My Glamourous Life in Paris

My New Blog Home

2008-06-16T21:16:00.001+02:00

In 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): www.roadmuse.com

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).

Hope to see you in another blogging universe....and keep eating your greens!

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

2008-05-02T08:23:00.002+02:00

What I didn't do in Paris:

I didn't become a famous artist, nor did I stage an awesome comeback with my band (save that for next decade!).

I didn't master the subjunctive, and words like "moelleux" and "citrouille" continue to smirk at me, daring me to try to pronounce them.

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.

I didn't write a book about being an expat in France (though I could have!).

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.

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...)

Last Day in Paris

2008-04-30T08:42:00.002+02:00

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).

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 space - 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 au revoir, for now. See you in my dreams...

Time For a Change

2008-04-29T08:55:00.001+02:00

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.

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).

Farewell, farewell, anon, hither, parting is such truly sweet sorrow!

Back from Japan!

2008-04-28T17:36:00.000+02:00

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....

Food in Japan (both fast and slow)

2008-04-28T09:13:00.001+02:00

Images of Japan

2008-04-28T09:07:00.000+02:00

Reading the Signs

2008-04-28T09:04:00.000+02:00

This was on the outside of a building, a hair salon, in Kyoto.

Subtitles

2008-04-08T10:27:00.000+02:00

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.

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.

(Bonus points if you can guess which movie this is! Clue: It's Hitchcock)

Rainbow Over Boulevard Magenta

2008-04-07T10:09:00.002+02:00

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.

Passive Art-Making

2008-04-02T10:20:00.000+02:00

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?

Paris Rain, Clouds in Champagne

2008-04-01T10:42:00.000+02:00

Things That Seemed So "Urgente" at the Time

2008-03-31T14:04:00.006+02:00

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?

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.

Random Paris Moments (How I Will Miss These!)

2008-03-31T13:45:00.006+02:00

Mannekins in the window. A man singing "Rock Around the Clock" on the metro, while Russian tourists dance and kiss.
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.

Lovebirds and Their Nest on Valentine's Day

2008-03-31T13:42:00.002+02:00

Spring Shadows and Reflections

2008-03-31T13:39:00.002+02:00

Lost Gloves in Paris (February)

2008-03-31T13:33:00.004+02:00

Inspired by friend Jill's lost glove series...

Enormous Changes (not quite at the last minute)

2008-03-31T13:08:00.003+02:00

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.

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!).

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...).

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.

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.

Stay tuned.

Moments in "the Move"

2008-03-31T12:52:00.001+02:00

1) Last vegetable lasagne before the colander, pans, knives, and almost everything else were given away.
2) The only kitchen stuff we kept, the criterion being beauty, not practicality (natch!).
3) Ashes in the grate from old files and papers burned (an extremely satisfying procedure).
4) The Empty Space - waiting to be filled again by someone else.

Whose Stuff Is It Anyway?

2008-03-01T18:53:00.003+01:00

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??"

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!

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.)

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.

(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...)

Moving Day Only A Week Away!

2008-02-21T17:38:00.005+01:00

(No photo today because the sky is the color of graying underwear.)

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 one 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!

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!)

Here's what I saw on my walk, in case you're curious:

- a man wearing a red scarf
- a man who looked like Harvey Keitel (but only from a distance)
- at least 12 woman pushing baby strollers (separately, of course)
- 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)
- 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

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 chasse 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?

The Pinks and Blues of Spring

2008-02-11T09:20:00.000+01:00

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..

Hello, Super Tuesday! (or, The Naked Truth)

2008-02-05T09:07:00.000+01:00

*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.

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 real.

Which brings me to today's primary.

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 commentary on the news about them (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 we think will do the better job?

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 Democratic 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.

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?)

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?

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.

I guess our numbers just weren't enough yet to make the politicians worry about anything other than their jobs or "looking tough."

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.

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.

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 feel, even if we call it "what we know".

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.

http://my.barackobama.com/page/community/blog/wampoline

T Minus 30 (and counting)

2008-02-01T12:51:00.000+01:00

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 NausiCalm seems pretty obvious).

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...)

Eerie Fog in Champagne

2008-01-28T12:19:00.000+01:00

Sunlight, Orchid, Incense Smoke

2008-01-25T12:15:00.000+01:00

It doesn't take much to make me happy....(well, at least some of the time!)

Charity for Brain-iacs

2008-01-22T09:08:00.000+01:00

Here's something you can do while waiting for your next email to come in (or my next blog entry, haha)

http://www.freerice.com/

It's basically a vocabulary quiz, which adjusts to your level (they have a cool way of doing that, which is explained on the site) and for each correct answer you give, they donate 20 grains of rice to the United Nations World Food Program. The highest score is 48, which I am not too modest to tell you I did achieve once, mostly by lucky guesses. I don't know if my vocabulary has improved by this, or how much this will help the world hunger problem, but I can think of worse things to do with one's time on the internet.

Thanks to sister Laura for passing this along!

(p.s. And no, I don't know what platyhelminth is, it timed out while I was taking the photo and posting this. But I'm gonna go with flatworm.)

New Year's Massage

2008-01-21T16:49:00.000+01:00

I don't know about you, but every time I get a massage, I think, (w)ow! this is great! I'm going to do this at least twice a month! After all, what could be better for your body than someone else's expert hands massaging it and working out its tensions and tight spots? (OK, don't answer that question.) Throw in some incense, aromatherapy, candles, and soft music, and you've got yourself a willing client!

Unfortunately, Caring for One's Body often seems to take a back seat (pun intended) to Everything Else One Needs to Do, and yes, there are budget constraints as well, conspiring to make that "twice a month" pledge more like "once in a while" (or, in my case, when my shoulders get so tight that I start developing an unhealthy lust for sledgehammers).

But today I was lucky enough to have a free massage, compliments of friends K and A (thanks guys!) at a local Chinese massage center, and my pledge has been (once again) renewed. Although I've had acupuncture and shiatsu in the past, this was my first experience getting a Chinese "tuina" massage, and I have to say it was just what the doctor ordered (or rather, didn't order, but should have).

Like most traditional Chinese medicine places, the overall set-up was pretty basic: folding chairs, massage table, small sink, old (but clean) blanket and pillow. No lavender candles or whale music here! After spending some time finding a pulse (it's pretty weak these winter mornings), the masseur told me what I already know (if constantly frozen hands and feet are a good indicator): that my circulation is very slow, and indeed my whole body is functioning on a low battery. A quick look at my tongue seemed to support his diagnosis. I tried explaining my whole hibernation theory to him, how I am actually a grizzly bear in disguise, waiting for the spring equinox to crawl out of hiding, but he just nodded and said very pragmatically, as if he was telling me he was going to change the oil in my car: OK, now we're going to stimulate your meridians and get your body's energy back (or something like that, I'm not good at remembering things verbatim when they're said in French around a massage table).

And that's when the sledgehammers came out.

No, it wasn't that bad. But it was intense, which I was grateful for, because my only complaint about a massage is when the practitioner's hands aren't strong enough . No complaints this time! After one hour of him pounding and kneading me like yesterday's bread dough, I could feel my kidneys waking up, along with a whole bunch of other organs and muscles that I'd sort of forgotten about recently (or forever). (Sorry guys! I wanted to say. I know this has been a stressful time for you, what with the holidays and all...)

When it was all over, he smiled at me in a very non-judgemental way (which was good, because I'd thought I'd be clothed, like in shiatsu massage, and I wasn't, and I felt terrible about how out of condition my body is) and he said that I was too "yin" right now, and I needed more "yang." Il vous faut du soleil. Hmm...apparently sunshine is yang, so perhaps I should book a trip to Provence?

Anyway, guess what? I have another appointment in 10 days' time. So maybe 2008 is gonna be a good year after all!

A Trip to the Left Bank

2008-01-17T21:47:00.000+01:00

I had to do some errands on the other side of town last week, and I ended up wandering around La Grande Epicerie, the upscale supermarket inside the lovely Bon Marche department store in the 7th arrondissement (bon marche actually means "cheap" or "good value" - most definitely NOT the case in this instance!). It's a clean, well-lighted place, with such good old-fashioned staples as violet-flavored sugar, rose petal jam, and salt that was harvested under a full moon. There is also a rather extensive (uh, make that expensive) American foods section, displaying the culinary delights that made a nation (obese): Oreos, Swiss Miss, Jiffy-Pop, marshmallow Fluff. I toyed with the idea of buying some buttermilk pancake mix, but at 6 euros a box I decided I could wait until I was back in the land of I-Hop, where I can get all the starchy, gluten-filled things I want for cheap. Then I remembered that I don't really like pancakes, and the only time I've ever made them in fact was once in Paris when I was homesick for American brunch. Funny how living outside your country makes you nostalgic for things you never really liked when you lived there (like American politics).

In the end, I bought some baking soda, which is hard to find in the average French supermarket, and a bottle of good Spanish olive oil, and some dark baking chocolate to use in a non-dairy truffle recipe I've wanted to try for ages. And 20 euros poorer, I made my way back to the Right Bank....

Out With the Old, In With the New!

2008-01-16T18:00:00.000+01:00

I like to think of myself as a fairly modern person; I mean, while I may not be a techno-geek, I'm still more Lucite than Luddite. And yet here I am, after more than a week on a new laptop, still scared to do the most basic things on it (like blog, hence the unbearable wait for a new posting from me. Sorry!). Of course there are myriad excuses I can call upon to make myself look a little less lame. For instance, I'm changing from a PC to a Mac - and you know how incredibly difficult THAT is. I mean, for goodness' sake, you have to click on the left to close a window! It's like driving in the UK! (I'm amazed that I'm as far along as I am, really).

But seriously, it is different, in all these tiny little ways that don't amount to much on their own, but add up to an overall feeling of, well, difference. Kind of like culture shock. Everything is just a little bit different and a little bit more of a challenge - which can be exciting and distracting but also disturbing and de-motivating (depending on your attitude and stress levels). And when I think of all I "have" to do - rebuild my website, re-organize 6 years' worth of photos - all while learning a new system, I start to feel overwhelmed.

The fact is, I'd much rather be traipsing around discovering some new country than navigating a new computer. It's just not as fun for me to interact with a machine as it is for me to interact with people and places and living things (oh gee...now that's a surprise!).

And yet I will soldier on...In the interest of blogging and websites other oh-so-important "things to do"...

p.s. BTW, the photo is of my old, dying laptop, which is slow as molasses, doesn't close anymore, and is, quite literally, falling apart. And yet I must say - in contradiction to my above remark about machines - I've grown absurdly attached to it. I even hated the Mac at first, and felt the same disdain for it as I felt whenever I drove an automatic after my no-power-steering, hard-to-drive standard VW Fox: What a toy! I sneered, while the cute little icons bounced up and down enthusiastically. What a gussied-up harlot! You're not a real computer! How dare you try to tempt me with your i-this and i-that! (OK, dear, I think it's time to get off the computer now...tearing...fingers..off...keyboard...)

Soup, Glorious Soup

2008-01-07T14:19:00.000+01:00

It just never seems to wear out its welcome. Or perhaps I'm really not that demanding when it comes to winter food (it's true that I mostly just want something warm, hence the endless cups of tea and tendency to cuddle up to the stove).

But here it is, the most basic of recipes. A leek, a carrot, a head of broccoli, a fennel bulb, a zucchini, and perhaps an onion or two and some garlic... Cooked for a while in a small amount of water, and then covered with more almost-boiled water later. (I'm not sure exactly what the cooking in a small amount of water does - but it seems to bring out flavor. It's a trick I learned from my macro cooking friend up in Alaska, how to "water saute" onions for a very long time with the pot lid on, until they get sweet and yummy). Salt, pepper, or a bouillon cube, or simply some herbes de provence (put in at the beginning) and perhaps some mustard stirred in at the end, or maybe some lemon (it's good if there's a little "bite" to counteract all that veggie taste). Then all mixed up in a handblender and served piping hot with some good bread, and maybe a dollop of yogurt or cream for those who might balk at eating only vegetables for supper...

Puttin' on the Christmas Ritz at the Jourdain Metro

2008-01-06T13:53:00.000+01:00

One of the laments I often hear from Americans in Paris (a lament which I have voiced myself) is that it's just not Christmas-y enough here around the holidays. Yes, in the States it can be too much - over the top, sickening, smothering, Christmas music blaring in every store and on every corner, etc. But in Paris sometimes it's almost too discreet. For instance, here it is, two weeks after Christmas, and I still feel like I didn't get enough of it! That would never be the case in the States, where you literally feel Christmas-ed out by January 1st and ready to strangle Santa Claus along with his elves and reindeer.

Paris is a beautiful city, and knows how to show itself off, but it doesn't necessarily know how to be joyfully festive for the holidays. There is always a certain restrained elegance which simply forbids any kind of excess or "loudness" when it comes to decoration. Which is why I was so surprised when we came upon the decorations at the Jourdain Metro the other night. The entrance was literally festooned with pine branches and fabrics and lights, and there were huge blue garlands and blinking lights strung across the streets. No Santas or elves, but certainly a lot of excessive holiday "stuff." Now that's what I'm talkin' about! Christmas-y!

Ready to Take a Chance Again

2008-01-05T12:45:00.000+01:00

I admit it. I was moved to tears. Even 5000 miles away, and on the little Youtube screen, I could feel something happening, something brewing on a big scale. I haven't felt this excited about politics since I was thirteen years old, when Jimmy Carter won (1976, in case you forgot).

Hilary is screaming "substance", but that's not what people care about right now. People want something else, something intangible that makes them feel good, makes them feel part of a bigger whole. The way music does, or art. Anyway, who says that intangible things can't have tangible results? Look at the stock market. It's all about perception, belief. And the idea that we could have a president that people like, that can lead people, especially people who have felt disenfranchised for so long, a president that could help heal some of America's very tangible wounds....

Well, Barry Manilow said it best. I'm ready to take a chance again. Ready to take a chance again with you.....Obama!

The Beauty of Ownership, or Why It's Not Always Easy to Love Thy Neighbor

2008-01-04T13:13:00.000+01:00

No, not a pale Rothko imitation, but a slice of the ceiling where we had a water leak this morning...

Yes, there I was, sitting at my desk, wondering how much longer I could put off certain tasks on my everpresent to do list, and suddenly it started raining - which is not unusual for Paris, except that this rain was coming down inside the apartment. Needless to say, I leaped (leapt?) from my desk and sprung into action, grabbing towels and buckets to keep the water from soaking the wood floors, and wondering - amid growls and expletives - who I could blame for this infuriating interruption to my important day.

Immediately I singled out the owner of the apartments upstairs, not only because of his pretentious goatee and golfer's cap, but also because he's been a source of constant irritation since before Christmas, when he started renovating his apartment at all hours of the day and night. Not that I mind renovations per se (on the contrary, I see them as valuable enhancements to the overall property), but he is one of these arrogant people who refuses to hire professionals to get the job done right, and instead penny pinches and takes ten times longer to do everything (most of which will need to be done over again because he did it wrong!). In French this kind of person is called a bricoleur (bricolage being homespun repairs or building). In English I just call him an asshole. (Sorry for the unexpurgated version - I'm emboldened by the fact that he will never read this - and even if he did, unlike the guy in Carly Simon's song, he'd be too vain to think it was about him!)

Anyway, the story has a happy ending because the renter (a nice young guy who was actually wearing a Boston Fitness shirt - that's another story) was home upstairs, and between the two of us, and several tests involving dumping buckets of water on his bathroom floor, we discovered what the problem was. The mystery leak was caused by the fact that Monsieur Bricoleur had made the brilliant decision to REMOVE ALL THE CAULKING from the shower and replace it with PLASTER, meaning that whenever his renter took a shower, the water ended up seeping through the floor and eventually through our ceiling.....#%@#*&!!

So all's well that ends well. We made a new friend with the guy upstairs, and now we have a common enemy in the "owner" (the renter's landlord). Oh yeah, and the leak is fixed, which is the main thing - a couple of euros of joint compound did the trick (amazing how simple life can be, when you just follow some basic rules of maintenance).

An Anti-Resolution New Year's Manifesto

2007-12-31T12:27:00.000+01:00

Embracing Myself in the New Year (or, a Resolution to Stop Making Resolutions)

1. ~~Lose 5 pounds.~~ Embrace the curvy, food-loving me (and a new era of comfortable girdles called Spanx).

2. ~~Be less judgemental.~~ Embrace the critical thinking me (and move to the East Coast).

3. ~~Exercise more.~~ Embrace the sedentary, intellectual me (and live on the top of a hill).

4. ~~Make more money.~~ Embrace the carefree, bohemian me (and get another credit card).

5. ~~Choose a career, for God's sake!~~ Embrace the charming dilettante me (and pad that resume).

6. ~~Moderate drinking habits.~~ Embrace the happy, extemporaneous, drunk me (and buy some milk thistle).

7.~~Be more consistently productive.~~ Embrace the last-minute, cramming, term-paper-in-an-hour me (and invest in a good espresso machine).

8. ~~Be more diligent about writing this blog.~~ Embrace the impetuous, unpredictable me (and revel in the fact that Blogger lets me post retroactively!).

Mid-December Paris Light

2007-12-30T17:21:00.000+01:00

Taken near the Seine, just as we were finishing up an afternoon of pre-Christmas window shopping...

English Christmas Pudding

2007-12-29T18:52:00.000+01:00

Just before it got covered in brandy and lit on fire....whee! Nothing like a little pyrotechnical action to spice up a holiday!

A Champagne Christmas

2007-12-29T17:28:00.000+01:00

Oysters and caviar in agar-agar (seaweed gelatin), frost outside the window, truly monstrous cheese platter (yikes!), and the last of some really simple, really yummy potatoes.

After All is Said and Done...

2007-12-28T19:04:00.000+01:00

...getting married was a great excuse to throw a party! Though strangely, possibly because my adrenalin was so high (?), I couldn't even get drunk (though I certainly tried!). Cognac was no match for the excitement of being surrounded by so much love, friendship, and laughter. We finished the evening at 6 a.m. dancing to rap music in the living room, until it was time to clear out and get some sleep. We had almost enough beds, but not quite. The best man curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace, and someone threw a tablecloth over him...c'est la vie, c'est la fete.

(photo: Lance Lee/ombre chinoise media)

Presto Change-o

2007-12-28T17:33:00.000+01:00

While we're on the topic of the shoes, here I am changing into them at the Mairie, after coming in from the rain. Rock 'n' roll!

"The Shoes"

2007-12-28T17:31:00.000+01:00

Here they are, ready for their close-up! (Jill asked about them so I thought I'd give them a little blogging air time. I don't usually talk about fashion or clothes, but these seemed too good not to feature!)

I bought these babies back in April, in a fit of reckless credit card spending (is there any other kind?) just before my show at Bar Fleurs, when I quite deludely (delusionally?) believed that I would sell all of my paintings and get rich quick (NOT). Never have I worn, or considered wearing, such high heels (about three inches I think - but they seem even higher). They transform me from the size of a basketball guard like John Stockton (whom I once saw on a TV show referred to as "the diminuitive John Stockton" - at 6'1") to the towering stature of a forward like Kevin McHale (hopefully without the Herman Munster shoulders). Needless to say, it took me a while to get the hang of such high heels, and it's still a challenge to walk in them without looking like an inhabitual male cross-dresser.

But all that being said - I love these shoes. They are completely unnecessary and yet I couldn't imagine my closet without them. And because my wedding dress was borrowed, I can totally rationalize spending money on them "instead of" a dress - yay! (I'm very good at rationalizing purchases, BTW, in case you ever need any help with that).

Le Mariage

2007-12-27T18:34:00.000+01:00

It's been almost three weeks and it already feels like ancient history! At 4 pm on a rainy Friday in early December, we made our way to the Mairie de Xeme in Paris (with its Salle de Mariage shown here in photo, quite an impressive place) and tied the knot (don't know the French equivalent expression - anyone?). As I walked into the Mairie, shaking out my soaked umbrella and taking off my waterlogged boots, someone said consolingly, "Mariage pluvieux, mariage heureux!" (translation: "Rainy wedding, happy marriage." Interesting that mariage covers both the ceremony and the state of being married in French...)

A lot of people asked me afterwards if I cried or felt emotional during the ceremony. In fact I didn't - which is ironic, because I've cried at every other wedding I've ever been to, including when I went as a date to weddings of people I didn't know! How then could I have been so sang-froid at my own? Perhaps because the ceremony was in French, and I was using most of my energy to understand the formal, legal language as it bounced off the cavernous, museum-like spaces of marble and glass (that, in addition to making sure that my new Spanx girdle - something new- stayed up, and the asymmetrical shoulders of my designer dress and slip - something borrowed - remained in place). Thus I couldn't tell you everything that was said, though I don't think any of it was too bad, since the Maire and his assistant were smiling throughout (or perhaps they were just drunk from lunch? Because I have to say, for French officials, they were quite jovial). I know they read our names, and our dates of birth and occupations, and who our parents were (I think), and where we live, and so on. After that there was some stuff about marriage itself, and what it means, but the main thrust seemed to be about taking care of any children we might have, i.e., providing for them financially (interesting how French property laws reinforce this focus on children inheriting their parents' wealth - making me wonder about the historical details which created the need for such laws...).

The whole thing took about 20 minutes from start to finish, including the bride and groom (les maries - with accent on the "e", but i can't seem to do it on blogger) saying "Oui" (instead of "I do") and signing a bunch of papers up at the podium to seal the event (that part was a little stressful, I admit, as any bureaucratic moment is - I always feel that I'm signing my life away, or my soul or something. I think it goes back to early experiences with grammar school IQ tests...).

The only rather strange bit (I mean, other than the whole idea of marriage and all being strange, but we'll leave that for another discussion!) was when, at the very end, after the Maire said he hoped we'd stay in the 10th arrondissement (um, sorry, actually we're leaving!), he thanked everyone for coming and then passed around a collection plate...! (Holdover from the Catholic Church? It did seem strange to do at a wedding, although I admit he had a captive audience...)

(photo collage: Lance Lee/ombre chinoise media)

Solstice Sunrise

2007-12-23T11:20:00.000+01:00

Wishing everyone a warm and peaceful holiday, wherever you are!

Back to the Blogging Board!

2007-12-18T11:39:00.000+01:00

My, my, but what a long hiatus this has been, even for an on-again off-again, ne'er-do-well blogger such as myself. Somehow the combination of computer woes, out-of-town guests, and GETTING MARRIED (more on that later) have conspired to keep me from my habitual musings on Life As I Know It (or rather, Life As I Think I Know It). So please accept my profuse apologies for this upsetting disruption in service and know that I'll make it up to you in the future (hmmm...perhaps I could also blame the Writers' Strike? now there's an idea...). The good thing about winter hibernation (a mode which I am now quite comfortably slipping into) is that it keeps me at home and without much to do, except, perhaps, read, sleep, eat, and blog (probably in that order, too).

Anyway, I'm sure my readers have been chomping at the bit to hear all about the last few weeks' glamourous events (who wouldn't be?), and I promise that the scintillating details are forthcoming. But first, here's a glimpse of what I was doing while not blogging during those crazy weeks: making lists! That's right, leading up to the Big Event on December 7th, my desk saw a veritable flurry of list-making: lists within lists, lists re-copied and edited and scratched out and given to other people (my helpful minions, who arrived none too soon!), lists written only to be discarded or stuffed into a bag and written again, etc, etc. (I even thought of keeping some of them for old times' sake, but honestly, who wants to look at old to-do lists? Especially when, as we got closer to the Big Day, the lists became increasingly filled with almost panicked admonitions to do the simplest things, such as "Get up. Take shower. Get dressed"....and so on.)

Now the lists are gone, as well as the guests, the pressure, and the excitement (not to mention the champagne), and life is getting back to "normal" - meaning, no longer at such a fever pitch (I like the fever pitch, don't get me wrong, but I think I operate more productively at a slow crawl). It is wonderful to be on the other side of those overbearing to-do lists, and have time to reflect on everything that's happened, instead of just swirling around within the events. So now I have lots of time to me to reflect and think and look at photos and...blog! Yay!

A Last-Minute Feast!

2007-11-23T18:14:00.000+01:00

OK, I lied! At about 7h30 pm last night, something kicked in (tradition? habit? gluttony?) and I just HAD to make Thanksgiving dinner. So within 30 minutes I had a stuffing in the oven, and potatoes, green beans, and cranberry sauce all cooking happily on the stove. I didn't feel the need for turkey but my other half (who is 100 percent carnivore) did, and grilled up a couple of breasts (uh...I don't know how else to word that!). No pumpkin pie this year - in fact, no dessert at all, but we did manage to polish off a bottle of champagne (when in France...)

p.s. There is a quart of cranberry sauce left over, if anyone wants to come around...(No rush, I'm sure it will be there until we move next spring.)

What I Am Thankful For Today

2007-11-22T16:55:00.000+01:00

Blue sky.

Clean sheets.

Functioning body parts.

An almost-full fridge and cupboard, and recipes to spare.

Friends and loved ones who are willing to put up with my neuroses and laugh at some, if not all, of my jokes (thanks, guys).

And last but not least...

Cranberry bogs!

(which immediately makes me wonder, If there are cranberry bogs, then surely there must be cranberry blogs?? I would do a search right now, but I gotta go and make the cranberry sauce!)

Last Thanksgiving in Paris

2007-11-22T15:44:00.000+01:00

Sounds a lot less sexy than Last Tango in Paris, huh? But it's true that we are only a few months away from our departure from Paris, and this will be the last time (at least for a while) that I need to track down a specialty store across town to buy canned pumpkin (for 5 euros no less!). Actually I didn't even bother this year - I didn't feel like fighting the crowds (crowds because of strikes, obviously, not because of the holiday) - and also it feels nice to not "have" to cook, because for the last month I've been doing practically nothing but: making soups, stews, casseroles, tarts, cakes, and so on. I guess you could say I've become more "French" in this sense: with big, well-planned meals now the norm, rather than the variation. So in a way I'm doing Thanksgiving in reverse: I'm spending the day differently than I usually do by not dealing with food that much (in spite of ambitious menu shown here - which I thoroughly enjoyed planning and might use next year, who knows?).

But I am going to make cranberry sauce. Every year, no matter what, I make cranberry sauce (notice it's the one thing circled on the list). Even if I don't really like it (I think I've eaten less than a tablespoonful in my entire life), and no one else seems to like it much either, because there is always exactly the same amount that I made left over. There's just something about watching those bright red berries bulging and bursting in the pot - perhaps it's a metaphor for the abundance of the season (not to mention for what happens to our abdomens after too many mashed potatoes and gravy!). Anyway, I have frozen ones from last year that I need to use. There is no "use by" date printed on the label, but what the heck! Livin' dangerously...just call me Marlon.

All in a Day's Walk

2007-11-21T21:43:00.000+01:00

I've been doing the walk up Montmartre almost every day again, renewing the tradition I'd established earlier this year (but had abandoned in the wake of so many tourists in spring and summer). Every time I walk I see something new that I'd never noticed before - like today, this beautiful holly tree behind the carousel. Was it always there, I wonder? Does it only bloom in winter? Do people ever pick the branches? (I was definitely tempted). There is so much going on, even in one small square of dirt; I could take a million walks and never get bored, if my eyes and heart were truly open. Why is it so hard to remember this sometimes?

Not Your Average Street Juggler

2007-11-21T20:14:00.000+01:00

OK, look carefully at this photo. Not only was this guy juggling with a vase of water on his head, but there were two goldfish swimming around in it (poor goldfish - talk about an occupational hazard!).

I will never brag about being able to pat my head while rubbing my stomach again.

Afternoon Light - Bathroom Window

2007-11-17T16:43:00.000+01:00

A Woman and Her Dog

2007-11-16T16:29:00.000+01:00

I wish I was bold enough to have taken a better photo of this woman. In addition to that massive fur coat worthy of weather in St. Petersburg, she was wearing leopard print shoes (with matching leopard print purse), large black sunglasses, and a daringly tight gold and black dress. She looked like she stepped out of a Fellini movie. Meanwhile, her dog was peeing literally on every single car they passed. La Dolce Vita, indeed.

It's Always Good to Get out of the House and Take a Walk

2007-11-15T22:54:00.000+01:00

Helping Eachother Up the Hill

2007-11-15T22:50:00.000+01:00

Meanwhile, Commuters Struggle During the Strike

2007-11-14T21:15:00.000+01:00

Sunset Views from Montmartre

2007-11-14T21:11:00.000+01:00

Afternoon Light on Squash and Grapefruit

2007-11-13T16:13:00.000+01:00

Afternoon Light on Ficus Leaves

2007-11-12T22:46:00.000+01:00

Apartment Envy

2007-11-12T15:54:00.000+01:00

Here's a dilemma (that I should consider myself lucky to have): envy for my own apartment. That's right - we're selling our place and moving in a few months, and suddenly I'm heartbroken to think we are giving up our home to someone else (OK, not actually giving - we are getting some euros for it - but still, they will reap the benefits of our love and labor). It's like we finally settled in here - we just got the place repainted - I'm finally home - and now we're leaving???

But of course this is the time of year when the whole concept of Home means the most to me. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and all of that. It's the time of year when I am not interested in adventure; rather, I want nothing more than to curl up on a couch with a book and a cup of tea and a giant down comforter, my biggest ambition in life being to make a soup out of 10 different vegetables at once.

So what's the solution? I guess I'll just have to focus on living in the present, and enjoy what I have right now, and not think about the future too much. Embrace the changes when they come. What is life anyway but a series of changes that we are constantly racing to keep up with?

As the Buddhist comedian said: "The only constant in life is Change - except when you need it for the bus!" (And to that I might add that "the only constant in my life is me telling this joke over and over again to anyone who will listen!")

What, Me Married?

2007-11-07T22:01:00.000+01:00

I guess it happens to the best of us eventually...we give in to societal pressure and embrace "tradition" for the sake of pleasing family, the government, or whomever. But for years I avoided the M word, and loved nothing more than to bust out this quote from an old movie (I think it was with Myrna Loy?): "Marriage is a great institution - but who wants to be in an institution?"

Har har har. Very funny indeed. And now I have to eat my hat - or my bridal veil, or whatever - because here I am joining the millions, no BILLIONS, who have already been served by the wonderful institution of McMarriage (served or brainwashed? you make the call).

Perhaps you think I doth protest too much. But this really has been a tough decision for me. NOT because of anything to do with the person who will be my "spouse" (every time I hear that word I think of The Game of Life, with those little pink and blue pegs, and little cars you drove around in, trying to be the first to acquire money, a house, and finally a "spouse." It always sounded like a rather spongy sort of pet to me).

No, nothing to do with him. But just, you know, the feeling of joining a club that I feel pressured to join. Maybe it's the rebel in me that resists this notion. I don't know. (This is probably more appropriate for therapy than for a blog, but I can't afford therapy right now, so bear with me.) Or maybe it's something to do with the fact that you can be with another person for years and years, share a bed and a bank account, know eachother inside and out, love and hate eachother in equal measure, see eachother through thick and thin (literally) - but until you're given the official stamp of marriage, you are not taken seriously as a couple by a large number of people, because you haven't made a "real commitment yet."

Huh?? I think it's the illogic in that equation which makes me bristle - especially since I have seen firsthand so many official "marriages" that are about as committed as the weather in San Francisco. But anyway...where was I? Oh yes, I'm finally getting married. And of course, in keeping with my generally obsessive nature, I am making a big deal out of not making a big deal out of it. What's most important of course is that there will be a party, people will get drunk, friends will gather and a good time will be be had by all. And when I wake up the next morning, I will still be me and he will still be he - the biggest difference being that we will never again have to hear someone say, "When are you getting married?" (And hopefully they will refrain as well from asking, "So when's the divorce?")

To Market, To Market...

2007-11-06T14:21:00.000+01:00

...to buy a fat pumpkin?

Or rather, potiron, a kind of French pumpkin. What Americans think of as pumpkin is known as citrouille, a word that is virtually unpronounceable to anyone who is not born French (though I have given it my best shot on several occasions).

They were selling this particular potiron by the slice, or tranche. I cut up my slice into cubes and made a friend's macrobiotic recipe, Aduki Bean-Squash Combo. Totally un-French of course, but still deliciously sweet and satisfying!

Mirror Image on the Canal

2007-11-05T18:06:00.000+01:00

Pigeon, Patterns, and Pre-Halloween Sky

2007-10-29T23:28:00.000+01:00

First Fire of the Season

2007-10-29T23:15:00.000+01:00

Autumn Colors in Champagne

2007-10-28T22:22:00.000+01:00

Fin de Travaux

2007-10-24T22:03:00.000+02:00

Forgot to blog about this...but I've been too happy to have my house back again! This was taken a few days before the painters finished their work, when I was literally chomping at the bit to be able to move the furniture back in place. It was hard not to keep asking, "C'est presque fini?" (Is it almost done?) Poor guys - talk about having someone breathing down your neck! As Tom Petty says, the waiting is the hardest part (for impatient ungrown-up grown-ups like me!).

Blue-tiful Day!

2007-10-23T23:09:00.000+02:00

Shadows and Patterns in the Marais

2007-10-22T22:28:00.000+02:00

Everything Must Go!

2007-10-21T22:34:00.000+02:00

Well, everything we don't want, that is. The clutter clearing process has begun in earnest, and what better way to celebrate than to have a good old fashioned yard sale? In French such a sale is called a vide grenier - meaning, literally, to empty the attic. Of course in our case we have neither yard nor attic, so we just arranged our various items on several tables and invited people over for tea and "unwanted object perusal." It was an intimate group (this kind of sale obviously can't get foot traffic - not on a 5th floor walk-up, anyway), yet there were some similarities to other yard sales I've had and been to in the States.

First, there was all the obligatory small stuff: playing cards with various "themes" (movie stars/George Bush in drag), Italian language tapes, obsolete electronics, tarnished jewelry, and of course tons of books and DVDs that seemed so important to own at the time of purchase and now only take up space (and will be resold for a fraction of their original price - when will I ever learn?). Then, there were the "big ticket" items - electric fans (just in time for winter!), a table, chairs, and - yes, the inevitable tennis rackets, which appear at every yard sale I've ever been to. (Have you ever noticed this? It's weird. If so many people are selling rackets, then who actually plays tennis? I think the ones we have were from another sale, in fact. We used them twice in 5 years).

And finally, there was the yard sale "bargain hunter" (there's one at every sale!) - who, even though I was practically giving everything away, still wanted to negotiate for lower prices. What's up with these people? Do they see this as their big chance to play wheeler and dealer - with a bunch of old housewares? I remember at one yard sale a woman wanted to buy a BRAND NEW pressure cooker from me. I had it listed for a dollar; she said "fifty cents." Fifty cents! Well, I really let her have it! (That is, I let her have the pressure cooker...but for a dollar. Even if I don't have any guns, I can still stick to them sometimes!)

The Sun Also Rises (Even Over Polluted Paris)

2007-10-16T09:42:00.000+02:00

This was actually a little later than sunrise, but the buildings create a higher horizon line.

Walking Along the Canal

2007-10-15T00:59:00.000+02:00

Sunday Morning Still Life

2007-10-14T22:53:00.000+02:00

Tree Shadow

2007-10-12T23:05:00.000+02:00

Why I Moved to Paris (or, Why, I Moved to Paris!)

2007-10-08T18:03:00.000+02:00

The other day I took a stroll past my first "real" address in Paris: 58 rue Monceau in the 8th arrondissement. This is where I lived when I first came to Paris (in 2002) to live for an extended length of time, not just a month or two. A few months earlier (while traveling down the road in a van in France, but that's a different story), I had made a list of pros and cons about whether to live in Paris. Like so many of the most important decisions in my life, the cons outweighed the pros by 2 to 1 (pollution, dog crap, all the usual suspects), but I still decided to plunge in. Call it an itch that needed to be scratched, one of those things I felt I had to do, or I would always wonder "what if...?" Probably George Bush had something to do with it too.

My "apartment" - in reality a glorified maid's quarters - was up 7 flights of dusty narrow stairs, and measured less than 200 square feet, much of which was under the eaves (and I'm hardly what you would call diminuitive in stature). The kitchen consisted of two camp-style electric burners, a sink that was big enough to wash one dish at a time, and a miniature version of a hotel fridge. The bed was a saggy futon on a fold-out couch that took about 10 minutes to fold out. There were no closets; I hung my clothes on a rack like in a department store. For most of the first month the toilet didn't work at all (don't ask). Moreover, because I'd had only one day to find an apartment, I hadn't had any time to do research on the area (a necessity in Paris, which is really a cluster of villages). Thus I found out after I moved in that my "village" was in fact comprised mainly of offices and embassies, meaning that there was little to do at night - very few cafes or restaurants, very few services.

Oh, and did I mention that the toilet didn't work for most of the first month, and I was on a 7th floor walk-up?

And yet - all that being said - I loved that little apartment, or nest, or whatever it was. If I leaned my body against the eaves and looked out the window, I could see a tiny piece of green from Parc Monceau nearby (that was a redeeming feature of the neighborhood, and I went there almost every day to sketch). I could see the beautiful - glamourous! - architecture of the late 19th century, in all its glory, laid out before me in neverending rows. And I could see the sky - the sky at night in Paris, from late spring turning to summer, when the day didn't end until after 10 pm.

All the many "cons" of living in Paris were eclipsed by the one simple "pro" - the simple wonder - of just being here, of just being alive to witness this old, beautiful, loveable, changeable, hateable, rigid, enigmatic place that people have called home for centuries. Who needs a working toilet? Or so ran my thoughts at the time...

(Part 1 of a new series - to be continued at some point)

Something About Orange...

2007-10-06T14:37:00.000+02:00

(The color, that is, not the township in New Jersey.)
I never wear this color but maybe I should? It imparts a feeling of calm. Is that why monks wear it?

Pumpkins, sweet potato, squash, carrots, oranges. Can you think of any other foods that are orange? (Why am I so full of questions today? I don't know, do you?)

A Certain Slant of Light...

2007-10-04T19:05:00.000+02:00

...that I associate with late September/early October. Maybe because the sun is getting lower in the sky, it seems all the more noticeable, all the more precious .

Early Autumn Comes to Parc Monceau

2007-10-03T17:05:00.000+02:00

A Pallor Shade of White

2007-10-02T22:56:00.000+02:00

Here's the contrast between the new color (white) being painted on the walls, and what was there before. Wow - for two years I've been saying we have white walls, and in fact they are yellow! Just goes to show how our mind will convince us of something even when it's not really true. (I better not look at my teeth anytime soon!)

A Life in Letters

2007-10-01T15:25:00.000+02:00

Remember the days before email? When people actually wrote their news and thoughts in longhand or on a typewriter, licked stamps, and carried their letters in person to the mailbox - to be picked up and handled by several others before finally arriving at their destination?

The whole idea of letter-writing seems almost quaint now, something from a bygone era. And yet there is something so personal, so original about letters, which email can never really duplicate. All emails look basically the same, and arrive in the same format - in a computer font, on a computer screen. In contrast, each letter has its own size and shape and bulk (depending on the prolificity of the letter-writer), its own idiosyncratic scrawl, its own life, just as any object that has been touched by human hands has life. An email cannot be touched by human hands, unless it's printed out, which is after the fact, or unless you are inside of a computer (which I really hope, for your sake, you are not).

I'm sure there have been many, many articles and essays written about this whole subject, so I will restrain myself from pontificating any further. But I did just want to say this - I love old letters. I don't know what I'm going to do with all the ones I have (about 4 shoeboxes' worth) but until I figure it out, I'm going to keep them.

Waiting For Travaux (the sequel)

2007-09-27T10:13:00.000+02:00

Here we go again! Whee! Our combination living room/kitchen/studio is under wrap again a la Christo (minus the publicity orgy, of course) and our lives are turned upside down. Of course it's for a good cause: the insurance is paying to have the whole space repainted after a roof leak last year, and the result will no doubt be stunning. But it means living in chaos for two weeks, and inhaling a whole lot of DUST - neither of which is high on the list of "My Favorite Things." Still, I guess the silver (dusty?) lining is that not having a proper living space is forcing me to get out of the house and enjoy Paris more than I usually do: see friends for lunch, take long walks, go sketching, window shopping, etc. It's also been sort of fun to be camped out in the bedroom, eating picnic dinners on the bed, making phone calls, and watching television - like being a teenager again. (You think I'm kidding? Last night I stayed in and watched six episodes of Friends on cable while munching homemade popcorn out of a giant bowl. Before you know it, I'll be a regular visitor to MySpace and Facebook...)

A Flower Vine Grows in Paris

2007-09-25T09:56:00.000+02:00

After a year of waking up and looking out on a depressing color scheme of manmade grays, blacks, and whites, I took action and bought pots of flowers and soil at a big garden store near Gare d'Austerlitz, lugging everything home on the bus (swearing and cursing the whole way, of course, as one does when one doesn't have a car - which is usually a good thing, until the day one needs to make errands such as this one).

I thought the flowers might bloom a bit, and add some nice color, but am amazed at how beautifully they have flourished in just a few months (though I can't take credit - I am not the green thumb in the family, I'm just the one who likes to buy things.)

A Paris Balcony

2007-09-24T12:39:00.000+02:00

In Paris, having a balcony adds a lot to an apartment's value, and it's easy to see why: an outdoor space which is still linked to the city's rhythms, a place to sit and look at the sky as well as see what's happening on the street below...this is what makes city living bearable, and even poetic at times. If (and when) I leave Paris, I think it is this I will miss most: the intricate, dense way in which the city is put together, layer upon layer of stone and iron and zinc; all the lines and patterns and shadows that make even the simplest sight (here, a friend's balcony) a singular visual feast.

It Was Just One of Those Things...

2007-09-23T22:37:00.000+02:00

On a recent (sunny) day, I took a walk through the Jardin des Plantes in the 5th arrondissement, and feasted my eyes on some truly sumptuous flower and vegetable gardens. I clearly wasn't the only one having fun...

Slice of Life

2007-09-20T13:12:00.000+02:00

Is there anything more satisfying in life than the pleasure of chopping a perfectly ripe zucchini? (OK, please don't answer that question!)

Life Imitates...Avocado?

2007-09-20T10:18:00.000+02:00

Chez le Dentiste

2007-09-19T13:23:00.000+02:00

The other day I went to my dentist, a gentle soul who insists there is nothing wrong with my teeth, in spite of my whining about a intermittent dull ache in my back molar (which I've had now for over three years -but because it comes and goes, I tend to forget about it unless it's happening. Kind of like bad weather, or unpleasant odors in the Metro).

There were no magazines in the waiting room, so I took photos in the big mirror instead. Check out that pink furniture, and that chandelier! I don't think this room has been touched since sometime in the early 70s. (Where's John Waters when you need him?) Another funky self-portrait to add to my collection of "things I might want to paint someday." Ha! The neverending list...

Autumn's Bounty (or, the Ultimate Comfort Food)

2007-09-18T16:01:00.000+02:00

The colors alone are enough to make me happy. But the abundance, the variety! I'd forgotten how the produce markets come alive this time of year, bursting with a cornucopia of good things to eat - much of it from France's own rich farmland. This is just a snippet of what I bought the other day; there were also tiny purple artichokes, Swiss chard, green plums, red and yellow peppers, fat wild mushrooms (cepes), and a pumpkin-like squash called a potiron, which will be cooked tonight in a friend's barley-veggie recipe. There is something about this season that just makes me want to gather food, cook it, and store it for the winter - even though I live in a city where it never snows, and I have easy access to markets all winter long. Ah well, what can I do? The inner squirrel asserts itself. Pass the acorns.

Ridin' High

2007-09-17T10:05:00.000+02:00

I tried out a friend's bike Sunday, a new style known as a "cruiser": it's got a heavy, sturdy frame, high handlebars (giving you very good posture), and an unbelieveably comfortable seat with built-in shock absorbers that make riding on Paris' cobblestones - normally a tailbone-crunching agony - a veritable marshmallow pillow of fun!

Last Throes of Summer on the Seine

2007-09-17T09:54:00.000+02:00

Sunday was a beautiful day and everyone in Paris came out to enjoy it. The banks of the Seine were literally covered with people reading, eating, talking, napping, and otherwise just doing their thing, "while the sun shone brightly in the sky."

September Sun!

2007-09-13T22:44:00.000+02:00

In a word: fabulous.

Men in Kilts!

2007-09-12T17:28:00.000+02:00

The Rugby World Cup has turned my neighborhood (the 10th arrondissement) into a mini version of the British Isles. Too bad old Mel isn't filming a sequel to Braveheart; he'd have lots of extras here to choose from.

Meanwhile, perhaps we can ponder this question together: Why does it seem that professional sports, while reinforcing certain macho tendencies, also seem to be such an acceptable haven for male cross-dressing?

Floating Torso in the Fontaine de Medici

2007-09-07T22:34:00.000+02:00

Who? What? How? Why? Last year it was a profile that was floating; this year it's a torso. Maybe next year we'll get to see some legs and arms. Can you say Mr. Potato Head? I didn't see any information about this piece but I'm assuming it's a work of art and not someone's idea of a prank. Or perhaps it's both. Modern art does have its pranksters...

Marching Men in Luxembourg Gardens

2007-09-05T16:38:00.000+02:00

Saw these fellows in uniforms today at the Jardin du Luxembourg. They looked like firefighters but they were carrying bayonet rifles. Huh?? Couldn't understand what it was all about, which is a frequent feeling for me in France (or anywhere?). Well, I guess I could have asked someone, but almost everyone watching looked like a tourist (i.e., more clueless than I). Anyway, the reason I took the picture (before they marched off) is because I liked the way the human formation merged with the tree formation, to make a solid, almost symmetrical shape. Perhaps there's a semi-abstract painting in here. All sorts of parallels come to mind...the fastidiously groomed trees alongside the rigid conformity of the marchers...the training of nature, the training of men...

Faces in the Canal

2007-09-04T16:25:00.000+02:00

(I heightened the contrast, but otherwise did not doctor these photos in any way.)

Autumn Leaves in the Canal

2007-09-04T16:22:00.000+02:00

Extra credit if you spot the elephant shape in the water (or wild boar, take your pick).

It's the Rentree!

2007-09-04T16:15:00.000+02:00

Well, our rainy, soggy, downright flabby excuse for a summer is over. This week ushers in the "rentree" (pronounced "ron-tray" - there is usually an accent on the 2nd e, but i don't know how to make that happen in Blogger) - which literally means the "coming back", or "coming home." And indeed, it feels like the city's population has doubled overnight (at least in the neighborhoods where people could afford to take the whole month of August off).

It's been nice to walk around and feel that exciting, back-to-school energy in the air. Fall - my favorite season in many respects. Happy memories of sharpened pencils and clean, white notebooks ready to be filled with important things. The appeal of a clean slate. New friends, new teachers, new ideas. And pumpkin pie just around the corner...

Under the Louvre Pyramid

2007-09-01T15:45:00.000+02:00

People, patterns, and shadows...these are a few of my favorite things in Paris, or anywhere. I could have stayed here all day, snapping photos of people below. But I think I was starting to look suspicious, like a Louvre spy or something.

View From A Chateau Window

2007-08-30T18:26:00.000+02:00

Yes, occasionally I have been known to visit a chateau and pretend that "someday, all this will be mine..." But in actual fact, I am quite happy not to have the responsibility of, among other things, cleaning out a moat.

This view is from le Chateau d'Etoges, which I like to think of as the "cozy chateau" because it doesn't have that gray, oppressive, fort-like feeling that so many have (not that I'm any kind of "chateau expert"...but living in France does give one the opportunity to see more castles than one normally would -- in, say, Springfield, Massachusetts).

I wasn't technically given permission to go upstairs, where the bedrooms are, but the good thing about chateaux is that not only are they really big, but they are usually understaffed (in this case, only one young woman at the downstairs desk - hee hee. I'm such a rebel!).

Cow Sighting near Champagne

2007-08-30T18:12:00.000+02:00

There aren't many cows in Champagne - all the available land is used to grow grapes (duh!). But we did spot this little herd (herd?) during our day trip, when we traveled on some roads that were just outside the Champagne region. This particular cow seemed like the only one who was interested in what was going on outside of his pasture.

Champagne Harvest

2007-08-30T17:57:00.000+02:00

Just before the harvest, actually - it's earlier than normal this year due to a hot month of April (or so I've been told). This was in the hills around Avize and Oger, where millions of Chardonnay grape clusters hung heavy on the vines, ready to drop. (It was too tempting not to pluck a grape and try it, pesticides or no --- yum!)

We had some friends visiting, so we took them to a local champagne-maker for a tour of their "cave," and a description of the painstaking, labor-intensive process that goes into making the bubbly liquid, including (but not limited to): Washing and taking care of the machinery, pressing the grapes, filling and emptying (and filling again) the old oak casks, rotating the bottles daily (by hand!) so the sediment goes down, moving thousands of bottles in and out of teetering stacks in a cold, underground crawlspace - and so on and so on. Not to mention the unbelieveable effort of farming a vineyard and dealing with the ever-changing climate! Just thinking about it all makes me tired and ready for a drink. As my friend 99 so eloquently put it, after we emerged into the sunlight, "I'll never complain about the price of champagne again!"

Paris End-of-Summer Picnic

2007-08-26T13:01:00.000+02:00

The city I know and love came back to life this weekend, for two glorious days of sun and warmth. I had almost given up on her, and was ready to accept that the rain and grayness would go on forever. Once again, Paris has the last word.