Mother's Day in Paris

May 30th is Mother's Day in France and I spent the day thinking about motherhood and the birth of my sons who were born here when I lived in Paris in the 1970's. They were born in the Clinique du Belvédère on the southwest edge of Paris. The Belvedere was a former chateau with lovely rooms and gardens. This is also where I was introduced to the Lamaze method of childbirth which was to become a lifelong passion of mine. I was anxious to return to the Belvedere clinic and to learn how things have changed in childbirth practices in the intervening years. I was dismayed to learn that the maternity clinic closed in 2003 and the building is now in private hands. It still looks the same from the outside, but the gardens seem much smaller:


I didn't bring many old photos along with me, but here is a picture of me and my son Philippe reading a book for his first Christmas in Paris. He has always been a reader!



This is a picture of me and my younger son Eric, taken in the Belvedere clinic. You can see that my hairstyle hasn't changed much in 32 years!

Birthday celebration

My 60th birthday was last month and I celebrated it in England with my friend Ruth. I wrote about it here

I celebrated my birthday again yesterday in Paris surrounded by friends old and new. We went to La Cabane à Huitres to eat more oysters, foie gras, cheese, dessert, and some very very special wine.

Here we are starting out with our oysters:

That's Eleanor Beardsley, NPR correspondent on the left, Odette Lefevbre, my Parisian friend of 35 years, and me.

After the oysters, we moved on to foie gras accompanied by a 1971 Sainte Croix du Mont (a sweet white Bordeaux wine that goes particularly well with foie gras).

After the foie gras, we had cheese - a brebis (sheep) cheese from the Pyrenees. And to go with the cheese, Francis opened a very very special bottle of wine - a bottle of Medoc from the year I was born!


Francis actually opened the bottle of wine ahead of time: the rule of thumb is one hour for every year . . .



The wine was DELICIOUS! Everyone in the small place joined us for a toast!


That's Monsieur Ponce in the background - he is the 96 year old regular that I've mentioned before.

A wonderful time was had by all!


Special thanks to Francis for the gracious gift of a very special wine. And thanks to Lauren and Odette and Emma and Julie and Eleanor (who had to leave early to work) for helping make this a very special occasion for me!

May 23

Today is the Pentecôte holiday in France. It is the seventh Sunday after Easter and a three day weekend for most people here in Paris. It is also International Biodiversity Day and the occasion for an amazing event on the Champs Elysees. The Champs Elysees has been converted into a giant garden for two days. Here is what the Champs Elysees looked like yesterday afternoon:


And here is a photo from the same spot today:


The professional photographers had a better view than I did:


It was a spectacular day and Parisians and tourists alike were out soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the event. Thousands of trees and plants had been moved onto the Champs Elysees overnight. Trees from every ecosystem were represented as well as wild and cultivated grasses, fruits and vegetables. You don't usually see pine trees and palm trees side by side, or tomatoes and strawberries in the middle of the Champs Elysees.

It was appreciated by Parisians of all ages.




This afternoon I went to the Luxembourg gardens. I wasn't the only person who wanted to take advantage of the gorgeous weather. There will be lots of people with sunburns tomorrow.


As much as I enjoyed being in Paris today, I did feel alone. Today is Charlie's birthday and he'll be having brunch with our sons and daughter-in-law. I wish I was there.

Massage

I had a massage on Friday afternoon to soothe my sore muscles after moving into a different apartment. The massage therapist was recommended by Bo, an English friend who lives in Paris and is expecting her first baby this summer.

I wasn't disappointed - the massage was WONDERFUL and I floated out of there.

This was my first and only massage in Paris, so I don't know how common my experience was. And I should first remind you that the French have a much more relaxed attitude to nudity that we do in the U.S. The beaches are largely topless here.

Anyway, when Bo recommended this particular massage therapist, a man, she also told me what to expect. Here is the package that he handed me to cover up in preparation for the massage:


And here is what I found inside the package! There was no top sheet for modesty, and when I opened the package I wondered: why bother?



On the subject of Paris fashion, you can see I'll have plenty of leeway as I redefine my own sense of style. The photo doesn't do justice to the shoes or the red teapot handbag, but captures the essence of the two sisters. You can wear anything (or nothing) here!

Moving day

Just as I've become acquainted with my neighborhood, found my favorite bakery and my favorite deli - it's time to move again. My apartment was already promised to another renter and I have to move out. I woke up early to clean, then decided to have a traditional French breakfast to remember the great bakery just downstairs. Believe it or not, I often just have cereal (Special K or something resembling granola), but today I rewarded my cleaning efforts by picking up a warm croissant and a brioche to go with my cafe au lait (typically served in a bowl in French homes).



I've returned to the apartment in the Passage d'Enfer. It isn't as quite as large and nicely furnished as the one I just left, but it has the distinct advantage of being free and it's more centrally located. I wrestled my belongings up and down the stairs of the metro and then up the narrow spiral staircase at Passage d'Enfer. This afternoon I'm going to have my first massage to soothe my tired muscles. Remember to travel light when you come to see me!

My Profile

"Why is your Profile empty?" Ruth wanted to know.

I stammered as I searched for an answer. I didn't want to be pinned down, put in a box. Besides, none of my former identifiers seemed to fit. Since I've arrived in Paris, alone, I no longer feel like mother, daughter, wife, big sister, or caretaker. And I certainly am no longer software sales person or client advocate. I am far from "my" moms and babies, so the label Lamaze instructor and doula doesn't quite fit here in Paris. Furthermore, I feel like I'm still in a chrysalis, having left my caterpillar body behind. I am now dissolving and evolving into a new form; knowing that I may emerge as a butterfly, but not yet knowing what colors I'll be. My wings are not yet dry. I'm not quite ready to fly.

So I didn't know what to present in my profile. How can I show a picture or describe who I am if I don't yet know?

"Your profile doesn't have to be fixed in amber," responded Ruth. "You can change it. Daily. You can describe who you are TODAY. Not yesterday, not tomorrow."

And so dear Readers, maybe you've noticed that I've started putting pictures in my Profile. And the pictures have changed. They will continue to change as my wings start to dry and as my colors become clearer. And I will start to describe who I am - at least for today.

Tilley Hat

I lost my favorite hat yesterday. Aargh. I was riding the metro, engrossed in a book (Tales of a Female Nomad, by Rita Goldman Gelman) I got to my station and jumped up, not realizing until I exited the car that I didn't have my hat. I immediately jumped back on the train and started searching for my hat but I couldn't find it. I rode for three more stations, searching, but never found it. I am desolate. I LOVED that hat. I bought it in Camden, Maine over ten years ago and have worn it to protect me from rain and sun everywhere from Colorado to New Zealand, from Peru to Glastonbury.





I have felt somewhat self conscious wearing my hat in fashionable Paris. I think I've always been intimidated by the French notions of style. I've felt that my shoes were never pointy enough, my blouses never tight enough, my skirts never short enough. So as I walk around Paris in my jeans, Merrell lightweight hiking shoes and Patagonia layers (it's been cold here), I fear that my appearance shouts "American" - even though the clothes I've brought have been perfectly comfortable and perfectly appropriate for the weather conditions. I felt equally self conscious about my hat, in spite being complimented twice on the street. One French woman asked where she could find one like it in Paris, and another said it looked Brazilian and sexy. No one seemed to find it as dorky as I felt. And it has served me well, providing light weight sun protection as well as keeping me and my glasses dry in the rain.

Anyway, I'd become quite attached to the hat; but I have taken its loss as a message from the universe that it is time to let go of some old stories, and to develop a new look as I write a new story for myself. My first purchase? Some silly socks.


What did you expect? Dior?