Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Saturday, December 3, 2016
Friday, October 7, 2016
36
So on sunny chilly days I like to eat at my favoriate ramen place in the 9th and then go sit afterwards in a reclining lime green cintrafil chair in the Tuleries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand.
And this is what I did the day after I turned 36. I catch a glimps of La Defense as the metro leaves the northwest suburbs crossing the seine and dipping back underground into Paris.
The change at Saint Lazare immediately reminds me of the rush and energy of the city with it's underground artist and numerous diverse passengers in transit.
As I leave the metro and step into the opera neighborhood I am greeted by the Haussman architecture and make my way to the ramen place.
Irasshaimase!
The smell of miso and shoyu accompany the burst of warm air as I open the door and walk into the restaurant. I am seated at the counter giving me full view of the kitchen as they prepare my ramen and gyoza. I feel the occasional burst of cold air as people make their way in and out of the restaurant but I don't mind as the hot miso broth warms me.
The ten minute walk to Angelina's helps me to digest in preparation for the copious dose of Angelina's hot chocolate I was aboue to receive. The waitress smiles as she hands me my hot chocolate to go in her prestine white uniform and immpecabble makeup. I leave the shop, bag heavier with the bottled hot chocolate I had bought to bring home to my husband and daughter.
The sun was shining full force as I made my way past the tourist and cheap souvenir shops and into the Tuileries. There I found what I as looking for: A cintrafil reclining chair, it's lime green finish shining bright in the sun. I sat down, leaned back and introduced the velvety hot chocolate to my belly, already full from gyoza, ramen, and baby number two.
Moments like this are rare now where I am by myself and left with my thoughts. I was now 36, past mid 30's and a year closer to 40. I imagined myself 40 looking back at my 30's. Would I look back and think about care-free days like when I look back now at my 20's? Or will I be more seasoned and think back at my 30's as the decade of big changes: a wife, an apartment owner, and a mother.
As I finish the hot chocolate the baby kicks either from sharing in the enjoyment of the hot chocolate or protesting at the place it's taking in already cramped space. Maybe both. I gather my things, greatful for these kinds of moments but also looking forward to sharing the hot chocolate with my husband and daughter, at home.
And this is what I did the day after I turned 36. I catch a glimps of La Defense as the metro leaves the northwest suburbs crossing the seine and dipping back underground into Paris.
The change at Saint Lazare immediately reminds me of the rush and energy of the city with it's underground artist and numerous diverse passengers in transit.
As I leave the metro and step into the opera neighborhood I am greeted by the Haussman architecture and make my way to the ramen place.
Irasshaimase!
The smell of miso and shoyu accompany the burst of warm air as I open the door and walk into the restaurant. I am seated at the counter giving me full view of the kitchen as they prepare my ramen and gyoza. I feel the occasional burst of cold air as people make their way in and out of the restaurant but I don't mind as the hot miso broth warms me.
The ten minute walk to Angelina's helps me to digest in preparation for the copious dose of Angelina's hot chocolate I was aboue to receive. The waitress smiles as she hands me my hot chocolate to go in her prestine white uniform and immpecabble makeup. I leave the shop, bag heavier with the bottled hot chocolate I had bought to bring home to my husband and daughter.
The sun was shining full force as I made my way past the tourist and cheap souvenir shops and into the Tuileries. There I found what I as looking for: A cintrafil reclining chair, it's lime green finish shining bright in the sun. I sat down, leaned back and introduced the velvety hot chocolate to my belly, already full from gyoza, ramen, and baby number two.
Moments like this are rare now where I am by myself and left with my thoughts. I was now 36, past mid 30's and a year closer to 40. I imagined myself 40 looking back at my 30's. Would I look back and think about care-free days like when I look back now at my 20's? Or will I be more seasoned and think back at my 30's as the decade of big changes: a wife, an apartment owner, and a mother.
As I finish the hot chocolate the baby kicks either from sharing in the enjoyment of the hot chocolate or protesting at the place it's taking in already cramped space. Maybe both. I gather my things, greatful for these kinds of moments but also looking forward to sharing the hot chocolate with my husband and daughter, at home.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
2016
So it's the end of 2015 and I'm sitting outside on a terrrance of a café in Paris. It's 60 degrees and I'm enjoying a cigarette with a cup of hot coffee.
Simple yet extraordinary given the times.
I hadn't had a cigarette since spring of 2014 when I found out I was pregnant and since my daughter's birth drinking coffee, hot, has become a luxury.
The trickle of warm coffee down my throat followed by a puff of nicotine afterwards helps me to relax as I consider how sitting outside in a terrance can cost you your life. And 60 degrees outside?
It's freaking end of December.
Has the world always been this f-ed up or do I simply pay attention more because I'm responsible for another life?
My parents recently came to Paris. They're retired now, the house paid off, children married.
They seemed different to me, almost like runners who have crossed the finish line of a marathon: happy to have done it; fatigued from the effort; serene that the hard part is past them.
I recently saw that 2016 when upside down and backwards looks like joie, the french word for joy.
Here's to hoping.
Simple yet extraordinary given the times.
I hadn't had a cigarette since spring of 2014 when I found out I was pregnant and since my daughter's birth drinking coffee, hot, has become a luxury.
The trickle of warm coffee down my throat followed by a puff of nicotine afterwards helps me to relax as I consider how sitting outside in a terrance can cost you your life. And 60 degrees outside?
It's freaking end of December.
Has the world always been this f-ed up or do I simply pay attention more because I'm responsible for another life?
My parents recently came to Paris. They're retired now, the house paid off, children married.
They seemed different to me, almost like runners who have crossed the finish line of a marathon: happy to have done it; fatigued from the effort; serene that the hard part is past them.
I recently saw that 2016 when upside down and backwards looks like joie, the french word for joy.
Here's to hoping.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
comme un lundi
So last Tuesday a co worker asked me, ça va [how's it going]?
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
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