October surprises

Hello white stuff!





It's not a total surprise. We'd been warned. Still, in October??






Not that it's not pretty...






But my gosh, hold off a little! Can't we save it for Christmas Eve??
 




Guess not.

Of the eleven cats we appear to have hanging out here, only two -- Dance and Stop Sign -- have seen snow before. They can't love it! Still, it's a sunny day. Moods improve greatly in sunshine!

The morning belongs, too, to the birds. It's as if they have to hurry up and dig in now that winter's almost upon us.

(Can you find the bird in each picture below?)















Yes, a morning for the birds! In all shapes, sizes and configurations.






For us -- well, it's the last breakfast together for a while. (Unless plans go awry and Ed returns within minutes of being gone.) So, it's sentimental.


 


Still necessarily, we talk about the cats. Not out of attachment to the topic, but because we've encountered a hiccup in all this cat care and placement. It seems that Ed is quite allergic to the seven (or some subset of them) inhabiting his sheepshed (which does still serve as a workshop for him). He has tried fans and filters, but the cats are obviously everywhere and they don't do him any favors. The guy is wheezing and sneezing in ways that are not good.

The current thinking is that we're going to work on finishing some part of the interior of the writers shed and transfer the teens and Dance there. It's not as convenient -- there's no running water and we'd have to put in a heating unit, but at least Ed could breathe normally again.

But that's a project for later. Right now I'm trying to remember all that I need to know for the month ahead. He'll be completely out of touch with the landlubbers like me. It's now or figure out all those unfamiliar systems for myself. Or find people to help me make needed adjustments. Like an old car, this old farmhouse is constantly in need of an adjustment, or two, or more.


In the afternoon I pick up the kids again.


With a bunch of disc and vertabrae issues going strong, I am  prodding and pushing Sparrow to use his nearly acquired walking skills. Sometimes he's really into it. Other times  -- he wants the hug and hold.





 We manage.






Back home, the story line, as spun by Snowdrop,  gets to be complicated. Sparrow listens to see if there is any mention of cats. Cats make the little guy very happy.






And then they retreat to their own home and I plunge into our own story here which, right now, surely is complicated. Not uninteresting. But complicated!

Monday once again

It's remarkable how much I have to do in preparation for even a brief trip (I consider one week to be brief) and even more so -- how much I have to do upon my return. I mean, apart from not washing his dishes as carefully as I would like, Ed maintains the place well in my absence. Nothing is ever broken, for he will have fixed it. He hasn't a lot of stuff and so his clutter is a modest (if a tiny bit annoying) affair. And yet, as we pulled in last night from the airport just before midnight, one glance told me there's stuff for me to do.

But here's the dig: my tasks in preparation for a departure are peanuts compared to what Ed has had to do in preparation for his trips.

Wait, what trips? Ed never goes away!

Except when he does. In the fourteen years we've been together, he has only left this place without me once -- to sail a boat for his friend last summer. It was a short trip -- in the range of a week or so. And now he is about to do it again -- sail that same boat for that same friend, only this time, if all goes well, they'll be sailing it into the Atlantic, taking it east and south. How long will he be away? The sailor's gorgeous must never ask. A sailor is a slave to the ocean and the weather systems that pass along during his journey. He could be back in a day. Or two. Or two weeks. Or many multiples of those. The sailor's gorgeous hopes only that the boat stays upright and that in his absence, one of the million things that can go wrong here, at the farmette, from fallen trees to broken water pumps, from clogged septics to burst pipes, choose not to go wrong in the time that he is gone.

And because I just came back last night and he is leaving in a couple of days, you can imagine how overwhelmed with chores we are today.

Instead of enjoying a romantic moment of reconnecting with my sweetie, I clean and clear and shop and stack and trail him with such annoying questions as "did you remember to do this or that" and "if you have a minute could you also check on the that and this."

A morning in bed, thinking about museums and croissants seems very very far away. And yes, as I grocery shop for the week, I think -- was I really in Paris yesterday?

*    *    *

You may be wondering what's up with the cats. (Perhaps you could not care less what happened to the cats, in which case you might want to skip this section of the post.) Well, a day after I left, a small pack of teenagers and baby Yo-Yo disappeared. Within the next few days, the wandering teenagers came back, but Yo-Yo did not. We have no idea what happened. Perhaps she was run over, taken hostage, aggressively attacked, lost, bewildered, confused. One thing we do know is that she is gone. It's been nearly a week. There's not much hope that she will return.

The teenagers and Dance are doing fine, sleeping now in the sheep shed, greeting us mightily each morning as we come out to feed them.

Stop Sign is spending more time on the porch and she sometimes brings a couple of the kittens here as well. We can never quite count them, because the minute they see us, they skidaddle. These are not going to be tame, domesticated kitties. They make an appearance with the Tough Mama every day or two, sometimes staying for the night, or for a nap...






In sum -- seven in the sheep shed and four or five occasionally, on the porch.





*    *    *

As for the farmette lands  -- well, they're getting into that last phase of autumn: there's a lot of gold still out there, but there is, too, a lot of brown and bare branches creeping into the canvas.





What a difference a week makes!

*    *    *


Of course, we have our routines and we stick with them. Breakfast!






And in the afternoon, I head out to pick up Sparrow and Snowdrop.











Ed helps me carry the big loads these days. Today it's Sparrow.
Gorgeous, let me bring him in.
Do you know how to hold a baby or toddler?
Of course I do!
























So, like any other Monday after a return: confusing, somewhat hurried, and ultimately -- terrific!

time, rain and the trip home

If ever there was a day to stay in bed late -- this is it. In Europe, the clocks are pushed back this weekend (the vocabulary I hear for this is that we're going into "winter time"). And so I get one more morning hour in my hotel room. In bed. After all, there are no cats to feed. No breakfast to fix, no room to clean. My flight home is insanely late for a European return (leaving CDG 3:40). If I leave my hotel at noon on a Sunday (low commuter train traffic day), I'll still have plenty of time at the airport.

Oh, you're shocked. I can tell. Paris! Go out, walk! It's the place that's so hard to get to. The place you spend days and weeks agonizing about: should I travel there again? Should I dig into my retirement savings for one more trip? The carbon footprint of travel weighs on me. Leaving my family, leaving Ed weighs on me. And now I am here, no two ways about it. Here. In that best room in my favorite little corner of the city. Stay in bed? Are you kidding me??

But it's raining. And suddenly chilly.  Large bed, many pillows, mmmm! I have such a tough month before me at home (more on that later). Why not just stay under the quilt and think easy thoughts about the luxury of not having to get up?

*   *   *

Eventually, I shower (oh, the water here is so good for the hair! Our water at the farm is hard and so full of minerals that you come out with half the earth's deposits on your scalp). Everyone has their own definition of luxury. For me, it has to be this morning of idle. Of a slow paced movement from bed, to shower, to breakfast room at Le Baume Hotel by the Odeon Theater.





[It feels odd not to have Bee across from me at the table. I feel the pang of her absence. But, I have lived all these decades with friends scattered across the globe. They've made my life rich even if they cannot be part of my everyday. A successful life is one when you are comfortable with adjustments to your expectations. And hey, sometimes a sweet surprise will come your way. When you least expect it. Like when Bee decided to meet me here.]

*   *   *

Alright, I brave a walk. With an umbrella, wetting my boots, wetting my camera, but I feel I must. I have this nagging image: it's of me, grocery shopping in Madison after a return from Europe. I always have the same feeling then: here I am selecting breakfast fruits and veggies for the week as if I never went anywhere at all! The trip belongs to the past, along with every memory of stuff long gone. But I'm not there now. No grocery list in my hand yet. Today, I am still in Paris.

Where to? Let's try the Luxembourg Gardens, in the rain. 











I have never seen the park so empty, especially on a Sunday!






Truly, what a difference a day makes!






There is, of course, great beauty in a late autumn day here, wet or otherwise. Puddles, fallen leaves, the occasional person walking fast, adjusting the umbrella against the steady rain...






Lovely in its emptiness, in the offered colors, in its aura of peace and quiet.











Out on the streets again. They aren't necessarily flat, or straight, or smooth.






I feel I must turn back or I'll be traveling with wet clothes. One more look up this wide, glistening sidewalk...






Yes, the rain can be beautiful. Wet, cold, beautiful.






What, you're missing the Eiffel Tower? Okay, I'll finish with it!





*   *   *

The trip from hotel room to airport gate should always be so smooth. No lines, no waits, no train strikes. No hurry, no worry.

And it continues thus. Plane on time, weather calm. Arrival improvements in Detroit (at least for those who are not flagged) -- no more forms, no more check-in kiosks at immigration, no more lap top removal at TSA (the new machines look more like MRI equipment -- serious stuff!). I do what one does when one travels -- eat constant meals. Breakfast, first lunch, second lunch, afternoon lunch, supper... on and on. Food for the weary traveler. But honestly, it has been an easy trip.

In a few minutes, I'll be boarding the last flight -- to Madison. Home, lovely farmhouse home with all its animal dramas and ever changing gardens. And when I work away outside in gardens that cannot  imitate the Luxembourg cacophony of blooms, or set the table with a new tablecloth spread out on top, or a grandchild flashes by wearing something from one of those little Left Bank shops, I will remember -- in October, there was Paris.

October in Paris

There was a burst of sunshine this morning and this time, it stayed with us until evening, when the last swaths of gold, dappled by pink puffs of cloud faded beyond the horizon. A day of brilliance. A day for which we can only be grateful.

These are the last hours that I am with Bee, my Warsaw friend, in Paris. We have a plan alright, but as before, we do not rush into it. Breakfast is first and it's a leisurely breakfast. (As always in France, I consume a lot of breads. Would I do this if I lived here? Would oatmeal be a thing of the past? Does anyone here not have a croissant or chunk of baguette for breakfast?)





We head out. Across the river again!

(Don't let the clouds fool you! They are a tease. Weak and wimpy. They quickly recede.)





We go to the Musee l'Orangeire in the Tuileries Gardens. I understand it's undergoing a renovation, but the important stuff is on full display.

This is the important stuff!





Monet's Waterlilies.





(Is it in the entirety, or in the detail?)






Eight long panels, filling two large rooms.






People come from far and wide to admire them...






You can't start too young...






You're never too old...






If you're not charmed by them, then you're tough! Really tough!






True, there is more to the Museum than just Monet. Here's a canvas with a picture of a spoon. Bee and I are in its reflection!






Alright, we did not take those quite seriously. But other canvases do draw you in.






Immensely.





It's a beautiful way to cap our explorations of the city's art treasures.

As we walk out (into that sunshine!) Bee gently suggests that you cannot visit Paris without taking a walk down the Champs Elysees. I'm a fan of democratic processes, so we brave the commercial nonsense and the tourist onlsaught to walk along this grand boulevard.






I have my 'musts' too: if you're going to photograph this city during your visits, you must include at least one grand view of this iconic tower:





And now it really is lunch time.

Back to the Left Bank. We're close to the Rue Cler Market with its oh so traditional Market Cafe Restaurant. Hey, when in Paris,  shouldn't we do that, which we never do at home?  For us, this means eat red meat!




(a charcuterie platter, followed by steak frittes)





After lunch, Bee suggests we do a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in it.
I say -- I know the perfect place for it! The view of the Tower is splendid!

We walk to this "perfect place" and take the picture. In case you want to know, the Tower is right behind our heads. Selfies are weird that way!






We take a meandering route along the more quiet streets of the city. A pop into a store, or two, or three and finally, in the late afternoon, we're back at the hotel.

We rest for a few minutes. Bee asks if I know that old Russian custom of sitting before travel. I listen as she explains it. (Read about it here.) We sit.

And then I walk Bee to the train station, where she catches the RER commuter train to the airport for her return flight to Warsaw.

(As we walk together for this one last time, we notice the steady stream of people, all heading to the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens.)





It's an incredible day! 68f (20c) with stubborn sunshine! A day that you cannot take for granted. Parisians have, I'm sure, read the forecast. It'll rain all day tomorrow. Why not push the park outing back to this exquisite late October Saturday?

I say good bye to Bee. That's hard. Friends who live nearly 5000 miles apart are keenly aware of how precious and rare time together can be. Three days, fully in each others company, in Paris or anywhere else on this vast planet, does not come easily. We had our time. We are so grateful for it!


She gets on the train, I go up the stairs, alighting in Paris once more, as if I had just come from the airport myself, only I have no suitcase, no backpack even. But I do have my camera. And it's clear that the most incredible Parisian sight on this late afternoon is the tableau before me: a sea of  humanity, out en masse to enjoy the beauty of this grand park on the most sublime autumnal day.






Even then, it's not impossible to find a quiet corner in the park...






Around the pond, the crowds are thick though. And why not? You can only smile when you look up and  see this good use of a beautifully tended public space!






Out on the streets once more, I pop into a few kids stores, I pop out again and I'm astonished to see how dark it is already. Tomorrow at 7 pm it will be pitch black. And wet! Tonight, the skies are ablaze with pink!






Bee and I had eaten an enormous lunch. I know I just want a good salad for dinner. Where to go? Oh, that's easy: Les Editeurs. It's in my neighborhood. It's solid. I have fond memories of dozens of breakfasts here and, too, a memory of several family lunches, to say nothing of my recent dinner there with Sparrow and Snowdrop.

A kir vin blanc, a salad with two or three prawns for good measure, a Badoit mineral water.






And now I am back in my hotel room, wondering if my wee suitcase will close (it always does!), and thinking about how important it is to sometimes make an effort, and how immensely glad I am that Bee made an effort to come to Paris to spend time with me here.