Driving...The French Version

Once while taking a writing course, I was asked to write about something that I hated. It was a difficult assignment for me because “Hate” is a strong word. Categorically I can say that I don’t “hate” many things. I hate birds…well, maybe fear them, is a better description. Fear of birds is my particular neurosis and so by extension; I guess you might say I hate them. Anyway, I did find something that I have learned to hate, dear readers, and here is the story...

As I was driving to work one morning, I thought about this subject. I tried to pick my brain about something that I hated enough to rant and rave about. I was racking my brain over this when suddenly it occured to me that a French driver was coming head on towards me as he was passing in a no-passing zone. Panic set in and quick thinking strategies raced in my head like an electronic billboard, “What is the plan here if this car doesn’t move back into its lane?” Now he is flashing his headlights at me. HE is flashing his headlights at ME? Are we kidding? However, finally, with a sigh of relief, he does careen back into the proper lane and my bulging eyes find their way back into their sockets.

Now, where was I? Yes, back to the hate subject. I suddenly realized that this car incidence was divine intervention.

HOW I GOT HERE!

It has been almost 9 years since I moved to France. On the days I walk the streets of Paris, I still can’t believe that I live so close to this wondrous city. I had been a Francophile for so many years and now I am here. I live about 35 minutes north of Paris via the RER train in a small village.

So how did I get here exactly? To answer that I will have to give you more background. I grew up in the industrial, steel city of Gary, Indiana and after college, I moved to Chicago. After 12 years in Chicago, I moved to LA in March of 1978. I can clearly mark this as my beginning of my wanderlust.