Going Cold, Gray Turkey

Credit:powerofforever / E+ / Getty Images

About two years ago, I went cold turkey. I got off the bottle—of hair dye.

I had been thinking about ''going gray'' for years. My worst fear was not looking old or being discriminated against in the job market. It was telling my hairdresser! I had been going to the salon once a month for YEARS, and I really liked my chats with Morgane.

When I told her, Morgan's face fell. She was speechless. (I could read her mind, though: "Another regular customer, gone!") But she realized I was determined, and proceeded to do a balayage, an overall highlighting to ease the ugly transition.

I walked out of the salon $100 poorer—but finally free! Of the cost and time, and of the worry about the monthly chemical saturation of my scalp. I was never really happy with the color, or the silver shoots of roots after a week.

What inspired me was a writer I had with stunning gray hair--though she calls it ''white.''

Author Carol Saller

''My guy calls it Hitchcock blonde (like Kim Novak's) or platinum blonde (like Marilyn Monroe's). I'll take it!'' said Carol Saller, author of ''Eddie's War'' and ''The Subversive Copy Editor.''

Carol and I agree that we're sometimes taken aback with people's reactions.

I get a lot of double-takes. People seem to ask, is she making a fashion statement or a feminist statement? Is that Christine Lagarde? Helen Mirren? Lady Gaga? Gloria Steinem? How old is she anyway? One man on the Metro even offered me a seat—then took it back after realizing I was younger than he was!

Carol's best story is this: ''Last summer at the grocery store a little girl looked at me and actually gasped – she kept staring. She wasn't afraid, but awe-struck, as though she thought I was someone famous – so I said hello, and she said 'Your hair turned white!'

''I laughed and said 'It sure did' (thinking, What... like she never saw an old lady before?), and then her mom said 'Oh my god – she just saw Frozen!' This kid was looking at me as if I were a real-live queen.''

The Snow Queen in ''Frozen''

And how do I feel about my gray tresses now? Great!

Especially since going gray became the ''hot trend'' last year. I don't feel like an extreme outlier anymore. Instead, I can say (to myself anyway) that I'm on the cutting edge.

And I have the social media credentials to prove it: hashtags like #grayhairdontcare, Instagram accounts like ''grayhairhero,'' and the Facebook pages: ''I'm Grey And I'm Proud,'' ''Grey is the New Black,'' and the ''Silver Strand Society.''

Like, like, like!!!

It's all a matter of (self) perception.

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."
   


 

David Bowie, Alan Hickman, and My Grandmother

This week we learned of the deaths of the superfamous--musician David Bowie and actor Alan Hickman. As I listened to some of Bowie’s tunes, I thought it was a shame that those closest to us pass away without so much as a trace.

Like my grandmother, who was taken away 20 years ago on Feb. 8. She was a mother of four … and pianist.

Born Marie Pack on Nov. 17, 1908, she was the epitome of Pittsburgh: she worked hard, and partied hard. One of 10 children growing up in a working-class family in Mt. Oliver on Anthony Street, she and her sisters sold apples on the streets to help the family makes ends meet. Her mother, who had been an indentured farm hand, raised fruits and vegetables in a backyard garden to feed the family.

My grandmother (top right) with her five of her sisters and mother (center). 

My grandmother quit school at 6th grade, which wasn’t unusual at the time, and went to work in various jobs like laundress and chocolate dipper (Pittsburgh was well-known at the time for its many chocolate shops, and a few remain today).

At that time, a pianist was the life of a party, and she loved a party! Marie saved her pennies for lessons, aiming to become a piano teacher, and obtained her certification—a story my mother told me only last year.

“Her certificate in hand,” my mother said, “she was walking across a bridge when the wind swept away the piece of paper.” And with it my grandmother’s dream. She didn’t think to turn back and obtain another copy.

She married steelworker Anthony Kunz at 20, and moved in with her Polish mother-in-law on the South Side Slopes. “My mother gave me $10, and said go out and buy a dress,” my grandmother told me. She learned how to cook stuffed cabbage, dumplings, and sauerkraut, like many a Pittsburgh housewife.

After having four children, the family moved down to the South Side, near 27th street, close to Jones & Laughlin Steel Mill and its many bars. It was all too easy for a steelworker to take his paycheck to one of the saloons and come home empty-handed, which my grandfather often did.

So my grandmother went to work on the Pennsylvania Railroad, cleaning cars, a dirty but good-paying job in those days. (During World War II, she said, cars full of German POWs would ride by, she said, to camps out West.) Now my grandmother was no saint. She liked to go out on the town as well and have a good time.

When my grandmother came to live with us in the 1970s, she often sat down to play our upright piano. With no sheet music at all, she played song after song—the pop music of her day. Not the classical music that I was struggling to sight read. She played by ear, and by heart.

My grandmother often reminded me of the time I came to her apartment on Brownsville Road to ask her about her life’s story--a homework assignment in elementary school. Now, finally, I am playing by ear and pouring out her story, from the bottom of my heart.

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."

Pittsburgh Pretzels or French Galettes?

Gontran Cherrier, frenchforfoodies.com

If there's one thing that Paris and Pittsburgh can agree on, it's cake and parties.

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, http://bit.ly/1OcCxEw

While Pittsburgh has its New Year's pretzel, here in Paris we feast on "galette des rois" – King's Cake – starting on the Epiphany, officially speaking. But any day in January is an excuse!

On the face of it, the galette is different than the New Year's pretzel, which I remember from my days working at Karhut's bakery in Mt. Oliver (a little enclave in Pittsburgh that never managed to incorporate itself into the city).

This special pretzel is a huge coffee cake twirled into a pretzel shape, laced with icing and sprinkled with candied fruit.

The galette is wheat taken to an extreme. Think of a round croissant with almond custard filling.

There's a lot of speculation about the origins of the French galette and the New Year's pretzel. My theory is that they have one common European ancestor. A lot of butter left over from Christmas and a few more days of vacation!

Seriously, as you move down to southern France, the cake becomes more breadlike, looses its middle and looks more like a crown, and is iced and dotted with fruit. You'll find similar holiday cakes from the shores of Portugal to the northern reaches of Sweden.

What makes the galette even more fun, however, is that buried inside each one is a prize or “feve” (literally bean) but these days a small porcelain figurine. The idea is that whoever receives the slice with the bean inside becomes king for the day. And the king chose a queen--and might even steal a kiss.

We love this game, as you can tell from our huge collection of feves.

Any way you cut it, the galette and the pretzel are great ways to party in the New Year and enjoy every one of the 12 days of Christmas.
 
Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."

My Resolution For 2016: Go Out To The Movies!

Psychology Today.com

What kind of resolution is that, to go out to the movies? It sounds like way too much fun!

My husband and I made this solemn vow two weeks ago after seeing “The Bridge of Spies,” starring Tom Hanks, which was our first test of the neighborhood cinema, Ciné Issy.

The cinema got a B+: It's close, within walking distance; cheap at about 7.30 euros a ticket; and shows great, first-run movies. However, the seats aren't comfy, and you can't reserve on-line.

We went there again last week to see the latest Star Wars movie, "The Force Awakens," though this time in French. But that was not a problem. This is one action movie where the dialog isn't worth much. At all.

After that we vowed to see whatever was showing at Ciné Issy, unless we were out with friends or to a party.

How can “going out to the movies” possibly be a resolution? How about if I say I want to go out more often with my husband? That I want to improve my French? Have something interesting to talk about at the water cooler or among friends?

Those sound like resolutions, a statement about how I want to improve myself. But the experts say that in fact resolutions should be simple and specific—and written down. (Done!) 

I'm hoping that our simple and specific resolution will go a long way to filling our more serious and lofty goals.

Tomorrow we're on to see a French comedy called “Le Grand Partage” (“The Roommates Party”). The story is that it's a cold winter, and to house the homeless, the French government decrees that homeowners with spare rooms have to accept “roommates.”

The Hollywood Reporter gave the movie a terrible review, but I'll keep an open mind. Besides, it looks like fun!

For some reason, it has taken us two years to test out neighborhood movie house. Could it be that the best resolutions are right under your nose?

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."

Getting And Giving For Grinches

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grinch

For Americans, the stretch between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is supercharged with giving and getting. It's no different for us Americans living in France.

But lest we forget, the year-end also brings the close to the dreaded tax year.

Faced with huge French tax bills, I asked my financial adviser friend out to lunch. What do we do? I asked, hoping she would make our bills disappear.

She didn't have an easy out. Instead, she talked “tax strategy”: Sock it away, and give it away.

To reduce our tax bill, she said, we had three choices: Take advantage of French tax breaks for investing in retirement funds, or another break for charitable donations. (So far, so familiar to U.S. tax breaks.)

Or, we could just pay the tax bill. 

Right!

So we made an appointment at our bank. This was no fun at all. Our bank took a 3% fee for taking our money, and offered very little in the way of return. Plus, our money was locked up until retirement day. For our bank, it is much better to receive than to give.

However, we had a lot of fun giving it away.

One charity we picked that is close to my heart as a journalist is Reporters Sans Frontières (RSF or Reporters Without Borders), which promotes and defends freedom of information and freedom of the press, and helps journalists working in dangerous areas.

For example, RSF is currently campaigning to free from prison Can Dündar, the editor of the Turkish daily newspaper Cumhuriyet. That's because the newspaper reported in May that Turkey's secret service was delivering arms to Islamic groups in Syria. Turkey has accused Dündar of espionage and terrorism.

I was happy to double my donation through my company's matching gift program, as part of their Giving Tuesday campaign. If you haven't heard of it, Giving Tuesday is the annual drive after Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Which is right after Thanksgiving Thursday.

Death. Taxes. Matching Gifts. Giving Tuesday. There are so many reasons to give, whether it's from the bottom of your heart, or the bottom line of your tax bill. I'm one-half Grinch, so I need all the reasons I can get. I mean give.

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."

My Books Of The Year

Here are my favorite books of 2015, ones that I actually started and finished, which means they stood the ultimate test of (bedtime reading) time. I hope you might enjoy them too.

 

“Tita,” by Marie Houzelle, in English, 1994. Category: books by friends.

The author writes a coming of age novel about a French girl southern France in the 1950s. Tita is very smart, hates to eat, and is puzzled by the world and why her mother forgets to kiss her goodnight. It's a girl version of “Petit Nicolas,” but with edge. Marie peppers her novel with some French, but always explains the terms, and there's an amusing glossary at the end. For example: “belle-mère, beautiful mother = mother-in-law or stepmother. The adjective beau or belle is used in French for all step and in-law family relationships, probably in order to encourage good feelings that might not arise naturally.” Great for anyone who is growing up and learning French, two things that have remained on my to-do list for decades.

“La vie devant soi,” in French by Romain Gary, 1975. Category: books on daughter's reading list.

This heart-wrenching story is about a Muslim boy, Momo, who is the favorite of babysitter Madame Rosa, an old Jewish woman, former prisoner at Auschwitz, retired prostitute in Paris. There are many themes in this book, community, the Holocaust, immigration, aging … which is why teachers like it. It won France's top Goncourt prize, and a film version, “Madame Rosa,” with Simone Signoret, won an Oscar in 1977 for best foreign film. The book is also available in English under the name, “The Life Before Us.”

“French Kisses,” by David R. Poe, 1994. Category: books by friends.

This a collection of 13 quirky stories about your usual normal but odd Americans living in Paris—people like me. One story, “Playing Above The Rim,” is about a weekly pickup basketball game in a city with few courts, except one in an American church basement. While the first dozen are fiction, the book ends with creative nonfiction, a truer than life look at the life a man built for himself, and a house that he rebuilt for his family, and reflections on what will last—my favorite!

“Nous Sommes Charlie,” 2015. Category: Current events.

This book, published shortly after the terrorist attacks against the newspaper Charlie Hebdo in January 2015, brings together 60 writers on the subject of freedom of expression, tolerance, and much more. The essays are by contemporary writers like Bernard-Henri Lévy and also classic authors like Voltaire and Beaumarchais. Here, the French try to come to terms with the terrorists and their motives. 

“L'étrangère,” by Valerie Toranian. Category: Current events, commemoration

of the Armenian genocide of 1915. 

Written by a French woman of Armenian descent, the book delves into the life of Aravni, the author's grandmother, who survived the genocide to live and raise a family in France. The grandmother never told the complete story, so the writer beautifully pieces together the story of this “foreigner” in Turkey and “foreigner” in France. Which makes you wonder whether we are all not foreigners, no matter where we live.

Cops and COP21 in Paris

In the aftermath of the Nov. 13, terrorist attacks here in Paris, the city braced itself for the global climate change talks that began last week. What do these two things have in common? Security. Police, armed forces, and security guards are omnipresent.

Some commentators have questioned whether countries should focus on terrorism or the environment, but not France. The country is proceeding with its war on terrorism and its conference to combat climate change. However, the president has toned it down and scaled it down, for instance telling climate activists to stay at home (or else). COP21 is no longer a climate party, just a (yawn) Conference of the Parties.

Shoes placed on the Place de la Republique,
after a climate march was canceled.
Source: www.telegraph.co.uk

In past weeks I have been guilty of contributing to the massive amount of information overload around COP21, helping my company to edit and produce a climate change report. You can see the report here.

"COP21 is no longer a climate party, just a (yawn) Conference of the Parties." 

For me, evidence that this is serious business is that big investors, who don't want to lose their shirts, are looking to put money in green ventures and pull money out of carbon businesses like coal, especially. Why? There's no future in it.

For a long time, especially in my home town of Pittsburgh, the debate was jobs versus the environment. My dad worked at one of the steel mills (and so did I, for one summer). My dad put food on the table at the same time the mill spewed pollution into the air we breathed. It was a cruel bargain.

Downtown Pittsburgh, 1940. images.library.pitt.edu

Today, though, we know how to build a greener economy offering cleaner jobs. We don't have to use the air as a garbage dump. We thought it was a free ride, but now the costs are mounting.

I'm still thinking of what I can do. Take fewer airplane trips, eat less beef, and buy less stuff—that's probably a good start. And I'll save some euros for the daughter's college fund, get some stay-cation sleep, and eat healthier. (To learn more or take action, you might want to see what Pope Francis has to say here.)

COP21 is not the party we wanted. But that's OK. We just need for everyone to get along, get something done, and have a safe trip home.

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."