The Citizen

 We visited the Conciergerie today.  It was my first visit to this prison where so many were tortured and killed during the terror of the French Revolution. In a memorial room, I found the name of Francois Josselin.  My grandmother was a Josselin and my father has some documents that trace my grandmother's line back to France a long time ago so I'm pretty sure Francois was a relation.  He was a mutton merchant and yes he was guillotined. 

Olympe de Gouges also lived in the prison before her execution.  This is the first time I've heard her name, but now I know that Olympe de Gouges wrote the Declaration for the Rights of Woman and of the Female Citizen. She said, 

A woman has the right to mount the scaffold. She must possess equally the right to mount the speaker's platform.

Let's face it.  That seems fair. I hope to learn more about Olympe de Gouges and Francois Josselin in the future. 

Flash Fiction #4: The Class Pets

Note: You may recognize this story from days of yore.  I did some fictionalizing of the tale for my flash fiction class.  Please read it if you feel like it.

Standing around at Theo and Vincent's place. As in Van Gogh.  They'll probably be home soon. 

    Dwarf hamsters prefer to live alone, and I knew that, but for some reason I bought two. My class voted on names and because kids are not great at naming pets, the dwarf hamsters became known as Salt and Pepper. 

     From day one, Salt and Pepper fought viciously. Their tank was like a miniature Roman Colosseum. I feared that the kids would witness severed bloody hamster limbs stuck to the tank walls during the school day.

    After a week, I righted the problem by heading back to PetWorld for a second habitat set up - tank, cedar shavings, water bottle, running wheel, food bowl. 

     The kids sat near me on the rug for Salt's Moving Day. Salt lashed out when I reached into the tank. Bella saw my cowering fear and ran to the tank to grab up Salt. Salt did bite her, but the bite barely broke the skin. I loved Bella. The kid was fearless.

     I wanted to clean Pepper's tank to give her a new lease on life, so Bella put Pepper into the small pet carrier I had also purchased at PetWorld. Like Salt, Pepper put up a fuss, snarling and biting. I hoped Bella would not talk about the hamster bites with her parents. 

     With Salt safely in the carrier, I was ready to empty the tank when Bella whispered, "What is that?" "Please no," I prayed as I stared down at the red, bald, blind baby hamsters squirming in a twisty pile. We counted eight. I wanted to vomit. 

     The next morning, we discovered that Salt had also been pregnant and now had her own litter of seven. The kids were thrilled that we had seventeen class pets. 

     Back at PetWorld, I complained that they had sold me two pregnant hamsters, but the manager explained that they have a strict no return policy. 

     It took some time, but I found homes for the fifteen youngsters. I bought tanks for almost everyone who adopted a hamster, and bags of cedar shavings and wheels and water bottles, but I considered this money well spent. 

     Salt and Pepper, even in their own tanks, continued to bite and act hateful all year long. The kids loved them anyway, but I never warmed to them. When summer vacation approached, Anna Grubb's mom offered to take them off my hands. I gratefully supplied the Grubbs with extra bags of food and cedar shavings and a new hamster ball. 

     Room 200 has a tarantula named Harriet now. Peaceful and fascinating to watch, Harriet prefers to live alone.

The CatchUp

 

 

            It's pleasant to have coffee and cake at a cafe in the afternoon.  We'll have to keep that up when we're home whenever we can. Please get your priorities straight and join us.

 

            Cafe de L'Industrie is abustlin'.  Across the street, there is a line of people trying to get into a Cat Cafe.  Clearly we have some cat fans here in Paris.  Cynthia is visiting and I have a feeling we might find her in the Cat Cafe some time soon.  She really likes cats.  I also enjoy cats, but I don't feel a need to have coffee with them.  It would probably be hard to get work done because animals pique my interest. I actually would like to visit the Fleabag inspired Guinea Pig Cafe in LA sometime. 

 

What else have we been up to lately you ask?  

•             Went to Pere Lachaise and could not find Modigliani AGAIN.  I love his art but he's really starting to tick me off.  
•             We loved L'Orangerie.  Thank you to Monet for donating his water lilies to Paris so we can have a quiet place for living in the present moment.
•             Lovely visit to the Pantheon.  Checked in on the six women in the crypt and admired the incredible murals and the Anselm Kiefer installation.  
•             Had a phenomenal lunch at Septime and a fun dinner at Maceo. 
•             Watched a moving film called Other People on our big television. Spoiler Alert: You maybe should watch it when you're alone so you don't look like a freak as you sob hysterically at the movie's end when Molly Shannon dies of cancer.  

 

Taking Sides: FF #3 - Remembering

Laurent Le Deunff

Taking Sides

by Lee Heffernan

 

 

            I remember his face when he pulled the gun out of his backpack.  He displayed it proudly, flat in his two hands. Just like when he brought in the fishhooks he found at Lake Monroe.  Just like the time he brought his dead hamster.  Hard as a rock.  

            "I borrowed this from my grandfather. It's called a LeMat pistol. You probably think they only used rifles in the Civil War, but they used pistols too.  My grandfather told me this was a Confederate gun."  

 

            I remembered back to yesterday when I kicked off our new social studies unit with a read aloud, Taking Sides in the Civil War. When I finished reading, Ian shouted out, "My grandfather knows everything about the Civil War."   

            "That's great," I told him as I popped in a DVD about Lincoln. With a brand new Dixon Ticonderoga, Ian took notes during the film, covering his paper with pictures and words about our sixteenth president.

 

            The kids' eyes now shifted from Ian's gun to my face to Ian's face back to the gun.   They knew what was supposed to happen next.  Reporting to the office.  Calling Ian's dad. Suspension. Everyone knew this except Ian. A fourth grader should know better. He probably did know, but he couldn't help himself. I remember his eager face, his sparkly eyes.   He wanted the class to be excited about his Grandfather's Civil War artifact.  He wanted me to be excited.  Especially me, I think. 

 

            "Put it back in your backpack, Ian.  It's very cool, but don't bring it back to school.  Put your backpack behind my desk and I'll help you carry it out to your dad's car when he picks you up at the end of the day." I remember he looked disappointed that he couldn't pass it around the circle like we usually do.  He stashed the backpack and I called over to him, "Ian, please bring that basket of library books on the side table over to Morning Meeting. We're going to start the day with some Civil War research."  I remember his grin as he lugged the basket back to the circle.  He reached in and took Back to Gettysburg before anyone else could grab it.  

 

            That whole school year, I tried to work with him on his impulse control issues, but I can't say I was successful. 

 

The Groundhog

 Yesterday was a super pleasant day.  I walked and I wrote and I read.  I thought if this day could be my Groundhog Day, I'd be completely happy. Repeating this very day hundreds of times would be AOK in my book.

Today I walked through the Marche des Enfants Rouges.  Then I went to a museum that's all about the history of inventions.  It's called Musee des Arts et Metiers.    Super beautiful museum.  I especially loved the typewriter displays and the camera displays and the final display of old cars that were placed on a curving ramp in a very beautiful restored church. I can't tell you how happy I was in that place. As I was leaving, I thought, It's only 2pm, but this could also be my Groundhog Day.  I could repeat this day forever and be totally fine with it. 

On my way home, I rolled my ankle in a hole in the sidewalk and now it hurts quite a bit.  So I want it on record that I do not want this day to be my Groundhog Day. I want this day to be over ASAP.  

The Corkscrew Mystery

    The line for the Pompidou was moving along. I watched the line directors moving us this way and that and felt a strong sense of admiration for a job well done. That's a job I think I could be super successful at, if I do say so myself. 

    When the couple in front of us were at the security table, the woman walked through the body scanner successfully.  Her partner fumbled with wallet and keys before placing them in the plastic bin. Then he squiggled his hand deep into his pocket and plopped a small swiss army knife in to the bin as well. The kind with a prominent corkscrew.  When I saw the knife in the bin in front of me, I thought, "I should get one of those. We're always forgetting a corkscrew." But come to find out, the security worker, a tall man, said something in French which seemed to mean that the man could not bring the knife into the museum.  The man pointed at his wife and said something about putting it in her purse.  The wife held up her purse with both hands as if to say, "We'll put it right in here."  No Monsieur.  The man pointed to a trash can a few feet away.  He was so desperate that he was willing to throw his precious knife away.  But... No Monsieur.  The security man pointed outside, but the man did not want to go.  He was intent on finding a way to solve the problem and to get into the Pompidou. It took awhile, but the security man motioned us around and through.  At that point I was curious to see what would happen next, but I didn't want to stare at someone's misery, so we walked to the ticket counter. We never saw the couple again.

    The moral of the story is to not bring a knife to the Pompidou Center.  But maybe if you put your knife in your wife's purse before you get to the security check table, you can get away with it.  I'm not sure, so better safe than sorry. 

Three's a Crowd: Flash Fiction 2nd Assignment - Detached Narrator

 

Mari Homme took this picture of me writing this story.  I look keyed up. 

 Three's a Crowd

Rudy Parker's mom zipped past Irene's desk and into Mr. Zimmer's office, firmly shutting the principal's door behind her. Irene stood and slowly walked over to open Zimmer's door.  Ignoring Rudy Parker's mom's glowering, Irene made eye contact with Zimmer. "You have that meeting in the Art Room in 8 minutes, Mr. Zimmer."  She left the door wide open and returned to her desk.

 

Sitting in the chair opposite Zimmer, Mrs. Parker's back faced Irene.  Before looking around to see that no one of consequence was in the office, Irene held up a clenched fist and shook it at Mrs. Parker's back.  From my spot at the copy machine, I had a decent view. Zimmer folded his hands on his desk and offered a concerned look, motioning for Rudy's mom to begin. 

 

"I'll give this five minutes," Irene whispered. Mrs. Parker's rant warmed up as she rummaged through her gym bag.  She pulled out a picture book and slammed it down on Zimmer's desk. Strains of fury and softer hissing wafted out to the reception area while Mrs. Parker accented the key points of her complaint with hard pokes on the book cover.  Her sparkly green fingernail polish reflected the room's fluorescent lighting.

 

"Two male penguins. Central Park Zoo. Raising a chick.  Homosexuality.  My family.  Body cameras for teachers.  Mrs. Menosky.  Free to Be You and Me. Transparency. Divisive Topics.  Standard curriculum. Unbelievable.  What's going on in second grade?"

 

And Tango Makes Three.  Of course. Mary Jo Menosky must be teaching the second graders about Banned Books Week again. Surprising she didn't skip it this year given all the hubbub at school board meetings lately.

 

Irene took a green form from the file cabinet.  She stood outside Zimmer's door holding it in her hand.  Zimmer picked up the book from his desk and carried it over to Irene, swapping the book for the form. 

 

Still standing in the doorway, he explained to Rudy's mom the protocol for submitting the book challenge review form to the district office.  Zimmer thanked her very much for coming in, and told her he was sorry he had to make this short. 

 

Rudy's mom had to go anyway.  She didn't want to be late for her class at the Y. She took the form from Zimmer and we watched her exit through the front doors.  Before the doors slid shut, we got a glimpse of the dogwood leaves blazing red against the cloudless autumn sky.  "Looks nice out there," said Zimmer. "I'll meet Mary Jo during recess duty to let her know about Mrs. Parker's feelings about the penguin book."  

 

"You mean the gay penguin book?" asked Irene.  

 

Zimmer smiled. He walked into his office and shut the door.  Irene answered a ringing telephone.  I made a beeline to Mary Jo's classroom.

The Louvre

 Once I get moving in the morning, which sometimes takes awhile, not going to lie, I head out for 10,000+ steps.  Today I decided to start with a metro ride.  I took the 1 to the Louvre to get the 10,000 as I roamed the halls of this centuries old massive musee.  Except for some phone addicted dawdlers who impeded my progress on occasion, I had a pleasant brisk bustling through the Louvre.  When I got close to my step goal, I remembered that I should visit Napoleon's apartment.  Napoleon used to live in the Louvre before it was a museum.  

I was in the Sully section and the apartment is over in the Richelieu.  While my random wanderings brought me glee, searching out a specific room in the Louvre was tough stuff.  Finally I threw in the serviette and approached a gentleman who worked at the Louvre. When I pointed to my map, he looked at me and said, "Sorry.  Closed.  Tomorrow."  

Closed tomorrow?  I'm here now, I wanted to say, but I knew I was missing something.  He apologized for his poor english, which always embarrasses me, (I'm in YOUR country!  Why the heck are you apologizing?) and then he showed me the Louvre web page on his phone, which clearly states that Napoleon's Apartment is not open on Thursdays.  

"Shoot," I whisper-wailed.

The man responded, "Oui.  Shoot."

What a sweet and empathetic gentleman. I hope to go back some time to see N's apartment. Maybe I'll even conduct a compare and contrast exercise by having a brief lie down on N's bed. Je ne sais pas. 

The Critiques

 

Well friends, responses to my story from online classmates were mixed.  Four people responded to Buddy Bench and all four said that the narrator did not sound kid-like.  I actually suspected that the narrator was coming off as a bit too mature as I was writing, so this response didn't surprise me.

 I signed up for this class so I could learn more about writing fiction, so I'm fine with my classmates' remarks, which did include some positive comments. I've decided that I'm not interested in their specific revision ideas about turning the character into an adult, but I AM going to work on writing kid characters that sound like kids in future flash fictions. 

In short, I have a goal. I hope I can succeed at this goal some day.  Especially before the next assignment is due. 

The Buddy Bench

 Here's a flash fiction I wrote for my class.  It's called Buddy Bench.

Do I want to play?  Are you asking me that because you see me sitting alone on the buddy bench?  Because the answer is no.  I'm not sitting on the buddy bench because I need a buddy.  I'm sitting on the buddy bench as a form of protest. 

I don't think it's a good idea for you to sit here with me.  The recess teacher will think we've suddenly become buddies and she'll suggest that we get off the bench so some pitiful kid can sit here alone.  

But if you're interested in joining the protest, go ahead and sit down. 

So let me bring you up to speed. Basically we are protesting the bogus lack of democracy at this school's student council meetings.  You're not a student council rep like I am, so you probably do not know what happened last meeting.  I keep telling people about it, but no one even cares.

Remember last month when student council reps passed out ballots about playground equipment to classes? Remember those purple papers?  They had a list of playground equipment? Swings? Climbing gym? Sports equipment?  You don't remember?  Who's your student council rep?  Sam Bushey? We'll need to talk with him. 

Anyway, I handed out my ballots, as instructed, after making a short speech about the importance of more equipment, especially swings.  The class voted and over 80% of the kids in Room 402 voted swings. I asked everyone individually what they voted for after they voted. Swings won by a mile. Obviously. Get real, people. There are five swings out here and the same five fifth graders use them every single day. 

Like I said, I'm student council rep, so I brought the shoebox to the meeting. All the reps were ready to tally the votes. Ms. Bronson told us to put the shoeboxes on the shelf behind her desk. Those boxes sat there the entire meeting while she made us watch a Youtube video about Buddy Benches and how they help kids who are lonely at recess. I couldn't figure out how sitting on a bench was going to bring you friendship, but the people on the video were crazy in love with buddy benches. 

After the video, I asked Ms. Bronson when we were going to count the votes for the playground equipment, and she said we would probably count the votes at next month's meeting.  Then she said she knew we would be so excited about the new buddy bench we'd be seeing out at recess soon. I will bet you one million dollars that we will never see those votes again.  

So now we have this bench that no one wants. And we still have five swings with the same 5th graders having a blast swinging and talking. You know who is swinging right now?  Of course you do. You don't even have to look over there. Stevie Mongold.  Jayson Sprechler.  Karlie Bridgewaters.  And of course the Hanson twins.  Those two get on my last nerve.   I've talked to the supervisor about how these same 5th graders hog the swings every day and she always says the same thing.  We have to take turns.  That's what I'm trying to tell her.  We need to take turns. She does nothing.  Supervisors are useless.  Student Council is useless. 

This bench has been empty for the eight days it's been here.  You know why?  Because no kid wants to announce to the world that they're miserable and friendless and desperate for any attention they can get. 

I wonder how much this bench cost. My mom is sick and tired of the way this school wastes taxpayer money.  We wanted swings.  We voted for swings. But it doesn't matter what we want. Doesn't matter what we vote for. 

Wait a minute.  Are the Hanson twins jumping off the swings? Two open swings. Come on. Let's go.  Run. Run fast.

The Bed

There are about 130 museums here in Paris.  Yesterday I went to Musee Carnavalet to see an exhibit about Marcel Proust.  This is the 150th year of Proust's birth.  (1871 - 1922).  Proust wrote the world's longest novel.  I've never read it, but some say this masterpiece, In Search of Lost Time, changed literature forever. 

Proust's bedroom is replicated in the exhibit. The bed has a satin coverlet, midnight blue. Super attractive, and yet the pillows are much flatter than typical pillows. I wondered how Proust could have written one million words after a night in that rig.  I stepped over the thin, slack rope hanging in front of the bedroom like a fourth wall and had myself a little lie down on Proust's bed. Verdict: Not comfortable. I feel sorry for Marcel Proust, and my admiration for his accomplishments has swelled enormously, especially considering his probable sleep deprivation.

Come to find out, I'm now no longer "welcome" in the Musee Carnavalet, which really cheeses me off.  I wanted Mari Homme to see the Proust exhibit with me over the weekend. (He says he's fine with it, but still). 

There was not one sign that said you could not lie on the bed.  I explained that I'm American, and that museums are different over here, but they didn't seem to care one whit.

C'est la vie, mes amies. I have about 100 more museums to visit in our remaining 2 months here, so I'm going to be just fine.

The Metro

 

Our activities this past weekend included the History of Immigration Museum, Luxembourg Garden, Zadkine Museum, Dinner at Brasserie Bocuse, Parc de Bercy, Coffee and chocolate outside in Bercy Village.

Yesterday I walked west through the Marais, the Tuileries, and the Champs-Elysees to arrive at the Arc de Triomphe.  Last time I visited the Arc, it was wrapped in cloth and ropes.  But now it's unwrapped and stands naked to the world. As I gazed up, the Arc said, "So good to see you again, Madame Americaine.  I was hoping you'd return." We chatted awhile and then I hopped on the metro.  It took me 2 hours to get to the Arc, but only about 13 minutes to get home on the metro. Clearly, we need a metro in our beloved B-town. 

Also, I finished reading The Thursday Murder Club.  Wow did I enjoy that.  What great characters. You should definitely read it if you feel like it.

And one other thing, did I tell you I signed up for an online class about writing Flash Fiction?  It's going to be an 8 week class starting tomorrow. Not sure I did the right thing by signing up for a class, but I felt a true yearning for learning.  I'll let you know how it goes.