I love Paris in the springtime - 3

Just in time...a little lighthearted vimeo.

The Goldfish from Capucha on Vimeo.

I love Paris in the springtime - 4

A recommendation from ma chère roommate, who fixed me a delicious "bon voyage" dinner tonight.  These gals I live with really know how to make little things in my life feel special.  Thank you!! 

smile at the sun

I love Paris in the springtime - 5

"monet refuses the operation," lisel mueller

Doctor, you say there are no halos

around the streetlights in Paris

and what I see is an aberration

caused by old age, an affliction.

I tell you it has taken me all my life

to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,

to soften and blur and finally banish

the edges you regret I don't see,

to learn that the line I called the horizon

does not exist and sky and water,

so long apart, are the same state of being.

Fifty-four years before I could see

Rouen cathedral is built

of parallel shafts of sun,

and now you want to restore

my youthful errors: fixed

notions of top and bottom,

the illusion of three-dimensional space,

wisteria separate

from the bridge it covers.

What can I say to convince you

the Houses of Parliament dissolve

night after night to become

the fluid dream of the Thames?

I will not return to a universe

of objects that don't know each other,

as if islands were not the lost children

of one great continent.  The world

is flux, and light becomes what it touches,

becomes water, lilies on water,

above and below water,

becomes lilac and mauve and yellow

and white and cerulean lamps,

small fists passing sunlight

so quickly to one another

that it would take long, streaming hair

inside my brush to catch it.

To paint the speed of light!

Our weighted shapes, these verticals,

burn to mix with air

and change our bones, skin, clothes

to gases.  Doctor,

if only you could see

how heaven pulls earth into its arms

and how infinitely the heart expands

to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

I love Paris in the springtime - 6

See how happy the French are?  It's because they get to eat pain au chocolat every day.  I don't think that's how they get to be such good dancers, though; that's just talent.

I love Paris in the springtime - 7

After posting a bunch of video clips, this post seems a little old school!  Okay, everyone, this is called an "excerpt," and it comes from these things people used to read in the olden times, called "books."  Isn't that amazing?

Anyway. :)  This book, called Almost French, is the autobiography of an Australian journalist making a new life in France.  She encounters a lot of snobbery and eccentricity as she tries to transition, but my favorite part is the way she reveals how much grace and warmth she finds behind each person's aloof exterior.  

In this part, she's calling to request an interview with the former Army Chief, who's still very much a bigwig at the École Militaire (military school).  But rather than having to wade through a bunch of red tape before speaking to him, she's been told that she can speak to him immediately...so she has no time to prepare her questions in proper French. 

Unnerved, I stumbled straight into a foolish mistake.  Instead of using the respectful word for "you," vous, I addressed him with the casual, matey tu.  In France, the military is the ultimate bastion of pomp and prestige and it's quite possible not even the good general's wife is permitted such familiarity.  In my growing panic, I tu-ed him again.  Then, after more nervous jabber, I said the unthinkable.

"Tu veux le faire ou non?"  Do you want to do the interview or not?  This sounds bad enough in English but in France--where the same question would require five minutes of poetic persuasion--such brusqueness is obscene.  Forget about using his proper title, mon Général-- I didn't even call him Monsieur.  My French had been reduced to the sort of crude questions you'd expect from a five-year-old.  The conversation had turned into an excruciating out-of-body experience: from my lofty vantage point it was obvious the babbling journalist had blown it.  A faint feeling of hysteria squeezed my breath.  Please oh please, let's just hang up and start again.

The general said he needed time to consider the interview, which under the circumstances seemed saintly, that he might even contemplate speaking to me again.  Rushing to end the call, I said the first farewell that popped into my head.

"Alors, à bientôt, uh."  Well, see ya later.  I may as well have said bisou and blown him a kiss.  I put down the receiver, cringing, barely able to believe the conversation I just had.  God that was awful.  Pitiful.  I was beyond help, out of control, hell-bent on my own self-destruction.

Half an hour later, his secretary called back.  The general would like a word.  I braced myself. ...

But his tone was kind.  Yes, actually, he'd be delighted to be interviewed.  Does such-and-such a day suit?  Astonished and almost speechless, I wondered what made him agree to the interview.  Was it simply his desire to state France's case?  Or did my embarrassing performance earlier elicit an act of kindness?  Whatever the reason, I was immensely grateful.  At the end of our brief exchange, there was a small pause.  Still unable to believe that he had said yes, I wondered what was coming.  The name of a good French teacher?  A request that a translator be on hand during the interview?  (I planned to bring one anyway.)  But no, it seemed he just wanted to say good-bye.

"Alors, à bientôt, uh."  It took a second or two for me to realize this was a perfect echo of my wholly inappropriate farewell earlier.  Beneath his grave tone you could almost hear him wink.    

I love Paris in the springtime - 8

One of my favorite parts in a beautiful movie-- Amélie.

(Sorry the sound isn't that good.)

I love Paris in the springtime - 9

Well, the lunch-en-français went great, and I feel a leeetle more prepared to talk to real Frenchpeople...as long as they're patient enough to talk to me!

But even if the ubiquitous café scene doesn't yield willing, America-loving, slow-speaking Frenchpeople for me to talk to, I'm keeping a backup plan in mind...

Plane rides are great for forced conversation, right?!

(If you look closely at 1min-- see the tall, skinny green travel book the man with the neck brace is looking at? I have that!)

I love Paris in the springtime - 10

I'm excited and nervous, and I don't quite believe it yet...
I'll be flying to Paris in 10 days!

To prepare, I've scheduled a lunch with two work friends who speak French. We'll be dining in style tomorrow in our workplace café, trying to mimic the breezy banter of seasoned francophones. It will be hard to do without smoke wafting around us and small dogs parading by on the sidewalk, but we'll do our best!

Also in an effort to prepare, I've decided to do a bit of a countdown. This will help me know how many days before I need to panic and pack, and will also hopefully entertain and inform a few of you about the stunning richness of French culture.

Or...just entertain you.

Voilà...the first clip! (I'm hoping to work a few of these useful phrases into my lunch tomorrow.)

anita barrows, "here"

Here

is a tree abundant with lemons, in dark midwinter. Here
is another instance of embrace, you call it
the ocean meeting the horizon. Here
is your chair, your orange cat, your cup of cranberry tea.
Here is the rain no one was sure would fall.
Here is the conversation, did you think
you wanted another? Here is your daughter
coming downstairs to call her dog, this dog,
who bounded into our lives the summer you thought
nothing so comical would ever again be possible.
Here is the love that seemed impossible, as much
in your hands as that rock you're holding,
picked from the crest of a hill you thought
you didn't have the strength enough to climb.
Here is your joy, that created itself
without your knowing it;
here is the sunlight pouring through leaves
of pyrocanthus, lush red berries, the last sunlight today
between layers of cloud & evening.
Here is the life you meant when you said
to your friends after the walk & the good
morning's work, I wish I were living
my days like this, & she
handed you the carrots she had peeled
only for you, just at that
moment, & smiled
at everything, & said to you, You are.

"best hair"

Usually when you go to a concert, you take away a cd, or a ticket stub, or a t-shirt.  But I have something I like even more!

My roommate Laura and I went to Greg Laswell's concert in Lawrence a few nights ago. Since it was Spring Break at KU, the venue was faaar from crowded.  We could just hang out near the stage without having to fight anyone to get there.  It was nice since I didn't have to be all anxious like I get when I want to be near the musician without looking like I'm trying too hard to get there (although I did have to try to play it cool and not look as excited as I really was to be so close...musicians are pretty dreamy).

Anya Marina and Jay Nash (extra dreamy) played before Greg, and after the concert, we went up to their merchandise table to check out the t-shirts & cds.  Jay was hanging out there and  we told him he sounded great, and thanked them for coming out to Lawrence.  He was really great to talk to, because he made eye contact and really seemed like he actually cared to be talking to some random concertgoers (which Greg didn't so much...but he might just be more introverted).  He even remembered which of us was Lauren/Laura-- no small feat!  Then as Laura and I continued to look at the merchandise, he looked at me for a second and said, "I like your hair."  "Thanks!"  I said.  He studied me for a second more and said, "It really suits you."  I said thanks again, feeling extremely flattered, and Laura and I went over to the ATM to get some cash for our stuff.  When we got back, Jay said he voted the two of us "best hair on the tour." What?!  Anya came back just then and Jay asked her if she agreed, and she did.  

That exchange just made my night.  

So yes: Best Hair on the Greg Laswell/Jay Nash/Anya Marina tour for Laura and I.  That's better than 50 t-shirts!!

lynda barry

You know how sometimes you wonder if you're crazy until you find out someone else thinks like you do?  That's kind of how I feel about Lynda Barry.  She's a little crazier than me in some ways (so far...wait til I've lived long enough), but in other ways it seems like she explores the kinds of things I wonder about.  It's fun to look through her book What It Is, from which I took this illustration, and get lost in the same mysterious spaces she explores.  Our selves are crazy places...it would be cool to represent that in artwork and writing as freely as she does. She's known for her graphic novels, but I hesitate to really call them that since they're much more stream-of-consciousness (both visually and in writing) than that name implies.  This book is just full of play-- she tells a bit of story, then pauses to wonder about things like memory and music, then goes on with the story-- it's very dreamlike but still quite real.  It's organic, like we are.  Despite all the comparisons, our minds are not machines...and it's nice to have such a tangible, fascinating reminder of that nearby.

31 veggie burgers

Even though my mouth waters at the thought of a good beef burger, I usually have a hard time choosing between that and the exciting variety of alterna-burgers out there in the world.  When such options as the succulent salmon burger, the clouds-of-heaven-atop-a-meat-patty turkey burger, and the spicy-smoky-tasty black bean burger are tempting me with their deliciousness, how can I possibly stick to one?

Well, this won't really help me decide on a favorite, but I'm still excited about it: 31 veggie burgers.  It's the blog of a KC guy turning 31 on March 31st, who has decided to try 31 different veggie burgers in 31 days.  He's a vegetarian and former vegan-- an alterna-burger expert!-- and he and his wife (both Hallmark employees) have also appeared in the Food section of the KC Star.  That's right, he's a foodie.  And his videos chronicling each adventure make me feel like I'm watching a Kansas City edition of the Food Network!  

Hope you enjoy his tour of local veggie burgers...I know I will!

** edit: oops!  His birthday isn't the 31st, but the rest of it is still true.

mary oliver

"thirst"

Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have.  I walk out to the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons.  Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time.  Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart.  Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.