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!

Art History 101

As promised, out of chronological order, but herewith an essay inspired by my trip to Paris in April.

When I was at Barnard, everyone I knew took the survey course for Art History (or its corollary, Art in Humanities, or ArtHum, at Columbia). The Barnard Art History department was pretty good (and still is, I believe), which was no surprise, given the college’s location in New York City, with its plethora of museums, art galleries and auction houses. Instead, I took Ear Training III with Richard Taruskin, because I wanted to minor in music, and frankly, it turned out to be one of my more challenging classes, for a person who thought of themselves as a pretty accomplished musician.

My art history education has taken place outside of the classroom. It began when I was living in Riverside, CT, when I went on school field trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the City or the Mead Museum in Greenwich. Later, when I was living in NYC after college, my mom and I spent a lovely afternoon one spring at a Monet exhibit at the Met, and it became a fond memory for us both. On our family trips, typically we did not visit museums, although my father had a keen interest in art, and had an inclination to be an art major in college (thought he ended majoring in English). When we took our first European trip as a family, we spent more time in large outdoor exhibits (Legoland and Tivoli Park in Denmark, the Castle in Heidelberg, the Nordic Villages in Sweden) than we did in museums, presumably with the short attention span of three youngsters under 12 in mind.

On our second European vacation in 1977, my sister, brother and I were teens, and were prepped in a much more sophisticated way for the month long camping trip. We were each assigned a country for which we were responsible (Eric – England, Chris – Germany, Ari – France), and asked to provide an itinerary of what to do in that country. So in England at Eric’s suggestion, we visited Shakespeare’s home and the Anne Hathaway house in Stratford-upon-Avon, Stonehenge, and the Windsor Castle in London; in France, I had us head to Mont-St-Michel in Normandy and the menhirs at Carnac in Brittany. In Paris, I don’t remember having picked anything special for us to do, other than see the Eiffel Tower (which I don’t remember us going up at the time), but my Mom and/or Dad picked the Rodin Museum as something they wanted to see. So we drove through Paris to find the museum, and Dad even found a place to park on the street. Everyone got out to head into the museum, except me – it had been a somewhat difficult trip for me as a 15-year-old in the close quarters with my family in our VW bus, and I decided at that moment that I needed some personal time. So I gave up the chance to see Rodin’s bronzes, and sat in our VW camper bus and read for the hour or so that the rest of the family took to see the museum that afternoon. And I regretted not a moment of that hour alone, ever.

And when I returned to Paris as a college student on a three week swing through England, France and Germany (again!), I didn’t even think to visit the Rodin Museum. I was in the midst of my thesis exploration and my studies in medieval European History – I visited the British Museum in London, the famous Castle in Edinburgh, the Popes’ Residence in Avignon, and the Musée de Moyen Age (Musée de Cluny) in Paris. I was pretty focused at the time on my itinerary. I ended up writing my thesis on the Middle Ages, using a biography of a French Count in the 14th century as a starting point for observations about life, religion, and culture during that time.

Over the course of my adult life following college, I made many trips back to Europe, most frequently with musical/choral tours with the New Amsterdam Singers, during which visits to museums and cultural centers were standard fare on the planned itineraries. But on those trips, experiencing the cultural life directly, through our collaborative concerts or post-concert eating and drinking fests, was often my most vibrant take-away from the countries I visited. In Wales, it was the experience of staying overnight with on a Welsh farm that was as interesting as was the competition at the choral festival we were attending. In Turkey, it was the experience of hearing the frequent calls to prayer at the mosques in our neighborhood in Istanbul that deepened my understanding of Islam as much as it was seeing the Hagia Sophia. In the Basque country, it was singing Christmas carols in English and Spanish along with our chorus hosts at our midnight post-concert dinner that stayed with me as much as it was seeing the striking Frank Gehry Museum in Balboa for the first time.

And as one who lived in Washington, DC or its suburbs for over 20 years, my tendency was to bring my guests to the outdoor memorials – the Vietnam Wall, the Roosevelt fountains, the Jefferson, or the steps of the Lincoln – more than it ever was to walk through the excellent museums along the Mall.

But back to Rodin.

Well, not quite yet. A quick recounting of my first two trips to Paris. My first trip in September had been a whirlwind affair, mostly using the city as a jumping off point to visit Brugges, Belgium with my friend, Joanne. My schedule on that trip had given me barely time to wander up and down the Seine to see the Notre Dame before heading to the Gare de Lyons to catch my TGV back to Nice.

My second trip had been slightly spontaneous, prompted by an invitation to a Thursday night Barnard Club of Paris event in early December. It was also a short visit, due to my need to be back on Sunday morning to sing with my church choir. During that December visit I had made a pilgrimage to the Eiffel Tower – and spent nearly three hours at the icon, walking its stairs, standing on its observation decks (three of them), enjoying an espresso mid-tower and taking countless photos of the city. The second day of that visit was to see the Louvre – I figured if I was going to be in Paris, I couldn’t tell folks I hadn’t been to the most famous art museum in the City. So I spent the better part of an afternoon looking at art – not knowing exactly what I was looking at, but enjoying it anyway. The third day was a visit with my hosts Jean-Yves and Olivier to the Musée Jacquemart-André on boulevard Haussman. It was a fabulous mansion with incredible art collected by its itinerant owners from all over the world. Luckily this time we used audio-guides, so I had an idea of what art I was looking at. It was impressive.

After that short December visit, Olivier and Jean-Yves invited me back to spend another weekend, and we finally found time on our mutual calendars (they do as much travelling as I do!) in April. This time I gave myself a few days to explore the City of Light. But honestly, a week before I was to leave for Paris, I had no real idea of what I was going to do once I was there. It was over brunch with a Texan, that I met at my French church, one morning in April that I was given a few ideas.

My new Texan friend was a Francophile (he was taking a four-week language course in Villefranche-sur-Mer at the time), and had spent two weeks in Paris every year for I don’t know how long. When asked for his favorite places in the city, he was very quick with his suggestions: L’Orangerie, Musée Rodin, Musée d’Orsay and the Louvre. I hadn’t thought about the Rodin Museum for a very long time. But once he mentioned it, I decided that is one of the places I would visit on my trip.

So, that first day in Paris saw me walking from the Boulevard St.-Germain metro stop to the rue de Varenne to the Musée Rodin. After thirty-one years, it was time to see the bronzes. And they were wonderful. The garden, around which the statues were artistically placed, was blooming with lilacs and wisteria – it was a perfect April day in Paris – sunny, and very warm in the sun, but still a little chilly in the shade. I marveled at Rodin’s ability to capture the beauty of the human body – and of his characters (the Burghers of Calais, Victor Hugo, and Bastien Lepage) – and walked around the entire garden before I finally came upon his most famous bronze, “The Thinker.” It was placed high on a stand, but it didn’t seem far away – in fact, the way the figure is posed, pondering, with his head on his chin, it felt like you were interfering with a private moment. As I told a friend later, I’m glad I saved the moment to enjoy this art, even if it was a long time getting there.

I stayed in the garden for some period of time, enjoying the sun, before going into the Hȏtel Biron, where other works of Rodin’s are housed. It is inside this lovely (but completely needing a renovation) mansion that the statue “the Kiss” can be seen – a lovely alabaster sculpture that truly captures the passion of a romantic embrace – and was considered a bit too much when it was first shown to the public.

It was hard to follow that with another exhibition, so I didn’t. I walked up the boulevard des Invalides and sat on the Esplanade des Invalides with other Parisians and tourists enjoying the sunny afternoon.

The rest of my stay included visits to the Centre Georges Pompidou, to see the Kadinsky exhibit, a true retrospective of the artist’s works throughout his career, and the Calder exhibit, a show featuring not his iconic mobiles, but his works using iron wire – starting with what apparently is his best known work “The Circus.” I don’t think I had ever seen this art of his, and I was absolutely fascinated. He used the wire to create faces and bodies of all types, including John D. Rockefeller and Groucho Marx. Wandering through the Kadinsky exhibit, I had to admit that I liked some of his periods more than others, and basically thought, this man has a pretty twisted mind – the colors and shapes on his paintings at times just seem to portray moments of torment – but also moments of joy. I decided, in my own study of art, that I like the modern movement – it allows one to use one’s imagination as you look at it – rather than traditional art, which puts something in front of you to examine and understand.

The Georges Pompidou also had more permanent collections of modern art, which allowed me to see once again some art with which I was familiar (Mondrian, Picasso, Matisse), and to see some new works as well.

My art history lesson was done for this visit, but not my viewing of art. I finished that afternoon at the Musée de L’Orangerie – a lovely museum on the grounds of the Tuilerie Gardens. In it I saw Monet’s Les Nymphéas, two rooms, each with four vast murals lining the walls of scenes that evoke “Waterlilies.” It was easy to just sit in those rooms and stare at his colors; very calming and introspective art. And the next day, I made my way back to the Musée de Moyen Age, to see once again the “Unicorn Tapestry” (five tapestries, actually) that I had seen in my earlier travels to Paris some twenty-six years ago. Yet another room where I took time to sit and ponder the time taken to weave these amazing tapestries and wonder about the inspiration for these pictures.

Art is personal, and on this visit I found art that truly inspired me.

And for that, you don’t need an art history class.

Happy May!

We're already into mid-May, practically, and I haven't written a blog entry this month, actually since last month. Forgive me, faithful blog readers! I visited Paris at the end of April and started an essay on that visit, which I will post imminently (that's the plan!). But I will catch you up on my adventures since then first.

I visited Paris from April 23rd to the 26th, having a lovely time with my friends Jean-Yves and Olivier. I had the opportunity to see my Barnard classmate, Ginny, and meet her two daughters as well. Her eldest, Kristin, was accepted into Barnard for the Fall and was still vacillating on her decision when I visited with them, but since then she has decided to attend!(making all of us Barnard-boosters very happy).

Nice to Washington

Returning from Paris, I had two days to pull myself together before leaving for Washington, DC. This trip to the States was planned for a specific purpose, to attend the Gala Luncheon marking the end of a series of activities that marked the 25 years of the Barnard-Columbia Athletic Consortium at the University. More on that in a paragraph or so. I flew into Dulles and spent a few days in DC so that I could see some more doctors (trying to keep up my annual wellness visits), and visit my hairdresser, Rose, for a much-needed haircut. I also took advantage of my time in Arlington to pull my bike out of my condo basement and take a spin down around the memorials along the Potomac. It was a breezy and cool day (in the 50s, when it had been in the 80s the previous week!), but it felt good to be back on my bike - the last time I had been on it was to complete the Reston Century the day before I left Washington last August!

Washington to Amherst

My time in Washington was short, as I had promised my parents I would spend time with them in Amherst (the last time I was in the States I had not seen them). I flew up to Bradley Airport from BWI on Friday afternoon - another easy flight on Southwest. Mom and Dad met me at the airport, and we wound our way home through the Notch, ending up at Atkins Farm in South Amherst for ice cream and random food purchases. That night Mom made dinner for us at home, as I went through piles of mail that had been accumulating for me since Christmas (my last time in Amherst). Dad remains my faithful scribe and correspondent, communicating regularly with me about my mailbag, and appropriately serving as recycler when appropriate!

Saturday morning we all went to the Hampshire Athletic Club in South Amherst. My mom and dad are regulars there, and the woman at the desk seemed to remember me too - I've been there irregularly, but I always join them on Saturday mornings when I visit! After our workouts, Mom went to work at the Amherst Women's Club Craft Fair while Dad and I worked on some tasks we had set aside for us to work on. We didn't have much time, as we were on schedule to leave Amherst for Marlborough, Mass. to attend my nephew's Central District Festival orchestra concert that afternoon.

Amherst to Marlborough

Ned's a talent cellist, and his mom was proud that he was sitting 5th chair in the cello section for the regional junior high orchestra (a group for which you audition and are selected to participate). Eric and Jan met us at the middle school auditorium in Marlborough, and we enjoyed hearing a very talented group of kids perform the "Russian Sailor's Dance" by Gliere, the "Bacchanale" from Samson and Delilah, by Saint-Saens, and a finale of "Stars and Stripes Forever" by John Philip Sousa. After the concert (which included a performance by a concert band), we all drove to a coffee cafe, where we enjoyed ice cream, sandwiches, coffee and cookies and caught up on the latest family news.

We drove back to Amherst by 6 or so, which allowed for some down-time (laundry for me, and some emails) before we headed out for dinner at Carmelina's, in Hadley. Connie Cahn was our hostess for the evening, a good friend of my mom's, and we listened to some jazz piano as we ate our veal and spinach salads and drank wine and brandy (me and mom, respectively). Sunday was going to be a big day, so we all went to bed early!

Sunday Morning Run

Sunday morning I went for a run on my traditional 3 mile route through the fields of Amherst, down Triangle and a left on Main Street, down the hill and then left on Northeast Street; left on Strong Street and up the hill and down past Wildwood Elementary (and along the high school cross-country race route for a short bit), and then a left onto East Pleasant and down hill through the center of Amherst before taking a left on Main and heading up Lessey Street for the final hill home. It's an inspiring run for me, as the run up Northeast Street has a magnificent view of the hills on the right, and I run by cows and corn fields and it all feels very rural - not a sensation I have on a regular basis! And the run through the center of town is always a good chance to see what's going on - even if it is before anyone is up - amazingly there are trips I make to Amherst when my run is the only time that I actually go through the center of town.

First Congregational of Amherst

Sundays are church days for my family, and my parents have been attending First Congregational Church of Amherst since 1974 - which makes for a very long time. They are both still very active in the church as Deacons (having served in just about every lay role possible in the church), and as members of the choir (of course). This Sunday was slightly unusual, as the pastor was absent, and the service was being led by a worship team of members. The service started with a liturgical dance - I was expecting a performance, but it turned out that they wanted everyone to get out of the pews and join hands and do a line dance together. It was just a series of about eight steps, easily learned, and the congregation was agreeable and nearly everyone participated. The thought was to have the movement and music help center you for the service to come, and I was surprised that it did in fact achieve that (I was being a little too skeptical, perhaps), and more - it was a lovely way to see who you were worshipping with that morning, and to interact with the folks around you. The leaders were hoping that we would all meditate briefly at the end of the two or three minutes of movement, but we all ended up clapping at the end of it, congratulating ourselves on having succeeded in our assignment!

The rest of the service was inspiring too, and at the end I had the opportunity to catch up with many long-time family friends, and meet some new people, in the congregation that morning.

Party I - May Birthdays

We all headed back home to prepare for the next event of the day - a birthday party to celebrate the May birthdays of Ilke, Anita and me. Ilke is the Turkish grad student who lives in the third floor apartment in my parent's house and Anita is my high school friend, who just returned to live in Amherst after 15 years abroad working in Egypt and London. Anita's parents live in Amherst, and were coming to the party, along with Anita's daughter, Maya, and her husband, who had just flown in from London. Ilke was coming downstairs with her roommate, Serena (I've Americanized, it's more beautiful in Turkish) another grad student at UMASS. And my brother Eric was driving in from Worcester to join us as well. It was a lovely gathering with mimosas provided by Ilke and Serena, some wonderful breakfast dishes provided by Edith, Anita's mom, and two gorgeous cakes provided by my Mom, via Whole Foods! It was an international gathering, for sure, given that Anita's Mom is Austrian, her Dad is Hungarian, her husband is Malaysian, and her daughter is half-Egyptian. As I like to say, my family is pretty traditional white Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP), although I was born in Germany and my Dad's family all came from Germany or thereabouts. And, of course, I'm living in France!

That party broke up around 3:30 p.m., but my brother stayed around until 5 or so, which allowed the two of us to catch up on each other's lives - not so easy across the ocean. After he headed back east, I finished cleaning up the kitchen and starting preparing for the next party. My Dad's Sunday afternoon tennis group was coming over to celebrate the end of their season with a potluck dinner. Dad had alerted me ahead of time to the unintentional overplanning, but I was game to help out.

Party II - Tennis Folk

The tennis group was scheduled to come over around 7 p.m., which I thought gave me some time to rest quietly and/or nap for an hour or so. I planned to get up around 6:30 and help my Dad, who was planning to grill the 4 1/2 pounds of salmon he had bought the day before. So it was around 6:40 when I headed downstairs to get ready, and I found my Dad asleep in his Barcalounger. He was completely disoriented when I gave him a gentle wakeup - he had intended to doze for a few minutes - instead he had slept for nearly an hour!

I headed down into the kitchen and was happy things looked OK, as at that moment our first guests were heading toward the back door (where everyone would enter for the party). Everything worked out fine, the salmon was cooked perfectly, and presented with some appetizing asparagus, other dishes included an eggplant parmesan, roasted potatoes, a beautiful mixed salad with strawberry slices and feta, and even meatballs! The group of around 14 sat in a circle to eat in the open room (hard to describe, it's a dining/living space adjoining the kitchen that my Dad built onto the original house). Dessert was several different cakes, and plenty of wine was drunk too.

I had a good time with the guests as well, as the group included some familiar faces: my dad's former boss, who I know well, and the father of one of my high school friends. I also had a lovely time talking with a couple whose daughter goes to Barnard (although she wishes she were somewhere else - college is a very personal thing!) and who had lived in the Cote d'Azur during one of his sabbatical years 17 years ago. It was a tiring evening (Mom made a guest appearance; she wasn't feeling well, and I was just as happy to have her resting upstairs), but enjoyable.

Monday - New York City Bound

The other reason for my trip to the States this time was to attend the Gala Luncheon celebrating the 25 years of the Columbia-Barnard Athletic Consortium. I was to be one of the honorees at the luncheon, which would be recognizing 25 women athletes on the Silver Anniversary Honor Roll and 25 women athletes as Most Influential in the 25 years of the Consortium.

Barnard-Columbia Athletic Consortium

The Consortium was created in 1983 when Columbia College went co-ed: given that women would now be competing for Columbia College, it didn't make sense for there to be two women's teams competing at the undergraduate level for the same university. So the Division III program at Barnard was combined with the Division I program at the University - I went from being a Barnard Bear my junior year to being a Columbia Lion my senior year.

Competing at the Division I level, and under the auspices of the University, was a big leap for the Barnard teams. More money was made available - I remember nicer uniforms - and the quality of competition increased four-fold in my mind. I competed against SUNY-Cortland and Union College, and the Seven Sister schools in Division III; in Division I, we competed against the Ivy League Schools, and then some. They made an effort to schedule some reasonable competition for us that first year as we transitioned, but the Outdoor Track Ivy League Championships pitted me against the likes of Lynn Jennings in the 10km race, a woman who went on to compete at a professional level post-college. It was in that last race of my collegiate career that I collapsed on the track in the middle of the race, and passed out for almost thirty minutes - awaking in the Cornell Infirmary with an IV in my arm and my coach anxiously sitting at my side. I had pushed myself beyond my limits (and had eaten little and drunk even less during that May day) and my body told me it couldn't handle it. It was an excellent lesson, and I haven't stumbled from exhaustion in a competitive race since (stumbling across the finish line of the NYC Marathon doesn't count! I was still lucid).

Amherst - New York City

Mom, Dad and I drove down to NYC on Monday afternoon, so that I could make my 3 p.m. dentist appointment with Dr. Hanauer on the East Side. I've been seeing Dr. Hanauer for fourteen years, like my hairdresser, Rose, in Virginia, he's one of those guys I'll plan my visits around. I discovered that he is a Francophile too, and was happy to learn that my adventure had spurred him and his wife to finally start making plans for that trip to France that they have always talked about but never taken.

That evening I headed off to dinner with a friend (ate at Aja, where I'd enjoyed a nice sushi dinner with friends John and Gail back in March) and Mom and Dad met Chelsea, my niece, for dinner close to our hotel on 47th Street near Times Square, the Hotel Edison. When I got back around 10, Mom and I walked across the street to the Starbucks for a late night coffee and a short wander around Times Square, before heading to bed. Tuesday was going to be a big day.

Gala Luncheon

The luncheon at Columbia's Low Library Atrium in the center of campus was scheduled for noon, but awardees were asked to arrive at 11:30. We were dressed and on the subway to arrive in time - actually a little early, as I had volunteered to do some fund raising calls for my class reunion in the half hour before the luncheon, during which time I ensconced my parents in the lounge of the Vagelos Alumnae Center at Barnard. We met Chelsea on the steps of Low Library (she was my guest at the luncheon), and at the greeting table, I was given a 25th Anniversary medal on a blue and white sash, and pinned with a white corsage (as all other awardees would be). I was then escorted into the atrium to get my picture taken with the Athletic Director, M. Dianne Murphy. I met Dianne when she came to the campus four years ago, and have met with her several times, as she continues to try keep communications open with Barnard in support of women athletes there (a complicated issue, too much for this already too long essay), and as she tries to raise money from athletic alumnae. She's an excellent administrator, and this luncheon was a reflection of her attention to detail and appreciation for ceremony.

There was a champagne reception before the lunch, during which time I was able to see some of my fellow honorees and friends, including Philippa, Ilaria, Ula, and Rachel. My New Amsterdam Singers friends Jennifer and Ellen came to the luncheon too, which was a lovely gesture on their part.

The luncheon featured remarks by the University President, Lee Bollinger, and a keynote address by Dr. Christine Grant, a former Athletics Director at the University of Iowa, and now a tireless proponent for encouraging women to become involved in politics, and run for political office. She said she felt the audience in front of her was the right forum for talking about politics, because the experience of leadership on the field was excellent preparation for the world of politics, and I agree with her. I've been considering political office for a long time; I think it's just a matter of time (and money). ;-)

The awardees were presented to the lunch guests via video - each awardee had been asked to contribute pictures from their careers to help build a picture, and the production was great. After the videos were shown (in three different groupings, in the case of the Influential Alumnae), the awardees were called up to receive a gift (in one of those signature Tiffany blue boxes), and have their picture taken with the gift bestower. It was almost perfectly choreographed. As I mentioned to a friend later, it was also somewhat of a fashion show; all of the women athletes still looked great, no matter their age (given the nature of the 25 year celebration, I was the oldest!) and were dressed for the occasion.

What was fun for me was to learn during the luncheon that the past and former presidents of Barnard, Judith Shapiro and Deborah Spar, were in attendance, and when I went up for my award, they were cheering loudly for me, along with several other Barnard administrators at their table. It was a lovely feeling to feel so feted!

Another perk for the day was the fact that at lunch I got to sit next to a former Columbia soccer player, Kevin McCarthy. I used to have a huge crush on Kevin, and several other members of the soccer team. The team went to the Division I Final Four my junior year, and they were known all over campus. My senior year I lived in a Columbia dorm, and a whole bunch of guys from that team lived in the suite across the hall from me. I was in seventh heaven - I thought they were all cute! Kevin coaches women's soccer at Columbia now, and we had a very pleasant table conversation, but the memories endure.

Tuesday Night Off Broadway

The excitement of the Gala Luncheon was not to be the only excitement for the day. I had also planned for us (Mom, Dad and Chelsea) to attend the play "Distracted," featuring Cynthia Nixon, at the Pels Theater that evening. Cynthia is a family friend, and when she learned that we were planning to come to the show, had arranged to get us good seats. The story is of a couple trying to come to grips with the fact that their 12 year old son may have/has Attention Deficit Disorder, or ADHD (H for Hyperactivity). They struggle with trying to find non-drug alternatives to managing his moods, but finally give into the psychiatrist and prescribe Ritalin and a host of other drugs for him. It was a funny, timely, tragic, and sometimes unsettling play, and Cynthia did a great job. The woman sitting next to me told me that she could have written the play (she has two ADD kids, and is diagnosed herself as such), and it was interesting to talk to her about the play too.

After the show we four went to the Marriott Marquis on 46th Street and (after some missteps) got on the elevator to "The View" - the restaurant at the top that rotates to give you a view of the entire city while you are sitting at your table sipping drinks. It was late, and loud, but we had a nice time relaxing and talking about the show and the day.

Wednesday - JFK to NCE (via CDG)

Wednesday was my last day in the States before heading back to Nice. Mom and Dad left that morning too, after picking up some things from Chelsea, which they will store for her during the summer. Mom and Dad are about to become repositories for both their grandchildren, I'm afraid, as Chelsea's brother Nathan has decided to attend Clark University in Worcester, Mass. Clark is about an hour from Amherst, so my sister and her husband will no doubt be spending more than just Christmas in Amherst, my guess, in the years ahead.

I spent my last hours in NYC shopping at Trader Joes, eating my lunch in Union Square in the sun, and then having a last Cafe Americano in Starbucks while checking my email, before heading out to JFK for my early evening flight.

I'll be back in NYC on Saturday, for yet another Columbia Award. Read about it here!

Lessons Learned

A friend asked me recently (via Yahoo chat, one of my new ways to spend time catching up with people across the ocean) what I had learned during my time here in France. He asked because he had also taken a year off, a sabbatical he called it, and it had been a time for him to discover what it was that he really wanted to do with his life.

There is a tradition for ministers and academics to take sabbaticals, giving them time for reflection, research and writing, which are valued (and demanded, often) by the institutions that grant them that time off. For those other random folks like me that plan for and take a year off (forced unemployment is not the same thing, presumably unexpected and therefore anxiety-producing) the time for reflection often leads to a revised approach to one’s life – at least that’s what I had heard from those who had taken the time.

What have I learned about myself? It was not too hard to come up with some answers for my friend. I have spent much time thinking and reflecting on my life over the past eight months. I have also spent time talking with my friend Cynthia, who is trained as a “Life Coach.” She has been encouraging me to ask myself, What is my mission in life? For a religious person, this is not an uncomfortable question to ask. But it’s not always easy to answer.

There are plenty of things that I have known about myself that have been simply reinforced here. But I am still learning things about myself at 46 (almost 47!), which I have to think is a good thing. And I have been in relationships this year that have tested my ideas about what it is I want in my future, and challenged me to think about life differently.

My life reflection here has been a journey, and just when I think I have answers one day, the next day may bring a whole other perspective.

So here are some things I have learned about myself, including the spiritual, the personal, and the professional. With some detail, as appropriate, and in no particular order:

I love the ocean. As a small child, I spent summer days on Long Island Sound, but at age 7 I started going to summer camps, and experienced water in small and large lakes for the next 12 years. My two college summers working on an island off the coast of New Hampshire reacquainted me with the ocean, and it’s been a continuing love affair ever since. My summers with my friends in a beach house at Rehoboth, Delaware were idyllic for me, even if I had learned by that age that I cannot spend too much time in the sun. Spending hours on the beach in Nice has been a joy, and by now I know that 20 SPF is not too much protection! And it doesn’t matter to me what time of year it is, which I already knew, because our family Thanksgivings at my aunt and uncle’s beach house in Bethany Beach, Delaware have been times of pure joy of being near the ocean.

I need to be around people. I knew this, but I have had the opportunity to do more observing of myself and others, and spend time thinking about what makes me tick. This has implications for me, as it is helpful to know that I shouldn’t be starting a business that I would be doing alone at home. Having an EBay business would not be my choice. That wouldn’t make me happy. The fact that I have worked in large corporations or organizations throughout my professional career – and stayed happy there – is a good indicator.

I feel better when I am contributing to society in some way. I have missed not being part of the action during the financial crisis. I loved working at the Securities and Exchange Commission as a young lawyer; I felt I was truly part of the mission of protecting the public investor. I enjoyed being a consultant working at some of the largest investment banks in the US, and feeling like I was contributing to making their businesses more efficient, or better, or at least more compliant with the nation’s securities laws.

I am a good friend.

I love to entertain. Ask the folks who have visited me here in Nice this year. (Or those who attended my Winter Solstice Parties over the past four years.)

I love to push myself. When I was invited to join the track team in college, I had no idea how competitive I was. I learned pretty quickly – it was barely six months later that I first collapsed on a cross country course from heat exhaustion. (It was not the last time, unfortunately, but I have learned that lesson!) I have continued to enter road races since college, and have loved in my 40’s to still be running fast, fast enough to win an occasional small town race. One of my goals here in France was to run races – and train to go faster. I prefer to train alone, and it takes a pretty strong wish to excel to push yourself to the point of exhaustion – but my persistence was rewarded with some fast 10km races over the past six months – and my fastest to date on April 19th at the Nice Semi-Marathon.

I love a challenge. Moving to France was one of the biggest challenges I’ve taken on in a long time. I had lots of good guidance, but at the end of the day, I was the one who found an apartment, who learned how to read labels on the different foods in the supermarket, who had to deal with my banker and my lost credit card, who found a church and the opportunity to sing, and figured out the public transportation system so I could get myself to races in Grasse and Monaco (outside of Nice).

Money is important, but not the most important thing in the world. Making money was (almost) the most important thing to me over the past twenty years or so. I lived with a man for ten years who didn’t make that much money, but who made sure I was working all the time (not exactly positive reinforcement). Being relaxed about not working, and realizing that you only need to make a lot of money if you spend a lot of money, has taken me some time. Knowing how to budget, and assiduously tracking every single euro and dollar I have spent here, has kept me sane (though I know those particular activities would drive some people crazy). Having a safety net of people who love you and can help care for you is priceless.

When he doesn’t call, it really does mean he isn’t into you. Enough said.

It is possible to live in the moment – but it never hurts to plan.

Hard work brings rewards. Although I have had to learn to relax about the fact that I am not presently a wage earner, the entire reason I have been able to spend a year here in France is because of that manic attention to my work life. Being a good saver helps too.

I have an enormous circle of friends, loosely defined, but I still call them my friends. This year I’ve had the luxury of being able to spend time on social networking sites, including Linked In, to keep in touch with my professional contacts (helpful when you are going to be looking for a job soon), and Facebook (thanks to my friend Willard, who encouraged me to join), through which I’ve connected to a whole group of high school friends that I had lost touch with over the past 25 years. The opportunity to chat real time with these folks, and to keep them up with my life through pictures and random comments, has been wonderful. I continue to be amazed at how big my circle is – but after attending four schools and working in consulting for 10 years, and being constantly involved in organizations, you realize how small the world really is. And realize how the Internet has changed things, like keeping in touch with people, forever.

A glass of wine every day is good for your health. The French and Italians know this from centuries of eating and drinking and being healthy. There just are very few really fat people in these countries. And they don’t over-drink either. Another good lesson.

You need to be open to, and provide the opportunity for, good things to happen to you. One of the joys I have had here in Nice is becoming part of the Choeur Gospel, a lovely small group of singers associated with the Eglise Reformee. I began attending the church in September, and it was in October that the woman who sat in front of me turned around and told me she wanted me to join the choir. I'd been looking around for a chorus, but if I hadn't been sitting there in that church, and singing behind Odette, I might not have had this great group of French friends.

I don’t need much to live on – things are not that important to me. I am living in a furnished apartment in Nice. What I brought with me from the States is a fairly short list: a set of sharp knives, a wine bottle opener (gift from my brother), two coffee mugs (a Goldman Sachs travel mug, and one from Barnard), a bunch of family pictures to have reminders of them around the apartment, my clarinet (a late retrieval from my storage unit in DC), and my computer. I haven’t bought much here either: a cookie sheet and spatula to make cookies, a hair dryer, and towels, linens and a new pillow for the apartment (it did not come with bedclothes or towels). Of the things I have considered but not bought: a printer, saving the world more needless paper production, and a bicycle – although it would have been fun to explore the area on two wheels, I just haven’t found the one I wanted at the price I was ready to pay.

I love to travel. Surprise.