Today
is The Longest Day, June 6, 70 years from the day that names like Omaha and
Utah ceased to be just cities and states. If you’ve not read The Longest Day by Cornelius Ryan, you should
must. Like few other histories of that era, it weaves the joy (for some) the
horror (for many), the serendipity and happenstance that came together on the
beaches of Normandy.
If you’ve read it, read it again! It provides a striking contrast
to the giving of then to the taking of today where JFK’s “ask what
you can do for your country” is but a distant memory, and dealing with the paparazzi is likened to the horrors of
war.
########
Heading
out this morning to run jog slog I noticed a helicopter positioned
stationery above the Invalides which I circumnavigate on the 5-k route I have set. Strange, never
seen that before and don’t know if I have ever seen a chopper in the skies
above Paris. Oh wait. My Commander in Chief is in town. Got it. Local joke is
that half of Paris had to move to the suburbs to make room for his entourage.
The
political world has descended on France to celebrate the D-Day occasion, most
of whom never served honorably (or at all) in their respective militaries, save
Putin who gets a pass based on his prior métier,
and of course our own Commander in Chief, because he is, after all, the Commander
in Chief.
##########
I
thought of several really neat BLOG items while slogging today. Unfortunately
they were left floating somewhere on the Quai
d’Orsay. Oh, and today’s slog was a
personal best for Paris. Don’t embarrass me by asking the time.
##########
When
I first came to Paris shortly after the American Civil War, those seen mumbling
on the streets were deemed to be mentally deficient. Now they’re talking on
their “mob-i-les.” And while the French often criticize les savauges (i.e. those not born in France or whose lineage does
not extend back 5+ generations) for being loud, their voices rise an octave
when speaking into cell phones.
In
those early days the local joke was that half of France was waiting for a phone
to be installed and the other half was waiting for a dial tone. At the time the wait for installation was 12-18 MONTHS, yes, not days or
weeks but months. Now every 10 year old has her own pink princess cell.
My
first apartment in Paris was arranged through the American Embassy and I
insisted on a phone which I was told would be impossible. I dug in and they finally
found one so equipped, for which I paid a handsome supplement. In 8 months I
never used the device and it never rang, but I just couldn’t see living without
a phone.
The
philosophy was simple. Like with phone books. When I asked my Embassy secretary
for a spare phonebook, she looked shocked and said n’existe plus (no longer available). The PTT produced books every 5
years, one for each subscriber, and no extras. I nicked hers!
##########
I
maintain multiple mailing lists for this BLOG, a small one for acquaintances
who, possibility out of charitable courtesy have not told me to bug off, and
several larger ones containing the curious and those with too much idle time
who have wandered in by happenstance. These lists have not grown, and while I
have always maintained that I BLOG for personal satisfaction alone, ego
dictates that an expanding audience feeds the self-esteem.
And
so my first, and likely last promotion. Send me the emails of folks to add to
the list. I won’t tell them who recommended their names! In return, your
subscription will be extended for a year. But wait! The first 50 of you who
supply names will get a subscription in perpetuity with a provision for passing
on to your heirs when you leave the planet.
##########
I
think my Commander in Chief is already in Normandy, but if I see him on the
streets of Paris I’ll convey your regards.
Bientot
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