Vistavision

Santa Rosa, California, United States
August 31, 2016

 

1956.

Three things happened in 1956 which may explain why I find myself frantically packing for Paris, now, sixty years later.

First, CBS aired a program called The Ford Star Jubilee. Now, you won’t remember The Ford Star Jubilee, but the producers were the first to get the bright idea, “hey, why don’t we show a movie on TV?”

I know what you’re thinking.

Duhhhh! Ya think?

Seems obvious in this age of Netflix, HBO, and Showtime . Right? But back in 1956 that was thinking “outside the box” . . . I mean . . . literally outside the box. So the Jubilee geniuses……..geni? ……..aired for the first time, in what was to become an annual event, “The Wizard of Oz.”

On TV, No less

Each year my brother, sister and I would sit down with a bowl of popcorn in front of the ol’ black and white RCA. Each year, a man would introduce the movie explaining that “no adjustment of our set was necessary” when, 10 minutes into the movie, about the time Dorothy arrived in Munchkinland, our picture would turn from black and white to color.

It will?

Hell, my folks didn’t get color until I was off to college.

Speaking of color. The second thing that happened in 1956 was Paramount Pictures decided to release a movie to showcase its new “Vistavision” film system. Technicolor was all the rage and the studio needed a dramatic setting to show its stuff. So they produced a movie called “The Mountain” in which Spencer Tracy and Robert Wagner, two French brothers , one evil, one virtuous, climb Mont Blanc in search of plane that crashed into the mountain.

 

The Mountain

Wagner, a young punk with no mountaineering skills, wants to loot the dead in the plane. Tracy, the old mountaineering legend, is reluctantly enlisted. To their surprise they discover a young woman still alive in the wreckage and Tracy must use all of his moral courage to overcome his morally challenged little brother and all of his mountaineering skills to get the woman down off the mountain.

 

Spencer Tracy

She survives. The creepy brother? Uhhh, not so much. He falls into a crevasse.

A crevasse. As a boy, just the sound of the word gave me chills

I remember watching the movie, thinking how cool to be a mountain climber, and wondering, “Uhhhh, what’s a crevasse.” Quick Rob! To the World Book Enclyclopedia. The white 1961 Deluxe Edition.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

The third thing that happened that year . . . well actually in 1955,. . . hmmmm . . . how best to put this . . .  respectfully. . . my folks did . . . what all parents do . . . who hadn’t planned a third child.

And, so I arrived.

In 1956.

In Denver actually.

In the mountains.

So, you ask, just how does that explain why I find myself packing forParis?

Because.

You see if, in 1956, the Ford Star Jubilee folks hadn’t thought to show A Wizard of Oz on TV, and if, in 1956, the folks at Paramount hadn’t thought to showcase Vistavision in movies, and if, in 1956–okay maybe the fall of 1955–my folks hadn’t done the nasty somewhere in the mountains above Denver, then I never would have been born, the folks at CBS would never have thought to use movies to fill time slots on TV, I never would have grown up watching movies on TV, never would have seen Robert Wagner fall into a crevasse. never would have grown up fascinated by mountain climbers (but afraid of flying monkeys) and I never would have hatched this plan to first go here by plane

Paris

then go here by train

 

Lake Annecy

then go here by bike

 

Chamonix

then go here by gondola

 

and hopefully find myself here still upright

 

Vallee Blanche
That’s the plan this year.

What the future holds, I can only guess. But here, now, sixty years old, writing this silly blog when I should be packing, bound for a mountain I’ve never seen and have only imagined, I can’t help but think how life, this wacky string of random misfires, propels us by events we little note, and passions we seldom understand,  gives us the courage to overcome  flying monkeys and the curiosity to explore crevasses and, maybe, just maybe, if we play our cosmic cards right, graces us with a clear day and a fine view.

I love the mountains.

I Just Had My First Cognac

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 22, 2015

 

I just had my first cognac.

My First Cognac

Probably wasn’t fine cognac; I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. It came in one of those little bottles that airlines use and I poured it into a little plastic cup, Not exactly a snifter, but at 30,000 feet somewhere over Greenland on Air France Flight 84 from Paris to San Francisco, it was exceptional. The best cognac I’ve ever had.(I added a twist of mandarin orange).

I’ve had a lot of firsts on this trip to Paris. My first ride in a Paris taxi. My first Irish Coffee. My first genuine conversation in French (with someone other than a teacher) in which I actually communicated (a very kind young lady in Le Petite Bateau with whom I exchanged age and size information on an outfit for my grandson.)

“Firsts” . . . are important. One should look for “firsts”  . . .especially at the age of 59. A “first” means you’re trying, that you’ve not given up or grown up, that you’ve taken a page from Jack London, decided “I’d rather be ashes than dust” and followed the advice of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption,

“I guess it comes down to a simple choice: Get busy living or get busy dying.”

Our time here is short. We should live as the Parisiens do: unashamed, unrestrained, and unafraid.

 

I am Haunted by Waters

aris, Île-de-France, France
November 21, 2015

Sunset Above the Seine

 

Paris would not be Paris without the Seine.

It is the City’s source and identity.

It divides the Rive Droit from the Rive Gauche.

Square du Vert-Galant dividing the Seine

 

It inspires the painter and the poet.

It gives the lost a bearing from which to be found.
Le Pont Alexander over the Seine

 

In my family, there is no more reveared passage in literature than the final page of Norman Maclean’s “A River Runs Through It.” My father would often read it aloud to his children and to his grandchildren. My daughter can recite it from heart. Though written to describe the Big Blackfoot in Montana, the words seem as apt to describe the Seine.

 

 

 

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.”

 

“I am haunted by waters.”

 

 

 

Good F—ing Luck

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 20, 2015

I think John Oliver said it best in reference to the attacks hère in Paris,

“If you are in a war of culture and lifestyle with France, good fucking luck. Go ahead, bring your bankrupt idealogie. They’ll bring Jean Paul Sartre, Edith Piaf, fine wine, Camembert, Camus and fucking croquembouche.You just brought a philosophy of rigorous self abdignation to a pastry fight, my friend.”

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Cheeses at Fromage et Detail on la rue Cler

 

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Pizza at Margherita on la rue l’Ancienne Comédie
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Chocolat Chaud at Le Deux Magots on Saint Germaine

 

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I’m in Heaven

 

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Lunch salad at Sip Babylone on Blvd Raspail

 

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International Man of Mystery

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 19, 2015

Well, let’s see.

So far, a waiter in the San Germaine neighborhood, apparently not fooled by my flawless French accent, asked if I was Scottish. And then a very kind man from whom I bought a bag of almonds, after hearing my cheery French, “merci beaucoup” asked, “Italiano, si?” That’s me, “Rob Jackson, International Man of Mystery.”

Where’s Waldo?

Speaking of whom, see if you can tell in this photograph who doesn’t belong.

  • That’s our instructor Joy in the foreground with the dark haïr, a delightful woman who refers to the Eiffel Tower as a “big piece of iron.”
  • That’s Raihah manning the selfie stick. She and I were paired together to describe our home neighborhoods to one another in French. Her neighborhood in Kuala Lumpur is “bruyant” (noisy).
  • Nestor, the class clown, is the good looking fella with a beard. He is from San Paulo and has six children. Josh, the Asian gentleman on the left having a bite of the apple tart I brought to the party, discovered to his and Nestor’s surprise that they don’t live far from one another.
  • Stella, the young African American lady, is from England, but her father is from Germany and her mother is from Nairobi.
  • Mai is the Asian woman with the red hair in the back of class. We were paired together today to describe one another’s family trees. I nailed my “grand mères, frères, soeurs, cousins and cousines”, but couldn’t prononce, even in English, the name of her sister and parents in China.
  • Paulo, the young man with a beard in the back right, came up to me on the first day of class during a break in the school lounge and we discovered through our broken French that he has been to Miami to visit a brother and will definitely come to see me if ever in California.
  • And there is Joy from Korea, Naomi from England, and the birthday girl Alexia from Spain.
Make a Wish

And the mystery man in the back corner? The white haired guy? The one who the class immediately pointed to in unison when the instructor, after a “stand-and-recite” game requiring each of us to say the year of our birth, asked “who is the oldest student in the room?” That guy?

He’s a mystery. The class doesn’t quite know what to make of him. He spends half of each day on vacation in Paris in a classroom.

Why? He cannot explain it, in English or in French.

He has a damn fine accent . . . okay, maybe a mix of Scottish and Italian, but better than any in class. He knows random bits of stuff others don’t. (You say “Mon amie”, not “Ma amie” despite the fact the “ami” is an “amie” and “mon” is masculine, not féminin, because of “liaison.”—thanks Evelyne)

But he is troubled. He is troubled by the gaps he sees in his own cognition, the odd inhabilité to comprehend conversation, the curious disconnect that even the admission office noticed when they placed him in a beginner class, between his ability to write and his inhabilité to hear and speak. And most of all, he’s troubled by how much his feet hurt after an afternoon and evening walking all over Paris.

He knows that age is a state of mind, but it seems, as he stands in the Metro car riding home from school, lost in thought, looking at the names on the white tiled station walls pass. . . Madeline, . . Concorde . . .Invalides . . La Tour Marbourg . . . that his years, like the stations, are approaching too fast, pausing not long enough, and receding too soon, and there will not be enough time to learn all that he wants to learn

Shaw was right. Youth is wasted on the young.

 

Happy Birthday, Alexia

 

My Day? . . . Oh, I Don’t Know . . . Pretty Ho-Hum

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 18, 2015

My day? Oh, I don’t know. Pretty ho-hum. You know . . . same ol, same ol.

Let’s see? Got up long before the sun to get ready for school. I thought, “Let’s take a quick look at the Press Democrat and see what’s in the local news. Hmmm. . . a story on the Paris attacks. Oh look, there’s a picture of . . . wonder if Suzanne and I are in the picture in front of Notre D. .. . . holy shit . . .that can’t be

 

C’est Moi!

Yep, that’s me alright; not exactly how I would like to find my picture in the paper.

Well, better get ready for class today . . our assignment is to write two essays: one describing our Arrondissement, the other describing our flat. Uh, let’s see? Need someplace to work without waking Suzanne . . . perfect, the electric stove top.

 

Using the Stove as a Desk

 

Off to class. Need to find a pattisserie to buy a classmate a birthday cake. Our instructor asked us to bring something. Pass by some windows . . .this guy looks like he could make a cake.

A Baker on the Rue de Babylon

 

Arrive at school. Prepositions today. I’ve got this nailed. Teacher calls for essays . . . hmmm . . .no one in class wrote the essay except me and the gal from Korea . . . hmmm? There’s my compétition. Sure Rob, she’s 35 years younger and her rétention is probably light years faster than yours, but just remember what Pop used to say, “Old âge and treachery will win out over youth and talent everytime.” Bring it!

Happy Birthday in Six Languages

I tell you, you want to feel a small part of a big world? Listen to “Happy Birthday” sung in a heavy British accented English, Portugeese, Korean, Italian, Mayan, and Spanish (both Espagnol and South American.

After the party, meet Suzanne outside school and off to the Louvre. Ruht-Row, Scooby . . . le musée is still closed and those gentlemen mean business . . . how do you say,  “military présence” in French

Military 
Presence

Off to the Musee Des Arts Décoratif. Hey, it’s open. Uh boy, Korean Exhibit. Wonder if my compétition is here. Probably not; I bet she is home studying. Doh!

Not My Style
But damn they are good at joinery

That was cool. Let’s walk this way. Look, they hold children’s art classes at The Louvre.

Children’s Art Class at the Louvre

How about a stroll from the Arc de Triumph down the Champs. Not my cup of tea, but even the Champs looks beautiful after a rainstorm

I’m More of a Left Bank Kind of Guy

 

Long day, time to head for home. Let’s take this bridge . . . look . . . Eiffel Tower . . . moon . . .

Yeah, pretty ho hum day. Oh well . . .

Lay Low and Have a Plan

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 15, 2015

 

Light

Last night, as Suzanne and I texted with our family and friends from a Paris bistro, we received many kind words of care and concern. My daughter Kate wrote. My sister Linda. Suzanne’s family and friends. We are so fortunate to be loved by so many. Thank you all. We are very moved.

Of all the expressions of love, none were as powerful as this practical advice from my son Sam from thousands of miles away:

“Please send me some kind of word pop”
“We’re ok spud; Holed up in a restaurant three doors from our place.”
“Fewww , lay low and have a plan.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Go back to your hotel and lock the doors. ”
“No worries.”
“Just be aware of everyone in each place you get to. Make sure there are multiple exits. Ask where they are. Just be really cautious.”
“Will do.”
“Good. Have some running shoes or something you can move fast in ready. Not meaning to scare you; just ideas.”

A half a world away, my son was trying to help his old man.

in these dark days when so much hatred born of misguided faith seems to consume so many, when there is so much to despair, and seemingly so little to reassure, when fear would take hold of our hearts and anger cloud our minds, it is well to remember the love of our families and friends, to heed the wisdom of our children, and maybe, just maybe, stick around long enough to make our grandchildren proud.

Dark

The City May Not be the Same

Paris, Île-de-France, France
November 14, 2015

Quiet

Last night, after a wonderful day visiting the newly refurbished Musee Rodin, strolling by the Seine, sitting amongst Monet’s water lilies at the Musee Orangerie, and looking to find shelter in a brief cloud burst, a kind young waiter at the bistro on Rue St. Dominuque in the 7th where we were having a late night croque madame asked what our plans were for tomorrow. We told him we thought we might stroll through the passages couvert , 19th century covered passages where small boutiques sell antique books and photographs.

He smiled in a sad way, said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but you might wish to change your plans; the City may not be “the same” for a few days.”

You May Need This

 

And then he filled our wine glasses to the brim and said, “
you may need this.”

Le Bar Cental

 

Together with the waiters and owner, we huddled in the bistro for a couple of hours, all checking our cell phones, all sharing news as we learned it. (Thank you ATT for our unlimited texting plan.) It seemed odd to be sitting in a Paris restaurant learning from our children and my sister half a world away what was happening half a mile away.

We traded hugs with the waiter, wished one another “Bonne chance” and walked home down an eerily quiet street. Fumbling, trying to remember the code to unlock the door to the ground floor of our flat, we traded kindness with a young couple from England, and climbing up the stairs, joked that this would not be a good time to learn we had been double booked in the same AirBNB.

Suzanne monitored the BBC on her laptop. I tried as best I could to understand French television. Shortly before we went to bed at about 2:00 a.m., I looked out our window to take a picture.

The lights on the Eiffel Tower, which were so brilliant before, were out.