A Perfect Birthday Gift

As she said, it was an uncharacteristic gift for her.

And indeed, you would not ordinarily find “golf” and “Priscilla” in the same sentence – in fact, it would be extraordinary. The world of golf is the antithesis of all that Priscilla espouses in her life (forgetting for a moment that she does translation work for Hermes and the luxury goods conglomerate LMVH – after all, that’s business – but then so is golf, some would say!). But Priscilla knew that I played golf, and had a hankering of sorts to play here in France, and so for my birthday she gave me a gift certificate to play a round of golf at a nearby Cote d’Azur course.

That was May 28th. I flew to the States for a round of family visits on June 3rd, and before I left, Priscilla reminded me to make a reservation at the course soon – the idea was that she would accompany me on my outing, and she wanted to make sure she had some time reserved on her calendar. We came up with a suggested timing, the week of June 22nd, but I didn’t actually try to make a reservation until I returned from my travels the week of June 15th.

That Monday, the 15th, looking over the brochure for the Opio-Valbonne course, I found a website listed, through which one could reserve a tee time. On the reservation site, I sent in a request to play the following week, on Wednesday, the 24th, with an afternoon start around 3 p.m. (Making tee times via the internet is pretty common in the States too.) I received a confirmation via email for my visit:

Dear Madam,

Further to your request, we are pleased to confirm the following booking :
On Wednesday 24th June at 3:06 pm for 1 player.
Please let us know your handicap.

Best Regards
Emeline

Well, that was cool. Reservation made! Except for the one request – I don’t have a handicap. One receives a handicap after one has registered with one’s golf club and records in the onsite computer one’s scores for play on that course. When one has played a certain number of games, the computer spits out a number that is your “handicap” – a numerical measure of your ability, based on the tees on the course. It is meant to show your potential, but folks tend not to improve their scores (and therefore, not their handicap).

So, I wrote back to Emeline.

Cher Emeline,

Merci pour votre confirmation.
J'ai joué au golf depuis que je suis jeune, mais je ne joue pas régulièrement, donc je n'ai pas un handicap. Je sais le jeu et ses règles très bien, cependant. Ma marque est généralement autour de 110-120.
Je tiens à vous rappeler que j'ai un certificat-cadeau. Aussi, si il n’y pas des autres qui jouent avec moi, est-ce que possible mon amie m’accompagne autour la course? Elle ne le joue pas, mais elle me donne le certificat pour mon anniversaire, donc, si possible, s'il vous plaȋt, faites le moi savoir.

À bientȏt,
Margarita Brose

[Tr: Thanks for your confirmation. I’ve played golf since I was young, but I don’t play regularly, therefore I don’t have a handicap. I know the game and the rules very well, however. My score is generally around 110-120.

I want to remind you that I have a gift certificate. Also, if there aren’t any others playing with me, is it possible that my girlfriend accompany me on the course? She doesn’t play, but she gave me the certificate for my birthday, so if it is possible, would you please let me know?]

Broses and Golf: A Short History

I figured it was worth a try. I have been playing golf since I was a teenager, and my dad first took me out to play at Cherry Hill in North Amherst, I think it must have been. My Dad grew up playing golf, because his Dad was a golfer. My grandfather Brose enjoyed the game, but he also thought it was a great way to meet people and to make business contacts. He would tell stories of how he got great stock tips on the golf course. I was listening (and have since become a pretty good stock picker myself). My grandfather was an astute investor, and I don’t believe for a minute he meant he sought out nonpublic information from his golf companions, but he was a good listener, and made some shrewd investments.

My Dad played off and on through his working years (he spent more time playing tennis), but when he retired in the late 1990’s, he turned to golf full-time. And he began to encourage my brother and me to play more as well. We didn’t need too much encouragement. Several years earlier, when I began working as an attorney at the Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington (and learning all about insider trading, and deciding my grandfather was not an inside trader!), I found some like-minded colleagues who were up for an occasional nine holes at the Hains Point Golf Course in the early morning before work. And a few years later, I found that my new husband enjoyed golf as well, and soon our vacations became pretty golf-focused.

My husband Bob encouraged me to take private lessons, and he found a teacher for me at a local public course. My teacher was great, and I was an eager learner – I really did want to get better. My swing improved, and my game improved. For a few years, we played regularly on Saturday afternoons or early evenings during the summer, as there was a fairly decent par 3 public course just a half mile from our condo in Falls Church.

My Dad continued to encourage my game as well, and one year his birthday gift to me was a two-day golf clinic at a highly-acclaimed Western Massachusetts course, Crumpin-Fox. It was fantastic, honestly. The first day was spent in group lessons, and some one-on-one attention; day two was 18 holes of golf, accompanied by an instructor. I’d never known how to read a course; the tips for how to size up the hole, avoid traps, and make good intelligent shots was great. It was the first time I was told that I had the potential to be a good player (by a pro, that is, my Dad told me that all the time).

Golf and Business

While I was enjoying the challenge of becoming a better player, I also knew that being able to play golf was a business advantage for me. As I learned from my grandfather, men in business like to play golf. When I went to an industry conference in Desert Springs, California in 1999 (as with most conferences of this type), the first day was an optional golf day for the conference attendees. I made sure to sign up to play. And I found out that there was no need for me to be self-conscious or nervous about playing with colleagues or my superiors – on the golf course, at least among men, there are very few sins. Golf is a game where guys that are great players are gracious (generally) to their compatriots that whack at the ball. And the whackers may be frustrated by their game, but they aspire to be better – and for some reason don’t mind playing (generally) with folks that are much better than they are.

I had the experience of playing a few more times in work-organized golf days, and found the respect of men (my colleagues) for women (me) that played the game was more than worth the occasional embarrassment of whiffing the ball on the tee.

Reserving at Opio-Valbonne

So, back to the receptionist at Opio-Valbonne.

I forgot, we’re in France. Here’s the reply:

Cher Mme Brose,

Pourriez-vous nous re-dire quel est votre handicap , autour de 110 -120 ?
Pour jouer sur notre parcours, nous demandons au minimum que les joueurs possède la carte verte (hcp 53) ainsi qu'une licence à jour.
Peut-être avez vous une attestation de votre club qui nous prouvera que vous jouer bien au golf.
Sinon, sans ces 2 documents, vous pourrez utiliser notre practice.
Recevez nos meilleures salutations.

[Tr: Can you tell us again what is your handicap, around 110-120? To play on our course, we ask at a minimum that the players have a green card (handicap 53) and a day license. Perhaps you have a club attestation that you are a good golf player? Without these two documents, you can only use our driving range. Please accept our best greetings.]

The Opio-Valbonne course is on the Cote d’Azur, and of course caters to the rich Europeans who live in near obscurity in the surrounding villages (the course is located just north of Cannes). It should not have been a surprise that they would try and keep out the riff-raff like me. And France is a country that is all about making sure you have a certificate before you do something athletic. (Refer to my earlier blogs on running a 10km road race in France.)

So, quite deflated, I wrote back to the receptionists (this one was named Karima):

Karima,
Je n'ai pas la carte verte, mais je joue avec une handicap de 53.
Je n'ai pas un club aux États Unis où je joue régulièrement. Seulement mon père peut attester que je joue bien au golf!
Il semble donc que je ne peux pas jouer à votre parcours de golf. Confirmez, s'il vous plaȋt.
Avec mes sentiments meilleurs,
Margarita Brose

[Tr: I don’t have a green card, but I play with a handicap of 53. I don’t have a club in the US where I play regularly. Only my father can attest that I’m a good golf player! It looks like I can’t play on your course. Please confirm. With my best wishes.]

Chère Mme Brose,

Je ne peux malheureusement pas prendre votre réservation sans attestation de niveau de jeu, ni licence. Par contre vous pouvez utiliser notre practice, putting green et pitching green.
Merci et Bonne soirée.

[Tr: Unfortunately I can’t take your reservation without an attestation of your game or a license. On the other hand, you can your our driving range, putting green and pitching green. Thank you and have a good evening.]

I copied Priscilla on this last round of emails with Golf Opio-Valbonne. She called me from her vacation in Corsica to let me know that she’d be happy to get in touch with the manager of the course when she returned, as that is how she got the gift certificate in the first place. Priscilla is involved with the Club des Entrepreneurs in Grasse, the city where she lives; it is a business association for small business owners like herself. She met the golf course manager through this association, and was willing to try and figure out how to get around the handicap issue for me. She was really quite eager for me to take advantage of my birthday gift!

I told her that I would ask a choir friend of mine too, about the license requirement. I knew that Philippe played golf, as he and my father had talked about it when Philippe and Odette entertained my parents during their visit back in February. I saw Philippe that Friday night at our end of year choir party, and told him my story, of trying to get a reservation at the Opio course without a license. And he did confirm for me, indeed, this was something I needed to play. He hadn’t realized, I guess, that I played as well, given that his previous conversation had been with my Dad, not me.

Golf Game is a Go!

I was surprised to hear from Philippe the following Monday, however. In a conversation in French, of which I understood about half of what he was saying, I did get this much – he wanted to confirm the course for which I held my gift certificate, and said that he had a friend in town who would be up for playing golf, and he often played at that course, and could probably get me on the course without the handicap being a problem. Was I available Thursday or Friday to play? Friday, I said, hopefully. He said he’d call back when he could confirm that we could all play.

Priscilla emailed me on Tuesday when she returned from Corsica that she had made an effort to reach the manager at the golf course, unsuccessfully. I told her to wait, that it looked like I might be playing after all. She was happy to hear about the turn of events, as she had thought that it would be more fun for me to play with a group of folks (rather than have her come along for the ride), and I didn’t disagree.

I heard from Philippe on Wednesday morning. It was all confirmed, we would be playing, a foursome, on Friday morning at 9:45 a.m. He would pick me up at 8:15 a.m. that morning. And I would be able to borrow clubs from one of the men, as his wife was currently unable to play. You play right-handed?, he asked. Yes, I said. [I am left-handed, but have always played golf right-handed, as my father decided when I started out that I would be a stronger player as a rightie – and I think it was the right (natch!) decision.]

Friday morning arrived. Philippe picked me up early, and we took off for Opio-Valbonne, about a 45 minute drive from Nice, along small, winding roads in the countryside from Nice toward Grasse. We arrived first, but soon Michel arrived (the 10-handicap player), a friend and former colleague of Philippe – the two of them had worked in the African country of Gabon – in fact, Michel still works there one week a month, living outside Cannes the rest of the time. And then the other Michel arrived, with my clubs. He plays with Philippe and Michel occasionally, I gathered, and lives in Antibes, a seaside town between Cannes and Nice.

We had some time to do some practice swings before our 9:45 team time. I was fully outfitted for my day on the course: golf glove (gant) borrowed from Philippe, golf clubs (McGregor irons and Cobra woods) from Michel, a pull cart (chariot) rented from the clubhouse (thanks to Philippe), and golf balls and tees borrowed variously from the guys. I wore my Nike Pegasus running shoes, instead of renting golf shoes (as Priscilla had graciously offered as a gift), as the (good player) Michel had said they would be fine. And I wore my University of Pennsylvania casquette (baseball cap), fitting in with the guys just fine.

Golfing in France

My swing off the first tee was magnificent! Wow, like these clubs, I thought. And I continued to hit well through the first par 4 hole, ending up with a bogie. On the second hole, par 3, I actually parred the hold. Amazing, I thought. What dream was I in? Playing golf in the south of France, playing perfect strokes with borrowed clubs, in running shoes, and with men that are only speaking French to me.

It was a great until about the 4th hole. And then, the lack of practice and my lack of playing started to kick in. I ended up with a 56 on the front nine, and 66 on the back nine – the last two holes were, unforgivingly, par 5 holes. But, given that the last time I had played was in October, I didn’t feel so bad. As I told Odette later that day, “Je suis content avec mon jeu.” I was happy with how I played, given everything.

And I wasn’t surprised when the (good player) Michel said to me as we walked off the 18th hole, You know, with some more practice, you would have a pretty good handicap (or words to that effect, in French). Yeah, I know.

Je te remercie, Priscilla. Un cadeau excellent!

Summertime in Nice

It was the potted palms I noticed first.

I was running along the Promenade the other morning, and realized I was doing an obstacle course along one section, ducking under palm branches and weaving between the eight large white boxes housing the palm plants. They weren't on the Promenade last month.

Summer has come to Nice. That means that the tourists are here. I had noticed some of the preparations, when they started back in April, after Easter. The beach clubs, which previously had only a few chaise lounges set up on the beach, all of sudden started setting up rows and rows of the chairs and the accompanying parasols along the seafront.

Then the "Postes de Secours" appeared on the beaches. These are the lifeguard posts on several of the public beaches along the Promenade. They include the firefighters, too, for some unidentified reason, other than, perhaps, they are good looking. The firefighters here are definitely cute.

The potted palms along the Promenade are a beautification element provided by the city, for the benefit of our visitors. And the newly-sanded volleyball courts on the beach are for the entertainment of our visitors. And the concerts on the beach are all probably part of that entertainment package. Nice likes to keep its tourists happy.

For me, the other starkly apparent change in the city is the number of English-speaking people. Of course, Nice is a cosmopolitan city, with its share of Italians and English living here on a regular basis, along with Russians and Germans. But the English pretty much keep to themselves, so I haven't had to interact with them much during my time here. But now, I am getting asked directions on the street by Americans (for a long time, it was only by French people). I hear American English on the beach, in restaurants, in the supermarket. I forgot that Nice was a destination for those from the States too.

My friends here (Priscilla, Christiane, and Erick) are all happy to have the tourists back in Nice. They like the activity and excitement that they bring to the city. But me, I liked my adopted the city the way I found it last August. By the time I had arrived the last week of August, most of the tourists had left the city (although the beach clubs did not really roll up the chaise lounges for good until the end of October). I enjoyed the quiet beaches and having the sea to myself most of the time. I liked it when the merchants spoke to me in French, rather than assuming I was from somewhere else. I preferred running along the Promenade with other serious runners, rather than with the tourists getting in their first workout in a long time.

I only have six weeks left to my sojourn here along the Mediterranean. I'm going to enjoy every moment, even if I have to share it with thousands of others here, like me, here for the sun.

Systemic Risk - An Historical and Prescriptive View

President Obama (wow, still have to think about that when I write it) today issued recommendations for changing the way the financial markets are regulated, in response to the collapse of the financial markets last Fall. One goal of the proposals is to address the management of systemic risk ("Improve tools for managing financial crises"). My co-author Bill Nichols and I have already spent some time thinking about this topic, and are in the midst of writing up a series of short articles addressing various questions that we think are raised by the concept. Below are the introductory paragraphs from the draft of our first article, looking at the way risk has been managed historically.

* * *

The collapse of the financial infrastructure last year has caused both regulators and institutions to reassess their approach to risk management, and specifically, how they address systemic risk. Prior to 2008, few, if any, in the financial industry thought the assessment of systemic risk necessary – in fact, it was a commonly held belief that the world markets were not inter-connected (despite abundant evidence to the contrary). But the collapse of the housing industry in the U.S. and its domino effect on global markets as far away as China, on the portfolios of countries such as Iceland, and on the investments of small towns such as Perth, Australia, has woken up managers and regulators across the industry to the importance of understanding and accounting for systemic risk.

The US government’s inability to comprehend the magnitude of the risk of the CDS and CDO market that grew explosively based on mortgage-backed securities of questionable quality was clearly a major impediment to the appropriate regulation of that market. A better awareness of that market and its possible impacts on the rest of the economy, that is, the risk of its effects system-wide, may have allowed our government to better anticipate and regulate the underpinnings of that market.

The United States’ widely-held reputation as the best regulated market in the world has been severely damaged by the financial crisis, but blame for the collapse is not to be placed only on the failure of US regulators; countries across the EU as well as officials in China and Japan, did not adequately monitor the inter-related investments being made across borders. But, frankly, there was no way for regulators to have a view of systemic risk across borders – there were not then, and are not now, the analytical frameworks with their requisite information protocols , or the software systems in place to be able to make such an assessment.

If the financial collapse of 2008 is not to be repeated, regulators need information to be able to see and make judgments about new products and relationships as they emerge among market participants, to make intelligent decisions about how to evaluate and manage systemic risk. We have the tools available to make those judgments, but the technology and data management practices currently utilized in the industry do not permit a coherent systemic overview of investment behaviors. We have created a technical problem, in that we have neither planned nor budgeted for the specific structural requirements that will enable regulatory oversight. Until decision-makers have an understanding of the technology and work with those who know it best to maximize its contributions to risk management, we run the risk of falling prey to the same recurring crises in the future.

* * *
Comments welcome.

A Plethora of Memories on Two Continents

Happy June, readers! Apologies for the long silence, it's been a month since my last posting, but it was a busy, busy month! Since mid-May, I have made two cross-Atlantic trips to the US, entertained guests in my apartment in Nice over two weeks, and spent a weekend in and around St. Tropez with friends. With my sunburn still easing from the St. Tropez weekend, I offer up the following memories from the past four weeks, somewhat chronologically (view photos illustrating memories alongside).

Visiting the National Museum of the American Indian down on lower Broadway with David, and receiving a personal tour of the exhibition of paintings in the closing fifteen minutes by a security guard who graciously offered us his observations acquired during the two month show.

Running along the Hudson with Jeff on a chilly Sunday morning (avoiding the rain!) And book shopping at The Corner Bookstore on the Upper East Side later in the afternoon. (Purchased "Snow" by Orhan Pamuk and "Unaccustomed Earth" by Barnard alumna Jhumpa Lahiri)

A birthday party gathering at Henry's on Broadway, with good New Amsterdam Singer friends, including John, Gail, Dennis, Jen, Dana, James and Ellen, also long-time friend and former roommate, Arthur, and after dinner, with my former IBM partner and friend, Michael and his girlfriend Krista.

Sitting on the dais at Barnard College's commencement (on my birthday), and hearing Secretary of State Hillary Clinton deliver the commencement address to the graduating class. It was my first opportunity to see Hillary in person (and that was all I got, as the Secret Service made sure she simply appeared on the dais in time for the ceremony, and then whisked her off again after she spoke). Her address was inspiring, eloquent, and inclusive - she's a very impressive politician and person. The young women of Barnard's Class of 2009 loved her.

Running an NYRRC 3 mile race downtown at the tip of Manhattan, wearing my Nice Cote d'Azur t-shirt, and feeling fast, but not knowing where the finish line was to do my final sprint. But happy with my top 10 finish among women (19:54) and second place in my age division.

The thrill of processing with my fellow award winners and faculty to the dais on the steps of Low Library, in front of all the Columbia University graduating students and their families on May 20th. And the happiness of having my life-long friend, Vi, a former Teacher's College administrator, there with me to celebrate my award, along with friends Philippa and David.

Waving to Barnard graduates on the steps below as they cheered upon the reading of my name and college by President Lee Bollinger as a Columbia Alumni Medal winner (and hearing later that my mom and dad, watching the ceremony by webcast in Norfolk, thought that the cheers from Barnard women were louder than those given to any other awardee).

A beautiful afternoon walk around the cap d'Antibes with Jeff, and a fully refreshing dip in the ocean off the rocks of Anse de Faux Argent (otherwise known as Billionaire's Bay) along the way. (But somehow missing all the famous folks attending an AIDS fundraiser in a nearby hotel, Eden Roc, hosted by Sharon Stone, and featuring Bill Clinton.)

Driving along the Middle Corniche above Monaco on the day of the Grand Prix, and the view from the road of the harbor with the magnificent boats moored there in attendance for the race.

Visiting the Cloister St. Sauveur in Aix-en-Provence, and translating into English for Jeff the stories being told by our French docent. She was quite taken with the two of us, and after guiding us through the cloister, took us on a private tour of the cathedral, showing us the old Roman road that is preserved in one section of the church, as well as some of the artwork, and the magnificent baptistry, with a walk-in baptismal font.

Finding a restaurant, La Manade, in the small Luberon Valley town of Apt, using our Michelin guide. The town was quiet in the late evening, and we sat outside and enjoyed an incredibly well-prepared meal. I kept wondering why the woman at the table next to us kept turning around and smiling; it was either the fact that we were speaking English, or that we were sitting next to each other, speaking in hushed tones, looking like a romantic young couple. Maybe both?

Wandering the streets of Avignon, following a Michelin self-guided tour of "Old Avignon." The old streets and churches and commercial sites were fascinating to read about and see. It was my third visit to Avignon, but each time I learn something new.

Driving back to Oppède from Avignon in the setting sun, and making a last minute decision to visit the perched village of Gordes. We took a back road to Gordes and found ourselves behind a shepherd and his flock of sheep, and sheep dogs, as he was herding them back to their sheepfold. The ensuing delay gave us a chance to watch the sun set across the magical vineyards of the Luberon Valley. But Jeff missed much of it (I took pictures), as he was on his Blackberry, catching up with a lawyer on the court case he was missing in New York City. Priceless.

A birthday lunch in St. Laurent-du-Var, with friends Erick, Priscilla and Jeff. I got to wear the fantastical "birthday hat" provided by Priscilla, and was feted with the birthday song and a flaming torch on my chocolate dessert at the end of the meal.

Wandering the streets of St. Paul-de-Vence with Nicole and Gilbert, who are friends of Jeff's brother and sister-in-law. Nicole and Gilbert lived in Chicago for 30 years, but retired to Nice six years ago. They enjoyed sharing their favorite perched village with us (with its galleries and cemetery with Chagall's grave), and then we drove back to Nice and visited the Cimiez Monastery Gardens, high above the city, filled with blooming roses. Afterwards, Nicole prepared a lovely dinner for us all in their home; it was a fitting farewell for Jeff's visit to the Cote d'Azur.

Conducting my Choeur Gospel for the final time on Pentecost Sunday at the Église Réformée. We had a small group that morning, two on a part, and we sang four songs; three of them were great. The church was packed, as there were baptisms, confirmations, and communion all happening that morning. After the service, I was told by several people how much they appreciated the vocal music, and how it positively affected their worship. I was touched.

Receving a bottle of wine from Chateauneuf du Pape from my guests, Chuck and Janie. A week earlier, Jeff and I had contemplated visiting the town during our Provence trip, at my request, but had bypassed it on the road to Avignon, deciding to spend more time in that city. It was a lovely surprise to end up with a bottle of wine from the town after all!

A visit to the town of Vence with Chuck and Janie, via a local bus. We had a wonderful lunch outside in the town square, and then wandered through the old city, and finally walked a kilometer or two to the Matisse Chapel, outside of town. It was my second visit to the chapel, and I would go again. One cannot take pictures inside, but the green, blue and yellow stained glass windows are beautiful against the white walls of the chapel (which are painted in simple black lines with pictures of the Madonna, and the stages of the cross). The wooden benches are austere but fit in the simple chapel. It is an easy place to pray.

Arriving at Dulles Airport on Air France flight 24 after a briefly nerve-wracking delay at Paris's Charles DeGaulle Airport, during which a defective meteorological radar was identified and then replaced. Thunderstorms on the East Coast were a continuing theme during my flights between Washington, NYC and France in June.

Playing tennis with my sister, Dad and brother, and afterward swimming in the rain at the Ghent pool - before I was told I had to get out, as it was raining too hard for them to see to supervise me!

Another exhibition of Brose family talent in celebration of my Dad's birthday. Dad has asked his grandchildren for gifts of music, rather than things, on his birthday. This year he heard his grandsons Nathan and Ned perform a cello duet, and granddaughter Chelsea perform "Summer" from Vivaldi's Four Seasons on her violin. I told my dad that I was planning to prepare something for him on my clarinet for Christmas - and he encouraged me to get my siblings to do the same!

The enthusiasm of the graduating seniors of the Governor's School of the Arts in Norfolk, VA, and the pride of watching nephew Nathan both perform with the orchestra and then cross the stage to get his diploma.

Being at my 25th Barnard Reunion for a day and an evening, and catching up with classmates, and getting to know classmates and alums for the first time. Every Barnard woman I have ever met is interesting and has something to say, and this time was no exception. I even made a few potential business contacts.

Catching up with Glee Club friends Beth, Charles, Jon and Eric at Le Monde on Broadway and afterwards going to Alma Mater on the Low Library steps to sing "Sans Souci" and "Stand Up and Cheer" - with me finally remembering the first tenor part (it's been 25 years!).

Hearing from the Brigham Young University International Law and Management Review that they wanted to publish my co-authored article addressing the financial crisis: "Toxic Assets: Untangling the Web." Bill and I had been trying to get our paper published for some time (we finished it on March 1), so this news encouraged us to keep writing. (The next paper is on systemic risk.)

A perfect afternoon in Central Park with thousands of New Yorkers enjoying the sunshine (after weeks of rain!) on a June day.

Running with Clara and Jay in Central Park the next morning, and then completing the run on my own, racing along in the light rain and finishing my run just before the downpour arrived.

Catching up with freshman college roommate Andrea over dinner on the East Side. She's still the funny, attractive and intelligent woman I remember meeting for the first time 25 years ago on the 8th floor of Brooks Hall.

Biking on the W&OD Trail from Arlington to Vienna (and then back) for a needed visit to Rose at the Hair Cuttery in Vienna Plaza. She's been cutting my hair for 14 years, and as she said on this visit, she knows that wherever I live, I will always come back to her! (No one else has cut my hair during my time here in France.)

Curling up with Reuben on Becky's bed at 11 p.m. after the two four-year-olds (almost five!) were frightened by June thunderstorms (Gabriel was curled up with Becky). Catching up with Becky, another Barnard roommate, was, as always, a good time.

Anxiety, confusion and then relief after my Delta flight from Dulles to JFK was delayed. I was rebooked from Washington to Paris on Air France, to my delight (I prefer Air France), and then from Paris to Nice. My arrival in Nice would be just in time to make it home before my train to Aix to meet my friends for my weekend in St. Tropez. The question was whether my luggage would make it - it did not.

An open air ride through the countryside of Provence in a rented convertible with Olivier and Jean-Yves. It was a magnificent starlit night and we could smell deeply the earth, thyme, lavender and many other flowers as we left the A8 highway and drove toward the sea.

The absolute relaxation of being at the beach, laying flat on a chaise lounge in the full sun, with a parasol nearby, listening to the sea lap against the shore, and knowing that you have nothing to do but lie there until someone tells you it is time for lunch. An excellent way to get over jetlag.

A jellyfish bite (and tender loving care and a little cortisone from the lady at the Aqua Club) after a beautiful swim in the sea on the Pampelonne coast. And a wonderful lunch afterward with JY and Olivier, as we enjoyed another bottle of the refreshing Provencal rose wine and finished up with the delicious chocolate Aqua Club "Saba" dessert (moelleux au chocolat).

A full month of experiences, for sure!