Destination: France (Wednesday evening)

Very late eating again…I must have walked for no fewer than ten hours without stopping today. It is always like that here.

When I was a senior in my Polish high school, the slow dance to savor was Adamo’s “Quand les roses” (“When the roses..”). Oh that memory!…my high school crush and I, moving to the “rose” song. Life didn’t get any better!

I saw my high school crush this Sunday. Every person who has ever fought the devilish battle in their younger years against a dwindling relationship, should have the pleasure of meeting their crush 30 years later, just to recognize how small, in the scheme of things, the impact of it is on the rest of your life.

At the table next to mine right now they are singing happy birthday in French. The waiter brings a cake and a small gift from the restaurant. He pauses a long time to talk with the group. His stories are clever and long and they cause great hilarity. Indeed, every last person at the table appears terribly jovial. I’ve never seen a group so completely engaged in a moment of pure fun.

Florists sell bunches of roses in Paris year-round. Even in the coldest months I see these displays outside flower shops (we’re talking Paris, not Wisconsin).

color, fragrance, joy. 

La vie on rose – to see everything in the best possible light, with sweetness and hilarity and a fragrance that is pure rose. A much needed skill, one that oftentimes I lack. Hey, that is why I am in Paris, because it is easier to see things through those tinted glasses here than practically anywhere else on earth.

Destination: France (Wednesday)

Paris has been photographed and described in words by every aspiring author/writer, every person who has ever set foot here. What more could I possibly add? I am merely passing through. I have read no papers today, thus I know nothing of world news. I thought I’d stay in this post with the pick-me-ups that I indulged in today to give a kick to my morose state of mind. Here are some things that always work for me, even in December:

- Having a same old croissant and a same old café crème at the same old bar, pretending thus that I actually have a neighborhood in Paris. Since I have never lived here, that’s a bit of a laugh, but the image itself jumpstarts the morning for me.

I caught her reflection in this mirror behind a table: Madame is having a morning café with her friends. 

- A trek to the Orangerie to check on the renovation. Like MoMA, it has been undergoing a complete facelift and so its paintings (which actually do resemble the collection at MoMA) are buried somewhere where no tourist can see them. Unlike MoMA, it is nowhere near completion. Today it looked worse than ever. Whereas last time I predicted it would reopen at the end of 2004, now I am giving it 2007. Maybe.

- A walk through a park is a high for me always. I’m right there, by the Orangerie and so the Tuileries is the obvious choice. It is empty.

Empty chairs, dripping wet from the fountain, uninviting at this time of the year.  

No, wait, there are women doing the Chinese movements in slow-mo. And the statues are imitating them.

Mesdames of the Tuileries

The poses were nearly identical. 

- The small Marmottan Museum is perfect for a day like this. When in the dumps, revel in a circular room full of canvases of Monet’s waterlilies -- more than a dozen of them. Shockingly beautiful.

A personal favorite, but there are so many to choose from (forgive the washed-out tones of the photo). 

- And, as an added bonus, a special exhibition (only through January so GO!) of Jean Puy, the Fauvist, is currently in place. It alone is worth the trip. This is stated in the exhibition catalogue: “Pour Jean Puy –ses toiles en attestent – la femme est indissociable de la joie de vivre.” [For Jean Puy – his works attest to this – the woman cannot be separated from joie de vivre.]

Puy's paintings of nudes are so sensual that they are said to be never vulgar. This one dates back to 1910. 

"La Terrasse." Jean Puy, 1920 

- Finally, let me list a favorite little distraction: put away my camera and notebook and go shop. What the hell, it’s Christmas and I need to buy things. I mean, can anyone resist a pair of the beautiful French beige rose corduroys? I’m all about corduroys. Or, the cropped green pair? Yeah!

On my list of shops to visit is the tights store where Monsieur asked me a year ago what I thought of the war in Iraq. He had said then that he was willing to fight at the first sign that there were any WMDs. He didn’t remember our conversation when I went there today, but I nudged him to it. Afterwards, he sneaked a little toy doggie into the bag. What’s that? – I asked. Un petit cadeau. Hmm. Either a sign of “I don’t hold grudges toward Americans for the french fry thing,” or a sign of how much business I do in a Parisian tights store.

What was the last thing that I bought? Minutes ago, before all stores closed, I did what I seem to always have to do (fifth time this has happened): go out and buy another suitcase. It’s not the Paris shopping actually that puts me over the top, it’s the Polish gifts I take home. When family and friends load you with honey, candies, cakes, creams, jams, etc etc and when I want to take home the quintessential highland treasures because I think life is incomplete without them, well, it gets kind of crowded in my little Samsonite.