Parisian Pooches

The doctors office was tucked way back in the bowels of a building that has been around since before Christopher Columbus discovered the "New World." Two doors with complicated intercom systems later, I found myself sitting in a tiny waiting room that had a piano taking up a quarter of the space. The opposite wall was dominated by a huge old painting with a clutter of "objects d'art" covering the sideboard beneath it. There were books everywhere, a low love seat and two bistro chairs. The one other person there explained that she wasn't a patient, she was waiting on her friend and I was next.

The door to the doctors office opened delivering two men and two dachshunds - one a scruffy long-haired ginger and the other a sleek chestnut brown! Even as I admired how cute they were (the dogs, not the men) I had a moment of panic. Had I mixed up the French words for Doctor and Veterinarian? Had I booked myself in for an appointment with an animal doctor? And if so, would he write me the prescription I needed for my migraine medication anyway?

But no need to panic - this was a doctor's office and the doggies belonged to him. I had my consultation, with the adorable scruffy ginger mutt sitting on my knee. (I seem to have an affinity for shaggy haired doggies - being shaggy haired myself). The prescription was written and doggie kisses received and I left the office thinking, "That would never happen in the US!"

They do love their dogs in California. In fact, I think it borders on the ridiculous. For example, I have a friend there who buys shoes for her dog to wear. She says its because the dog's paws get sore when it goes hiking with them. I worry about the coyotes... they are barefoot and outside all day and all night long!

I have another good friend who has a stroller for her dogs in case they get tired walking! Maybe they're wearing the wrong shoes. People dress their dogs in California, some claiming that their pooch gets cold! Cold? In California? For goodness sakes - I only wore clothes there because I was being considerate of others!

But the French are crazy about their dogs in a different way, and in a way I can understand. They allow their dogs to go pretty much everywhere with them, the doc being a great example. (The doggy poop on streets issue seems to have been addressed from what I've seen too, thankfully.)

My French teacher allows her adorable Chico to sit in on our lessons, which isn't really fair since Chico already knows more French than me!

Sometimes Chico's girlfriend Luna joins us.

The doggies agree with me - learning French is very tiring!

When Chico lies like this my French teacher tuts and says with great sympathy, "Ah Chico,

cette leçon est très difficile!" - this lesson is very difficult - I always agree!

I was really surprised to see dogs inside restaurants, even fancy ones - by fancy I mean "10th wedding anniversary" fancy. We aren't just talking "service" dogs here. It seems to me that concept is unknown to the French. All dogs are service dogs here.

This little guy walked up and down a bit during his people's meal but behaved himself really well! He is the first I've seen wearing a coat. What is sad is that his coat is newer and more trendy than the one my husband insists on wearing!

I shudder to think what it would be like to bring My Mums dog Rhubarb into a restaurant! But she too is a cutie-pie and I have to include a picture of her.

And of course one is never enough! She likes to lie on a golden pillow -mais bien sûr! Actually Rhubarb doesn't know any french...but she does know how to spell, "Walk!"

She really is a sweet little thing!

Byddi Lee

Christmas Spirit - Post a "Helpie"

I've noticed more awareness on social media this year of how hard Christmas can be for people. I understand that, having found Christmas difficult for a variety of reasons as last years post can show. Regardless of what is missing in your life, this time of year throws the haves and have-not into stark contrast, whether it is missing a family, parent, a spouse, or loved ones in general.

The world has had a tumultuous year, 2016 gave us Brexit and Trump, and stole away so many beloved famous people ( David Bowie, Terry Wogan, Prince and the list goes on) but on a personal level, I had a good year, a year that ends with me living in Paris and loving it. This year for the first time in 8 years, I will go back home to Ireland and spend Christmas with My Mum, My Sister, Bro-In-Law and nephews, not to mention my extended family and friends. I'm actually excited about Christmas, thrilled to see the lights here in Paris, shop at the quaint Christmas markets, and hear live music on the streets. Carols still make me cry - I don't know why - they just do...nostalgia, I guess.

Christmas pulls at my heart now in a different way. I no longer mourn for myself. Even though I miss My Dad, I can accept that this is the circle of life, especially when I'm now planning the Christmas-present shopping-trip with my nephews instead of My Dad (though I'd say there's less chance of that expedition ending in Red Neds with a Guinness and a Buckfast chaser - Cheers Dad!)

I still can't help thinking about those people who hurt at Christmas, so I put this little reminder together.

While it's worth being mindful of the pictures we post on social media at Christmas, (or any time of the year) I think it's a shame to curb our joyful moments - the kids with their presents, the food on the table, the friends around the hearth, what's left of the ham after the dog has stolen it, etc. These are beautiful moments and worth sharing (well, maybe not the stolen ham...) But perhaps we can do better, do something that may actually help the less fortunate without us needing to run a marathon, or climb a mountain or pour a bucket of water over our heads.

How about this year, while we are posting our happy moments online, we take a moment to find a link to the donation page of a charity of our choice and post that too. How much you donate is of course your own business. But posting the link will remind you and those who see it to make a small (to you) donation that may make all the difference to someone else.

We may not be able to individually cure cancer, help the dying, save refugees from drowning, stop war, feed the world, shelter the homeless, comfort the lonely, but small actions add up to larger ones and we can all play a part. So while you are posting that selfie on Christmas Day, think also of posting a "helpie!"

Feel free to use one of the links below (these are my favorite charities):-

And for dollar donations:-

Wishing you a happy, fulfilling and peaceful Christmas.

Byddi Lee

Christmas Displays in Paris

Even the Christmas decorations are extremely artful in Paris.

 

The Galeries Lafaytette Paris has combined art, Christmas decor and environmental education in their display, which celebrates a polar winter to raise awareness of climate-change.

 

All the decorations are made from paper. I wondered if it was to highlight the importance of recycling. Unfortunately, the website falls short in its explanation of why the artist (yep, a real artist was commission to create the display, not just someone from PR sticking up tinsel in-between interviews for hiring seasonal staff!)

Evidently in the future the poor polar bears will have to learn how to row boats since ice bergs won't be available but at least the New Paper Titanic will be safe - silver linings, right?

And I wasn't sure why they had cable cars in an ice cave but like me and most art, I probably missed the point!

With this push for environmental awareness, what's ironic, but hardly surprising, is the complete fail to discourage people from buying goods they neither need, want or maybe cannot afford. Consumerism is a huge a threat to our planet, but hey! It's Christmas!

These kids were certainly enchanted.

The most universal symbol of Christmas here in Paris is without a doubt le sapin, the Christmas tree. Galeries Lafayette has a giant paper one beneath their stunning stain-glass dome.

Everywhere you look, there are trees...

...depicted in some shape or form.

Hung on the wall...

In red...

In white...

In macaroons!

 

Or other edibles (I think!)

Fashioned from pallets...

 

Or just sticks...

 

Or just a triangle of fir branches will get the message across...

 

Multi-story ones made with lights...

And accompanied by giant moose - to see the scale of these moose, here's one with humans inside Les Halles - three stories underground in the world's largest train station! Is it any wonder we were lost inside it for the first month?

 Even Mc Donalds has a pretty nice tree display.

Le BHV Marais went with a ski theme. I'm not sure what their connection with Val d'Isere is, but I can't fault their taste in ski resorts!

They have Santa Claus doing yoga on a ski lift.

But I don't feel that the Santa's are as well depicted as the Christmas trees - really, would you trust your kids with this guy?

And this Santa is just plain lewd!

Not sure what the weasel was supposed to represent! Is it a comment on the fashion industry in general?

 And perhaps with all that Christmas window-shopping you'd like to have your lunch here?

 Byddi Lee

Dear Professeur de Français, Je Suis Desolate!

Nope - I haven't started to blog in French... This, my friends, is a confession, a clearing of the air, a karma scrub, so to speak, in the hopes that whatever is blocking my attempts to learn French will be cleansed from my soul, and I can venture forth in Paris in a bilingual state!

The pictures do not relate to the text - they're just there to look pretty.

False names will be used to protect the not-so innocent...

Dear Professeur de français,

You were my French Teacher in 3rd year. You might not remember me since I was not exactly a star pupil in French class, but you may remember an incident that happened while you taught me.

I wasn't really into languages at the tender age of 12 or 13. Perhaps France seemed too far away. It wasn't your fault. You were, and most likely still are, a really nice man and a fun teacher - and I have the evidence to prove it.

You see, while I was supposed to be spending my time studying irregular verbs, (I only found out recently there are regular verbs!) and figuring out my tenses (why, oh why, can't everything just have the same tense?) I was too busy working out the nuts and bolts on the chair behind your desk. Yes,  I mean that quite literally!

In 3rd year, the pupils stayed in their classroom and the teachers rotated. It may have been a rainy day, but this one day, we were allowed to stay in the room over break-time too.

We had you next.

A bunch of us (no names!) decided it would be funny to booby-trap your chair. We removed all the nuts and bolts holding the chair together and used sellotape to take care of that crucial job instead.

The bell rang.

For once, I sat in the front row. That alone should have been a warning to you! In you came, armed with your briefcase, an armful of copybooks and your big smile. You greeted the class, then sat down.

The sellotape held. The prank wasn't going to work and in that split second (we later admitted to each other) we were glad. You could get hurt and we'd be in big trouble.

Then bang!

The chair collapsed and you disappeared behind the desk.

We were horrified! We thought: What had we done?  Was he dead? Would we get detention or expelled? We held our breaths. Then suddenly two hands appeared and landed palm down on the desk. In one elegant movement, you pulled yourself to your feet in a parody of a French mime artist, not a hair (nor a tooth, thank God) out of place. Your smile intact, you calmly asked for another chair.

I have to tell you Professeur de Français, in that moment your status as a legend was born. Your gracious acceptance of our prank made us feel worse on the guilt stage than any punishment could have (which incidentally you never did dole out.)

Finally, able to breathe again, we were so thankful that we hadn't (to our knowledge) hurt you or gotten into a bucketful of trouble that we never did anything like that again to you or any other teacher. (I'm not saying I refrained from mischief...just a specific type of mischief.)

Years later, as a student teacher myself, the memory of what I'd done as a pupil haunted me, but it served to keep me on my toes - though I did fall victim to a couple of pranks myself. And when I did, Professeur de Français, I reminded myself of your hands coming up from behind the desk that day, and your accompanying grin. I had big shoes to fill as a teacher.

Now I pay what feels like a small fortune for French lessons, the payment all the more painful when I think that I had five years of free lessons, twice a week, at school.

But you'll be glad to know, Professeur de Français, that I actually really like my lessons and look forward to doing mes devoirs. I get on well with the the lovely French lady who is tasked as my teacher. I promise to be good to her.

But what if she ever finds out about the way I treated my old Professeur de français? I'll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it!

Actually, come to think of it I hope my mother doesn't read this either!

Yours in lifelong learning,

Byddi Lee