A trip back to Corpus Christi is surely on our agenda; Joyce has her eye on skull earrings with little golden crowns.
I had a slow day today; I stuck around the 7th arr. to greet my arriving flaneurs, who ended up getting caught in some sort of a strike and having a hell of a time getting into Paris. I will have to find out why- admittedly the French strike whenever they feel like it, but generally only one group at a time, so that if the train is on strike, there will still be taxis, or buses. You know, life must go on. So I’ll have to hear about how they ended up having such a wild ride, and why they did not call me for rescue.
Whatever they endured, it will assuredly be better tomorrow, as the weather is perfect; they can forget about their prolonged arrival and rejoice; Paris is sparkly and everything is available. Museums are closed, but still. So much. I will suggest the Viaduc shops, in the 12th below the Promenade Plantée, or perhaps the St.-Germain Art & Antiquities Village, in the 6th. I’ll shoot for places with cafes, you know, people who had long flights need regular infusions of wine and chairs.
My next six days will belong in part to them; we will meet in the morning, and compare notes, and then go on adventures, take photographs, look for moments, for meaning; we will write, maybe, and certainly we will eat and shop and walk and look at sparkly things. We will visit painters and sculptors and markets and, if we wish, museums and monuments; perhaps churches, graveyards… whatever they like. I have a long list, they may have another. It will be interesting to see what we settle on.
I was SO EXCITED to see the Bonne Maman display in the gourmet market, Le Grand Epicerie, because I knew Bill would freak. They used to sell the rhubarb and the mirabelles in the US, but now we never see them. I promised to buy a few for him. I had never seen the chataignes (chestnut) before.
I really have almost nothing to report. I’ve been beading in the early mornings, arranging book pages at nights, buying small things here and there. I bought an extraordinary piece of clothing at a discount shop today, and one so difficult to describe that I hesitate to try. Imagine a cross between a pirate shirt and an Edwardian frock coat, except crafted of white linen, and with a giant spill of collar and exciting sets of buttons. It’s unclear how it will work into my life, but I was captivated by it and that was that. It was made by a German designer named Claudia Moeller, and all I know about her is that she is strikingly beautiful, makes gorgeous clothes, and has an ailment unfortunately common in the arts: a truly anemic web presence.
Perhaps I will find a way to wear it tomorrow.