Hidden In France

Blue Paris

I was just looking through the many pictures I took the last time I was in Paris and I wondered if there is a lot of blue in Paris or if my lens was attracted to it.  

How charming is this?  A single, beautiful greenhouse painted blue in the middle of the square des batignoles, and in the center a single orange tree on display like a rare work of art.

I took this picture on a rainy day in one of the pretty ruelles (petite rues) near Oberkampf.  The pedestrian street was teeming with artist studios.  It felt so far away from the city and yet was smack dab in the heart of it.

A beautiful gate painted blue and the mauve of a Lilac bush.  You know how to say Lilac in French?  Lila, pronounce.  (leelah) 

 

 I think there is a name for this traditional blue. If you know tell me I can't seem to find it on google. I wonder who lives behind those gates.  I think it was some kind of embassy or something. In Paris you can't turn your head without being dazzled by beauty.  Sometime it's because you see something grand...

 

And some time because of a humble petite fenêtre. 

 Speaking of imposing blue.  Here is one Paris' most famous restaurant, La Tour d'Argent.

Argent in French can mean silver or can mean money.  I think in this case it might means both.  An appetizer of snails and asparagus (Escargots des Murailles et asperges, sauce Meurette) for 79 euros.  The filet de boeuf aux herbes fraîches, pommes de terre croustillantes (steak and fries, basically) is 89 Euros. And for dessert?   How about the soufflé caramel, fruits exotiques au jus de citronnelle 26 euros. That's before the wine and you'll need a lot of it to numb you for the addition. But look on the website, the view of Notre Dame is breathtaking. 

Hidden in Paris giveaways, Breast Cancer support, and the healing power of friendship

I'm staring the year with rose-colored glasses firmly planted on my somewhat mishapped nose (note to self, stop obsessing about nose. Nose is fine, Nose will do.)  So here is a touch of PINK for you, ladies.

I’m not sure how good I am at friendship.  For most of my life it was clear that I took more than I was able to give, because let’s face it, I was an insecure mess.   I know I am a very entertaining friend, but can I really be here when I am needed?  Do I know how to soothe, support and listen the way my friends have soothed me, supported me, and listened (tirelessly—at least in appearance) to me? 

Although there are three love stories in Hidden in Paris, it is not surprising, given my less than stellar antecedents that the main theme I explore in the novel is friendship between women. Women who, like myself, are not always good at friendship. I did not set out to write a book about friendship between women, but I guess it was the book that needed to be written, and the writing of it allowed me to observe and analyze my feelings at a safe distance.

Trust issues and past wounds can get in the way of experiencing friendship, but when you finally meet that gem of a person, your life can be changed forever.

I offered a giveaway on the fantastic Breast Cancer support site Pink Link and today I was very touched to read testimonies of women who went through breast cancer ordeals and expressed how friendship helped them pull through the worst times.  Please read here on the Cancer Survivor Blog and congratulations to Tammy, Nancy and Crystal, winners of the Pink Link giveaway. 

 

There were more winners in December: Congratulations to Silvia, an expatriation specialist, and Carol, a talented artist ) for winning a copy of Hidden in Paris on the website Expat Forever and than you Véronique Martin-Place, author of the book Finding your Feet in Chicago, for hosting it. 

The time of giving and receiving is not over, girlfriends! I've just created a new giveaway on Goodreads, here is the link.  You have to be Goodreads member to participate. 

I hope your new year is beautiful, sexy, cancer-free, and filled with great girlfriends. (Unless you're a guy and you're married.  In which case, hold the girl friend wish.)

For picture credit on this post, please follow this pinterest link This is my pinterest account and so much easier than to chase down credits.  Chasing credit is so time consuming that I end up not blogging at all, so this is my compromise. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Holiday spirit, and a book giveaway

Friday was that terrible shooting and I cried and cried. Then I made dozens upon dozens of lemon bars (my lemon tree is super generous this year). I put the lemon bars in pretty paper bags and gave them to everyone that crossed my path: neighbors, people my husband works with, friends.  I just wanted to give, and share, and feel connected to the human race, at least the part of the human race that doesn't SUCK. 

And then I decorated my house for the holidays:  Please notice below my Sapin de Noël is in good company between my buddha and my menora. 

 

Also, I'm giving away free copies of my novel Hidden in Paris, thanks to the smart and talented Véronique.  

Véronique is one of those impressive women able to turn a challenging life (moving from country to country with her two young daughters because of her husband's work) into a positive: helping other expats and writing books about the expatriate life.

How would you feel about not being able to set roots, or know for sure how much of your heart you can invest in any given country?  I would have a very hard time with this, personally.  Véronique recently published Finding your Feet in Chicago. If you're moving to Chicago or know someone who does, this is the book you absolutely need.

This week she is speaking about my novel and hosting a book giveaway, so check it out.

See what I mean about humanity that doesn't suck?

If you read French, check out Véronique's blog.  She has recently started over (again!) In Shanghai. I'm not sure she is enjoying her new Chinese life as much as I'm enjoying reading about it.  She comments on her Carrefour shopping (the equivalent of Vons or Ralphs in the U.S.), and explains that buying your fish involves having to catch it yourself armed with a fishnet as it swims inside a large aquarium. Or how picking your meat at the meat counter really means picking it: going at it with bare hands. Or how eggs are never refrigerated in Shanghai so every time she plans an omelet she wonders if she might find a baby chick while cracking the eggs over her pan. She tells of a couple and their two children entering the store on a moped  and with helmets on their heads and shopping for their groceries like this while no one else seems surprised.

I can't wait to read that book!

All right, I hope you're like these images of Noël.  Why do I not call it Christmas this year?  Out of respect for the people who want to keep 'Christ in Christmas.'  Yes.  I finally found a loophole around my guilt! (and more guilt here and here.) 

For picture credit please go to my holiday pinterest page here. The first two are mine. 

I'm leaving you with a quote from The Dog Stars, by Peter Heller.  It resonated with me, the idea of the heart bursting. Especially after the terrible tragedy of Thursday.  Do we even notice when our hearts are filled with love, or do we overlook it? Until something happens and we see what is lost.

 " I mean I felt my heart might just burst. Bursting is different than breaking. Like there is no way to contain how beautiful. Not it either, not just beauty. Something about how I fit..."

Have a wonderful end of the year, everyone.

My Pink Paris

Helloooo blog world!

I've had to tone it down in the blogging department because I'm feverishly working on two books at once.  One is my next novel (It's not a sequel to Hidden in Paris. That will have to wait a bit or else I'm going to lose my mind.) and one is a self-help book for neurotic writers, which, as you can imagine, I am uniquely qualified to write. 

I'm planning to write the weather away skipping --if possible--the madness of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Although I am celebrating the season in my own way by experimenting with pies (a future cookbook perhaps?)  I'm trying to produce  *The* perfect crust.  Flaky, golden, but that won't crumble into pie shrapnels when you slice it. There's been a lot of failures as in any scientific endeavors, and I'm my own guinnea pig, and I'm left to I'm eat hits and misses. So if by Spring time they have to send a crane to dislodge my butt from my desk chair I will blame it on science and on my readers. I do it all for you.  You know I do!

Meanwhile here are a few photos I took in Paris last April. You remember how it rained and rained?

But really all this rain was lovely.  I loved that popular streets were eerily deserted.

When you want to take tourist-free pictures in Montmartre, just go early in the morning and make sure the rain is coming down by the bucket full.

Nostalgia was in every corner. From sounds, to smells and sights, it all came back, rushing in.  It was as though I had never left. I wandered thinking of my novel, placing my new characters in this quartier or that one.  But really, I was gorging on Paris. It was also my first time in over 20 years when I got to have a husband and children-free Parisian experience. This means I got to do precisely what I wanted, go where I wanted, eat and rest when I wanted. That freedom was the greatest luxury of all. 

When I was tired I sat at a café or a bistro and ordered something unbelievably delicious and wrong, and proceeded to spy on French conversations. I secretly took page after page of notes about interesting Parisian quirks. That's the good thing of being an expatriate.  You get to look at your country of birth with fresh new eyes. Parisians (i.e. me) really made me crack up. The shrugs, the eye rolls, the onomatopoeia, the énervement... Stuff straight out of Inspector Clouseau!

 

I was amazed at the elaborate flower shops at every Parisian corner. Who buys all those flowers I wondered?  In Los Angeles  or New York you can buy flowers at the grocery store. But how can so many shops survive by selling flowers exclusively?  The result is that in Paris you can't forget love and romance even for a minute. Good: I was writing a love story.  It put me right in the spirit.

This bistro (above) had just opened for the day when i took this picture. Ten minutes later it would be bustling. There would be delicious cafés au lait on tables, and demie baguettes and butter and jam. But I was off to the next street. I had no itinerary.  I went from one shiny thing to another.  I got lost on purpose.

To people who say they've always wanted to go to Paris but haven't found the time or the money I say save up, save up. One round trip ticket and a few nights in a cheap hotel and you can experience bliss. Even if it takes you several years to organize, make it a goal, not a dream. And don't wait to deserve it, or for Prince charming to show up in your life, or for your honeymoon, or for a girlfriend to save her money. Go alone, you wouldn't want anyone to spoil your fun! 

Parisian street quirks

Do you read the blog France Daily Photo?  It's filled with well written articles and tips about France and is great for expatriates and travelers.  France Daily Photo is hosting a giveaway of Hidden in Paris so you might want to check it out. 

Speaking of photos , here are a few I took of bizarre things (at least bizare to me) you can find in Paris. I've lived abroad for so many years that the last time I went to Paris I found myself seeing things as if for the first time.  

 

A random wall with so much soul.  What is old and decrepit to some becomes art in Paris. In LA this facade would be torn down or stuccoed in a hurry. Same for faces. You can't age gracefully in LA. You've got to re-stucco.  Like this: (thank you Isabelle for the terrifying reminder.) 

In France it is forbidden to sell books at a discount.  The law makes it possible for small bookstores to exist without being driven out of business by mega stores. Also, in France, books and writers are revered. Like they're actually special. The book store above was baffling.  How can you find anything in it? How can it sell enough to stay afloat? It reminded me of this Gaston Lagaffe comic:

In Paris, while some people marvel at the Louvre or the Galeries Lafayette, I stood puzzled in front of this contraption.  The contraption, annoyed, said to me 'take a picture it will last longer'. So I did. 

This is a parisian public mailbox, typical in color and design.  Notice anything strange? How can it be so puny???? Can someone explain to me why American public mailboxes are the size of small cars.  Is French mail magical and reduces in size the instant it passes through the slots like in a reverse Marry Poppin's bag? 

Parisian Fontains.  They are everywhere so they must be important. But why so low? How do you drink from them? Crouched?  Lying down face up? Were they built for the height of a malnourished French person after the great war?  Or are they meant to clean your shoes after you stepped in dog dodo? After walking past them, oblivious, for the first 23 years of my life I found myself taking pictures of them like they were supermodels.

oops it's 9:47... Allright, I've wasted enough time on this today.  I apologize if I wasted yours. Go back to work!

 

Scandinavian color therapy

A little slice of pretty before I go into muffled mode.  My mother is visiting for 10 days so I won't have much time to indulge in my usual addictions. That is if you don't count kvetching about my mother as an addiction.

The following images from the blog Tipsee Tessie and were taken (if I understand this language unknown to me) at the Rice showroom in somewhere land. (I like to be precise.  I think it is the mark of a good blogger.)

And here is more from this post  I don't know where they were taken.  I think in the house of the woman I wish were me. These images make me so happy.  This is not something that can be explained.  

My question to you is this:  Would your man accept to live in a super girly environment?  How much say does he have in your home's decor?  After many, many years of marriage my husband has given up on fighting me.  The secret truth he refuses to admit is that he totally digs it.  Right?

My mother does not like my decor.  That much is for sure.  I won't be looking for validation there.

I know... kvetching already and her plane has not even landed.

Hidden in Paris book giveaway

Yes I could do giveaways of my novel Hidden in Paris on this blog, but I much rather make it an opportunity for you to discover other blogs.  I'm going to try to do one giveaway a month starting right now.  

This week there is a giveaway going on the artist Cathy Bluteau's website.  

Here is a little taste of Cathy's beautiful work and a reminder of the only possible way to manifest what you want into your life.  If you don't ask or believe...well furgetaboutit. 

So if you want to win a copy of Hidden in Paris, knows someone who would enjoy reading a novel set in Paris or if you want to spread the word about a new book giveaway (real paper folks :-) hop on here.

See, I asked.  I believed... and now you shall receive.

 

UPDATE:  vero and Julie won.  bravo les filles!