating.

The prescription arrived two days later and I marched across the street to get it filled. The Vitamin D is administered in a little glass ampoule that is completely sealed. How on earth was I supposed to get the liquid out? The pharmacist told me just to break the ampoule, which made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever – why would you put medication in a container that’s glass and needs to be broken!

I gingerly snapped off one of the pointed ends, happy to not have injured myself, but the liquid wouldn’t come out. I realized I had to break the other end in order to remove the suction. I envisioned breaking the thing in two, spilling all the contents and cutting my hand in the process. But I succeeded and poured the little elixir into a glass mixed with water, which turned it a cloudy white. How much water is “un peu” (a little)? Apparently, I put enough since I didn’t suffer any dire consequences.

I thought taking some calcium supplements could jump start my road to recovery, but the instructions that came with them warned against taking them in conjunction with Vitamin D. I was confused – did that mean just not to take them at the same time as the Vitamin D or not to take them at all if you have Vitamin D in your system. I thought the Vitamin D was what helped the bones absorb the calcium so if you needed it, why couldn’t you take the calcium with it?

At the risk of over thinking and over worrying creating stress and possibly additional ill affects, I have decided to stick with yogurts and cheese as my natural sources of calcium – two things the French do exceptionally well and there’s no need for a prescription for either!

Les gens sont fous

exp. – people are crazy

When we first got our puppy, I was telling a fellow dog lover friend how many nice people I’ve met while walking him. She agreed, but added that many of them are a little crazy. I see what she means now since I’ve become a little crazy myself.

I tend to rationalize things for the dog, which is ridiculous, since he doesn’t. I’ve watched endless hours of the DOG WHISPERER and have been working so hard on my “calm, assertive” behaviour. I keep repeating the mantra “I am the pack leader, I am the pack leader” over and over again. The crazy part is that I’ll do it outside and out loud when I’m walking him.

Felix is going through his adolescent stage right now, which is just as bad as it sounds. The various developmental stages of dogs are sped up exponentially given that their time on earth is much shorter than ours. Imagine going from baby to teenager in just six months – it can’t be easy. At first I thought the lifting of his leg was so cute – now I’m trying desperately to stop him from doing it EVERY few feet! The biggest mistake is to ask other dog owners for advice because everyone will tell you something different.

The trainer tells me I shouldn’t let him do that – there’s no reason he can’t let it all out so to speak, at once, making a much more fluid, no pun intended, and agreeable walk, for me at least. A woman just this morning, however, insisted that it’s part of their nature and that it’s perfectly normal. She also admits she lets her dog walk her rather than the other way around and when she wants to run an errand she has to ask him to take her to the butcher, or the dry cleaner, or wherever it may be.

She’s not the only one who apparently lets the dog decide. I met one of my neighbours who had a lovely, big, albeit not very sociable, dog. She invited Felix and me over for coffee, the owner that is, but when I arrived I had to wait in the hall until the dog finished her breakfast because she likes to eat alone. She then proceeded to dig under the table, the dog that is, at which point I looked at Felix and channelled the thought – don’t get any ideas.

One topic that I’ve still yet to resolve is whether or not to neuter the pup. In the US it’s practically mandatory and I always thought it the sensible thing to do – unless you want to breed or show your dog, I understand. Here, it seems only to be a necessary option for female dogs, which I find a bit sexist. In English, we use the words personality and character interchangeably, although a character is used for someone with an out of the ordinary personality. Here the word for personality is "caractère” and “personnage” is actually the word they use for a character. If someone is a real character and not in a good way, they’ll use “special.” Anyway, the French think that castrating male dogs will ruin their personality or take away their character. Don’t female dogs have personalities, too?

The woman who has walked Felix and dog sat him the last time we were away thinks he absolutely should be castrated. Why let him look at all the pretty girl dogs and be able to do nothing about it. I tend to agree with her. I thought I was endearing myself to Felix by sending him off to walk with her since she takes a pile of dogs in her little van to the woods for hours at a time. But the DOG WHISPERER made a very good point in one of his episodes that the dog doesn’t know you’ve paid the dog walker and the last time Felix came home, he went into total crisis mode when she left.

Anyone who has a dog and certainly anyone who doesn’t will tell you that they’re a lot of work – all day, every day, for the rest of their lives. Just like people they have phases where they’re more difficult and just like people, a relationship with a dog is a commitment. Unlike people though, the dog will rarely let you take him for granted. We will get through this difficult phase because I will remain calm, assertive and above all, the pack leader, crazy or not.

Embêter, emmerder, se fâcher

v. – to bug

Not surprisingly here there are many verbs that mean to bother or exasperate. The culture of the French can lean towards the dramatic. Discussing, as I’ve mentioned before, along with debating and even complaining, is part of their way of life.

Recently we had a snowstorm or “tempête de neige” in Paris. By East Coast standards, it wasn’t monumental and the perky weather lady on the news made it clear it was coming, but for some reason, it took Paris by surprise. The city became instantly paralyzed and not surprisingly since to my view, there were no provisions to be seen.

People were slipping and sliding, cars came grinding to a halt and the buses ceased running leaving the metros jammed with panicked commuters trying desperately to get home.

As a former New Yorker, I felt like crying out “People, it’s just a little snow – relax and bring on the salt, “sel” or at least some sand, “sable!” Instead everyone was making excuses – “C’est exceptionnel!” it’s exceptional, everyone kept saying. I’m going on my third winter here and every year we’ve had snow – it was in the weather forecast – what was exceptional about it!

The “éboueurs” or trash collectors went into hiding leaving frozen garbage piling up on the streets. At the risk of sounding dramatic because I am after all becoming more and more French, I felt like I was in a war zone and it all bugged me very, very much!

This is the time of year when the trash collectors, like the “pompiers” or fireman, come door to door to sell you their “calendriers” or calendars. I know this because I was already visited by the latter, catching me off guard by ringing the bell at 8 o’clock at night. Since I wasn’t expecting anyone and am used to my protective doorman bubble back home, I was concerned when he identified himself as a fireman thinking there must be something wrong. Instead, he explained he just wanted to sell me a calendar and while I have the utmost respect for firemen and would be happy to contribute, I was a little bugged that he chose the dinner hour to stop by. On top of it, the price is discretionary, just leading to further confusion with the dinner bubbling over and the dog barking at my heels.

The end of the year does bring out stress in people. The shortened days lead to shortened fuses, the lack of sunlight leads to lack of humour. Winter has started early and unforgivingly this year, but without winter there can be no spring and there’s not a prettier city than Paris when the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. So until then I will be marking the days off on my calendar and looking forward to that.

Demander

v. – to ask
Exiger
v. – to demand
Insister
v. – to insist

Sometimes French words are exactly the same as English ones and sometimes not at all. I wondered why “demander” doesn’t mean to demand. It seems more logical to me to have another word for to ask rather than coming up with another word for demand.

It’s similar with the verb “marcher,” which doesn’t mean march, but rather walk. There are other words for walk such as “se ballader” and “se promener,” but the word for march is actually “défiler.” This is the same verb they use for cat walk, which makes sense since the models do sort of march to a certain degree. It has nothing to do with the English verb to defile unless you really take offense at some of the latest fashions.

“Se défiler” means to back out as in, at the last minute. There are many other verbs like this, “se manquer,” to miss, “s’appeller,” to call or to name, “se doucher” or “se laver,” to bathe or to wash, “se coucher,” to sleep, etc. All of these things we do to ourselves literally when translated. So even if you miss someone you would say “tu me manques” or you are missed by me. That one is always a little complicated for me even though the rest make sense. “Je me couche,” I put myself to sleep or “je me lave,” I wash myself are logical unless you’re a baby and can’t really do either without help.

The root for the verbs for washing and bathing can be found in the nouns that describe the things we wash and bathe in. For example, “douche” is the word for shower, “lavabo,” the word for sink, “bain,” the word for tub from “se beiner” or to swim. “Robinet” is another word for sink – and makes the distinction between kitchen sink vs. bathroom sink. Hence, “l’eau du robinet” means tap water.

The word “eau” for water rhymes with the word “peau” for skin. The former isn’t that great for the latter here because of the high calcium content or “calcaire.” There are many products aimed at “canilization” or unclogging and freshening drains. The calcium deposits aren’t the only problem. Hair clogs drains as well, but sometimes I wonder if it’s the calcium deposited water that actually causes your hair to fall out. There are also a variety of products targeted at “chute de cheveux” or hair loss, which I suppose is a universal concern.

I’ve always thought it a pity that so many people have too much hair where they don’t want it and not enough where they do. Since humans have worn clothes for centuries now, you would think there would have been a modification at the evolutionary level to redistribute more to the tops of our heads, especially men’s.

I constantly toy with the idea of cutting bangs. Here they are called “franges” or fringe I suppose like the British call them. “Meche” is what the layered side bang is called. It’s also the word for highlighting so you have to be sure you’re clear on what you mean in order to avoid confusion at the salon.

There’s a certain hairstyle that’s very popular here now with boys. It’s a mesh pulled way over to one’s side…sort of like the teen version of the comb over. It looks like it takes a great deal of effort to keep the hair that clearly belongs on one side, all the way over on the other one. It’s the same sort of effort I imagine that it takes to keep their jeans tightly wrapped around the tops of their thighs. But we’ve all been there. I remember spending hours blow-drying my feathered wings, which ended up looking more like little flaccid horns on either side of my head and of course I had many a bell bottom fashion disaster moment as well.

It’s funny how as we age, or at least in my case, I spend a lot less time on my hair and make-up. The French women also have a less is more approach to their looks. I like it – it’s clean and elegant. There is also a healthier approach to getting older here. I don’t see the same lips pulled over forehead looks that I do in the US and that’s refreshing. Sensible eating vs. starvation and diet pills also seem to be the norm. Exercise is practised, but nothing that will emit heavy sweating. Perhaps this has something to do with people not wanting to seek reasons for multiple showers during the day given the harsh water. Instead, a nice healthy “promenade” or walk, will do just fine.