Medicare and Travel Musings

In the last six months I have recounted my experiences living in Italy, Belgium and France as a young woman and mother.  Now I’m going to back track to my first trip to France when I was 14.  I spent a year with a wonderful French family.

Poetic French Countryside.

I’ve been thinking about my travel experiences. I googled TRAVEL QUOTES and read a selection of Brainy Quotes.   Many of the citations  express the idea that through travel one discovers oneself.  Perhaps the idea is that by leaving home and what is familiar, we are forced to change and grow…to accept another way of being.

“To travel is to take a journey into yourself.” Danny Kaye

Here's another quote I like:  

"Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people.  Let your memory be your travel bag."  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

I was incredibly lucky to have parents who pushed my brother and myself out into the world to seek and discover new lands and new people.  In the process, I think I learned about myself and to be somewhat independent.

Here I am before the big departure.  I was so excited.

In 1957 I was living in the Washington D.C. area and had just finished 9th grade.  My father, Kenneth Williamson, was the Director of the Service Bureau of the American Hospital Association.  The bureau provided health care information to congress.  Of course at that time there was no internet to google quick facts and figures so lobbyists provided information.  During his tenure congress wrote the Medicare Bill. My father was considered an architect of Medicare for his input into the bill. He was present at the signing of the historic bill with President Johnson and former President Truman. 

President Johnson signing the Medicare Bill.  President Truman received the first Medicare card.

In June of 1957 I left Washington D.C. to spend the summer with a French family in Montmorency, France.  I was fortunate to have parents who felt that learning a foreign language and traveling abroad were important learning experiences.  My father worked with a French woman named Renée Tanière.  Renée grew up in Paris. As a child she played with the children next door on the adjoining balcony.  At my parents request she contacted her childhood playmate, Louis Orsoni, and arranged my summer trip.  As it turned out I stayed with the family for a year.

A TWA Lockheed 1649 Constellation

All in all the flight over took 20 hours.  From Washington I flew to New York.  From there we stopped in Boston and Shannon, Ireland for fuel.  Then on to Paris and Orly airport.

Note the hats and gloves.  That's how ladies traveled.

I recount my travels in a leather-bound journal. My flight companions were two “middle-aged women…one quiet and passive, the other chubby with a jolly face.”  (Who knows? At 14, 35 year old ladies could have seemed “middle-aged.”)  In my journal I consider the value of travel: “I think when you leave your country and home, you change your life and character completely, your manners improve and you momentarily forget the past, look to the future and use the present as guidance.”  (I like the part about the manners.)  Further down I write: "In only 19 hours I will be in France and be my new person and a more learned and appreciative one at that.  So I say au revoir old Debbie and welcome to the new Debbie."  Ah, the confidence and innocence of youth!

From Paris With Love

While we lived in France, Vincent was working for Cryo-Diffusion. It was a division of Minnesota Valley Engineers, itself a division of Beatrice Foods. The company made cryogenic containers for the storage and transportation of liquid neutral (non explosive) gases: nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, argon, helium.   These containers were used in off-shore drilling.

Photo of a container courtesy of Cryo-Diffusion site.

Initially the company produced cryogenic thermos bottles that were used to transport semen extracted from prized Charolais bulls.  Those spermatozoa found their way to far flung lands like India, Australia or even Texas.  This caused Vincent to quip at a cocktail party that his business was in the exportation of “French sperm."  Très drôle!

A handsome Charolais bull!

When Vincent began working at the plant, they were losing money.  With financial skill and the development of an improved product, he was able to turn the company around. Beatrice Foods named him employee of the year and we were invited to a dinner at Taillevent.  I believe there were 7 of us and the dinner cost 3-4 thousand dollars!!  Much of that was due to the excellent wines.  I remember delicious veal medallions and an exquisite dessert.  Strawberries were arranged in a meringue nest. Hardened caramel strands had been woven over the the whole…like a cage.   Too pretty to eat!

I found this photo on Pinterest.  Apparently you can weave hot, liquid strands of caramel over a lightly greased ladle or small bowl!

In spite of Vincent’s admirable success, there continued to be problems.  Minnesota Valley Engineers disagreed with the production of a new type of container developed by Cryo-Diffusion.  Vincent was under a lot of pressure.  He was caught between the Americans and the French who often didn’t see eye-to-eye.  Eventually, the French company was no longer able to sustain its profitability, and Vincent resigned.  This was a difficult time.

Eventually it was decided that the children and I should leave France to stay with my parents in Yucca Valley, California.   Talk about a change of scene...

My parents house.

The view from the living room windows.

Happy Family Times - Paris In The Fall

Château de Chenonceau

The best thing about those years is Saint-Nom-La-Breteche, was being near Vincent's family.  We got together for the holidays and special events.  One summer we celebrated the wedding of Vincent’s brother Denis.  There was a lovely reception at a château. Champagne and hors-d’oeuvres were served in the formal gardens.  Later inside, the dinner was capped off with desserts displayed on magical ice sculptures.

Here we are ready for the wedding.  

We celebrated Christopher’s first communion and invited the family to our house.

Three generations complete with a new baby.

Christopher and I in front of Vaux-Le-Vicomte, a jewel of a château. As an adult he returned here to propose to his wife.

Four laughing children: Chris, Charles, Marie-Juliette with little cousin Priscille.

At that time all three kids were enrolled in horseback riding lessons.  Vincent had taken lessons as a boy at the Ecole Militaire de Paris.  This is a vast complex of buildings that dates back to 1750. Napoléon did military training there.

Here is the Ecole Militaire(By DXR / Daniel Vorndran, CC BY-SA 3.0, )

Vincent believed that equestrian competence was essential to life.  He used to say something like: If you can manage/control a horse, you can manage your life.

Marie-Juliette ready for horseback riding lessons.

The children also took piano lessons for a year with a young American who had won a major competition. The prize was to study in Paris with a master pianist.  The fellow's apartment was along the Seine.  I would drop the children off and then walk across a bridge to a cozy café.

I remember walking along the sidewalk in the late afternoon.  The slanted light of autumn illuminated the falling leaves.  The mournful beauty played with my heart strings.  Just like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra crooned:

I love Paris in the springtime

I love Paris in the fall

I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles

Ooh, I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles…

FACE BLIND

Francesca‘s world is up for grabs.   Heroin is pouring into the village of Banner Bluff.  A teenager dies from an overdose and hit men are stalking Martin Marshall after he witnessed a grisly murder.   Francesca plunges into an investigation that puts her face to face with the Russian mob.  Then there’s Governor Crenshaw who makes a suspicious visit to Banner Bluff.  His slimy advances make Francesca’s skin crawl.  Meanwhile her romance with Chief of Police Tom Barnett grows in fits and starts.   This is a fast paced mystery novel with complex characters, real-life situations and delectable food.  It’s a winner!

Memorable Luncheons, The Church and A Delicious Pavlova

While living in Saint-Nom-La-Bretèche, I went in to Paris on Tuesdays to have lunch with my mother-in-law.  The drive in and out of the city in the middle of the day was not a problem, but finding a parking place was a nightmare.  I gather it's even worse today. So sometimes I took the train.

Tricky Parisian parking

My father-in-law had passed away a few years earlier and Mère lived alone in a large apartment.  We enjoyed a delicious lunch and pleasant conversation. We discussed politics, friends, the family and THE CHURCH.  Mère was a conservative Catholic who disagreed with many of the changes brought about by Vatican II.  Once I accompanied her to a clandestine mass in latin.  Vatican II had proclaimed that the service should be said in the local vernacular.  We went down a narrow street, through an unmarked doorway and down into a basement. Luckily we were not arrested by the Pope’s Gendarmerie, sent to Rome and imprisoned in the Vatican for our transgressions.

This reminds me of the first lunch I had with my soon-to-be mother-in-law.  In the summer of 1967, I was staying in Montmorency at the home of my French family, the Orsonis.   This was a family I had lived with for a year when I was 15.  Montmorency is a suburb north of Paris and is the home of the Jean-Jacques Rousseau Museum.  I was writing a paper on Rousseau for my Masters…probably something highly erudite! 

Here I am with my French "parents"-The Orsonis

Rousseau Museum

That summer I became engaged to Vincent. We went to the Parc de Bagatelle and Vincent presented me with an engagement ring. It was a beautiful, romantic spot.

The bagatelle rose garden.

Newly engaged, sniffing a rose.

This was followed by a mass to celebrate the event at La Madeleine, an impressive Parisian church. It was designed as a temple to celebrate Napoleon’s victories and after his death it became a church. After the mass there was a luncheon at the family apartment.  I particularly remember a fresh berry Pavlova for dessert.

L'Eglise de La Madeleine

A Pavlova - a meringue base with whipped cream and berries.

But Vincent’s family was suspicious of an American, non-catholic girl... notoriously free and easy. My mother-in-law invited me for a tête-à-tête, a lunch with just the two of us.  It was somewhat a trial by fire.  The one meat that makes me gag is liver.  Of course, I was served a large piece of liver since Americans LOVE meat.  But I managed to eat it with a smile. I feel the two of us became friends that day; a friendship that grew into love and respect.

Debbie, Laurence (sister-in-law), Mère, Père - in the country after engagement.

Le Ritz, L'Arc de Triomphe et La Tour d'Argent

When living in Saint-Nom-La-Bretèche, I participated in two women’s associations. One was a local group of French women who wanted to enjoy the Paris art scene. A lecture concerning a current exhibit was followed by a visit to a museum.  I particularly remember a visit to the Grand Palais to view a Manet exhibit.  Nobody from my neighborhood wanted to drive, so I volunteered. Subsequently I learned that these French ladies dreaded driving into the city and particularly around the Arc de Triomphe. They had to depend on an intrepid American.

L'Arc de Triomphe

As you can see in the picture, twelve streets and avenues form the spokes around the monument. At rush hour, entering and exiting the roundabout can be tricky.  You need a lot of chutzpa and daring-do!  The only rule that applies is “priorité à droite” which means that the car to your right has the “right-of-way”.  If the guy on the left hits you, it will be his fault!  You enter into the fray aiming your car in the desired direction and staring-down the guy on the right.

Le Grand Palais - an exhibit on Cuba.

I also joined the American Women’s Club.  The theme of the first meeting in the fall was “Bloom Where You’re Planted.”  The discussion was about how to enjoy your stay in Paris.  There were suggestions for French language classes, family activities, restaurants and shopping tips.   Some women were very lonely, especially if they spoke no French.  Their husbands were busy at work, their children at school and venturing out on Paris streets was frightening.  And of course they missed peanut butter, Oreos, Miracle Whip and their favorite soap opera.

The Ritz

I didn’t attend many meetings but I did become involved in a fundraiser.  I don’t remember the worthy cause.  But I do remember that I was responsible for soliciting donations from luxury hotels and restaurants:  for example a free night at the Ritz or a free diner at Maxime’s.  I traipsed into the George V and Le Meurice and asked to speak to the manager.  Oh boy!  If looks could kill…or at least wither… those directeurs d’hôtel were a scary lot.

The formal dining room at Le Meurice Hotel.

I also marched into Taillevent, La Tour d’Argent and Lasserre(luxury restaurants).  As I remember the gérants de restaurant were a little bit more friendly. 

La Tour d'Argent restaurant:  Part of the charm is the view along the Seine and Notre-Dame cathedral.

After one difficult morning, I stopped at a café and treated myself to a Croque-Monsieur and un petit blanc. (béchamel, ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of white wine).

Croque-Monsieur 

Turn oven to 450º

Ingredients for 2 sandwiches:

Béchamel Sauce

4 slices thick sliced bread

2 slices ham (Black Forest)

Grated Gruyère Cheese

Butter 

1. Make a béchamel sauce:  Melt 2 Tablespoons butter, add 2 Tablespoons flour, stir vigorously, add a shake of salt and a shake of pepper, slowly add 1 cup milk continuing to stir vigorously.  Boil 1 minute continuing to stir.  Add a shake of nutmeg.  Voilà!

2. Butter a baking sheet. Place two slices of bread on the sheet. Smear with béchamel sauce. Sprinkle with gruyère cheese.  Add a slice of ham.  Fold neatly to fit.  Smear with béchamel. Sprinkle with gruyère. Top with another slice of bread.  Smear with béchamel and sprinkle with cheese.

3.  Slide into the oven for 10-15 minutes until brown and bubbly.   

To make a Croque-Madame.  Top the sandwich with a fried egg!

Iranian and Ethiopian Friends

Iranian Countryside

In my previous post I mentioned that the children attended the American School of Paris.  As was the case of the International School of Brussels,  the variety of children from different countries and cultures provided a rich environment.

Marie-Juliette had a good friend named Sarah who was Iranian.  Sarah was a sweet, soft-spoken girl. Her parents were somewhat reticent to have Sarah come over to our house after school, but they frequently invited Marie-Juliette to their apartment in Paris. The mother and aunts were warm and friendly.   They served her Iranian delicacies.  The family lived in a compound of Iranian refugee families that had fled Khomeini’s regime.  I imagine they had some connection to the Shah?  The building was surrounded by burly security guards sporting machine guns.  I wonder where Sarah and her family are now?

The Ethiopian Blue Nile Falls 

Charles and Christopher became good friends with two brothers from Ethiopia.  Their father was a bigwig at IBM International.  They lived in an apartment complex in St. Cloud.  The apartment buildings were built around a large garden that contained grottos, little bridges and woods .  It was a magical place to play.  Both boys were often invited for play-dates.  The family maintained a cook who sat on a mat on the kitchen floor.  Apparently, the little boys would order up something to eat whenever they were hungry. Maybe some injera and wat (sourdough flat bread and spicy stew).

The Ethiopian mother was an elegant, statuesque lady.  She usually wore a colorful, full-length gown and a matching turban. In my mind she resembled a stately Egyptian goddess. She seemed to enjoy the rough and tumble of four rambunctious boys.  We had tea together and she spoke to me of her family and of the grandeur and beauty of Ethiopia.  I think she was quite lonely.  When she learned of our departure back to the States, she presented Charles and Christopher with hand-embroidered shirts decorated with the Ethiopian coptic cross.  They were a work of art. 

A tee-shirt decorated with the Coptic cross - not a work of art!