These cats and dogs, all on leashes, were with a homeless man. They all seemed well fed and healthy and they all loved him. He let me take the photo if I gave him some money for pet food.

Border-Less in France

A lot of people, I have heard, get married in order to gain the proper papers, if not a passport, to live in a foreign country. I remember seeing a movie called Green Card about this very thing. That wasn’t what I had in mind when I married Maurice. He was the one who suggested we apply for French citizenship for me. We started the process in Texas at the French consulate in Houston. Like everything done in France, it required all sorts of paperwork and copies of everything that had anything to do with my life in America -such as divorce papers- and then, it all had to be translated into French. We made a special trip to Houston twice to get everything signed and submitted. Before we could even start the process, we had to have been married for a year, which we were.
I did find out that I didn’t have to give up my citizenship in America to become a French citizen, which I’m not sure I could have done in any case. I thought it would be rather cool to be a citizen of both countries by-passing the long lines of American tourists at immigration at Charles de Gaulle terminal or, in fact, any country now in the European Union, to go the shorter French citizen line and show my French passport and then get to do the opposite when I arrived in the States.
Of course, there is more to being a French citizen than immigration lines. I can vote now. I will probably negate Maurice’s vote with mine, although there is no way I would have voted for Le Pen at the last election. He had some very strange ideas on how to run France which seemed to have a lot to do with kicking all of the immigrants out of the country, one of which would have been me. I heard that he was also married to an American. Anyway, he came off as a racist and I would have voted along with Maurice for Chirac. Maurice doesn’t like Chirac or his political beliefs. Every time we see Chirac on the television Maurice says, “Big Liar” but he held his nose and voted for him. I guess Maurice is what would be called a Socialist and that seems to be very close to an American Democrat. I always call him a “Pinko Commie” just to kid him. He and I don’t agree about political parties such as the Green Party and the things they do to get their point across and he laughs when I call them “tree huggers”.
One benefit of my new status as a French citizen is that I can run for political office if the desire ever arose. As this thought never entered my head in the United States I don’t think it is going to in France. I could even run for President of France. It doesn’t matter that I was not born in France as it does in the States. As a citizen of France I can seek asylum in a French embassy should the need ever arise. I guess now I could take my pick of the French or American Embassy if I find myself in trouble in a foreign country. And, I can have my name changed to something more French, if I wish. Maybe I should try Bridget. That sounds so French to me. Few French people can pronounce Linda. I am always called Leenda.
Being a citizen will give me access to the excellent medical system in France. I had this privilege already, simply by being Maurice’s wife but now I will always have access to it no matter what should happen in the future. I will get my own social security number and it will not be attached to Maurice’s. If, someday years from now, I should be really old and destitute, I will be given a certain amount of money each year for living expenses.
Prior to my citizenship, I did get what is called a Card de Sèjour. Maurice made that a priority as soon as we moved to Paris. It just made me “legal”, as a green card does with immigrants in the States. I could work with it, that is if I could have found a job that didn’t require me to be bilingual. With my qualifications and background I thought I could get a job as a nurse at the American Hospital here in Paris but when I called I was told I had to speak French to work there. I have heard that most of the doctors and patients there are French. I got to thinking about how stressful it is starting a new job in the operating room at some hospital in the States even with my fluency in English and imagined trying to work in some French operating room without being perfectly bilingual and how stressful that would be. Plus, every instrument, patient position, and medicine would not be familiar to me, even if I could speak French. So, I put that idea behind me.
When I finally got the paperwork that said everything was in order for me, I went to our local Mairie to become a citizen. Needless to say I was apprehensive. In the States, new citizens have to know the answers to some questions about American history and the workings of our laws and government, which requires some command of the English language. Who knows, even the recipe for apple pie may be required. New citizens have to take the Pledge of Allegiance and swear to uphold the laws and defend America against invaders. There is a special ceremony for all of this; sparklers might be supplied along with tiny American flags for the celebration. And after all this, the new American citizens have the privilege of being called for jury duty.
But I digress. Anyway, on my special day, I dressed up and went to the Mairie with Maurice where we entered an office, I signed a paper, and that was it. What a relief! I had spent the morning being terrified that someone was going to ask me some questions in French on French history or government, AND expect me to respond in French. As I thought about it I realized how little I knew about French history. Let’s see - Marie Antoinette was beheaded, Louis XIV had a lot of neat furniture designs named after him, and Chirac is a Big Liar. Would that be enough information?
Of course, now I must brace myself for the inevitable question: “You mean you are a French citizen and you don’t know how to speak French?” I think I am going to have to make more of an effort to be more fluent. It all seems a little overwhelming to me since I know how difficult it is. I will even have to learn the darn French anthem, La Marseille, which I understand is a little bloody and brutal. Surely every French citizen should be able to sing it. I can hum it, but I don’t think that counts.
Well, it turned out that I had dressed up and been nervous for nothing. There was no anthem or pledge; there were no questions; no one talking to me in French, no music, and no hand over my heart. But it worked. I am now a French citizen.