City of Light reveals memories

As a young man I stood on Pont Neuf in Paris at dusk on a cold December day, smoking very strong Gauloises cigarettes, watching the magnificent and polluted River Seine moving beneath me, and wondering why I hadn’t visited sooner. Now, as an old man, I watch snippets of the Olympics on television, uninterested in watching professional athletes compete in all manner of sport …. you know, like the Greeks first did, rhythmic gymnastics, skateboarding, break dancing. No, I watch to see a city that has not changed substantially in hundreds of years and to perhaps catch glimpses of my youth.

Paris is one of the few cities wherein I didn’t converse much with the locals and with good reason. The very attractive woman with whom I was traveling spoke French, so I simply stood back, kept my pidgin French to myself, and listened to one of the world’s most beautiful languages come from her lips. I cannot begin to describe the way in which she was at home half a world away from Iowa. I’d recommend her as your tour guide for your next trip to France but, alas, she is gone, however my memories remain and I rarely share them.

Out here things are quiet. Last week I attended a rabbit show at a local county fair. I still haven’t figured out the purpose of domesticated rabbits, except for the ones intended for food and even then I’m not sure who eats them, other than someone 150 years ago high in the Rockies. Anyway, rabbits are beautiful creatures and I got to meet two of them, Scooby and, gotta love this, Herbert. Unfortunately for Herbert, he is being raised for the purpose of eating. I often get my animals wrong, but I think he is a Californian rabbit, white with dark ears. I asked Herbert’s keeper if he would be sold at auction at the end of the fair, to which she smiled and said, “No, I’m going to keep him for another year.” I said, “Good.” Herbert’s gonna be around for another year. I wish the same for everyone.

I don’t have a photo of Herbert, but I do have one of my cat Luna that I’d like to share. I’m no different from the young people in 4-H who, when entering a photography contest at county or state fairs, inevitably enter a photo of their pet; dog, cat, guinea pig, whatever. So I always take time to check out the 4-H photos, because I can relate, and I am quite content being a childless cat man. Luna is as close to her ancestor saber-toothed relatives as any cat I’ve encountered. Today she was on my lap while I was reading some works by author Norman Maclean (Clarinda, Iowa native) when she saw a blue jay hovering briefly just outside the window a foot and a half away. As she leapt she clawed through my jeans, leaving bloody scratches on my thigh.

Luna, the little creature who helps me to get through books by authors long dead is the same one who reminds me on a daily basis that I am still here, still employed as her keeper, her companion, the much-too-sedentary old guy who pours a couple of fingers of scotch at night, the man who hopes to be with her for a long time, the guy who tells her about Paris because he’s never been comfortable talking to others.

Anyway, back to Paris. I recommend it in December when there are few tourists, the air is crisp, and the city is lighted up for Christmas. It is an extraordinary place and still exists in reality as well as imagination. The newly reconstructed Notre Dame will reopen this December, the skating rink at Tour Eiffel will be busy, the booksellers along the Seine will have colorful scarves covering their faces and, if you’re lucky like I was, you will be there with someone you love, even if they don’t speak French.

Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. The Dubuque Telegraph Herald recently published a 60-page magazine of Kurt’s columns. The magazine can be purchased here