My May 1968: Part Two (letter to my mother)

University of Lyon during 1968 student occupation. Photo by George Garrigues

                     

  Part Two  (letter to my Mother)

by Carol Rose

                                                        May 12, 1968

Dearest Mother,

You have, as usual, been very faithful and I not.   Nothing from you,  however, since the postal service has closed down.   Actually I need to find some way to get this letter mailed.

This city has been going through a week of great excitement much of it centered here in the  neighborhood… (many parents of adult children have been calling to quiet their fears which were groundless.)  Last evening about 6 big demonstrations culminated in a mass demonstration of  around 600,000 workers  and students which filed by our house 15 abreast for hours straight, singing the International  and shouting slogans such as CRS - assassins (the riot police force), DeGaulle assassin, libérer nos camarades!  Among these comrades were the numerous neighbors in the courtyard who have small children such as mine.    Just behind our friend Marianne”s house, on the rue St. Jacques,  there were two story barricades consisting of cars, taxi signs and general debris built high by the students under the impatiently watchful eyes of the CRS police, chaffing at the bit as the students manufactured homemade weapons such as clubs and boards studded with nails.  Leaning against supports, the pointed ends of the nails marked off spaces for ordinary pedestrians to walk   No workers amongst this crowd!  The CRS police looked like black beetles armed as it were with black shields, wearing shiny black slickers, the whole topped with black helmets, shotguns hanging on their shoulders and machine gun like weapons slung over their backs to be used to shoot tear gas bombs at the rioters. 

Paris: My May 1968

author Carol Rose

 My May 1968  Part One

by Carol Rose

Today it is May 1998,  my hourly companion, the faithful France Culture radio station, has begun to speak of May 1968 in reverent tones; an historical event, without any doubt, which had changed France irrevocably.  

First of all the awareness of time having passed likitysplit’ — thirty years had gone by — then it hit me that the manner I had lived this string of events did not jibe with the reverence in the speaker’s voice.  It struck me as odd as I had not been particularly aware at the time of having lived closely through any major event and yet there I had been in the midst of things I barely understood.  

I understood the excitement of the daily marches taking place on the Avenue in front of our courtyard.  I longed to be out there to join in the upsetting fun.   The pharmacist at the corner on the Place Denfert Rochereau was very mocking of me for he realized how I was longing to be free to join the crowd.  He was appalled by the chaos, the total disorder of the meetings of workers and students which usually originated or ended in front of his shop.  People shouting slogans would climb up onto the Lion de Denfert and wave red anarchist flags.  

Meanwhile, in the courtyard where we occupied an old house with two little children, the concierge, Madame Libé, was fearful and scandalized by the goings-on.  We would stand on the sidewalk of the Avenue, she dressed in purple, wringing her hands at the events taking place before us.  I, a little child on each hand,  was not seeing any danger whatsoever in the quite orderly demonstrators marching by with their slogans and banners.   One child wanted to know where all the people were going..  

HUMOR: One is for Orange Juice, One is for Milk by Susan Richardson

There is only one thing more exciting, more educational and more frustrating than a first pregnancy, and that is explaining the second, third or fourth pregnancies to the end products of the previous ones.

a humorous essay on motherhood

One is for Orange Juice, One is for Milk

 by  Susan Richardson

       There is, first of all, the classic, time honored method of making the big announcement to the other children. It usually goes something like this,

       “Mommy and Daddy have a wonderful surprise for you. There is a baby in Mommy’s tummy!”  I told them with great enthusiasm. Rock, intent as any two year old in his Karo syrup based homemade play-doh, look up and said, “Did you eat one?”

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Featured Submissions: This Is My Quest, To Follow That Star By Roz Warren

The Mature Women's Guide to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness is delighted to feature selected submissions. This week, an essay from author Roz Warren.

Rosalind Warren and Jonathan Coulton

This Is My Quest, To Follow That Star

By: Roz Warren 

Some people love adventure travel. Others seek luxury and comfort. There are globetrotters who head off to a new destination each time, and folks who always return to one much-loved place.  

My nephew Isaac travels to wherever his favorite soccer team is playing, which has brought him to the unlikely vacation venues of Manchester, Stuttgart and Malmo (Sweden.) 

My travel planning is all about Jonathan Coulton.

JoCo is a singer songwriter much loved by a devoted fan base of mostly twenty-something computer nerds. Although you’ve probably never heard of him, on the internet he’s a superstar.