tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-262345672024-03-14T04:22:02.564+01:00My Glamourous Life in Pariswampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-46685213812630041912008-06-16T21:16:00.001+02:002008-06-16T21:18:08.688+02:00My New Blog HomeIn case you're wondering what I'm up to these days, go check out my latest alternative to having a midlife crisis (or perhaps it is one, in disguise): <a href="http://www.roadmuse.com/">www.roadmuse.com</a><br /><br />It's a "musing" and video blog, made with my husband and creative partner Cedric (actually he did all the hard work of making the website; I just breeze in and out being creative whenever I feel like it).<br /><br />Hope to see you in another blogging universe....and keep eating your greens!wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-36889922255478883612008-05-02T08:23:00.002+02:002008-05-02T08:39:56.451+02:00Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBqznhAxs5I/AAAAAAAAAjo/iO_dlzfavi8/s1600-h/DSC03562.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBqznhAxs5I/AAAAAAAAAjo/iO_dlzfavi8/s320/DSC03562.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195662611583185810" border="0" /></a><br />What I didn't do in Paris:<br /><br />I didn't become a famous artist, nor did I stage an awesome comeback with my band (save that for next decade!).<br /><br />I didn't master the subjunctive, and words like "moelleux" and "citrouille" continue to smirk at me, daring me to try to pronounce them.<br /><br />I didn't become a French chef, and the sad fact is I still don't know how to use a knife and fork properly.<br /><br />I didn't write a book about being an expat in France (though I could have!).<br /><br />But I did make some good friends here. I did look at a lot of things, and a lot of people, and I even painted some of them. I had a lot of experiences that I wouldn't have had if I had stayed in my cozy apartment in Oakland, and I guess that's the reason I came here in the first place.<br /><br />So now I am leaving France with my five senses intact, ready to work on whatever's next. Non, je ne regrette rien... (except maybe those extra helpings of gratin dauphinois...)wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-42034372728258460352008-04-30T08:42:00.002+02:002008-05-02T09:03:10.133+02:00Last Day in Paris<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq4HRAxs6I/AAAAAAAAAjw/xesgCrIY4PA/s1600-h/DSC03585.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq4HRAxs6I/AAAAAAAAAjw/xesgCrIY4PA/s320/DSC03585.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195667555090543522" border="0" /></a><br />Today is May 1st, a national holiday, and Paris is a car-free city (almost). I feel a bit like Will Smith in I Am Legend, walking the streets in search of other humans (I'm exaggerating, of course; there are always other humans in Paris, even on a national holiday, it's one of the things that makes the city an interesting, exciting place to live).<br /><br />But it made me wonder: would I have stayed here if there had been less cars, or less people? Would I have stayed if I had had the house and garden - the <span style="font-style: italic;">space</span> - that I dream of having? But then it wouldn't be Paris, it would be somewhere else. Maybe someday they will get rid of the cars and Paris will be transformed into a green city. There are already many encouraging signs pointing that way. But it will always be a dense, packed place. And I am seeking wider spaces, more open spaces...so I must bid this beautiful lady <span style="font-style: italic;">au revoir</span>, for now. See you in my dreams...wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-84050576991445883952008-04-29T08:55:00.001+02:002008-05-02T09:04:15.893+02:00Time For a Change<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq7NhAxs7I/AAAAAAAAAj4/33EbuOmad_U/s1600-h/DSC03566.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq7NhAxs7I/AAAAAAAAAj4/33EbuOmad_U/s320/DSC03566.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195670960999609266" border="0" /></a><br />I can't believe it. The window in Avize that has been untouched for the last six years has finally CHANGED! I'm taking it as a sign for me too, to move on.<br /><br />Farewell lovely Champagne, lovely vineyards and kitschy store windows. Farewell lush farmland and valleys and forests full of wild mushrooms and even wilder boars (though I never saw one).<br /><br />Farewell, farewell, anon, hither, parting is such truly sweet sorrow!wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-73859835268727514992008-04-28T17:36:00.000+02:002008-05-02T09:02:13.829+02:00Back from Japan!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBiSLBAxs4I/AAAAAAAAAjg/tJ9Jfrhe6w0/s1600-h/DSC02592.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBiSLBAxs4I/AAAAAAAAAjg/tJ9Jfrhe6w0/s320/DSC02592.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195062888119776130" border="0" /></a><br />A wondrous trip. Too many things to blog about but I'll try to get around to posting some here and there. We arrived in Nagoya at the tail end of the cherry blossom season. What a delight: the world in pink. It almost made me want to write haikus. Just got back to Paris and my eyes are still readjusting to gray....wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-61445595185144992962008-04-28T09:13:00.001+02:002008-05-02T09:25:12.111+02:00Food in Japan (both fast and slow)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBlxAxtHI/AAAAAAAAAlc/l6yY3hUCT4M/s1600-h/DSC02671.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBlxAxtHI/AAAAAAAAAlc/l6yY3hUCT4M/s320/DSC02671.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195677974681203826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBmBAxtII/AAAAAAAAAlk/l3uYXhqlKHA/s1600-h/DSC02876.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBmBAxtII/AAAAAAAAAlk/l3uYXhqlKHA/s320/DSC02876.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195677978976171138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBmhAxtJI/AAAAAAAAAls/f85WWOe7RHE/s1600-h/DSC02959.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBrBmhAxtJI/AAAAAAAAAls/f85WWOe7RHE/s320/DSC02959.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195677987566105746" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-RAxtCI/AAAAAAAAAk0/k8bk8sM3EPQ/s1600-h/DSC03083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-RAxtCI/AAAAAAAAAk0/k8bk8sM3EPQ/s320/DSC03083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195676196564743202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-hAxtDI/AAAAAAAAAk8/4Q3bxcwVsTY/s1600-h/DSC03178.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-hAxtDI/AAAAAAAAAk8/4Q3bxcwVsTY/s320/DSC03178.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195676200859710514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-xAxtEI/AAAAAAAAAlE/4k9asB3uL7w/s1600-h/DSC03179.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq_-xAxtEI/AAAAAAAAAlE/4k9asB3uL7w/s320/DSC03179.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195676205154677826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq__BAxtFI/AAAAAAAAAlM/_f7hIWzC5W0/s1600-h/DSC03180.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq__BAxtFI/AAAAAAAAAlM/_f7hIWzC5W0/s320/DSC03180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195676209449645138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq__RAxtGI/AAAAAAAAAlU/Ft8t4_VoupE/s1600-h/DSC02670.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq__RAxtGI/AAAAAAAAAlU/Ft8t4_VoupE/s320/DSC02670.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195676213744612450" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-22771002203974997532008-04-28T09:07:00.000+02:002008-05-02T09:13:30.977+02:00Images of Japan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3BAxs-I/AAAAAAAAAkU/TXZS56e11l8/s1600-h/DSC02784.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3BAxs-I/AAAAAAAAAkU/TXZS56e11l8/s320/DSC02784.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195674972499063778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3RAxs_I/AAAAAAAAAkc/0gfaFjbvVwY/s1600-h/DSC03071.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3RAxs_I/AAAAAAAAAkc/0gfaFjbvVwY/s320/DSC03071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195674976794031090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3hAxtAI/AAAAAAAAAkk/qwVp5LK_Rkc/s1600-h/DSC03111.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-3hAxtAI/AAAAAAAAAkk/qwVp5LK_Rkc/s320/DSC03111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195674981088998402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-4BAxtBI/AAAAAAAAAks/RD9sDF7ZHY8/s1600-h/DSC02615.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-4BAxtBI/AAAAAAAAAks/RD9sDF7ZHY8/s320/DSC02615.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195674989678933010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-ORAxs9I/AAAAAAAAAkM/bF1Iuka7W58/s1600-h/DSC02768.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq-ORAxs9I/AAAAAAAAAkM/bF1Iuka7W58/s320/DSC02768.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195674272419394514" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-53015150896834761412008-04-28T09:04:00.000+02:002008-05-02T09:06:57.459+02:00Reading the Signs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq9LxAxs8I/AAAAAAAAAkE/T8VefyZH6jg/s1600-h/DSC02686.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/SBq9LxAxs8I/AAAAAAAAAkE/T8VefyZH6jg/s320/DSC02686.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195673129958093762" border="0" /></a>This was on the outside of a building, a hair salon, in Kyoto.wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-1576009388535717192008-04-08T10:27:00.000+02:002008-04-10T10:37:07.306+02:00Subtitles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3PqYLo0VI/AAAAAAAAAi0/dBVGgba0p_U/s1600-h/DSC01741.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3PqYLo0VI/AAAAAAAAAi0/dBVGgba0p_U/s320/DSC01741.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187530672753398098" border="0" /></a>As I prepare to leave this glamourous life in Paris for an unknown one in the States, I'm aware that many things - both large and small - will change about my daily environment and influences.<br /><br />For one thing, I won't be reading subtitles in French every time I watch a DVD. I've grown so accustomed to reading the subtitles instead of listening to the dialogue, that I wonder if I will start subconsciously adding them in.<br /><br />(Bonus points if you can guess which movie this is! Clue: It's Hitchcock)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3PqoLo0WI/AAAAAAAAAi8/7vaQfQpqxLo/s1600-h/DSC01757.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3PqoLo0WI/AAAAAAAAAi8/7vaQfQpqxLo/s320/DSC01757.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187530677048365410" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-23137570513659996492008-04-07T10:09:00.002+02:002008-04-10T10:19:53.652+02:00Rainbow Over Boulevard Magenta<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3LaILo0TI/AAAAAAAAAik/juy9zcz_Jrc/s1600-h/DSC02032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3LaILo0TI/AAAAAAAAAik/juy9zcz_Jrc/s320/DSC02032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187525995534012722" border="0" /></a><br />Second double rainbow I've seen this month, after weeks of crazy weather: rain, hail, sleet, and even snow in Paris! After a relatively mild winter, April has been somewhat of a shock. Maybe not the cruelest month, but certainly the coldest.wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-43583697977621517282008-04-02T10:20:00.000+02:002008-04-10T10:26:51.963+02:00Passive Art-Making<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3N6oLo0UI/AAAAAAAAAis/sSi8xGYmgEc/s1600-h/DSC02044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3N6oLo0UI/AAAAAAAAAis/sSi8xGYmgEc/s320/DSC02044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187528752903016770" border="0" /></a><br />The shadow made by a lace curtain, enlarged and stretched onto a canvas primed with blue paint. Who says art-making has to be a struggle?wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-14281344622816595892008-04-01T10:42:00.000+02:002008-04-10T10:43:25.886+02:00Paris Rain, Clouds in Champagne<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TDoLo0XI/AAAAAAAAAjE/QX14LXhfRrk/s1600-h/DSC02236.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TDoLo0XI/AAAAAAAAAjE/QX14LXhfRrk/s320/DSC02236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187534405079978354" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TD4Lo0YI/AAAAAAAAAjM/ZRMUBGnLO5I/s1600-h/DSC02237.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TD4Lo0YI/AAAAAAAAAjM/ZRMUBGnLO5I/s320/DSC02237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187534409374945666" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TD4Lo0ZI/AAAAAAAAAjU/EDc9J0evD38/s1600-h/DSC02243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_3TD4Lo0ZI/AAAAAAAAAjU/EDc9J0evD38/s320/DSC02243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187534409374945682" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-83221306467946756772008-03-31T14:04:00.006+02:002008-03-31T18:17:05.687+02:00Things That Seemed So "Urgente" at the Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DTd3j-oJI/AAAAAAAAAic/cISvOpYnYFg/s1600-h/DSC01946.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DTd3j-oJI/AAAAAAAAAic/cISvOpYnYFg/s320/DSC01946.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183875681187963026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />One of the best things about moving, or change in general (in my ever-so-humble opinion), is that it gives one perspective on what's really "urgent" in life. As you weed through your stuff (and weed, and weed, and weed), you realize that so much of what seemed important once upon a time really wasn't. Or isn't anymore. Like this postcard, stamped in Spain back when there were still pesetas (1997?) - who was I planning to send it to? What was so "urgente" about it? How many things right now seem urgent to me but really aren't? And what energy am I wasting worrying about them?<br /><br />These are the questions one asks as one is confronted with the detritus (love that word!) of several years' worth of life in one place. A day of reckoning, indeed.wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-91136419148020927522008-03-31T13:45:00.006+02:002008-03-31T14:04:16.771+02:00Random Paris Moments (How I Will Miss These!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQXj-oCI/AAAAAAAAAhk/ygbO0zuFSRw/s1600-h/DSC01356.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQXj-oCI/AAAAAAAAAhk/ygbO0zuFSRw/s320/DSC01356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183871051213217826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQnj-oDI/AAAAAAAAAhs/c8EaH9XTPAE/s1600-h/DSC01581.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQnj-oDI/AAAAAAAAAhs/c8EaH9XTPAE/s320/DSC01581.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183871055508185138" border="0" /></a>Mannekins in the window. A man singing "Rock Around the Clock" on the metro, while Russian tourists dance and kiss.<br />A folk singer in a laundromat in the Marais. These are only a handful of the infinite, jewel-like moments that Paris has to offer, the admission price being nothing but feet to walk with and eyes to look.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQ3j-oEI/AAAAAAAAAh0/oyiDp3az6lY/s1600-h/DSC02075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DPQ3j-oEI/AAAAAAAAAh0/oyiDp3az6lY/s320/DSC02075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183871059803152450" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-48717570582043146182008-03-31T13:42:00.002+02:002008-03-31T13:45:14.267+02:00Lovebirds and Their Nest on Valentine's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DOiHj-oAI/AAAAAAAAAhU/nPUgU6TBXnM/s1600-h/DSC01366.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DOiHj-oAI/AAAAAAAAAhU/nPUgU6TBXnM/s320/DSC01366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183870256644268034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DOiHj-oBI/AAAAAAAAAhc/JyvbkdK6Z2U/s1600-h/DSC01675.JPG"><br /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-9193190736190717992008-03-31T13:39:00.002+02:002008-03-31T13:42:29.588+02:00Spring Shadows and Reflections<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_Hj-n7I/AAAAAAAAAgs/iHRs3Nnvapg/s1600-h/DSC01341.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_Hj-n7I/AAAAAAAAAgs/iHRs3Nnvapg/s320/DSC01341.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183869655348846514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_Xj-n8I/AAAAAAAAAg0/iRzTFJ_-xGY/s1600-h/DSC01793.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_Xj-n8I/AAAAAAAAAg0/iRzTFJ_-xGY/s320/DSC01793.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183869659643813826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_3j-n-I/AAAAAAAAAhE/amF2KBKUmHY/s1600-h/DSC02007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DN_3j-n-I/AAAAAAAAAhE/amF2KBKUmHY/s320/DSC02007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183869668233748450" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DOAHj-n_I/AAAAAAAAAhM/vem68CpPD8k/s1600-h/DSC02027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DOAHj-n_I/AAAAAAAAAhM/vem68CpPD8k/s320/DSC02027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183869672528715762" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-18038062328129186082008-03-31T13:33:00.004+02:002008-03-31T13:38:36.495+02:00Lost Gloves in Paris (February)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMlnj-n4I/AAAAAAAAAgU/xvwUEa6noVg/s1600-h/DSC01585.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMlnj-n4I/AAAAAAAAAgU/xvwUEa6noVg/s320/DSC01585.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183868117750554498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMmXj-n5I/AAAAAAAAAgc/gEuGZ9TDBc8/s1600-h/DSC01890.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMmXj-n5I/AAAAAAAAAgc/gEuGZ9TDBc8/s320/DSC01890.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183868130635456402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMmnj-n6I/AAAAAAAAAgk/zNFBtjInBuk/s1600-h/DSC02028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMmnj-n6I/AAAAAAAAAgk/zNFBtjInBuk/s320/DSC02028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183868134930423714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMT3j-n3I/AAAAAAAAAgM/BL_e_-bHyNA/s1600-h/DSC01672.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DMT3j-n3I/AAAAAAAAAgM/BL_e_-bHyNA/s320/DSC01672.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183867812807876466" border="0" /></a><br />Inspired by <a href="http://lostglovesinnewyork.blogspot.com/">friend Jill's lost glove series</a>...wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-4010336903959716772008-03-31T13:08:00.003+02:002008-03-31T13:32:33.629+02:00Enormous Changes (not quite at the last minute)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DGdXj-n2I/AAAAAAAAAgE/C8mqKGQwmCs/s1600-h/DSC01982.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DGdXj-n2I/AAAAAAAAAgE/C8mqKGQwmCs/s320/DSC01982.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183861378946867042" border="0" /></a><br />Gee whiz, golly willikers, it's the end of March already!!! And there is so much to tell - I feel a major surge of blogging about to happen, a backlog of blogs, or "backblog" if you will - so bear with me.<br /><br />In a nutshell, we have sold and moved out of our apartment, shipped, sold, given or thrown away most of our belongings (although there are still boxes and bags yet to be dealt with - oh, the unbearable heaviness of moving!), and have basically been in the process of dismantling the "life we knew" in Paris. Never ones to lose a chance to procrastinate, we have taken our time about it, kind of like slowly working a tooth loose, instead of just tying it 'round a string and slamming the door shut (sorry, but that's the only metaphor I can come up with right now!).<br /><br />Part of this "slow exit strategy" has meant staying in Paris (or nearby), and schlepping ourselves and our slowly-dwindling (but not slowly enough) pile of possessions to and fro, trying not to wear out our welcome as friends and neighbors generously take us in for a night or two (or three or four, or even ten...).<br /><br />Our biggest "task" of late has been making travel plans, figuring this is the moment to go forth and see the world, before we settle into domestic bliss and bloat once more. Meanwhile we have talked and talked and talked about what will be the next place to live, without knowing exactly where (nor how) that will be.<br /><br />In sum, we are officially in limbo. Which is not such a bad place to be, as long as there is good company and a hot cup of tea available from time to time.<br /><br />Stay tuned.wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-596217489077216442008-03-31T12:52:00.001+02:002008-03-31T14:04:38.856+02:00Moments in "the Move"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ-3j-oFI/AAAAAAAAAh8/mz-6KM-aoCY/s1600-h/DSC01979.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ-3j-oFI/AAAAAAAAAh8/mz-6KM-aoCY/s320/DSC01979.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183872949588762706" border="0" /></a>1) Last vegetable lasagne before the colander, pans, knives, and almost everything else were given away.<br />2) The only kitchen stuff we kept, the criterion being beauty, not practicality (natch!).<br />3) Ashes in the grate from old files and papers burned (an extremely satisfying procedure).<br />4) The Empty Space - waiting to be filled again by someone else.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ-3j-oGI/AAAAAAAAAiE/nFP_UxTj2n4/s1600-h/DSC01943.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ-3j-oGI/AAAAAAAAAiE/nFP_UxTj2n4/s320/DSC01943.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183872949588762722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ_Xj-oHI/AAAAAAAAAiM/ojKVMOu18OM/s1600-h/DSC01983.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ_Xj-oHI/AAAAAAAAAiM/ojKVMOu18OM/s320/DSC01983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183872958178697330" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ_3j-oII/AAAAAAAAAiU/AsdrYnidZIA/s1600-h/DSC01994.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R_DQ_3j-oII/AAAAAAAAAiU/AsdrYnidZIA/s320/DSC01994.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183872966768631938" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-88583460810524062922008-03-01T18:53:00.003+01:002008-03-03T14:26:32.031+01:00Whose Stuff Is It Anyway?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R8mYhzoQWbI/AAAAAAAAAf8/jZzVT9lt3iM/s1600-h/DSC01944.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R8mYhzoQWbI/AAAAAAAAAf8/jZzVT9lt3iM/s320/DSC01944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172833353573882290" border="0" /></a><br />One of the common refrains of the last week (other than "Are we ordering sushi or pizza tonight?") has been: "Where on earth did we GET all this stuff??" And the adjunct phrase, "Why on earth have we felt compelled to KEEP it??"<br /><br />Why, indeed. You would think that years of moving, traveling, and reading New Age clutter-clearing manuals would have affected some of my choices regarding the accumulation of material possessions. You would think that living on a six-floor walk-up and knowing that I would likely be moving someday (and likely sooner rather than later), would have been a factor too. Not to mention my professed love of all things sparse, clean, and Japanese-y -- polished wood floors and bare furnishings and all that. But as usual, the reality is a bit far from the ideal. Even after wrapping up 5 meters cubed for shipping (some of which is shown here), selling furniture/appliances/books/etc., throwing out several large trash bags' worth, and giving as much as I could to friends without turning them into enemies - we still have so much left over!<br /><br />It's truly staggering how much crap two people can collect in just a few years, even living in small apartments in Paris without closets or garages or basements (well actually we do have a "cave" - a French basement - but it gives me serious Catacomb-Phantom-of-the-Opera willies, and I've never gone down there, much less stored stuff in it.)<br /><br />I suppose I just have to sigh and accept the fact that I'm more moss-gatherer than rolling stone, at least most of the time.<br /><br />(Written while combing through piles and piles of papers and notebooks, really important essential stuff - like old yoga class schedules and real estate magazines from 2002...)wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-52120142530049198532008-02-21T17:38:00.005+01:002008-02-21T18:10:39.760+01:00Moving Day Only A Week Away!(No photo today because the sky is the color of graying underwear.)<br /><br />I'm moving - I'm crazed - I have a million (ok, only 899,000) annoying little details to attend to before the shippers come tomorrow - and meanwhile I have this almost fervent urge to blog, to write, to paint, to stand on my head and get the blood flowing, to complete at least <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> of the many projects I promised myself I would finish before I left Paris - but nooooo, I must not stray from the task at hand! I must be diligent and organized and efficient, because, because, well, because if I'm not then... all hell might break loose!<br /><br />OK. I'm a bit calmer now after my walk. I forced myself to leave the house before the sun went down, because - oh yeah! - that's another thing I want to do, get in shape! And there is just no time to do everything I want to do, because, well, there is no time! (Weird how that is...you can trudge about for months, feeling like time is this long spool of thread you're obliged to unwind, slowly and hypnotically and always in the same direction, and then all of a sudden time becomes a whirling dervish knocking all your tables over, and all you can do is grab what you can and run!)<br /><br />Here's what I saw on my walk, in case you're curious:<br /><br />- a man wearing a red scarf<br />- a man who looked like Harvey Keitel (but only from a distance)<br />- at least 12 woman pushing baby strollers (separately, of course)<br />- a flock of teenagers outside a school, giddy and screaming (was I really ever one of them? I can't imagine getting giddy about anything at the moment, except perhaps a hot meal cooked by someone else)<br />- an acquaintance whom I had just been thinking about, but never thought I'd see again, who was the subject of some mild gossip which has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me but which upsets me (mildly) nonetheless<br /><br />And finally - as I was leaving the park, an older Frenchman passed me and said what sounded like: "Tu as une belle chasse," which makes no sense because <span style="font-style: italic;">chasse</span> means "hunt." I have a nice hunt? Huh? Maybe he said "Tu as une belle chatte" - which is vulgar, to say the least (and not a typical older Frenchman's one-liner). Or perhaps he said "Tu es une belle chiasse" - I am a beautiful pain in the ass? Yeah, well....aren't we all?wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-5669503639712086212008-02-11T09:20:00.000+01:002008-02-16T11:31:53.616+01:00The Pinks and Blues of Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R7a654vYZZI/AAAAAAAAAfs/54fE8JPYIHI/s1600-h/DSC01345.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R7a654vYZZI/AAAAAAAAAfs/54fE8JPYIHI/s320/DSC01345.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167523126100649362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R7a66YvYZaI/AAAAAAAAAf0/z07nu1Tg7w0/s1600-h/DSC01675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R7a66YvYZaI/AAAAAAAAAf0/z07nu1Tg7w0/s320/DSC01675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167523134690583970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, almost spring. We're still, after all, in February. But the colors are coming back, and like happy pills, they certainly do add a lift to the days..wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-58470175824247439442008-02-05T09:07:00.000+01:002008-02-05T19:15:41.344+01:00Hello, Super Tuesday! (or, The Naked Truth)<span style="font-style: italic;">*Blogger's Note: Today's blog strays widely from my usual non-political, artiste-in-Paree ramble. But - and this is the honest-to-god truth - I had a dream last night in which a Dutch blogger who I met back at France 24 last spring told me I had to blog about the election. I know it's weird, but here I am.</span><br /><br />Part of the silver lining of being raised by narcissistic parents (besides the fact that it makes you prone to always look for the silver lining!) is that it gives you a really good bullshit detector for the rest of your life. The constant task of monitoring other people's moods for your own survival makes you hyper-aware, hyper-alert to every nuance in human behavior, like some sort of 24-hour emotional sentry (unless of course it makes you crazy, which is also a possibility). Since you spend your earliest days sifting through lies and distortions, you are - in my humble unlicensed opinion - pretty darn qualified to tell when someone is being <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span>.<br /><br />Which brings me to today's primary.<br /><br />Much has been written, said, debated, blah blah blah, about the candidates, who, in the case of the Democrats, have now been whittled down to two. Much of the recent "news" about them has in fact been <span style="font-style: italic;">commentary on</span> <span>the news about them</span> (as friend V said, "The media love commenting on the media"). So how do we sift through all of this and vote for the person <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> think will do the better job?<br /><br />For the last eight years, Americans have been deceived and lied to in ways I never thought possible in the richest nation on earth. Talk about narcissistic parents! These people make Joan Crawford look like a walk in the park. Do you remember the window of time that was post-9/11, pre-Iraq? It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when Americans could still make a choice about being in Iraq. But there was. And our leaders, our <span style="font-style: italic;">Democratic</span> leaders, were in positions of power to make that choice. And Hillary Clinton was one of them. And she voted to give the president power to make war.<br /><br />This was not "a" mistake on her part, it was "the" mistake of our era. Americans have lost so much since then, as a result of hers and other Democrats' cowardice: human lives, billions of dollars, international goodwill, not to mention a whole generation of seriously damaged men and women coming back from Iraq. (Can you say Vietnam II?)<br /><br />Why didn't she read the documents which only she, as a Senator, had access to? Why didn't she do her job and protect us from the insanity of the Bush administration? How on earth can I vote for someone who, when in a position of power, went against every single core value and belief in my being?<br /><br />Moreover, why didn't Clinton speak out against the war at the beginning? Didn't she feel in her gut that it was a bad idea? Millions of Americans already did. I was with about 100,000 of them marching in San Francisco in October, 2002. These people knew that going to war with Iraq was wrong, wrong, wrong. They didn't need to split hairs over it, or pore over legal documents with a microscope, or worry about how it would affect their career, to know that this was a fishy war, a trumped-up war, a war with other motives than protecting Americans from terrorism.<br /><br />I guess our numbers just weren't enough yet to make the politicians worry about anything other than their jobs or "looking tough."<br /><br />Meanwhile, there were a few glimmers of sanity, of reality, in all that mind-boggling mess. Barack Obama was one of those glimmers. Ted Kennedy was one of those glimmers. These are the people whom - regardless of whatever other flaws they may have - I look to for hope, for leadership, in a world where both qualities are sorely needed.<br /><br />Now we get to the lie detector part. What can I say? I can only listen to people, and look at their body language, and like a dutiful jury member, decide for myself what's real or not. When Obama speaks, I feel - in my gut - that he is telling the truth. When Clinton speaks I feel that I am being served up a calculated plate of politics. Same sh-t, different politician.<br /><br />In the end, it comes down to a simple matter of gut feeling. How else can we know anything in this life, after all is said and done? We can read and talk and listen and learn, but ultimately, as e.e. cummings said, "feeling is first." And so it is with our votes. We go with what we <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span>, even if we call it "what we know".<br /><br />Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps Obama is simply doing a better acting job and I've been snowed (though I don't think so). And I can't guarantee beyond a shadow of a doubt that Obama will be the Kennedy-King dream that some are hoping for. But I'm willing to give him a chance. Clinton had her chance to decide on America's future, and in my opinion, she blew it. Big time.<br /><br /><a href="http://my.barackobama.com/page/community/blog/wampoline">http://my.barackobama.com/page/community/blog/wampoline</a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-35421017746602304152008-02-01T12:51:00.000+01:002008-02-04T09:38:36.536+01:00T Minus 30 (and counting)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R6bOF0amncI/AAAAAAAAAfc/_EGeoMHhR34/s1600-h/DSC01671.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R6bOF0amncI/AAAAAAAAAfc/_EGeoMHhR34/s320/DSC01671.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163040622191746498" border="0" /></a><br />If nothing else, moving makes one aware of the incessant ticking by of time - as these expired pharmaceutical items bear witness (did I ever even use any of these? I honestly can't remember what most of them were for - although <span style="font-style: italic;">NausiCalm</span> seems pretty obvious).<br /><br />So this is it. The last four weeks in our apartment in Paris, the last four weeks of My Glamourous Life in Paris. After this it will be My Glamourous Life in Limbo (but since when was Limbo ever seen as glamourous? I may have to rethink this...)wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26234567.post-41214292865243238222008-01-28T12:19:00.000+01:002008-01-30T12:25:14.910+01:00Eerie Fog in Champagne<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R6BdS0amnYI/AAAAAAAAAe4/93h4uF2bYT4/s1600-h/DSC01599.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Xpt7TuR92Pk/R6BdS0amnYI/AAAAAAAAAe4/93h4uF2bYT4/s320/DSC01599.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161227750855843202" border="0" /></a>wampolinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14777187903258237075noreply@blogger.com0