Movie: Midnight in Paris

    Ah Paris. Paris is a city that you either love or hate. Some see it as filthy and old; others see it as romantic and captivating. I've heard some say the Parisians are a rude lot; however, I've not experienced that. The rudeness is not any worse than in the States. This movie takes you all over Paris. You see the steps up Montmartre, the Eiffel Tower, Champs Elysee, Arc de Triumpe, and Versailles. .. . I even saw the top of the building that houses my favorite fabric shop. I recognize some of the streets that Sarah and I have explored and the museum where they have the room with Monet's Water Lilies. If you love Paris, this is the movie to see, if for nothing else, but the visual trip through the city.

    The city doesn't change much over time and that is part of the magic. Midnight in Paris makes you revisit the times you wished you lived in another era. It seems that almost every generation looks back and sees a different time as a "golden age". What would it have been like to rub shoulders with the literary and artistic community during another century? I think that it would be very difficult to resist the temptation to change history. We would know already that, for example, Picasso's work would be valuable, that Hitler would come to power, and that Coco Chanel would play both ends against the middle. If 100 people were allowed to go back in time, wherever they chose, and each one managed to change one small thing, how different today might be. It reminds me of when I was drawing route folders for fighter aircraft. If the route was off by two degrees, it wouldn't matter much if the aircraft was only flying one hundred miles, but if it was flying 4,000 miles, it would be a great deal off course by the time it was to reach its destination. The further it flew the more there would be a variance. It could literally turn out to be a hundred miles off course. So, how much change would happen if these 100 people change one thing?

    I can't wait to go back to Paris. It is perhaps my favorite city. I like Rome, New York City, Oslo was nice, and I've been to several other "nice" places, but Paris is my favorite. I don't speak French, but I enjoy the history of a city that sparkles in the rain. The narrow cobblestone streets, the small cafes, and of course, the patisseries are those things I miss most. You must go to Paris, at least you will be able to say whether it is a love or hate for you. Let the charm of the city enfold you. Paris has had some rough spots in its history, but that has served to make the city unique. Don't compare Paris or France with the United States; let it be the magic place it is without tainting it with the comparisons of another totally different culture. You should compare the good of the culture and recognize the differences as not bad, but merely different. Americans can be so arrogant. My question is, if you go to another country to visit, why would you want it to be like home? If it were just like home, you might have better saved your money and stayed home. I go especially to experience the country's culture. I dress to fit in and enjoy the times that I am privileged to interface with the citizens. Go with an adventure in mind, and don't be afraid to step out of the guided tour box.


 

Trains

I love trains. I have no idea why, I just do. The first time I rode a train, I was fourteen years old and it was a trip my eighth grade class took. We drove to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan and took the Agawa Canyon train into Canada. It seemed like a really long ride. I suppose it kind of was, especially to a teen. It was a challenge to get used to walking around the train, with it gently rocking from side to side as we rode down the track. At one point, we travelled over a railroad trestle that had a curve in it and we could see both ends of the train as it went around the curve. Looking down was not especially exciting. When you think about the fact that you are perched on a set of relatively narrow rails above a several hundred foot drop, it is a bit disconcerting. I was able to make a second trip up Agawa Canyon, this time with my family. It seems kind of strange to drive several hours just to ride a train for several hours, but I'm wondering if it might be the gentle rocking of the train car that intrigues me.

Originally, the train was made up of stagecoaches. I'm sure that even though cinders, ash and sparks flew onto the first passengers, it was intriguing to them too. It probably felt like they were flying along compared to being pulled by horses that tired easily and needed rest. I understand that some of my ancestors used the rails to travel from Arkansas to Indiana more than once. They didn't ride the train; however, they loaded their wagon and set the wheels on the train rails. It was pretty risky, if you ask anyone. It would definitely mean being on alert to when the trains were running and getting off the tracks in time.
Train robberies became quite common in the days of the old west. Jesse James and other outlaws kept the local law enforcement busy. Payrolls and mail were prime targets. So much has changed since the early days of the train, now most trains run on diesel fuel—not many use wood or coal anymore. The speed has increased to the point that there are trains that can travel over 300 mph. Until the widespread use of the automobile, towns grew up primarily along the train route. There were, and still are, hobos that follow the trains. It used to be they had their own codes and they also had a unique brotherhood.

Have you ever met any of the people who build model railroads and ride every chance they get? A train is more than just a means of transportation or of hauling goods from place to place; cars and planes do the same thing, but don't have quite the same appeal. Trains hold a special place in the history of our country. Thousands of people worked to lay the rails from Missouri to California. Good shares of those people were immigrants and yes, they weren't treated very well, but they came to America to live out a dream and many did eventually. Many also died in the process. 
Whenever you ride a train, there is so much history that is encapsulated within the ride. E. M. Forster expresses the appeal of the train so well:

 "Railway termini ... are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through them we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them, alas we return."


 

 

Life Lived Via Book or Reality?

                I love a good mystery and growing up I used to think about how exciting it would be to have a job like James Bond. People do, you know—they actually do the spy thing, facing danger and risking discovery every day. These people thrive on heart-stopping terror and the stress of being discovered and what that may entail. The short time I was privy to doing undercover work in the Air Force terrified me and I determined that my extreme risk taking would be confined to the printed page. A good writer has the ability to suck you into the action in such a way that it seems like you are actually in the story. However, reading about the hairs standing up on the back of your neck because you sense someone following you is quite different than actually having it happen. If the action gets too intense in the book, you can set the book down, and walk away. Real life doesn’t come with an escape clause. The pounding of your heart, difficulty breathing, and the sweat running down your face make the fear you feel come close to paralyzing you.

 If we would not want to face danger in real life, why might we want to read about it? It makes us feel like heroes for a few hundred pages. No, seriously, we go along for the ride, and when the story wraps up, the protagonist rises to the top. We like to pretend we are the protagonist and even the weakest personality, for a moment in time, feels strong and in control.

                There are some, who, read exciting adventures and use them to “spice up” what is perceived to be an extraordinarily boring existence. I personally have known at least two people who, finding their lives to be hum-drum, created a back-story that, over time, they not only convinced themselves it was true, but shared their story with others as if it were truth. The inconsistencies began to rack up when they added too many “heroic” deeds into the mix. We are hesitant to tell someone who it seems is embellishing their life story that their story appears to be “horse hockey”. What if their story is true? Some of it may be. Most untruths have a grain of truth in it in order for it to have even a grain of veracity. What should we do if we aren’t sure about a story? Do we confront, make an effort to avoid the person, or what? I had a person tell me that they flew a special aircraft designed only for them. It was a futuristic pre-curser to the SR 71, and was called, “Dragonship”. The aircraft operated via voice command keyed to the person’s voice. It could fly around the world in a matter of minutes and was used to conduct super-secret missions in the dark of night for a clandestine organization. The person had himself convinced this was true and had enough details to make one wonder if, indeed, it was true. Granted, it almost sounded like a mish-mash of science fiction books. The person enjoyed science fiction, by the way.

                Another story this same person told was of how he flew fighter aircraft for Israel in the Six Day War. Small detail, he would have been sixteen years old and living in California. I asked him about his mom not knowing about this adventure. His explanation? The Israelis sent a clone to take his place so he could, as a lieutenant, fly critical missions in the war.

                I would like to be able to say those were the only stories he told, but they weren’t. Looking back at these and the other “life stories” he told, I should have run as far and as fast as I could from him. I grew up with the naiveté of one who cannot conceive of why someone would attempt to pass off a falsehood as truth. Therefore, I suppose, the word “gullible” was figuratively tattooed on my forehead. You may say, “How could you have believed such outrageous things?” It does seem quite incredible that I did, but people fall for cons every day. There are those that weave stories in such a way that even though one can feel that question in the back of their mind, there is not quite enough there to be a glaring falsehood. I bet everyone has at least one time in their lives been lied to or conned. Sometimes we find out and sometimes we don’t.  Perhaps we want it to be true so badly we are unwilling or unable to see the “forest for the trees”.

                I hope that I have learned to question the niggling in the back of my brain, instead of brushing it aside. I will continue to read my risky adventures, living vicariously through them and once in a while I may be daring enough to add excitement to my life. I’m not quite ready for white-water rafting, or jumping out of an airplane, but I’ve done other interesting things. Everyone needs a little excitement in their lives, just enough to get the adrenalin pumping, but not enough to paralyze you with terror. Get out there and live!