St. Placid: My Old High School

After I posted yesterday I was reminded that I had found a video on-line about my old high school in Olympia:  St. Placid High School.

The school was part of a priory: "[a] small monastery or nunnery that is governed by a prior or prioress."   The word "convent" commonly replaces the word "nunnery" and I'm not if there is really a difference between the two.  "Monastery" is also  used and not just for monks.  I should know but I'm stumped. Does anyone know?

The mother house of St. Placid is the St. Benedict monastery in St. Joseph, Minnesota which has its roots in Germany (Bavaria).  Here is the first video in a series that talks about how these Benedictine sisters came to America in the 19th century.



The St. Placid Priory was founded in the 1950s/1960s in Lacey/Olympia, Washington.  The sisters opened a high school and the first class was graduated in 1965, the year I was born.  It was an all-girls school with uniforms and a deep dedication to the education of young women.  The only male on the premises was Father Edward who taught some of the science classes and who officiated at Mass on Wednesdays.  (Attendance was required even of the non-Catholics.)

Almost all of the teachers were nuns.  The exceptions were two women, native speakers of French and Spanish, who taught the language classes.  The curriculum was (I thought) a nice mix of a "classical" education and a more "modern" one.  Latin was required as well as the modern European languages. The science and math classes were small - so small that individual attention was the norm.
The English classes were divided up into grammar classes (a lot of diagramming sentences) and creative writing where we read the great poets (and wrote poetry) and memorized long passages from Shakespeare's plays.   History was also a lot of rote memorization.  Sister would drop a map of the world (or a region) on our desks and we had to fill in the country names or the rivers or the capitals or the mountains.   Similar quizzes for dates and  important events in world (and US) history.  We did a lot of essay writing as well.

It was a very rigorous education that focused on doing a few things very well.  This was the minimum that the nuns felt an educated person should know (and not just those bound for college): writing in complete sentences; literacy in mathematics and science; basic world history; geography;  appreciation for the Great Works; and Latin which is the root of the languages we would later study, and a source of much vocabulary in English.

The tuition was very affordable.  I don't think the nuns were paid very much (if at all) and there were arrangements for families who couldn't pay the modest tuition.   If you wanted a particular kind of Catholic education for your daughter, it was entirely within your reach.

The school was very small, stayed small, and finally closed a few years after I was graduated in 1983.  The priory is still there and in this picture I can see a couple of my old teachers.  See here for a closer look at how some of these women  came to become nuns (Sister Lucy and Sister Monika were two of my teachers.) The sisters now run a Spirituality Center and they host retreats provide spiritual direction for those seeking it.

This video is a tour of the priory and it is lovely.  The buildings have not changed much and the grounds are still as beautiful as ever.  Imagine being a student here for four years in a place so calm and quiet and surrounded by so much natural beauty.


St Placid Priory tour from St. Placid Priory on Vimeo.

Tales from the Homeland: Seattle Gardens

Driving into many French towns and cities you may have noticed a sign right on the outskirts of the city proudly proclaiming this urban area a "ville fleurie" followed by one to four stars.




This is a national competition managed by the Conseil national des villes et villages fleuris, and is meant to promote gardening and green spaces in the many cities, villages and communes in the Hexagon.  The highest rating - four stars - is rarely given by the council of public sector representatives and professionals from the gardening and landscaping industries in France.  (No grade inflation in France - one must work hard to be the best.)  Even Versailles (my city) only has three stars though this year they are working hard to obtain the fourth one and with it the coveted "Fleur d'Or" (Gold Flower) award.

Seattle is also a "ville fleurie" though I know of no national equivalent in the U.S. to this French national concours.  However, what is done in Seattle is very different from a city like Versailles because space is organized differently and there are different limits (social, cultural and legal) to what can be done and what local people in each place would find appropriate.

A few days ago I took a short walk in Phinney Ridge, a neighborhood on a hill above the Ballard District here in Seattle.  I was meeting a friend for tea and on a whim I took my camera along to snap a few pictures of Seattle gardens and gather ideas for my garden at home.  All the pictures that follow were taken within a five block radius of my parent's house.

Public versus Private Spaces

Both my little neighborhood in Versailles (Porchefontaine) and Phinney Ridge have one important thing in common:  they are both what the French call "quartiers pavillionaire" - a residential district of single-family detached houses with gardens in front and in back.

But in Porchefontaine the houses are made of stone (usually pierre meulière) or brick, and in almost all cases a wall of stone or a metal fence encloses the gardens so that cars and pedestrians can only glimpse the interior courtyards and gardens as they pass by.  Gardens, front and back, are private spaces.

Seattle is very different.  The houses are almost exclusively built of wood.  This reflects both the type of local material the area has in abundance (timber) and the origins of the people who first settled here (immigrants from Scandinavia). It is unusual in this city for a front garden or yard to be enclosed in the French manner - the public space of a Seattle house extends from the house proper through the front garden and over the sidewalk onto what is called the "parking strip" - a small bit of earth between the sidewalk and the street.

Here is a classic Seattle wood house built on a small hill with a front garden open for viewing from the street, a retaining wall and the parking strip planted with the same plants that are used in the main garden.  There is no fence and no locked gate - anyone can walk up to the front door and ring the door bell.

If the front garden is public, the back gardens are more private spaces.  This is the garden the Seattle homeowner might fence in or shield in some way from the public. These are the private or secret garden which are not usually visible from the street but are meant to provide exclusive beauty for the owners and the closest neighbors.

The Parking Strip - An Appropriated Space

This is the area between the sidewalk and the street.  In my youth I recall that most were planted with grass which made it easier for people who parked on the street to get out of their cars. They were low maintenance but not no maintenance - it was expected that the homeowners keep the grass and edges neatly trimmed.   Technically this space belongs to the city but over the years homeowners have appropriated the space.  For the most part this is tolerated by the city as long as the gardeners follow a few rules:  no blocking the sidewalk and the city must give authorization for anything large and elaborate like trees.

In some cases where the homeowners have very small plots of land, the planting strip has actually become their main garden upon which they lavish all their love and attention.

Some plant spectacular flowers gardens like this one that are a feast for the eyes:

Here is one with a stunning use of ground cover to create a small multi-coloured bit of heaven:

Others use the space for vegetable beds:

Community Gardens

St. John's United Lutheran church took this idea bit further and created an organic community garden for both the pleasure of parishioners and local residents.  Planted and maintained by local gardeners it provides fresh vegetables and fruit for the church's soup kitchen (a resto du coeur for the homeless).

As you enter the garden there is a sign that says:

Hi neighbors!

We hope you enjoy this community garden.

The food crops are grown for the Soup Kitchen here at St. John's United.

If you like berries or snap peas,
please feel free to take one or two,
but kindly leave most, so we can
provide them to Soup Kitchen clients
who need fresh food.

Garden Fantasy

Finally, many Seattle gardens have a touch of whimsy about them.  This can take the form of original art or small statues or bird baths scattered around the garden to both personalize it and to offer the owner or viewer something that surprises or amuses.

In this front garden which I pass by often the owner was both a gardener and an artist and he decided to give his work a prominent place in front of his house.  I don't know why it works, but it does:

In this front garden is a truly original garden design - a chessboard set right in the middle of the garden:

This lush fern-filled shade garden is filled with stone gnomes and dancing frogs:

This is why we should travel.  To see familiar things (the plants, for example, are pretty much the same in both countries) organized and displayed in different ways.  Gardens are universal;  but how one gardens is particular to a place and is influenced not only by geography and climate but also culture and local laws and mores.

To those who may look at some of my photos and say, "Not in my backyard,"  I would counter, "Absolutely in my backyard" - the goal being to create a harmonious blend of the best of both worlds.

And when I head home in a few weeks I do plan on adapting some of the things I found here in Seattle to the local context.  A little multi-cultural mixup to add a little touch of Seattle to my very own "ville fleurie" in France.

The Flophouse Garden in Versailles, France (needs whimsy)

Tales from the Homeland: Driving in Seattle

Minor crisis this morning:  It was 5 AM and we were almost out of coffee.  Since we are still suffering from jet-lag, this is not good at all.  First order of business today was to head to the market for some beans.

I took the car.  First time I've driven any motor vehicle in two or three years since I don't have a French driver's license and I always take the public transportation.  My mother actually checked my Washington State license before giving me the keys - she thought it was expired - and suggested that I do a short trip to remember how to drive in the city.

I made it to the store just fine;  Seattle drivers are much less aggressive than Parisians (though some have guns so I wouldn't push it), the streets are wide and the signage is good.  I found the coffee, bought some half and half and some Peach Passion Fruit Scones.  By the time I made it to the checkout I was falling asleep again and the nice young woman behind the counter asked me if I was alright.  I replied that I was a bit jet-lagged and that led to a short conversation about what I was doing in Seattle.

All was going according to the Shopping in Seattle Cultural Script and I was pulling out my credit card  to pay when she looked at me and asked, "Do they have credit cards in France?"  Why, yes, I replied and I showed her my BNP (National Bank of Paris) Visa card.

I don't want to be hard on such a lovely young lady and there really is no such thing as a stupid question as far as I'm concerned.  However, I couldn't help but think that here was a poster child for why Americans really do need to get out of the United States from time to time.

Made it back home without killing any pedestrians and marched at once into the kitchen where I ground some beans and made everyone nice, hot, very strong, cups of coffee.

Seattleites are crazy about coffee.  Starbucks was born in this city and on every street there are coffee vendors selling pretty damn good brew.   This has been true for many many years.  When I was at university in the early 1980's my haunt was a little place called The Last Exit on Brooklyn. The service was slow, the boys were cute and you could order one coffee and then kick back to study or talk with friends for hours and never get kicked out.  And, of course, you could smoke.  It was a little slice of heaven.

On Being an American

Love where you're from but bloom where you're planted.

Flophouse Motto 

Asking a migrant if she prefers her home country to her country of residence is a little like asking a child if she loves her father more than her mother.  It's an unfair question.  To the people urging us long-term Americans abroad to just go ahead and renounce already, they are taking that question one step farther and asking not only which one do you love more, but which one would you disavow if we made you choose?  

Now I'm a goofy old lady who firmly believes that love shared is not love halved.  I will never accept the premise that one can only love one country at a time and I reject any model that says that ideally we should all be serial monogamists (or that a person can't have two mothers/fathers).

I had an epiphany the other day.  I may have spent most of my adult life outside the U.S. but I was born and raised here in Seattle.  No one can take away the first 20 years or so of my life.  I am an American and will always be one even if I decide to forgo the pretty blue passport.  Cutting ties by relinquishing/renouncing will mean cutting my ties to a political community but here's the kicker:   America is so much more than that.  There is a nation beyond the government and perhaps it's time to start putting the people above the state.  Yes, if I renounce I would no longer be an American citizen, but I would still be an American by culture, blood, language, and inclination.  I am part of the collective memory of this country and no one on this planet (not  the US Congress or the President or the homelanders) can take that away from me. 

And they can't take it away from anyone else either.  To the Canadian/American reader who left a comment about how distressed she was about giving up her U.S. citizenship, I'd just like to say that as far as I'm concerned she's an American as long as she wants to be one with or without her U.S. passport.  So she won't be able to vote anymore in US elections.  Big deal.   It's not like American citizens themselves do that with any regularity. 

Thinking about it this way makes me much more serene about the whole business.  What do you think of this motto for those of us thinking about renouncing? "Forget the state and just be a child of the nation."  

Just a few thoughts coming out of my jet-lagged brain this morning.

Two Birds Tattoo was a bust.  They are booked until late August and at that time we'll be flying out to Quebec.  So today we are on a quest for another tattoo parlor and we plan to check out Slave to the Needle in Ballard some time today.  

Already got the Seattle punk haircut this afternoon... 

Easing Back Into America

I have had yet another salutary lesson as to why "living in the wreckage of the future" is not only futile, it's downright dumb.

I flew out of Charles de Gaulle airport Monday morning on a Delta/Air France direct flight to Seattle.  First surprise came when I was upgraded to Economy Comfort - something I only realized when I actually got to my seat and saw that I had space.  I was so delighted I grabbed the nearest flight attendant and said "Thank you!'  We got to talking in that easy way Americans have of chatting and exchanging information and it turned out that she has a family member with breast cancer.  For the entire flight this very nice woman made sure that I was comfortable, checked up on me several times during the flight and even brought me some hot tea.

The other members of the cabin crew were equally good.  The announcements were few but pertinent and rather droll.  At the beginning of the flight they pointed out that we were flying on a Boeing 767 "Made in Washington State."  At the end of the flight as we flew down the corridor between the mountains, they made sure we saw The Mountain (Mount Rainier) in all its glory.  

The food was great.  The in-flight entertainment system had a lot more choices than remembered:  movies, HBO specials....  Caught part of season three of Game of Thrones, discovered Mildred Pierce and laughed for over an hour watching a Chris Rock special.  I'm a huge fun of the last.  I'm not sure this would make sense to American homelanders but listening to him reminded me of all the reasons I like my country of origin and my compatriots.  Rock is irreverent, crude, politically incorrect, wicked smart and oh so right about a great many things.

Going through immigration was just fine.  The border officer didn't bat an eye when I told him I lived in France.  He laughed when I replied to his question "Brought anything?' with "Actually I'm planning on doing all my shopping here and taking it all back to France."  And when he asked the purpose of my trip and I said, "Seeing my Mom,"  he smiled, handed me my passport and said, "Welcome home."

Now if we could just clone this guy...

My parents picked me up at the airport and, as promised, I had a very soft landing.  Before I knew it we were in Phinney Ridge getting out of the car and I was planted on the couch in the kitchen gulping down a fresh peach smoothie (my Mom has come a long way from those ghastly tofu milkshakes she made me as a child) and eating the elder Frenchling's chocolate chip cookies.

Got up at 5 AM this morning, made coffee and have been perusing the stacks of books scattered all over the house.  If I'm up to it this morning I plan to head over to Two Birds Tattoo to talk to Tara about my next bit of body art.

All in all it's good to be back for a visit.

More later.