The quiet fox

In the Native American tradition, the fox is an important totem animal and signifies certain strengths.

• Camouflage or the ability to blend in with surroundings while keeping your intentions private
• Ability to move through new dimensions
• Growth or creation of new worlds within yourself

I was traveling home on the train, from the city center in Paris to my home in the suburbs, and it was an uneventful trip for most of the way. My fellow passengers and I stared with restless boredom at a newspaper, at our hands, or at each other.

I decided to open my new briefcase. The downside of its design, which I discovered the hard way, is that you have to pay attention to how you open it. If you open the zippers on both sides, the briefcase playfully opens at an amazing rate of speed and dumps all of its contents on the floor.

And voila, this is what happened to me. My mobile phone hit the floor, some papers gently floated across the aisle of the train, and a pen rolled under some seats. A woman kindly came to my assistance, even though she had a baby in a stroller. I thanked her and she returned to talking with her friend in a mixture of French and an African language.

I am a étrangère (‘stranger’) also, but my foreignness is not as obvious. I am white, blonde and blue-eyed. Like the African women, my origins are easily betrayed when I speak in English or with the American twang that I cannot eliminate when speaking French. But I have been told that I fall into the category of a ‘good immigrant’ because I work, I am married to a French man and I have willingly adopted many French customs.

I am not bitter about this; I am simply a realist about some of the ironies of adapting to life in a new country. Similar to the camouflage of a fox, if I behave, dress and conform to the French cultural norm, my origin and my ‘petit accent’ are accepted and sometimes even seen as charming.

What happened next on my train commute is when beauty intersected ugliness. A tall, very slim young French woman stood in front of me, looking at her phone. There was not an ounce of fat or a stray hair on her young proud body. This modern goddess tossed her long hair and gazed with disinterest at her audience.

Her understated but expensive style of clothing suggested to me that she would get off the train in a city two stops ahead of mine, a town known for its traditional 'bourgeois' ambiance. Her cold yet undeniably spectacular physical perfection provided all of us on the train with a welcome visual distraction.

But back to ugliness...it happened in seconds. The train stopped at the station (I guessed correctly - it was indeed the town I thought of) and the young woman got ready to open the door. At the same time, the African women’s baby stroller rolled forward, accidentally bumping the French woman’s silver-sandaled foot.

The women immediately apologized, with shy smiles that showed no bad intent. But the young woman's face became distorted with emotion -- instant anger, a frown of disapproval and then a hard look. She said nothing but turned her back and walked off the train.

I watched her walk along the platform in the train station. Her hair moved in the breeze, her long legs moved like a model on a runway, and her perfectly shaped face was set in an expressionless mask. Yet how ugly she suddenly seemed...and her soul walked heavily behind, casting a dark shadow over each step she took.

It all happened very quickly and then the train moved forward again. Passengers returned to staring at newspapers or each other.

Like a fox, I watched silently, and stepped back into the forest again.

A very successful man

I learned recently that my former father-in-law died. It's been about 9 years since I've seen him. After my divorce, I tactfully backed away from regular contact with my ex-husband's family. Not for any reasons of bitterness or unresolved issues, simply to enable my ex and me to follow our new life paths. But thinking of Jacob's passing brings back memories and I feel the need to write about him.

Jacob was a humble man about his many accomplishments in life. He was very successful but not in the flashy or excessive way that modern society notices. I would say that in terms of things that really matter in life -- raising a family, being a good husband and father, and being a decent human being, Jacob's life was a real success story.

Like many men of his generation, Jacob felt things deeply although he didn't always articulate these thoughts. This was the era of men who preferred to sort out their thoughts by watering the lawn or pruning a bush. He grew up in France and experienced WW II as a young man. In the aftermath of the war, Jacob saw many terrible things and this caused him to doubt the existence of God. Yet I never heard him speak of hate. In contrast, he valued harmony in all forms -- within his family, his circle of friends, with neighbors, or his customers. I have a funny memory of him wearing a baseball cap with the inscription "One world - One love" on it. He retained an Old World sensibility yet was tenderly amused by the brash openness and optimism of American culture.

He had a strong love of animals and at one time considered becoming a veterinarian. But the need to support a growing family, three sons in all, turned Jacob's talents toward the practical world of business. He excelled as a top salesman and was a motivational manager. If I had taken the time to ask Jacob for business advice, I probably could have learned a lot. But at that point in my life, I felt that I knew all the answers, and I was more interested in doing than listening. Jacob never made the annual list of top executives at Forbes magazine. However as a person, he topped any list for his qualities of honesty, dedication and integrity. Jacob was a greater success than some of the ethically bankrupt executives that I have interviewed as a journalist over the years.

Jacob loved his garden and delighted in his blooming cactus plants and fuchsias. In my mind's eye, I can see him carefully studying his plant kingdom. When I needed some quiet time at large family gatherings, I would go outside and admire Jacob's efforts in the garden. Sometimes he would walk along with me, making friendly and low-key small talk, explaining the nuance of a particular flower. Jacob's kindness extended to plants and to people alike.

In his retirement years, Jacob took up ceramics as a hobby. Working with clay, at this time of his life, was an interesting physical and mental activity. He enjoyed being around people yet the act of creating a vase is a solitary activity that lends itself well to contemplation. I think this new hobby was an interesting catharsis in some ways. In a practical sense, his first bowls were very heavy and the glaze was uneven. But his talent quickly evolved and the bowls and vases became lighter, finer and objects of beauty. Every eye that saw them, wanted one -- soon Jacob's creations were adorning tables and shelves in the homes of family and friends. Even strangers would comment and want to buy them. What started as a casual past-time became an avenue for personal expression.

I still have a small multicolored vase from an early artistic learning phase that I would describe as 'Jacob discovers color'. Bright patches of blue, purple, orange and yellow form a colorful mosaic. The vase has been in a closet, forgotten for years, but today I remembered it and washed the dust off. I've added some daisies and put it on a table in my office. The colors remind me to be happy and "enjoy life." I think Jacob would like that.

From beautiful to ugly, in just a few seconds...

I was traveling home on the train and it was an uneventful trip for most of the way. The warm weather made people quiet and we stared with restless boredom at the floor, at each other, or our hands.

I decided to open my new briefcase from Muji (www.muji.com). I bought it because of the minimalist Japanese styling and it's the right size for my portfolio. The only downside, which I discovered the hard way during my commute, is that you have to pay attention to how you open it. If you open the zippers on both sides, the briefcase playfully opens at an amazing rate of speed and dumps all of its contents on the floor.

And voila, this is what happened to me. Fortunately I did not have anything embarrassing inside the briefcase. But my portable phone hit the floor, some papers gently floated across the aisle of the train, and a pen rolled under some seats. A woman kindly came to my assistance, even though she had a baby in a stroller. I thanked her and she returned to talking with the friend next to her in a mixture of French and an African language.

What happened next is when beauty intersected ugliness. A tall, very slim young French woman stood in front of me, looking at her portable phone. Her understated but expensive style of clothing suggested to me that she would get off the train in a city two stops ahead of mine, a town known for its 'bourgeois' ambiance. There was not an ounce of fat nor a pimple or stray hair on her young proud body. This modern goddess tossed her long hair and gazed with disinterest at her audience.

Her cold yet undeniably spectacular physical perfection provided all of us on the train with a welcome visual distraction. It also conveniently blocked my view of an older man across the aisle, who coughed loudly and stared at every move I made. Perhaps my tumbling briefcase captured his imagination and he was eagerly waiting for an encore.

But back to ugliness...it happened in seconds. The train stopped at the station (I guessed correctly - it was indeed the town I thought of) and the lovely Ice Queen got ready to open the door. At the same time, the African women got up and pushed the baby stroller to the door, accidentally bumping Queenie's silver-sandaled foot. They immediately apologized, with shy smiles that showed no bad intent. But the young woman's face became distorted with emotion -- instant anger, an frown of disapproval and then a hard look. She said nothing but turned her back and walked off the train.

I watched her from the window as the train rolled out of the station. Her hair moved in the breeze, her long legs moved like a model on a runway, and her perfectly shaped face was set in an expressionless mask. Yet how ugly she suddenly seemed...and her soul walked heavily behind, casting a dark shadow over each step she took.