Gifts

Before I moved to Paris I was a practicing "doula." A doula is a woman who provides emotional support during childbirth. I was privileged to attend many, many births in a career that spanned over 30 years. I remember very well each and every birth I ever attended. It's a moment that one never forgets.

I stay in touch regularly with many of "my" moms and babies. Jennifer is one of those whom I'm very close to. I was Jennifer's doula for the birth of her second daughter, Adeline. Here is one of the very first pictures of baby Adeline.


Recently, Jennifer discovered a new passion (besides being a mom plus working full time as an engineer.) She is making cute little gnomes and she made one just for me. It arrived last week along with a little story - also written just for me. Here's Fleur sitting on my computer and keeping me company.


This isn't just a commercial plug for Jennifer and her cute little gnomes, it's also a thank you. She is the person who taught me most everything I know about blogs. She has maintained her own blog since 2006. You can find her blog here. She also helped me set up my blog - the background colors, images, font, and layout. Thank you, Niffer!

Oh, and if you'd like to buy a personalized gnome for yourself, friend or loved one - you can find them here.

Surprises - Part 2

This morning I was on the bus heading home after a morning of taking pictures when I suddenly saw Superman and Spiderman. Huh? What are they doing here in Paris?




Oh yeah, Batman was there too, along with his boat . .


p.s. The building is called the Artcurial. It's an auction house located on the Champs Elysees. You can bid on Superman and his buddies here

Surprises - part 1

Yesterday I was looking for a restaurant that had been recommended by a friend and found myself in a neighborhood that I don't usually visit. The sign said: "Elvis My Happiness"
Huh? Am I in Memphis or Paris?


It turns out that this is boutique is also the HQ for the French Elvis fan club - second largest in the world. You can find anything and everything Elvis related here, including organized tours to Graceland and Las Vegas. The clerk even had the haircut - but I didn't ask him to sing . . .

Meeting Margaret

She goes by Margaret now, having long ago discarded Bobbi, the nickname remembered by her college housemates. We've agreed to meet on Sunday afternoon, following Friday's detective work. Margaret lives less than half a mile from me - a fact that astonishes both of us as we compare neighborhood markets, landmarks, and bus routes. She's invited me for coffee and I arrive with a box of dark chocolates along with photos and details sent by Sonia and "Barney", one of the other Dickinson college housemates. I have no idea what to expect from our visit.

Margaret is petite, elegant, her youthful face belying her age. She looks younger than I do! I've come to "interview" her - but she seems more interested in me and what's brought me to Paris. Within moments, she's heard much of the story of my life, my two one way tickets to Paris, my blog, etc. But wait - I came to learn about YOU, I say.

She's not a starry eyed romantic about Paris as are many American women who dream of coming to live here. "I came here against my will" she says, and then goes on to recount the story of how she met her husband, their brief marriage, their three sons. It wasn't always easy . . . She also raised a daughter alone, and now, although she has 12 grandchildren, she is not really the grandmotherly type.


She is a talented sculptor though, and I am in awe of the many terra cotta sculptures that adorn her living room.


Margaret doesn't travel much these days, she's somewhat tied down by Tennessee, her diabetic cat who requires two insulin shots each day.


Our discussion moves to the computer - to my blog, and to Skype. I help download the application, and although I'm not very familiar with her Mac, we work to set up the connection via Skype with her son in Hong Kong, her daughter in Virginia, and Sonia in Colorado.

About this time, the telephone rings - it's her daughter calling from Virginia. "Is everything OK? You sound a little sad." I instantly recognize the tone of voice, the concern that every mother can sense. I take my leave, promising to follow up with photos, and with additional contact information. We'll stay in touch - we're practically neighbors! And now that they're connected, I'll leave it to Sonia to continue the college reminiscences.
Mission accomplished.

Soldes - part 2

If you know me very well, or if you've been following this blog closely - you'll know that I'm not big on fashion or shopping.

But I do need a new pair of shoes, and I finally poked my nose into a shoe store, three weeks after the official start of the winter sales. Even though I've been living in Paris for almost a year, it's hard for me to shake off old (Boulder) habits. And I really do go for comfort more than style . . .

But I figured that some of you (you know who you are ;-) would be proud of me for getting with the (Paris) program.

So here's a picture of my new shoes: Boulder on the left, Paris on the right. (duh)


And when the weather gets warmer and everyone starts wearing sandals, I'll be prepared. Guess which pair came from Boulder and which pair I bought in Paris . . .?


p.s. Of course, they're not exactly Gucci or Prada or Jimmy Choo - but hey, one step at a time . . . !

Detective work

I'd just finished writing the previous post when I remembered that I hadn't followed up on a recent promise to Sonia regarding detective work. . . Sonia had asked me to try and find her college roommate (from the 1950's) who'd married a Frenchman and moved to Paris. But Sonia had lost touch with her years ago . . .

I hadn't gotten around to calling . . . it IS hard to pick up the phone and begin a conversation with a total stranger . . . But I didn't want to call myself a detective - or admit to Sonia that I haven't followed up. So, after a fair amount of procrastination -- I finally did it.

Can you imagine my surprise when a man picked up the phone - and as I stammered the explanation of exactly who I was and why I was calling -- he suddenly exclaimed "Oh Christ! That's my ex-wife!" Whew. I found the right number . . . Sonia had warned me that she wasn't sure if the lost roommate was even still alive, and as I mentioned this, her ex-husband said "Oh yes, she is very much alive - would you like her phone number?" My goodness. Not only is she still here in Paris, but she lives not far from me. . . .

So I called her, got her answering machine, and left a detailed message. The story isn't finished yet, but it made my day . . . so far. . . Maybe I've found a new line of work? ;-)

p.s. Margaret and I have connected. I'll be meeting her on Sunday afternoon for tea!

Mr. Pons

We were a little worried. We haven't seen Mr. Pons at the Cabane à Huîtres for a few weeks now, and even at 96 years of age he's one of the most consistent of the regular customers. I had lunch there yesterday, exchanging "bises" (kisses on both cheeks) with Francis, Segolene, and Jean-Marie. As we were catching up on the latest news and gossip I commented that I hadn't seen Mr. Pons for a few weeks. Francis and Segolene agreed - where is he? The weather hasn't been too bad, and during my last conversation with Mr. Pons, he said he never leaves Paris except in the month of August when he travels to a family home in Brittany. (He eats oysters every day there, too.)

Is he ill? or worse? How would we know? Would his daughter-in-law come by and tell us? We know that he lives nearby - but no one seems to know his address. And Francis acknowledged that he doesn't know his phone number. I volunteered to play detective. I'll find him, I vowed. And, of course, through the magic of the internet, I found a likely candidate in the online phone book.

This morning I picked up the phone and dialed a number. What will I say if it's a stranger? I'd prepared my speech about looking for "the Mr. Pons who is 96 years old . . ." No need. After several rings, Mr. Pons answered. I recognized his voice right away. Whew. He's alive. He's very hard of hearing, and so I had to speak quite loudly to communicate. I think he was touched to hear that we - the Cabane à Huîtres - were worried about him, and he assured me that even though he'd been feeling a little tired lately, he wasn't ill, and he'd be coming in soon.

I called Francis to relay the news, and we all heaved a sigh of relief. It's nice to know that you're missed. Here's Mr. Pons with Francis:


And with Sophie:


p.s. After my phone call this morning, Mr. Pons went to the Cabane for lunch. I wasn't there, but Francis called me afterwards and said that Mr. Pons was touched by our concern and left "Happy as a king."