Speaking of the French

“Write about me,” my French friend commanded.

I was sitting, notebook in hand, trying to think of an idea for today’s blog entry when the words came out of his mouth.

But what is there to write about a surly French Jew wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Ski Iraq?’

So I’ll write about Edith Piaf instead.

I saw the new movie about her a couple of weeks ago. She was a total rock star. She was raised on the streets, in a brothel, and with the circus. She was accused of being an accessory to the murder of her first protégée. She helped the French resistance. She could drink a boatload of sailors under the table. The love of her life was a married boxer.

The thing that makes her a true heartbreaker to me, though, was that she was fervently religious. When she was a child she was afflicted with a disease that made her blind. When her vision came back after a year she spent the rest of her life praying to Saint Therese, whom she would also, later on, accredit with her success and her boxer lover's fighting championship.

Far be it for me to condemn secularism. God knows how much harm the Christian right and beliefs of our president have done to this country. But all the same I like the idea of having a patron saint, one being to turn to when the going gets rough or dreaming the impossible dream seems utterly fruitless.

So mine's going to be Edith Piaf.

Bonne chance.