Painted Sky

Walking home from the playground with my toddler, I had to stop on the island in the middle of the street to take this picture. The only clouds in the sky just happened to be so perfectly aligned with the angle of the rooftops.

That's Paris for you, even the clouds look like they've been put there by an artist.

What Year is It Anyway?

It is said that if you want to get anything out of life, you have to go after it. But sometimes, life truly comes to you in wonderful and unexpected ways: you just have to turn your head a little bit.

Recently, I heard the tinkling of music coming down our street. I knew what it was and rushed to the window, only to be greeted with a smile even before I tossed down a coin.

That's one of the things I love the most about Paris. It gives you inklings of what it was like to live in another time.

That is one of its greatest charms: though it is a modern city, some things haven't changed. It is a place where there is still room for the small-town bakers and butchers, the cafes that don't rush you even if you order just the tiniest cup of coffee, and the rare organ grinders.

Lost

The other day, there was a little monkey who lost his child.

Seven-year-old Louise came up to me, her big eyes open and round.

"Is it yours?" I asked.

"No. Are you going to take it?" she replied.

"No."

"Why not?"

"If the child comes back and doesn't find his monkey, he'll be really sad."

"Oh," she said thoughtfully and then followed me around the park.

Spring

For twelve years, I lived in Los Angeles, where flowers bloom year round: purple Jacarandas in April, fuchsia Silk Floss trees in September, Bougainvilleas and Oleanders all the time.

Bright colors were a part of every season.

And then two years ago, I moved to Paris, where in the winter color was drained out of the landscape leaving dark-gray slate roofs, dull-gray skies, pale-beige or drab-gray facades, leafless trees, and pale faces hidden under big scarves.

This year the winter was very mild, but the colors were still homogeneous. The lack of color on the outside gave me time to go within, to be dormant, setting the groundwork for spring.

And now it's here, earlier than expected, and just like last year, I'm somewhat unsettled and slightly in shock by it all.




Everywhere I look, there is a symphony of colors that borders on kitsch...Pink tulips growing next to blue hyacinths, sprouting next to bright yellow daffodils, springing next to pansies of all colors.

Trees growing flowers one day, and, as if by magic, leaves overnight, where a week earlier there were just smooth stems.

Color is everywhere and there is just no hiding from it; forcing me to pay attention; to snap out of the meditative inside to life bursting outside in all its glory.

A Glimpse...

The tiniest bit of warm sun is soaked up by sun-parched Parisians on an Easter Sunday by the Canal Saint Martin.

Sunday Stroll

There are some times in life where it's good to plan ahead, and then there are those times where the unplanned makes the unexpected discovery all the more joyful.

Last Sunday, our feet took us to the Port de l'Arsenal, where the Canal Saint Martin meets the Seine, next to Bastille. Not only did we stumble on Spring in full boom...

...but we also found that Paris was no longer Paris!

Venice had taken over and Carneval was in full swing.

And I learned that it's not the mask that creates the mystery. It's all in the attitude.

It's not just...

...the flowers that sprout during Spring.

.

(Photo taken in Place des Vosges)

Les Giboulée de Mars

I had just come home from doing my errands in an odd-weather kind of day (cold, hot, cold), when I heard a racket outside of the windows. We've had sporadic construction lately, so I immediately attributed it to that.

When I looked out the window though, I couldn't help but gasp at the sight. I witnessed a torrent of hail covering cars, scooters, the sidewalk and a man carrying an umbrella as he walked nonchalantly down the street, completely unperturbed by the intensity of the ice and sound, as if on a Sunday stroll.





I've always found hail to be so gloriously strange, because it comes on so unexpectedly and unannounced with such a force and then it is gone just as quickly.

A Bright Spot

It snowed in New York City last week, and I thought to myself, well, at least we are lucky to have such warmth here in Paris, forgetting (on purpose?) that the weather on the East Coast of the United States reaches us on the West Coast of Europe, in varying degrees, within four days.

And so yesterday, while I was in Herbeus looking for Australian Bushflower Essences, I noticed that it had, what I thought, started to rain.

It is only when I stepped out into the street that I realized, goodness me, it's hail.

People stood with long faces under shop and restaurant awnings, waiting it out. But me, how could I be depressed? I was warm in my expensive, French wool stockings and if that wasn't reason enough, I detected all the way down the street, a man with a bright, red umbrella.

The sky was gray, the air was cold, people looked unhappy, and here I stood blocking the entrance to the shop I just stepped out of, with what I'm sure was a loopy grin on my face, unable to tear my eyes away from the spot of color that moved closer and closer.


(If you click and enlarge the image, you can actually see the hail!)

Little things make me happy, and yesterday it was that bright, red umbrella.

April Chill

This year in Paris, we've had a mild winter and an early spring. This is always dangerous because now is the time people dress too lightly for the fluctuating temperatures.

Last week it was so warm, in fact, that I almost put away my winter coat, but I kept on thinking about the French saying, which is repeated like a mantra, En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil ; en mai, fais ce qu’il te plaît, (In April, do not uncover yourself by one thread; in May do as you wish).

I kept the coat out "just in case". And today was just that "just in case". It was reasonably warm, but there was a wind that stung with an arctic chill, making all of us huddle under the too little clothing that we all wore (I left my bonnet at home).

But Paris is Paris and there is always beauty somewhere that springs out of the cold. We found it walking home.