Posts Tagged ‘brocante’

Sunshine & Rain

May 17, 2017

I got both today.

Loads of sun this morning and early afternoon.

Perfect for sitting on the deck of the houseboat and writing and drinking cafe au lait, watching the boats go by, flirting with the boat cats–there are three brown tabbies that nestle on the houseboat that is docked next to this one, soaking up the sun.

The rain was forecasted for tonight and the rain will last, according to the weather, but I am hoping there will be small reprieves when the sun comes out again, until I leave on Sunday morning.  There is a chance for sun again on Saturday and I do hope that happens as a friend and I are going to go hit the Clingancourt brocante and vintage market.

I expect that the rain will push me into the Louvre tomorrow to see the Vermeer show and drift about.

I don’t ever have a plan when I go to the Louvre, go in, get out, drop some postcards at La Bureau de Posts–nothing quite like getting the Louvre postal stamp on your postcard.

Slight aside.

I got an amazing congratulations baby card today in my travels about, one that says congrats on twins in French!  Super happy I found it, I will be dropping that off for sure from the Louvre.

Today I did the Pompidou as my museum.

And there was no need to do another.

It filled me up with art.

I saw a Vassily Kandinsky I had never seen before that I quite liked, I love his early works quite a bit, and this fell into that category.

I also saw some beautiful photographs and I took loads of photographs from the top deck of the Pompidou.

I got some great shots of Sacre Couer and also of the Eiffel Tower, the Eiffel Tower ones I am quite enamored with as the storm clouds were coming in dark and fierce.

The down pour that followed was insane.

I had met a friend at the museum and we ran through the streets, well, ok, I didn’t run, not so much, the ankle is getting better, but it is not racing through the wet streets of Paris better, between awnings and eventually we ducked into a Japanese restaurant.

Some hot tea and a little sushi later, semi-dry, and walking back to the houseboat on the Seine in the rain.

Sometimes when it rains in Paris it is fucking desperate and awful.

I remember when I moved to Paris in the winter of 2012 how bad it was, so cold, so dreary, but tonight it was neither, after the deluge, the rains were misty and softer and the streets got that glow from slick water on pavement and the streetlights, green, gold, crimson reflected on the pavement.

So gorgeous.

I got back wet and I had to take a lot of pains to get on the house boat without breaking my ankle, but I did, and I’m dry now and all sorted out.

I took some time to go through my photographs and post those up to my social media and I also took the things I bought today out of their packaging so that I would have more room to smash them all in my carry on.

I am about shopped out.

I spent just about all the money on shopping that I have earmarked for myself.

Um.

Because.

Heh.

I finally let myself buy some French lingerie.

I had to.

I have always wanted to and so.

Well.

I did.

I got two of the prettiest bra and panty sets ever and a body suit.

I couldn’t help myself.

It was trop cher, ma cherie, but I had it in my budget and so I let myself do it.

It felt pretty glorious and truth be told it was really letting myself have a treat.

A treat that I continued to let myself have by also getting a few more Claire Fontaine notebooks and some makeup from Sephora.

Yes.

There is Sephora in San Francisco, but I wanted to buy some here, I try to get a thing or two from the Paris Sephora since it was in Paris in 2002 that I first discovered the makeup store.

I bought a lipstick and some Urban Decay eye shadows.

Sure.

I paid a few Euro more than what I might have at home, but every time I use it, I will think of Paris and that is well worth the cost.

And.

Yes.

I got my tattoo!

C’est très superb!

I got the French word for non-conformist on my left forearm.

“Anticonformiste.”

In script.

It is super pretty and fits well with my other tattoos.

I had fun talking to the artist, Manish, who is visiting from Nepal.

I also got to have some cute conversations with a few gentlemen who walked into the store to get tattoos, one older man who was quite excited by my dragons and then proceeded to show me the one on his arm, beautiful work, and we chit chatted in French about tattoos for a while and where I got mine and how much fun they are.

All the fun stuff.

I have had such a lovely time.

And I still have a few days left for some more.

The rain speaks to me of sleeping in and a slow serene day at the Louvre tomorrow.

A demain, mes amies.

Et.

A bientot!

New Dress

November 10, 2015

Finally.

I returned a dress weeks ago and finally just got the access to the return on Modcloth.

I have been itching to get a new frock, but what with the scooter purchase and the unexpected, “hey let’s go to Paris for Christmas!” I have been loath to lay out any money for a new dress.

I want a new dress.

For Paris.

For my birthday.

Because it’s Monday.

Because maybe I want to wear it somewhere.

Not that I have a date or plans, but you never know.

I am still debating popping into the ARTumnal event on the 21st.

We shall see.

If so, then this is definitely the dress for it.

Or just to have a dress.

It’s nice to have something coming in the mail.

I won’t be spending anything else this month on clothes.

I am trying to keep it all to a dull roar.

Technically I could drop up to $200 on clothes this month, that’s what I put into my spending plan, but that was before Christmas in Paris and frankly, well, I would rather buy things in Paris than buy new clothes here.

Notebooks.

I am getting myself a gang of Clarefontaine notebooks.  I see the occasionally here in the city, Flax will carry them, but they don’t tend to carry the collections or the special issued ones.  I suppose I could just order them online, but there is something special about buying notebooks in Paris.

I will definitely be purchasing a special notebook for the trip, me and my glue stick are ready.

“Whenever you go on a trip, grab a glue stick and paste in things to a little notebook, so you can see everything you did while you were there,” a very good friend of mine, who travels a lot, told me this years ago and I do exactly that.

Where ever I am, Paris, Burning Man, London, Rome, New York, I stick and paste little things from my travels in that notebook.

I discovered, in my great hunt for my passport, so many of my notebooks from Paris.

I was a gog at all the places i went, all the little tickets and postcards and strip photos from photo booths in Metro stations, with ribbons and match book covers, with the Metro tickets and airplane boarding passes, the reciepts from museums and the ocassional business card or note from someone I had met.

I was able to remember so much just by flipping through the journals.

So.

Yes.

Notebooks.

And stickers.

Yeah.

Whatever.

I like stickers and I always try to get some from where I travel to.

The museum stores normally have some fantastic ones that you just don’t see anywhere else.

My trip in 2007 I got some phenomenal stickers from the Pompidou, I was just astounded at the whimsy and artistry of them and I never saw them anywhere else again.

But they are in my notebook.

I want as well, a market bag.

I lost my Merle Moqueur tote bag, I think in a Uber one day coming home from school being totally exhausted and stupid I think I left it in the front seat, so I need to replace that.

I would love to go to that bookstore, it’s a great one and definitely my favorite in the city.

Even though all the kids go to Shakespeare and Company, which has its appeal, but it’s a definite tourist stop and Le Merle Moqueur was just a neighborhood bookstore with a great selection of books and paper goods and I got two strands of paper cut outs there that I still have hanging in my house–one of the Eiffel Tower and paper hearts in yellow and orange by my chaise lounge and the other of pale green birds hanging in my bathroom.

I may get another set of paper cut outs.

They are sweet and not a lot of money to buy.

I also will get a hat.

It’s Paris.

You have to get a hat in Paris.

Well.

I have to get a hat in Paris.

I always get great compliments on the cabbie hat I got in the city my visit in 2007.

I still have it and whenever I wear it I do feel just a kiss of Paris.

The last time I wore it to school my friend who gave me a ride said, “nice hat!  You look very French today.”

“I bought it in Paris,” I replied with a smile and adjusted the brim.

“Of course you did.”

I chuckle.

Oh!

I want some tea.

Definitely.

Tea.

From Mariage Freres.

The Earl Grey.

So yummy.

I remember the first time I had it, visiting my person up in Pacific Heights and she was someone who travelled frequently to Paris, being in fashion, how could she not, and she made me a cup and it was divine.

Just a kiss of milk and heaven in a cup.

Yeah, I take a tin home with me for sure.

Perhaps some perfume from duty-free on the way back out, another bottle of Chanel Egoiste.

I still have some from the Chanel Boutique down on Maiden Lane, but it will be gone soon enough and it’s always nice to have a bottle I bought in Paris, in the airport as the size of bottle I want won’t go through security.

Postcards are on the list.

I will send myself one.

I will send many to friends and family.

It’s what I do.

I love snail mail.

There’s something so lovely and deliberate about sitting down and writing a little note and thinking about the person I am writing to, then the placing of the stamp, sealed with a kiss, the dropping it in the post and letting her go.

The time it takes for mail to get from France to here will be longer than the time I am in Paris, so sending myself a postcard is like a lovely little reminder of the adventures I had while away.

Perhaps a small poster from the booksellers along the Seine.

I pair of earrings.

That is always something I do.

I still have the pair I bought at a brocante (flea market) at Square D’Anvers one of the last weekends I was in Paris.

I always think of walking around that market and the sunshine, it was a warm April day, last weekend in April and it was almost hot and the cafes were overflowing and the music of French being spoken all around me, soon.

Soon.

I will be there again.

I am looking forward to it.

And I will be well dressed for it!

Life Is A Beach

November 28, 2013

And a vale of tears.

But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Day two of the six-day staycation.

I did not get out so much today.

Rather I stayed in the hood.

I relaxed in the bed a little longer.

Awakening at 8a.m. I thought, nah, I am allowed a few more minutes, and I just drifted off in the warm soft sheets and dozed for another twenty minutes.

It could have been two hours, it felt so good when I woke back up.

I got up without even consulting the clock.

I was shocked to see that I had only slept another twenty minutes, I really was prepared for it to be noon and not 8:21 a.m.

Up was up, however, and up I stayed.

A text from the housemate upstairs and a confirmation that she was around and was I around and that and we should go get into some Trouble.

Trouble Coffee and Coconut Club, that is.

Trouble Coffee

Trouble Coffee

I had some breakfast, made my bed, did some writing and when that was complete I opened the door to my studio and met her and her daughter in the entryway and off we went.

Trouble was delicious, I had an Americano and it was dreamy.

After some coffee and catching up with her we went over to The General Store where her daughter explored the back yard and the succulents in the green house.

Cacti

General Store

I had no intentions of buying anything and happily wandered around the back yard with her.

Then I had to, well, you have a bunch of coffee and you would too.

The bathroom was by the clothes rack.

And on the clothes rack there they were.

My bib overalls.

I have been looking for a pair of bib overalls for the last year and a half.

I actually found some at a Brocante in Paris, but the woman would not barter with me and was more than exceptionally French, Parisian, and rude (I actually only had one other interaction with a French person that was the cliché, in all the six months of being there really, two nasty “French” people.), she was also enjoying a cocktail brunch at the cafe with her girlfriends and had no intent on selling anything from her stall.

It was like a front to sit in the sun and get schnockered on a Sunday.

Which is cool, but I did not succeed in trying on or purchasing the vintage coveralls.

I did, however, today.

Man, oh man, they are cute.

I will be wearing them to all my holiday parties.

Why?

Because they make me happy.

Some clothes just do that.

They made me happy when I tried them on and I almost wore them out the store.

Holidays should be dressed in happy clothes.

And for me that is a pair of bibs.

Doesn’t matter that it is not traditional holiday garb, holidays are already a challenge for me, what ever I can do to make them less so is something I am going to embrace.

As I found myself crying over a pint of ice cream this afternoon.

No.

I did not eat a pint of ice cream.

But I did lose it over a text requesting that I pick some up.

I mean I lost my shit.

I went from being a fairly calm, rational, just went down to the beach and watched the surfers and listened to the waves boom on the shore, and hula hooped and eaten a kale and spinach salad and, what!

Napped.

Oh yeah, did that too, twenty-minute knock out in the full sun after my salad and banana.

Did any of that matter when my friend sent a text asking me to be a dear and grab some ice cream to accompany the pies he was bringing to the event?

No.

I, as I said, lost it.

I sat down.

I cried.

Then I got angry.

Fuck you God.

Fuck you.

I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, it’s Thanksgiving and I ain’t gonna eat get to eat any fucking pumpkin pie or whipped cream or strudel or gravy or cranberry sauce.

I hopped the self-pity train and rode it the fuck out-of-town.

I knew better than to respond to my friends message as the response was way out of proportion to the event.

So far out of proportion that I knew it had nothing to do with the request and was just the sign pointing the way to a deeper disturbance in the force, Luke.

The restraint of pen and tongue and text paid off.

I had to make some phone calls and follow through with meeting up some of the ladies this evening and I did both.

When that was finished, when I had a modicum of perspective I made the phone call and joked to my friend that it was sort of like asking me to bring a couple of grams of coke to the party.

I asked if there was anything else I could bring.

He was such a sweetheart I felt bad for even making a deal about it.

Asking for what I need is still so damn hard and it’s not the big stuff that gets me, I can handle the big stuff.

Births.

Deaths.

Accidents.

Evictions.

Getting fired from a job.

No problem.

Bring a pint of ice cream to an event and my entire world falls apart.

“Honey, it’s always the mouse in the room,” John Ater said to me, “it’s never the big things, the elephants are easy, it’s the mice.”

No kidding.

Holidays are challenging and feeling out of my league is standard for me.

What is not is saying yes to a new experience and going somewhere new to be with new people.

And an old friend.

A friend that I don’t get to see for long stretches of time and who will be away for a lot of time for the holidays, kind of gift, you know, to actually get to meet his friends and be invited to his high holy holiday.

He’s getting all my pie.

And the ice cream.

Knowing myself too, it’s the being vulnerable part, I want to be perfect and be capable and be on top of things, but sometimes I have a hard enough time just getting to the point where I know what it is that is troubling me.

Having open time to spend with people and develop intimacy is one of the things that I want the most, yet shy from when it’s presented.

I have been gifted with some perspective around this and when I can sit still and allow the feelings to come and go, I am better for it.

Much better.

Here’s to not sabotaging my abstinence or my holiday.

Here’s to showing up with my authentic self.

Shy, scared, a little anxious, but happy to be included and grateful to have a place to be this holiday.

Grateful to have friends who want me to spend time with them.

Thankful beyond words.

And happy I get to do it dressed in bib overalls.

Not the bottom of an empty ice cream container.

 

 


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