Ode to Sport

I don't think you ever really know your own country until you spend some considerable time elsewhere as a foreigner. What is unique, desirous or noteworthy of your native country can never really be perceived until you’re plunged into the chaos and newness of a foreign culture. A culture where you have neither authority nor knowledge of the workings or origins of its customs.

It’s from this place of humility and wonder that the prodigal son finally sees what it is that has always connected him to his birthplace. That with which he cannot live without. And it is always that which calls him home, prodding him to lay to rest the wanderlust of his youth, and to undertake the difficult reconciliation with an unchanging past and far more familiar future.

As springtime slowly returns to Northern France, just as much as the almond blossoms and warm spring sun of my youth, I’m reminded of the return of baseball season. Indeed, of all the cultural aspects I miss most from back home, the American sports calendar is felt most strongly.

The New Year fervor of bowl games and the frigid warfare of the NFL playoffs slowly ceding way to spring’s playoff excitement in hockey and basketball. The languorous dog days of summer at the ballpark culminating in the chill of October baseball and the return of crisp fall afternoons with the sting of pigskin on bare hands.

Most of my youth can be seen as a sort of active meditation centered on the pursuit or practice of those sports at the heart of American culture. And I have no doubt that this education did as much for me as any other to open my eyes to the wonder of this world and my place in it.

One does well to resist the temptation to reduce the sports world to one of overheated egos and runaway testosterone. To the unpracticed eye it may appear so but to the true seer there is a world of myth and moral truth of incomparable richness. And it’s every bit as true as those found in the more respectable domains of literature or politics.

Indeed, given the choice between a randomly chosen ballgame, movie or book, I’ll choose the ballgame any day. As I find it’s much easier to lie and hide behind convention and sentiment in the arts (theater excepted perhaps) than in the world of sports. Remember I’m in the midst of a French literature MA too. Of course if I had to choose between Maupassant’s short stories or the Magic-Bird battles of my youth I’m not sure the choice would be at all the same.

The real tragedy though is the crude, reductive choice we're so often pressured into as children between what are two of the great joys in life, sport and art. I only wish that rather than see the world in terms of jocks and geeks, we begin to imagine each life as a canvas or playing field (choose your metaphor) where we might explore the great play of ego and id we’re all engaged in.

The crude specialization our society forces upon us has created a world where sport and art have been reduced to passive, consumer experiences for far too many people. This Faustian wager is perhaps the most dangerous of all those offered us. For both body and soul are lost in it and little joy can ever come in its wake. The good news is you don't have to buy into this lie.

It wasn't the sensible advice of some guidance counselor or career coach that allowed Ruth and I to spend two of the most enriching years of our lives here in France. It was the courage to take a chance and believe in the vital necessity of following our dreams. Indeed, had we taken the sensible route we would have certainly never left our teaching jobs back home in Long Beach.

It should come as no surprise though that both of us are former college athletes. For much of the courage it took to follow our dreams to France was no doubt forged on the courts and playing fields of our youth. In this same way, sports have played an equally vital role in helping me adapt to each new culture I've encountered along my life's journey.

For all the wonderful cultural richness I experienced in Africa, one of my most memorable experiences was watching Brazil beat Germany in the World Cup final in the company of my Mauritanian host family. I’d canceled classes that afternoon to make it home in time for the start of the match. Our TV was powered by a car battery and we watched, reclining against the cool mud walls of their modest home. Each time Brazil threatened to score, a torrent of shouting and support would fill the air in Pulaar, their native tongue.

Our stay in France has been marked by similar excursions into the French sporting world. Just as much as the language or cuisine, these sporting excursions have allowed me to understand the culture in ways I’d have not been capable without. As much as anything else it was watching Federer win on a rainy Sunday in Paris for the first time that will mark our time here in France. These experiences have been of an incalculable worth.

Amidst all these travels I’ve never forgotten that the first really vital lessons I learned in life were on the playing field. Whether it was the times learning baseball from my dad or the long solitary hours shooting hoops in the driveway while recreating the epic battles of my heroes, sports have so often been the compass by which I've navigated the mystery and wonder of this world.

And with each new spring, the promise of hope eternal is renewed. As I recall again the simple joy and mystery I first knew as a boy back home. One boy standing alone before the world and his dreams.

The French Paradox

Today I'd like to dive into one of the dietary clichés so often bandied about by Americans: the French Paradox. The idea that a couple glasses of wine, a nice piece of foie gras and a healthy dose of joie de vivre are all you need to live a long, healthy and happy life. For it's an idea that many Americans seem to buy into.

Certainly one can be relatively happy eating almost any type of diet. And happiness is too broad an art form to reduce to the sum of what you put on your plate each day. Rather it's the first two adjectives I'll humbly take exception with in this post. That's to say, are the French really any healthier or longer living than Americans?

To begin with the health claims of the so-called French Paradox have long been overblown if not downright false. Any supposed difference in heart disease is more than offset by the similar disease rates from which the French suffer in almost all other areas of health. Disease rates that mirror other countries that eat a similar Western diet.
Indeed, healthy adult life expectancy varies little between Western countries. A few years of generally declining health does not constitute a reasonable dietary goal in my opinion. Nor does the prospect of diseases like cancer or Alzheimer's that can seriously diminish not only the quantity but the quality of our lives. So all health claims aside, lets take a look at the other inherent claim to the French paradox, the pleasure principle. Fiction or fact?

Before we begin, let me say that the French do a lot of things right in my view. Selection and preparation of ingredients is taken seriously. The variety of fresh produce and other items is impressive and affordable. Once the meal prepared, much more time is dedicated to the ritual of dining than in the US. Meals are eaten with friends and family in a setting that befits them.

The culture of fast food, while making further inroads each year, remains far less evident in France than in America. There still exists a strong social taboo in regards to snacking between meals, whose hours you can literally set your watch by. For an American in France, these social rules can surprise by their unbending rigidity. But how does it all translate in regards to pleasure?

First, let's say that the French in general are far thinner than most Americans, a fact that's true though of almost every other nation on Earth. Thinness is of course a relative standard and the French are far from immune to obesity or excess weight. Lets just say that not all French women are skinny bitches by any means. But more importantly, those that are in my experience are almost just as paranoid about their weight as many American women.

For no sooner does one of their infamously rich entrées or desserts arrive at table than a barrage of fat-phobic dialogue fills the air. "Oh, ça fait grossir" (Oh, how fattening). Or "je vais faire exploser ma balance" (literally: I'm gonna make my scale explode). I have nothing against a woman wanting to stay thin but its this type of behavior that can put a guy positively off his appetite.

For surely there is no less pleasurable way to eat a meal than with this type of guilt or anxiety surrounding it. This type of "bad faith" as Sartre would call it has become as entrenched in the flow of many dinners I've attended as the detailed descriptions of the origin and character of the wine or cheese selected for the meal. I find it incredibly bad taste to subject your neighbor to your own dietary hang-ups at the moment of crowning pleasure of the meal.

Because if you do occasionally partake of rich cuisine you can either honor how your body will handle it or continue to play the role of the tortured gourmand. I would argue for the former. For there is a beauty in the fact that your human body has been honed through millennia of rich evolution with its environment to look upon this piece of foie gras or camembert as an excellent chance to stock away extra calories for a rainy day.

It is a luxury most people throughout human history would not have taken nearly so lightly. For in their simple wisdom lay a truer understanding of what feasting should mean. Only in a society of such decadent abundance could we so pervert our natural instincts, swapping gratitude for guilt and joy for vanity.

But a truer understanding would let you happily enjoy your dessert because you'd have ample faith in the excellence of the rest of your diet to keep you thin, healthy and happy. Gone will be the tortured choice between thin and happy, between pleasure and pride. Such a recognition represents one of the rare chances remaining for us to break free from our body-hating culture and make friends once more with the most elemental part of ourselves, the body.

And one shouldn't deny the beauty of a thin, capable body in this world for it's one of the most divine forms of our human condition, a true work of art. But if it comes at the price of anxiety and worry, we will have made an enemy of our body. And such a trade-off should never be justified. Nor should we sacrifice a thin, healthy body in the mistaken belief eating will thus be pleasure-less and dull.

This world exists for you to be free in and anyone who tells you otherwise is surely no wise man nor artist. For you can have your cake and eat it too. The art is entirely in knowing how.

So please be happy and well little cell.

Lies

"War is over--if you want it."

--John Lennon and Yoko Ono

"Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

--Jesus Christ

"Now it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read: Vietnam.

--Martin Luther King, Jr.


Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only one. But surely there are others like me. Haven't we all just finally had enough? Republican, democrat, black, white, hokey or hip, we just keep circling round the same tired lie. I'm talking about the big one, the holy of holies. I'm talking about the war on terror. If no one else will say it, I will. The war on terror is a lie.

It's been a lie from the beginning when an incompetent cowboy went in guns blazing, vengeance on his breath and not a clue as to what it all meant. It's transformed into a more eloquent and sweet-sounding lie now that President Obama runs things. So sweet it even won a prize, for peace no less. Ah yes, a rose by any other name.

The simplest truths are always the easiest to forget. Murder, hatred, vengeance. They're wrong. To justify them--ever--is wrong. You can say it's for democracy, liberty, justice, peace. But it will always be a lie. And lies will always poison everything they touch.

So say no today. We cannot afford to wait any longer. Be like John, Jesus, Yoko and Martin: Say no to the poison that is war.

Food: the ultimate moral choice.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
--Hamlet
Two years ago, Ruth and I decided to change our diet after awakening to the dangers associated with almost all Western-style diets. Cancer, heart attack, stroke, autoimmune disorders, global warming, pollution of our environment and water supply, obesity, antibiotic resistance.

The list goes on and on and in the end it all comes down to three basic factors: breakfast, lunch and dinner. We are literally poisoning ourselves and our planet with our food choices. Don’t believe me? I invite you to read on.

The science is clear. Food is the most powerful environmental factor in the vast majority of diseases. The laws of cause and effect tell us that most diseases are preventable and even reversible. As is the suffering they provoke for our planet and its inhabitants.


Despite all this, each day we choose a path that leads to disease, climate destruction, health care crisis, poverty and famine in the third world. We elect eloquent politicians who speak of change but we choose to ignore the real power each of us exercises each day with our wallets. Do we want change? It sure doesn’t look like it.

Not yet at least. We’re quite happy with our green energy compromises, our troop surges and our well-lit supermarkets with their promise of endless prosperity and material goods. I wouldn’t be so sure. Not with the specter of bankrupt health care, unemployment at 10% and the dollar sinking like a stone.

Or did you really think the American dream would last forever. The good news is that change is possible. You don’t have to worry about carbon taxes, nuclear-armed Pakistan or when the Fed will finally get around to raising interest rates.

If you don’t like the way things are you can change them. You don’t have to wait for you president, preacher or parents to tell you how. It’s pretty simple. Go to refrigerator right now and open it up. Take out everything that you didn’t personally grow or buy from a farmer in your community. Now take out everything whose origins or manner of production are unknown to you. Odds are that’s most of what was in your fridge.

Now give or throw all of that food away and replace it with things that come from your community or personal garden. Repeat with your cupboards, pantry, freezer, and second fridge until you’ve reestablished a link with where your food comes from, how it was grown and transported, and how the grower was compensated.

I’m not asking you to be a saint but I am asking you to return a notion of moral duty to your food choices. For the Jewish it’s called kosher, Muslims call it halal. Christians alike fast and avoid meat on holy days. This is change my friends and you don’t have to wait four years for it to come again.

If you want to put people back to work, always buy locally from organic farms, which require lots of manpower in the place of pesticides and chemicals. If you don’t want to buy all your food this way, start with 20%. Then work your way up. Can you buy a third or half of your food this way?

Each dollar spent is a vote for change and sanity in these insane times. Talk to your friends, support food co-ops and insist your politicians begin to discuss and support local, organic agriculture for a change.


If you don’t want to give up your daily cup of coffee, you can at least insist it be fair trade and organic. The same applies to all our food choices. The more we inform ourselves nutritionally and politically the more we will see that we don’t have to give away our power nor accept the mediocrity that has come to characterize American life.

And most importantly, if you want to choose a healthier lifestyle for yourself and the planet then stop eating animal products. This type of change won’t appeal to your ego nor will it win you the support of many of your friends and family at first. But it will bring about a radical change for both your health and that of the planet. What it lacks in sex appeal it makes up for in vitality. This, my friends, is the American way.

Reclaiming paradise

Spring - An experience in immortality.

--Henry David Thoreau

Speak to the Earth, and it shall teach thee.
--Job 12:8

The shift of colonial power from European monarchy to global corporation is perhaps the dominant theme of modern history. All along, it has been the same story of the gathering of an exploitive economic power into the hands of a few people who are alien to the places and the people they exploit. Such an economy is bound to destroy locally adapted agrarian economies everywhere it goes, simply because it is too ignorant not to do so. And it has succeeded precisely to the extent that it has been able to inculcate the same ignorance in workers and consumers.

--Wendell Berry

France and the United States share a long and complex history. The Declaration des Droits des Hommes was inspired by our own American constitution. Our Statue of Liberty was of course a gift from the French in commemoration of the centennial of our independence. American soldiers landed in Normandy in 1944 on the way to liberating the majority of French territory occupied by Nazi Germany at the time. France has the world's 2nd largest agricultural export economy in the world behind the United States'.


There are other similarities one might wish for. Here in Europe the level of political discourse, while far from ideal, is far more diverse and informative than anything in America. Western European social democracies, an unutterable political concept for Americans, continue to insist on universal health care of equal quality to the American system at a far lesser price. Abolition of the death penalty is a requisite condition for membership in the European Union. This in countries which have long since distanced themselves spiritually and legally from their corrupt and marginalized religious institutions.


There are other things Europeans, particularly the French, do not excel at. In general, there is a level of cynicism or perhaps resignation amongst French intellectuals and society at large in regards to ideas outside their cultural history. This is certainly normal in all countries. But in my experience there exists in America the possibility for a more profound and diverse level of exploration personally be it in the sciences or the arts. This exploration of course by no means attracts the interest or support of the vast majority of Americans. It is however in my opinion true that the most progressive and relevant thinkers in this age tend to be produced within the framework of the English-speaking world.


Should you find this encouraging, do not forget that for every great system of insight or thinker of import, there is a mountain of idiocy standing between them and the earnest seeker. The amazing thing it seems is that Americans for the most part are quite happy to defend at all costs the essential right of these idiot fear-mongers and hucksters to do everything in their power to increase the torrent of unmitigated nonsense that fills up the lives and space of the already over-worked American citizen.


A few examples: America has the best health care system in the world. A fact readily reflected in the skyrocketing levels of obesity, cancer, heart disease and the quasi-impossibility to secure insurance at reasonable fees if at all. Another example: America is the greatest force for democracy and good in the world. Once again backed up by our two atomic bombs dropped on civilian populations (the only two in history), our well-documented support of death squads in Central America in the 1980's, and the continued assault on America's economy and moral decency in Iraq and Afghanistan.


On the one year anniversary of our arrival here in France, I'd like to send a word of encouragement to every sensible American crushed daily under the insane rhetoric and political stasis under which our nation labors painfully on. While there is much to prefer in the European political and social structure, America alone can lay claim to its unique species of genius and rugged intellectual rigor. This still-young democracy, inspired by the best elements of the Enlightenment, offers much to the earnest seeker. May you all still find the courage to go forth in its pursuit, in the hopes of a brighter, saner tomorrow.

Ode to the Lorraine

We recently had the good fortune to be invited to spend five days in the Lorraine region of eastern France. At times denigrated by partisans of snob French culture, this wooded, rural region was to become for Ruth and I one of the truly enchanting regions of France.

After a trip across the rolling plains of central France on the legendary TGV high-speed train, we were greeted by our hosts André and Catherine who welcomed us with a delicious lunch on their backyard terrace. Long-time residents of the regions their hospitality and unique insight into the region and its long history were much appreciated. Their warmth and kindness during our stay offered these two Americans a glimpse into the rich banquet of cuisine, culture and calm by which we'll forever remember this lovely region.



The turbulent history of the region lends itself to a present-day calm that had a bewitching effect on these two visitors. Metz proved to be a gorgeous, green, compact city. The ideal size to marry culture and quiet harmoniously.









The medieval arcade of Metz in December is site of one of the reputedly-epic Christmas markets of eastern France. It being summer and France, music was not in short supply. Just grab and chair at your café of preference, sit back and enjoy.

























Ruth admires one of the numerous canals constructed along the lovely but often times unnavigable Moselle River.


















St. Etienne, patron saint of Metz's cathedral, who rid the city of the terrible dragon, Graoully (pictured subdued at his feet).















Like Rouen, Paris and Reims, Metz possesses one of the true jewels of French Gothic architecture. The unlikely harmony of imposing size and delicate detail are the characteristic trademarks of the period. Metz's cathedral was constructed of Pierre de Jaumont, an earthen-hued limestone unique to the surrounding area. The unusual coloring, as in the case of the rose-colored sandstone of the Strasbourg Cathedral, lends a unique personality to each of these superb cathedrals.




















One of the numerous stained glass windows designed and executed by Marc Chagall. Metz 's cathedral boasts the largest square footage of stained glass of any cathedral in France. No small feat in this the birthplace of soaring gothic arches and the luminous quest for celestial interior lighting. The Chagall series adds a special quality to Metz's cathedral, a unique juxtaposition of 20th century master working in a medium and discourse that predates the modern period.















The other beating heart of Metz, the covered market with its own host of otherwordly colors and forms, provided a sampling of Italian, Polish and other cuisines representative of immigrant contribution to this blue-collar region.












L'église St. Pierre aux Nonnains alone can lay claim to being the oldest church in France. The building dates to the year 387 A.D. and stands as a rare survivor of the pillaging and destruction of the early medieval period. At its feet, the new center and place of assembly for secular French society: the ubiquitous cafe.



Matthew takes advantage of the calm and quiet of the countryside after a superb first day in lovely Lorraine.

Our second day started with an hour and a half drive to the eastern region of Alsace. After a picnic on the German side of the Rhine, we crossed back into France and spent the day in the charming Alsacian capital of Strasbourg. With its lace-stonework cathedral and Venetian-style canal system, the city forms a pleasant bridge between the finest points of French and German cultures. Along with Brussels, the city is also the principal seat of European politics and business.

The medieval maison à colombage style of architecture in the city surprisingly recalls the Normandy region and our own city of Rouen.



The Germanic influence is readily apparent in the architecture of eastern France.


















After a tour of the historic Petite France portion of the city, we headed south along the German border into the breathtaking Alsace wine region, home to sparkling whites, delicious Rieslings and aromatic Gewürztraminers. A short stop-over in the picturesque village of Kaysersburg, birthplace of Albert Schwietzer, left us plotting ways to return to this jewel of the Alsacian wine route.


Day three saw us up early to embark upon a tour of the Meuse department with its numerous battlefields, cemetaries and monuments to the horrific trench warfare of WWI. Verdun lies smack on the frontier between Germanic and Gallic cultures. From Charlemagne to Hitler, the city, as with the Lorraine region in general, has been for centuries at the frontlines of dispute and tension between these august and often bellicose rivals.

The story of Verdun is one of the shocking feats of barbarity and violence in our collective modern history. Fighting over a few square miles of symbolic terrain, the French and German war machines succeeded in killing over a half-million men in nine short months, the majority of them blown to pieces by the constant artillery fire that pinned them in their trenches. In the nearby Douaumont ossuary, the remains of some 130,000 unidentified French and German young men provide evidence of the human cost of this insane warfare, piles of femurs, skulls and ribs lining the windowed alcoves along the perimeter of the building.


In the process of battle the surrounding hillsides of wooded terrain were turned into a lunar landscape where villages were razed to the ground, residents never to return or rebuild. The eternal murmur of pines and the odd plaque indicating the one-time location of a bakery or post-office are all that remains of the era.

This new nature of violence and physical disembodiment gave birth to the modern idea of a tomb commemorating an unknown solider. The remains laid to rest under Paris' Arc de Triomphe were taken from the battlefields of Verdun and testify to a new era of human barbarity in which the mutilation of the human body and the final frontier of human decency were now transgressed.

After Verdun, we visited the American WWI monument at Monsec. This impressive neoclassical work commemorating the American capture of the Saint Mihiel salient in 1918 dominates the quiet plains of the Meuse department in the Lorraine region. It was at the time a crucial German vantage point offering views far behind French lines.


















The history of the region would not be complete without some word to explain the currently-established peace between the once bitter enemies of France and Germany. Part of the origins of that peace can be traced to the humble figure of one Robert Schuman. One of the fascinating figures in the construction of the modern-day European Union, Schuman used the leading industries of the time, the coal and steel trade, to create a stable framework for economic and political cooperation between longtime enemies France and Germany as well as the greater part of Europe. His house and garden in Scy-Chazelles are a testament to a life that melded secular and spiritual, Gallic and Prussian, thought and action in an admirable harmony.

Any summary of our journey would not be complete without one final word of thanks to our hosts Andre and Catherine. Your generosity and patient willingness to show us the very best of this complex and fascinating region will not soon be forgotten. The historical and cultural context you provided were truly priceless and enriched our experience immeasurably.

Merci beaucoup et à bientôt.

A Call to Arms

The people of “the cutting edge” in science, business, education, and politics have no patience with the local love, local loyalty, and local knowledge that make people truly native to their places and therefore good caretakers of their places. This is why one of the primary principles in industrialism has always been to get the worker away from home. From the beginning it has been destructive of home employment and home economies.

--Wendell Berry
"The Agrarian Dilemma"



"A free life cannot acquire many possessions...without servility to mobs or monarchs."

--Epicurus


"The revolution will not be televised."

--Gil Scott-Heron


Summer vacation has arrived here in Normandy. To what use have we put this time? The abridged version:

Increased daily consumption of delicious local produce from the numerous open-air markets throughout town.

Numerous outings with friends in the surrounding countryside invariably punctuated with lingering picnics, replete with smelly cheeses and glasses of robust Bordeaux, next to the odd 12th century monastery one's bound to come across in the region.

Bleary-eyed exercise outings each morning to prime the body and keep the spirit sharp for all the richness each day has to offer. Bravo, chérie!

Chatting with neighbors from the balcony window of our new second story apartment. Coucou Murielle!

Lazy days parked on the sidewalk curb watching the world go by.

Live daily feeds of the Tour de France, recounting the latest adventures of Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong across the evershifting French landscape.

Long hours spent together talking, thinking, sitting in the half-a-dozen cafés we frequent each week.

It's a demanding life (in all earnesty!) but someone's got to live it.

In more detailed news, about a month ago we were able to spend the weekend near Fontainebleau, a very pretty forest region just south of Paris. Our rowing club here in Rouen participated in a two day event that mixed equal parts sport, culture and entertainment. We started with 12 miles of rowing the first day on a very pretty branch of the Seine River that winds through the forest and countryside near the Chateau de Fontainebleau, former royal residence of François I and Napoleon amongst others. After a delicious French picnic (complete with wine, cheese and dessert) we set up camp with the other members of our club in a nearby gymnasium.

But there was little rest for the weary that day, for no sooner did we roll out our sleeping bags for a little nap than we were off to the Django Reinhardt Jazz festival. Amongst the superb lineup that evening was Avashi Cohen and his swinging quintet. Highly recommended.








We finally got back to our little gymnasium campsite shortly after midnight for some much needed sleep before finishing off the weekend with 15 miles of rowing the second day, complete with another picnic lunch on the banks of the river just outside the lovely medieval city of Morêt-sur-Loing. It was a wonderful weekend but probably one of the most tiring little vacation getaways we've ever been on.

















Thankfully we had the following few days to recover.














The second week of August we have the good fortune to be invited to the eastern part of France near Germany to spend 5 days with some very nice people we've recently met here in Rouen. We're excited to see another corner of this fascinating and diverse country. Each day is equal parts rich and humbling for us and we would be remiss to not mention the outstanding hospitality and generosity of the many wonderful, kind people who've taken time to welcome us into their homes and their lives. Merci encore!

We're hoping to do some grape harvesting at the end of summer in one of the numerous wine regions here in France but it may interfere with the start of classes at the university. In any case, we've got plenty to keep us busy as there's never a dull moment.

Stay tuned. Love--Matthew et Ruth