Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Random Notes on a Pilgrimage to Provence

It seemed a reasonable trade: South Georgia for Provence in July. It was.

Provence is easy. A throng of tourists and a lot of lavender. A perfect place, until I reached the Hertz counter. I wanted a Hummer (don’t all Americans?). I rented a BMW.

The natives speak French. I got the guy with the big smile who “No parlez Inglis.” He spoke fast and figured numbers faster. I understood nothing, except that the rental would cost a little less than the purchase. I shrugged, picked a number. No clue what I obligated myself to. I later learned. I should have purchased!

French navigation systems employ English housewives. Ours was a charming lady with a calm voice. It’s good to have an authoritative intercessor dishing up directions. Many divorces begin when spouses drive in foreign lands. We often heard a pleasant, “Please make a U-turn immediately.” Unlike other female voices, she never prefaced it with “You idiot.”


‘Paradise in Provence’ is a restored six-house compound in the true French farm-house tradition. It’s in St. Remy. Our caravan of 26 pilgrims called it home base for two weeks. It’s not advisable to occupy close quarters with 26 friends. It’s a breeding ground for dissention. Worse, your wine disappears faster. It’s not a good thing to know too much about your friends.

St. Remy is better than Macon, but not by much. It has little to offer. Its notoriety comes from having once housed in the local asylum a long-deceased mad artist of posthumous renown by the name of Vincent Van Gogh. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. We visited his room in the stark hospital. Then we understood why he painted such things as black crows, meteorites and sunflowers. Shock treatments and other inhumane tortures tend to produce strange effects on people.

Provence highways are littered with roundabouts. Directional signs are small and come hurdling at you like the horn-blaring Renaults trailing behind. Decisions must be quick. We kept a well-stocked supply of wine, just in case. Wine dulls cognitive senses, so we learned the trick of going round and round until consensus could be reached as to the route. We did that a lot and were usually wrong. The English lady hung with us through it all. As far as we could tell, she didn’t drink wine.

In France one’s expected to eat well and drink wine. We did both, early and often. Menus are priced in Euros. The Euro is a common currency among bankrupt countries. We learned too late all menus are not alike: one for locals, another for tourists. Women are never given the ones with prices. Guess what happens?

The villages are lovely, if you like retro-antiquity, musty churches and steep slick stone walks. Parking is available in most, especially if you don’t mind walking several miles. We felt right at home because ‘Made in China’ is a common logo on merchandise in many shops. A Confederate flag flew in one. Go figure!

Cafes are crowded. Starving, we once found a secluded bistro willing to serve us. Later I understood why. The only item recognizable on the menu was mashed potatoes. Cost? 85 Euros. I followed the advice of Charlie, my gourmand friend, and ordered the cheapest thing…water. It was early morning when we finished washing the dishes!

I kept seeing signs for Huile D’ Olive. Strange name for a man. A franchise, I figured. I wondered who this fellow was. I later found out he’s the Col. Sanders of olive oil. I purchased some. He must be a very rich man with all those signs.

We ran out of money and came home. When we arrived in Orlando our old friend, Humidity, hounded us. It terrorized the women, whose hair hung from their heads like cords from a damp mop. Ah, the South!

That notwithstanding, the Custom Agent greeted us in a slow, southern drawl with the words, “Welcome Home.” I understood that!

We have other tidbits of travel in Provence. I’ll share these another time. But I feel it necessary to leave you with one caveat about travel in Provence: Take Visa or MasterCard. As for American Express, “Leave home without it!”

Bud Hearn
July 28, 2011

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Dodging the Bullet

Charles is a childhood friend. He called recently, lamenting the drought. Said Spring Creek was almost bone dry. Said he was ‘dunked’ in it for baptism. I asked if it took. He said, “Yes…so far.” Strange comment for a pecan farmer.

I have another friend. His name is Charlie. He’s a lawyer. We call him ‘The Master of Equivocation.’ Perfectly normal for a lawyer. He should meet the pecan farmer. They’re artful dodgers of total commitment.

They’re both adept in the art of using ‘language qualifiers’, verbal escape hatches, to evade detection or avoid absolute commitments. They answer every, “How are you?” with the stock reply, “Well, so far, so good.” Can’t pin ‘em down.

Don’t laugh. We all do it. Take a simple “I love you.” Pretty straight-forward statement of commitment. Add a qualifier, “I love you (3 second pause) …today.” A slick side-step with the inclusion of one word. The door remains open to reverse direction tomorrow.

We use ‘qualifiers’ regularly. The Big Bubba of ‘em all is ‘But.’ Suppose someone asks you “How about a movie?” Say you really don’t want to go. How do you respond with decorum? “Great (pause)…but not tonight.” How simple…hedge your bets while at the same time remain agreeable. There’re others.

Following in the shadow of ‘But’ is ‘If.’ O, you know how that one works. It’s a cheap trick. Easy to master. ‘Only’ is its companion. Suppose a spouse asks, “Can we take a vacation?” An ambivalent escape could be, “Sure, if only….” Door wide open, anything could get in the way.

I had a friend once who had perfected only one equivocation, “Yeah, but….” It was his mantra for life. He responded to everything with the caveat, “Yeah, but….” He lived in a dark hole of indecision.

After ‘If’ comes ‘Unless.’ Maybe the question is, “How about we go out for dinner?” A getaway could be as simple as, “Well, maybe, unless…” Is it No, is it Yes? Who knows? Leaves opportunity for a multitude of excuses, real or manufactured.

I have some personal favorites. Silence is one. For example, suppose my wife asks the universal question, “What do you want for dinner?” Silence. More silence. She says, “Well?” Silence. Then I say, “I’m thinking.” It gives time to turn things around, “What do you want?” Zing, back into her court. I leave the room before things get violent!

Smiles are another favorite, especially when used with Silence. Smiles give the impression of agreement, but not the reality of it. You can add to that a head fake…cocking it to one side or another, kinda like a dog does when you talk to it. Or a shoulder shrug. Perhaps a palms-up expression. These indicate you’re earnestly considering matters. When used collectively, they constitute the ultimate in avoidance.

Why do we equivocate? Because we hate absolutes. Basically, we’re cowards. I always hated tests in school. Especially the Yes or No questions. Too black and white, no wiggle room. There’s safety in ambivalence!

Cowards avoid capture by dodging absolute assertions. Hem-hawing is their way of life. They live lives of ‘Maybe,’ not the dangerous lives of absolutes. Marriage vows come to mind. Did you have any idea of the consequences of having asserted, “Yes, I do?” What if the vow had been “Maybe, I do?” Equivocation rules!

The list of escape-hatch words is long…Perhaps, nevertheless, soon, yet, in a minute, and well, to name a few. You have your own list of preferences. But there’s one qualifier that reaches the summit of beating around the bush… ‘The Laugh.’

After we drop a qualifying-bomb, ‘The Laugh’ softens the blow. It leaves them hanging, wondering…is he joking, is she serious, is it yes, is it no? It’s the master-stroke of vacillation.

I’ve about had enough of writing this. I would like to further educate you on the arrogance of evasion, ‘but’…….

Bud Hearn
July 7, 2011