Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 104
April 21, 2019
in which she fusses about money
Friday would have been my aunt Do's 99th birthday. We all thought she'd get to 100, until her fall on the area rug by her bed that she refused to get rid of. I miss you, Do.
It's Sunday morning of a long grey wet weekend - constant rain since Friday morning. Your faithful correspondent has a bad cold, with much snuffling and stuffed head. So happy to be sick at home and not on the road.
But I got a lot done yesterday. Bill my helper came over and we carted stuff about - boxes of books back into my bedroom, furniture moved around in the basement, tote that barge, lift that bale. Should not have done so much, definitely made myself worse, but it had to be done. Got some groceries, especially my most fave things, Tangelos. They even have Tangelos in Europe now. Pure health in an orange sphere.
But then there was the bad news. I got the plumber's bill for coming three times to check the sump pump and finally installing a new one: $1455. Plus I'll have to buy a new carpet as the one there was ruined. And then I got my income tax bill from the friend who does my taxes. On top of what I owe for the renovation.
Debt. I hate debt, yet here we are. I now have a one-bedroom flat in the basement, a cathedral ceiling and walk-in closet on my second floor, a private rentable space on the third. And I have debt.
I know, it seems hypocritical for a woman who has just spent 3 weeks in Europe to moan about debt. I assure you my trips to Europe are about as thrifty as such journeys can be; the funky little apartment in the 12th Lynn found us cost about 55 euros each a night, unheard-of in central Paris. We ate in more than we ate out. But still - travel is a luxury, and it costs. On top of the reno. So much money flowing out, time for some to start flowing in. A bit of fretting going on here.
Teaching starts in a week, and the same day, the basement tenant moves in, so both spaces are rented. I'll start to fill the coffers again. No spending except on essentials until the debt is under control. As the Beatles sang, Your lovin' gives me a thrill, but your loving don't pay my bills.
Happy Easter, Happy Passover, whatever you celebrate, I hope you have friends and family and a feast somewhere. Without incurring too much expense.
Oh - and my talented student Jennifer Venner has a powerful, searingly honest piece in The Walrus. Terrific work.
https://thewalrus.ca/running-away-from-motherhood/
It's Sunday morning of a long grey wet weekend - constant rain since Friday morning. Your faithful correspondent has a bad cold, with much snuffling and stuffed head. So happy to be sick at home and not on the road.
But I got a lot done yesterday. Bill my helper came over and we carted stuff about - boxes of books back into my bedroom, furniture moved around in the basement, tote that barge, lift that bale. Should not have done so much, definitely made myself worse, but it had to be done. Got some groceries, especially my most fave things, Tangelos. They even have Tangelos in Europe now. Pure health in an orange sphere.
But then there was the bad news. I got the plumber's bill for coming three times to check the sump pump and finally installing a new one: $1455. Plus I'll have to buy a new carpet as the one there was ruined. And then I got my income tax bill from the friend who does my taxes. On top of what I owe for the renovation.
Debt. I hate debt, yet here we are. I now have a one-bedroom flat in the basement, a cathedral ceiling and walk-in closet on my second floor, a private rentable space on the third. And I have debt.
I know, it seems hypocritical for a woman who has just spent 3 weeks in Europe to moan about debt. I assure you my trips to Europe are about as thrifty as such journeys can be; the funky little apartment in the 12th Lynn found us cost about 55 euros each a night, unheard-of in central Paris. We ate in more than we ate out. But still - travel is a luxury, and it costs. On top of the reno. So much money flowing out, time for some to start flowing in. A bit of fretting going on here.
Teaching starts in a week, and the same day, the basement tenant moves in, so both spaces are rented. I'll start to fill the coffers again. No spending except on essentials until the debt is under control. As the Beatles sang, Your lovin' gives me a thrill, but your loving don't pay my bills.
Happy Easter, Happy Passover, whatever you celebrate, I hope you have friends and family and a feast somewhere. Without incurring too much expense.
Oh - and my talented student Jennifer Venner has a powerful, searingly honest piece in The Walrus. Terrific work.
https://thewalrus.ca/running-away-from-motherhood/
April 20, 2019
Beth's courses at U of T and Ryerson - plus jet lag
It's 5.30 a.m. and it's all systems go in this kitchen - toast and Ovaltine and lists. Such is jet lag.
This is to let you know that both my classes are open for registration, start soon, and have room: True to Life at Ryerson starts Wednesday May 1, 6.30 - 9.15 for nine weeks:
And Life Stories at U of T starts Tuesday May 7, 12.30 to 3, for eight weeks.
https://learn.utoronto.ca/programs-courses/courses/2281-life-stories-i
Please email me at beth@bethkaplan.ca if you have any questions, and please forward this to anyone you think might be interested or might benefit. I'm sure you know someone who would.
And now I'll try to go back to sleep.
This is to let you know that both my classes are open for registration, start soon, and have room: True to Life at Ryerson starts Wednesday May 1, 6.30 - 9.15 for nine weeks:
And Life Stories at U of T starts Tuesday May 7, 12.30 to 3, for eight weeks.
https://learn.utoronto.ca/programs-courses/courses/2281-life-stories-i
Please email me at beth@bethkaplan.ca if you have any questions, and please forward this to anyone you think might be interested or might benefit. I'm sure you know someone who would.
And now I'll try to go back to sleep.
April 19, 2019
the state of the province and the world
Dear friends, after a bit more sleep and some coffee, there is life in these old bones. It's 9 a.m. on a gloomy wet day - a good time to retrench.
I didn't mention yesterday what I saw as I came home from the airport. When returning from Europe, I always marvel at how ugly Toronto is, a tasteless jumble of buildings and advertising. But the taxi went up Sherbourne Street, where many of the homeless shelters are; the poverty and desperation I saw there made me ashamed of my city and my country. Later I took out my bike for the first time since December and could not help but note the state of our streets and sidewalks - potholed, gouged, filthy. Meanwhile, construction is rampant, cranes on every corner, scores of giant buildings going up with no accountability to us, the citizens of this city.
And then there's Alberta, another neanderthal neo-con elected. I came back not just to that but to more news from Ontario - one billion cut from the public health budget, the library budget cut in half, the endangered species act to be gutted, not to mention the ongoing relentless war on the federal carbon tax. It is to weep and took me back to the kind of blind, vicious duplicity and cunning shown in Vice, to what Bill Maher has been saying for years - that those on their side don't play by the rules, they have no rules except winning, whereas we play nice. When they go low, we go high, said Michelle Obama. Except it doesn't work any more, going high. What works is the lower the better. Who can understand it, but it's true.
Now there's huge understandable resentment about the rebuilding of Notre Dame - that billionaires step up instantly to make a grand gesture about an ancient pile of stone, but give nothing for human beings or the planet we all live on.
So this Toronto woman mewling about her house being a mess - please ignore. The world is a giant fucking mess right now, and it's hard to see how it'll improve anytime soon. Truly, see Vice if you want to understand how they win and we lose and what it means for us, our children, our grandchildren. The future.
My house may be a mess, my debts so big they scare me right now - I did wonder yesterday, briefly, if the renovation was a mistake. But above me is a roof. My children are healthy and have homes. We have nothing to complain about. Except the state of our government, the heartless people who purport to lead us.
Enough for today. Time to get dressed and get to work.
I didn't mention yesterday what I saw as I came home from the airport. When returning from Europe, I always marvel at how ugly Toronto is, a tasteless jumble of buildings and advertising. But the taxi went up Sherbourne Street, where many of the homeless shelters are; the poverty and desperation I saw there made me ashamed of my city and my country. Later I took out my bike for the first time since December and could not help but note the state of our streets and sidewalks - potholed, gouged, filthy. Meanwhile, construction is rampant, cranes on every corner, scores of giant buildings going up with no accountability to us, the citizens of this city.
And then there's Alberta, another neanderthal neo-con elected. I came back not just to that but to more news from Ontario - one billion cut from the public health budget, the library budget cut in half, the endangered species act to be gutted, not to mention the ongoing relentless war on the federal carbon tax. It is to weep and took me back to the kind of blind, vicious duplicity and cunning shown in Vice, to what Bill Maher has been saying for years - that those on their side don't play by the rules, they have no rules except winning, whereas we play nice. When they go low, we go high, said Michelle Obama. Except it doesn't work any more, going high. What works is the lower the better. Who can understand it, but it's true.
Now there's huge understandable resentment about the rebuilding of Notre Dame - that billionaires step up instantly to make a grand gesture about an ancient pile of stone, but give nothing for human beings or the planet we all live on.
So this Toronto woman mewling about her house being a mess - please ignore. The world is a giant fucking mess right now, and it's hard to see how it'll improve anytime soon. Truly, see Vice if you want to understand how they win and we lose and what it means for us, our children, our grandchildren. The future.
My house may be a mess, my debts so big they scare me right now - I did wonder yesterday, briefly, if the renovation was a mistake. But above me is a roof. My children are healthy and have homes. We have nothing to complain about. Except the state of our government, the heartless people who purport to lead us.
Enough for today. Time to get dressed and get to work.
home on the range
5.30 a.m. I'm in a strange bed in a newly painted bedroom with empty bookshelves and framed pictures stacked against the wall - but it feels like my room so I guess it is. I have a cold or flu and so will spend the day here. I think I belong.
This was the strangest and one of the hardest homecomings ever. The journey was uneventful, always a good thing - thank God for the bus that goes from the Gare de Lyon, five minutes from our flat, straight to CDG - so much easier than schlepping on the bus to the metro, if only I'd known about it before. Waiting there at 6.50 a.m., I met a woman with two small sons who told me her wallet was stolen in the metro. "I was distracted for a few moments," she said. "It was two little girls, barely older than my boys. All our money and my cards." A cautionary tale.
I watched Vice on the plane, an excellent movie about the life and diseased heart of Dick Cheney - I'd avoided it because I just didn't want to watch those loathsome men in action, and indeed, it details just how step by step, the Republicans in the 80's led us to where we are now. For example, they were having trouble repealing the estate tax, that taxed estates of over 2 million dollars. But through focus groups, they found that if they called it the "death tax," people were fine with getting rid of it. That easy.
Cheney himself is an appalling man and his ambitious wife Lynne the same. But it's an extremely well-made movie. As an antidote, I watched Spiderman, a cartoon version starring the first black Spiderman - very entertaining. But the flight was long and uncomfortable, no way around it.
Thus, home. Nicole had been living here and the house was sparkling. She had dealt with the various floods in the basement; the plumber told her in 30 years of his work, he'd never seen a case like this - some flap in the sump pump had broken. He has replaced it but the flat is dank and there's water damage; I couldn't bear to go see yet. But besides that, there's everything else - the garden is a disaster, there's still tons to do after the renovation, after winter, after the flooding, new tenant moving in in May needs the apartment fixed, current tenant on the top floor needs various things. The rooms upstairs are different, I don't know where things are, most stuff is still in boxes. It took me about ten minutes before I was overwhelmed. I can't live here, I said. I have to move. It's too much work.
This house is too much for me.
At least, it is now, when I'm sick and jet-lagged. Check in in a few days. If I've recovered, maybe I'll feel better. Or maybe not.
This was the strangest and one of the hardest homecomings ever. The journey was uneventful, always a good thing - thank God for the bus that goes from the Gare de Lyon, five minutes from our flat, straight to CDG - so much easier than schlepping on the bus to the metro, if only I'd known about it before. Waiting there at 6.50 a.m., I met a woman with two small sons who told me her wallet was stolen in the metro. "I was distracted for a few moments," she said. "It was two little girls, barely older than my boys. All our money and my cards." A cautionary tale.
I watched Vice on the plane, an excellent movie about the life and diseased heart of Dick Cheney - I'd avoided it because I just didn't want to watch those loathsome men in action, and indeed, it details just how step by step, the Republicans in the 80's led us to where we are now. For example, they were having trouble repealing the estate tax, that taxed estates of over 2 million dollars. But through focus groups, they found that if they called it the "death tax," people were fine with getting rid of it. That easy.
Cheney himself is an appalling man and his ambitious wife Lynne the same. But it's an extremely well-made movie. As an antidote, I watched Spiderman, a cartoon version starring the first black Spiderman - very entertaining. But the flight was long and uncomfortable, no way around it.
Thus, home. Nicole had been living here and the house was sparkling. She had dealt with the various floods in the basement; the plumber told her in 30 years of his work, he'd never seen a case like this - some flap in the sump pump had broken. He has replaced it but the flat is dank and there's water damage; I couldn't bear to go see yet. But besides that, there's everything else - the garden is a disaster, there's still tons to do after the renovation, after winter, after the flooding, new tenant moving in in May needs the apartment fixed, current tenant on the top floor needs various things. The rooms upstairs are different, I don't know where things are, most stuff is still in boxes. It took me about ten minutes before I was overwhelmed. I can't live here, I said. I have to move. It's too much work.
This house is too much for me.
At least, it is now, when I'm sick and jet-lagged. Check in in a few days. If I've recovered, maybe I'll feel better. Or maybe not.
April 17, 2019
last day in Paris
And it's the most beautiful day of my trip so far - 18 degrees with a breeze. I'm returning tomorrow to winter, 8 degrees or so and raining. But I will be HOME! While I was gone, Anna and Thomas finished putting together my bed frame - the one I found on the street - and so I will sleep on my new mattress, on my new bed, in my new bedroom, for the first time.
In the meantime, I have a head cold, wouldn'tcha know? C'est la vie.
Last night, a great treat. When Lynn and I last stayed together here in the 12th two years ago, we fell upon the perfect French restaurant, unpretentious but superb in every way - L'Ebauchoir. She has been back several times, and last night we were there when they opened at 7.30, meeting Dan, an old friend who is working with Lynn in this short job they have here in Paris. We were there till after 10, eating, laughing, drinking, telling stories. (click to enlarge)
L'Ebauchoir at 7.30, before it filled up
My hors d'oeuvre: white asparagus in sauce. The meal was heaven and very reasonable for what we had.
Today, an adventure. My whole time here, I've been looking for a special bag. Ten years ago, when I was visiting Lynn in Montpellier, there was a sale at Galeries Lafayette and I bought a Longchamps crossbody bag like a school satchel, perfect for travel, light, just the right size, the right number of pockets. So of course, they stopped making them immediately. I still have that one but it's pretty worn and I've been trying for years to find another. Impossible. Nowhere.
But Lynn located a store here that might have them, and today I went across town by metro to see. And sure enough, I found the perfect bag again. And because there's a big birthday coming up, I bought one for Madame Blin too. But don't tell her; she won't get it till she gets home from work today. They wrapped it with a bow.
The mothership of Galeries Lafayette is nearby so I wandered around there; the top floor had toys, notebooks, pens... I bought Harry Potter glasses and a wand for Eli's birthday coming up.
A whole department for Waterman pens, my fave.
Create your own Parisian restaurant, complete with sidewalk tables, out of Lego
This ridiculously ornate store has created a kind of trampoline suspended in the middle. As always, there were long lineups of Japanese people waiting to buy Chanel and Louis Vuitton bags - at least 30 people waiting patiently outside the latter. And please don't say I'm racist because I point out their ethnicity; it's just so strange that so many people from the Orient fly to Paris to buy luxury French handbags. I don't get it, but whatever, as they say.
Couldn't wait to get out of the palace of consumption, she said, clutching her own new bags and her Harry Potter wand. Got the nearest metro toward home and realized it continued on to the 5th, so changed my plans - got off at my old stop in the Latin Quarter, bought a sandwich on the rue Mouffetard, went to the Jardin des Plantes for a picnic in the sun and a last commune with Dad, to tell him how very grateful I am he made me go to school here and learn to speak French.
Dad's tree
As I crossed over the Pont d'Austerlitz toward the flat, there she was, Our Lady, the world's beautiful cathedral, standing. Today was the day I'd planned to climb up her towers for the view. If only.
Left stuff at home and went out for last purchases - a pirate kite for Eli and Ben at the kite store near the Marché d'Aligre, and lastly to my favourite shop, Monoprix, for two big bags of herbes de provence and other light last minute gifts. At the cash, I was amazed to see this:
It's saying, make a gift for the reconstruction of Notre-Dame, by rounding out the amount of your purchases. That did not take long!
All Paris is out in the sun, sitting at cafés, talking, smoking, drinking espresso. I will go out again, to sit for a bit in the sun. This is my last post from France, probably, though I will certainly have further thoughts about my trip and life here. Another thing I bought today: a metro ticket from CDG airport into Paris, so I don't have to line up at the airport for a ticket when I come back. I'm ready for my return.
Merci for coming with me. Talk to you from home.
In the meantime, I have a head cold, wouldn'tcha know? C'est la vie.
Last night, a great treat. When Lynn and I last stayed together here in the 12th two years ago, we fell upon the perfect French restaurant, unpretentious but superb in every way - L'Ebauchoir. She has been back several times, and last night we were there when they opened at 7.30, meeting Dan, an old friend who is working with Lynn in this short job they have here in Paris. We were there till after 10, eating, laughing, drinking, telling stories. (click to enlarge)
L'Ebauchoir at 7.30, before it filled up
My hors d'oeuvre: white asparagus in sauce. The meal was heaven and very reasonable for what we had.Today, an adventure. My whole time here, I've been looking for a special bag. Ten years ago, when I was visiting Lynn in Montpellier, there was a sale at Galeries Lafayette and I bought a Longchamps crossbody bag like a school satchel, perfect for travel, light, just the right size, the right number of pockets. So of course, they stopped making them immediately. I still have that one but it's pretty worn and I've been trying for years to find another. Impossible. Nowhere.
But Lynn located a store here that might have them, and today I went across town by metro to see. And sure enough, I found the perfect bag again. And because there's a big birthday coming up, I bought one for Madame Blin too. But don't tell her; she won't get it till she gets home from work today. They wrapped it with a bow.
The mothership of Galeries Lafayette is nearby so I wandered around there; the top floor had toys, notebooks, pens... I bought Harry Potter glasses and a wand for Eli's birthday coming up.
A whole department for Waterman pens, my fave.
Create your own Parisian restaurant, complete with sidewalk tables, out of Lego
This ridiculously ornate store has created a kind of trampoline suspended in the middle. As always, there were long lineups of Japanese people waiting to buy Chanel and Louis Vuitton bags - at least 30 people waiting patiently outside the latter. And please don't say I'm racist because I point out their ethnicity; it's just so strange that so many people from the Orient fly to Paris to buy luxury French handbags. I don't get it, but whatever, as they say.Couldn't wait to get out of the palace of consumption, she said, clutching her own new bags and her Harry Potter wand. Got the nearest metro toward home and realized it continued on to the 5th, so changed my plans - got off at my old stop in the Latin Quarter, bought a sandwich on the rue Mouffetard, went to the Jardin des Plantes for a picnic in the sun and a last commune with Dad, to tell him how very grateful I am he made me go to school here and learn to speak French.
Dad's tree
As I crossed over the Pont d'Austerlitz toward the flat, there she was, Our Lady, the world's beautiful cathedral, standing. Today was the day I'd planned to climb up her towers for the view. If only.Left stuff at home and went out for last purchases - a pirate kite for Eli and Ben at the kite store near the Marché d'Aligre, and lastly to my favourite shop, Monoprix, for two big bags of herbes de provence and other light last minute gifts. At the cash, I was amazed to see this:
It's saying, make a gift for the reconstruction of Notre-Dame, by rounding out the amount of your purchases. That did not take long!All Paris is out in the sun, sitting at cafés, talking, smoking, drinking espresso. I will go out again, to sit for a bit in the sun. This is my last post from France, probably, though I will certainly have further thoughts about my trip and life here. Another thing I bought today: a metro ticket from CDG airport into Paris, so I don't have to line up at the airport for a ticket when I come back. I'm ready for my return.
Merci for coming with me. Talk to you from home.
April 16, 2019
Our Lady - still standing, still beautiful
I had to go visit Our Lady today, to pay my respects, to show her how much the world cares. And though I wept to see her from the side, roofless, exposed, hollow, at the same time, there she is, magnificent if battered. She will rise again. Though what a job it will be to restore her - many years of work. (click to enlarge)
A friend wrote to suggest that the Vatican sell a few treasures to fund the repairs. LOL. If only.
I was going to go to the famous Shakespeare and Company to buy a new book for my trip home - I've just finished Educated, more anon about that - but the shop is a stone's throw from Notre Dame and obviously has its own share of fans. I don't think I've ever seen a lineup to get into a bookstore before.
So instead I went to the Abbey Bookshop close by, owned by a Canadian, a massive jumble of books. The owner Brian was kind enough, when I was here a few years ago, to buy and stock both my most recent books. Perhaps they sold; I didn't see them anywhere. In any case, I bought a humour book for Madame - Savoir Rire: the humorists' guide to France, and for me, Missing Kissinger, short funny essays by Etgar Keret, one of my favourite writers.
It was a zoo around the cathedral, with every news organization in the world lined up and all the streets nearby blocked off by police. I crossed over to the right bank and walked east, heading to the Marais and the Picasso Museum. Passed the beautiful Hotel de Ville which looks more fragile now.
Then wandering, dropping into shops, window shopping - getting little gifts for the boys and things I need - for example, they sell very good anti-moth products here, got some of those at Monoprix. Passed the famous falafel resto in the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish section, but there was a lineup -
and there was a half hour lineup at the Picasso, did not have the energy, kept walking.
A beautiful park, no lineup, kept walking.
Finally stopped for lunch in a crowded bistro - the salade auvergnois came with a little tartine covered with caramelized onions, of course a basket of delicious bread - fresh orange juice to fill me with C, and a little noisette after, an espresso with a splash of milk.
I'm feeling a bit battered myself, so taking it easy - out for dinner tonight, and tomorrow my last day.
Educated is a very good read - though it feels long in parts, mostly because it's hard to believe it took Tara the writer the entire book to figure out that her parents are intolerant lunatics and one of her brothers is a psychopath. We're screaming at her midway through, and she doesn't really get it till the end. But her journey is extraordinary - from a completely uneducated fundamentalist Mormon with survivalist parents to a Ph.D. in about ten years - phenomenal. This is a young woman who in first year university had never heard of the Holocaust. Recommended, even if there are parts you want to move through more quickly.
Cool and grey, drizzly, here today, as if the skies are mourning too. Long live Notre Dame de Paris.
PS Just realized - that for years I have made plans to climb the towers of Notre Dame to take in the view from the top - but there was always such a long queue ahead of me, I never did. Even this trip, I told Lynn I'd try again. Now I probably never will - because it will take decades for them to rebuild, and how many years more will I be coming to Paris? This makes me sad. Carpe diem!
A friend wrote to suggest that the Vatican sell a few treasures to fund the repairs. LOL. If only.I was going to go to the famous Shakespeare and Company to buy a new book for my trip home - I've just finished Educated, more anon about that - but the shop is a stone's throw from Notre Dame and obviously has its own share of fans. I don't think I've ever seen a lineup to get into a bookstore before.
So instead I went to the Abbey Bookshop close by, owned by a Canadian, a massive jumble of books. The owner Brian was kind enough, when I was here a few years ago, to buy and stock both my most recent books. Perhaps they sold; I didn't see them anywhere. In any case, I bought a humour book for Madame - Savoir Rire: the humorists' guide to France, and for me, Missing Kissinger, short funny essays by Etgar Keret, one of my favourite writers.It was a zoo around the cathedral, with every news organization in the world lined up and all the streets nearby blocked off by police. I crossed over to the right bank and walked east, heading to the Marais and the Picasso Museum. Passed the beautiful Hotel de Ville which looks more fragile now.
Then wandering, dropping into shops, window shopping - getting little gifts for the boys and things I need - for example, they sell very good anti-moth products here, got some of those at Monoprix. Passed the famous falafel resto in the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish section, but there was a lineup -
and there was a half hour lineup at the Picasso, did not have the energy, kept walking.
A beautiful park, no lineup, kept walking.
Finally stopped for lunch in a crowded bistro - the salade auvergnois came with a little tartine covered with caramelized onions, of course a basket of delicious bread - fresh orange juice to fill me with C, and a little noisette after, an espresso with a splash of milk.
I'm feeling a bit battered myself, so taking it easy - out for dinner tonight, and tomorrow my last day.Educated is a very good read - though it feels long in parts, mostly because it's hard to believe it took Tara the writer the entire book to figure out that her parents are intolerant lunatics and one of her brothers is a psychopath. We're screaming at her midway through, and she doesn't really get it till the end. But her journey is extraordinary - from a completely uneducated fundamentalist Mormon with survivalist parents to a Ph.D. in about ten years - phenomenal. This is a young woman who in first year university had never heard of the Holocaust. Recommended, even if there are parts you want to move through more quickly.
Cool and grey, drizzly, here today, as if the skies are mourning too. Long live Notre Dame de Paris.
PS Just realized - that for years I have made plans to climb the towers of Notre Dame to take in the view from the top - but there was always such a long queue ahead of me, I never did. Even this trip, I told Lynn I'd try again. Now I probably never will - because it will take decades for them to rebuild, and how many years more will I be coming to Paris? This makes me sad. Carpe diem!
April 15, 2019
Notre Dame on fire
A couple of hours ago I was in a bus that crossed over the Seine - and there she was to the west, glorious Notre Dame cathedral - the same distant view I posted here yesterday of one of the most iconic and beautiful buildings in the world. One of the most visited tourist attractions in Europe, yet also a spiritual centre. Lynn and I discussed going to see a concert of Gregorian chant there tomorrow.
And now, we've just learned that she's burning. A friend texted from Toronto, Bruce just wrote from Italy, and so we found it over the international news, pictures of flames shooting up from her roof. It makes me weep. We could go out and stand on the bridge and look right now, but it would seem ghoulish. This loveliest and dearest of buildings has been badly hurt. I feel it as an actual pain in my own heart and body.
I brought my kids to France when Anna was 14 and Sam 11, and we of course visited Notre Dame. They were not into cathedrals, I can tell you; they were into skateboarding and The Simpsons. But Anna gazed at the magical rose window and said, "Now I understand why people believe in god." She fell in love with that building. We all did. Everyone did. Every time I arrive in Paris, I have to see Notre Dame to believe I'm really here. It happened this time; when I saw those towers, that spire, I said, "I guess I'm in Paris."
They will fix her. But it's terrible to think that a building so important, so perfect and graceful and wise, is as vulnerable as anything, anyone else - that she can burn, just like that. May she rise again, more magnificent than ever. It is sure that she will.
I had a quiet day before this tragic story unfolded; I went to the Jardins du Luxembourg, a favourite place, to meet old friends Michele and Daniel for lunch. They took me to the nearby rue Monsieur le Prince, to the Polidor, a restaurant founded in the mid-1800's, so authentic that the toilet is still Turkish - dinosaur feet, as we used to say, with a hole. Michele was a scientist who worked with Dad; I first met her in 1964 when I was 14, the year we lived in Paris. Now she's 82, though she looks much younger, with thick dark hair that's barely grey. Daniel went off after lunch, and she and I walked to the park and sat for hours in the sun and wind, talking. The gardeners were busy; a man kept going by in a small tractor loaded with trees in pretty decorative wooden boxes, which he was placing carefully around the crowded park.
Then home on the bus, saying hello to Notre Dame in the distance, as always, as I went by over the bridge. I shopped for dinner like a real Parisienne, had a simple meal ready for my friend when she got home from work. And then I got a text - my basement flooded again, an inch or two all over the floor, the plumber was on his way. A new sump pump ordered. Despite that, we sat dining, feeling safe and happy.
Then another text - Notre Dame is burning. And everything else stopped.
From the New York Times:
In his landmark television series “Civilization,” standing before Notre-Dame, the art historian Kenneth Clark asked: “What is civilization? I don’t know. I can’t define it in abstract terms — yet. But I think I can recognize it when I see it.”He turned toward the cathedral: “And I am looking at it now.”
And now, we've just learned that she's burning. A friend texted from Toronto, Bruce just wrote from Italy, and so we found it over the international news, pictures of flames shooting up from her roof. It makes me weep. We could go out and stand on the bridge and look right now, but it would seem ghoulish. This loveliest and dearest of buildings has been badly hurt. I feel it as an actual pain in my own heart and body.
I brought my kids to France when Anna was 14 and Sam 11, and we of course visited Notre Dame. They were not into cathedrals, I can tell you; they were into skateboarding and The Simpsons. But Anna gazed at the magical rose window and said, "Now I understand why people believe in god." She fell in love with that building. We all did. Everyone did. Every time I arrive in Paris, I have to see Notre Dame to believe I'm really here. It happened this time; when I saw those towers, that spire, I said, "I guess I'm in Paris."
They will fix her. But it's terrible to think that a building so important, so perfect and graceful and wise, is as vulnerable as anything, anyone else - that she can burn, just like that. May she rise again, more magnificent than ever. It is sure that she will.
I had a quiet day before this tragic story unfolded; I went to the Jardins du Luxembourg, a favourite place, to meet old friends Michele and Daniel for lunch. They took me to the nearby rue Monsieur le Prince, to the Polidor, a restaurant founded in the mid-1800's, so authentic that the toilet is still Turkish - dinosaur feet, as we used to say, with a hole. Michele was a scientist who worked with Dad; I first met her in 1964 when I was 14, the year we lived in Paris. Now she's 82, though she looks much younger, with thick dark hair that's barely grey. Daniel went off after lunch, and she and I walked to the park and sat for hours in the sun and wind, talking. The gardeners were busy; a man kept going by in a small tractor loaded with trees in pretty decorative wooden boxes, which he was placing carefully around the crowded park.
Then home on the bus, saying hello to Notre Dame in the distance, as always, as I went by over the bridge. I shopped for dinner like a real Parisienne, had a simple meal ready for my friend when she got home from work. And then I got a text - my basement flooded again, an inch or two all over the floor, the plumber was on his way. A new sump pump ordered. Despite that, we sat dining, feeling safe and happy.Then another text - Notre Dame is burning. And everything else stopped.
From the New York Times:
In his landmark television series “Civilization,” standing before Notre-Dame, the art historian Kenneth Clark asked: “What is civilization? I don’t know. I can’t define it in abstract terms — yet. But I think I can recognize it when I see it.”He turned toward the cathedral: “And I am looking at it now.”
April 14, 2019
Sunday's hike
More walking, more talking, all this freezing day. So cold, such a bitter wind! We emerged from the apartment right smack into the Marathon, going by half a block away. I love to watch and applaud; it chokes me up, thousands of bodies pounding by. Later, when we were home, I asked Lynn to look up if it was Ethiopians or Kenyans who won. Both the men's race and the women's were won by Ethiopians. Human gazelles, all lungs, legs, and muscle.
We walked to the east along the river, to the Village Bercy, which is an interesting gathering of shops and restaurants in the Parc Bercy. We poked about, then bought a sandwich and struggled to find a patch of sun to eat in the lovely park.
We crossed the river on the Simone de Beauvoir Passerelle, and walked and walked north to the Place d'Italie, then down the Blvd. Gobelins to my old haunt in the 5th - the rue Mouffetard, a wonderful market street. Then to the Jardin des Plantes, to the magnificent cherry tree where I scattered some of my father's ashes; every time I come to Paris, I go to visit him. The sun came out, and Madame and I sat for half an hour watching the Parisian world go by while my dad kept us company from the shelter of his enormous tree.
Across the river again, with a lovely view of our Lady herself,
we climbed up to the Coulee Verte, like the High Line in NYC - an old railway line now a long narrow park, beautifully planted with flowers, bushes and trees, well populated again with walkers and children. A long sit, warming up in the sun.
Groceries, then home - almost 23,000 steps today, not quite the record Bruce and I set of 24,000, but close enough that I feel it through my body. Lynn is used to lots of hiking and walking; I've been winter-bound and am sluggish in comparison.
Tomorrow she is at work all day, so I am on my own in the City of Light.
We walked to the east along the river, to the Village Bercy, which is an interesting gathering of shops and restaurants in the Parc Bercy. We poked about, then bought a sandwich and struggled to find a patch of sun to eat in the lovely park.
We crossed the river on the Simone de Beauvoir Passerelle, and walked and walked north to the Place d'Italie, then down the Blvd. Gobelins to my old haunt in the 5th - the rue Mouffetard, a wonderful market street. Then to the Jardin des Plantes, to the magnificent cherry tree where I scattered some of my father's ashes; every time I come to Paris, I go to visit him. The sun came out, and Madame and I sat for half an hour watching the Parisian world go by while my dad kept us company from the shelter of his enormous tree.
Across the river again, with a lovely view of our Lady herself,
we climbed up to the Coulee Verte, like the High Line in NYC - an old railway line now a long narrow park, beautifully planted with flowers, bushes and trees, well populated again with walkers and children. A long sit, warming up in the sun.Groceries, then home - almost 23,000 steps today, not quite the record Bruce and I set of 24,000, but close enough that I feel it through my body. Lynn is used to lots of hiking and walking; I've been winter-bound and am sluggish in comparison.
Tomorrow she is at work all day, so I am on my own in the City of Light.
Saturday on Saint Germain
Marcher et parler, parler et marcher - walkin' and talkin', that's Madame et moi.
Saturday began at our favourite Marché d'Aligre, a food market and a marché aux puces - flea market. It's not touristy, definitely the real thing, an adventure. We first went to one of our favourite stores nearby, where we'd both bought scarves two years ago and did so again this time, the patronne a charming friendly woman who showed Lynn new ways to tie her scarf.
At the puces, I ended up buying a beautiful little bowl that I don't need but could not resist for 8 euros, and then we bought dinner - roast potatoes, paté, sausages, a half bottle of champagne, and of course, a baguette. We went back to the apartment to leave the food; Lynn made us lunch, sandwich jambon, ham on crunchy fresh bread, and then we were off.
The plan was to get the excellent #91 bus to the Saint Germain area and walk around; the bus ride was an adventure, as it was so crowded, the doors wouldn't close. Turned out, because of the gilets jaunes who were planning the usual huge demonstration Saturday afternoon, various busses had been cancelled, so our route was jammed. And then the driver announced that someone's wallet had been stolen, there was a pickpocket on board.
But we got there and spent the rest of the very cold but sunny day wandering, looking, enjoying. Poking about in shops, looking in art galleries in the tiny winding streets between the Blvd. Saint Germain and the Seine - rue Jacob et al. Crowded, fascinating, fun. The gilets meanwhile were marching on the right bank, though at one point police cars and water cannons careened through the streets near us, sirens blaring, on their way to quell some disturbance. The shop owner earlier told us her business has been impacted; people aren't out on Saturdays now, the way they were.
At last, the bus home, where we had an aperitif - champagne with paté on an even better baguette, this one bought around the corner at the Kayser bakery I've frequented also in New York. We toasted our years of friendship and the important birthday coming up of Madame, though it's impossible to believe she'll actually be that age. And then dinner of sausages and roast potatoes with a Crozes-Hermitage I'd bought us earlier, absolutely delicious, one of my father's favourite wines.
So much to celebrate. The weather is startlingly cold, as cold as Toronto. Lynn says on previous trips to Paris in April , she didn't even bother to bring a winter coat. And I am frileuse, always chilled, so I'm bundled up, including wearing a second beret beneath my beret. But no matter, the city is as always a feast. And then there are our actual feasts.
After dinner we watched a series called Special on Netflix, about a young gay men with a mild case of cerebral palsy negotiating independent adult life - very sweet, funny, enjoyable. And then I read Educated and Lynn All the Light We Cannot See, and so to bed.
Another heavenly day.
(click to enlarge) From the day before - a photo Lynn just forwarded of me in the middle of an artwork from the Fondation Vuitton - a thicket of blue streamers, surreal.
Marché aux puces d'Aligre - piles of junk - fun!
L'Eglist Saint Germain and a redbud tree
One of the most elegant shops in the quartier - Fortuny, of the famous narrow pleats
the famous narrow streets
our fave - aperitif! Madame in her new scarf, my birthday present to her.
And so - it's Sunday. The Paris Marathon will clog many streets, so our job will be to avoid it and somehow manage to have an interesting day. I think we'll succeed.
Saturday began at our favourite Marché d'Aligre, a food market and a marché aux puces - flea market. It's not touristy, definitely the real thing, an adventure. We first went to one of our favourite stores nearby, where we'd both bought scarves two years ago and did so again this time, the patronne a charming friendly woman who showed Lynn new ways to tie her scarf.
At the puces, I ended up buying a beautiful little bowl that I don't need but could not resist for 8 euros, and then we bought dinner - roast potatoes, paté, sausages, a half bottle of champagne, and of course, a baguette. We went back to the apartment to leave the food; Lynn made us lunch, sandwich jambon, ham on crunchy fresh bread, and then we were off.
The plan was to get the excellent #91 bus to the Saint Germain area and walk around; the bus ride was an adventure, as it was so crowded, the doors wouldn't close. Turned out, because of the gilets jaunes who were planning the usual huge demonstration Saturday afternoon, various busses had been cancelled, so our route was jammed. And then the driver announced that someone's wallet had been stolen, there was a pickpocket on board.
But we got there and spent the rest of the very cold but sunny day wandering, looking, enjoying. Poking about in shops, looking in art galleries in the tiny winding streets between the Blvd. Saint Germain and the Seine - rue Jacob et al. Crowded, fascinating, fun. The gilets meanwhile were marching on the right bank, though at one point police cars and water cannons careened through the streets near us, sirens blaring, on their way to quell some disturbance. The shop owner earlier told us her business has been impacted; people aren't out on Saturdays now, the way they were.
At last, the bus home, where we had an aperitif - champagne with paté on an even better baguette, this one bought around the corner at the Kayser bakery I've frequented also in New York. We toasted our years of friendship and the important birthday coming up of Madame, though it's impossible to believe she'll actually be that age. And then dinner of sausages and roast potatoes with a Crozes-Hermitage I'd bought us earlier, absolutely delicious, one of my father's favourite wines.
So much to celebrate. The weather is startlingly cold, as cold as Toronto. Lynn says on previous trips to Paris in April , she didn't even bother to bring a winter coat. And I am frileuse, always chilled, so I'm bundled up, including wearing a second beret beneath my beret. But no matter, the city is as always a feast. And then there are our actual feasts.
After dinner we watched a series called Special on Netflix, about a young gay men with a mild case of cerebral palsy negotiating independent adult life - very sweet, funny, enjoyable. And then I read Educated and Lynn All the Light We Cannot See, and so to bed.
Another heavenly day.
(click to enlarge) From the day before - a photo Lynn just forwarded of me in the middle of an artwork from the Fondation Vuitton - a thicket of blue streamers, surreal.
Marché aux puces d'Aligre - piles of junk - fun!
L'Eglist Saint Germain and a redbud tree
One of the most elegant shops in the quartier - Fortuny, of the famous narrow pleats
the famous narrow streets
our fave - aperitif! Madame in her new scarf, my birthday present to her.And so - it's Sunday. The Paris Marathon will clog many streets, so our job will be to avoid it and somehow manage to have an interesting day. I think we'll succeed.
April 13, 2019
la Fondation Vuitton
(click to enlarge) Where we went yesterday: the Fondation Vuitton museum in the Bois de Boulogne, a magnificent, mind-bogglingly interesting building designed by Frank Gehry.Not easy to get to. Lynn bought tickets online for the navette, the little bus; we took the metro to the Champs-Elysees and stood in the long lineup for the bus. The little busses were ferrying back and forth slowly, so the lineup moved slowly too; we stood for nearly an hour before we got on.
(CORRECTION: Just heard from my friend Juliet, a Canadian who's lived in Paris for many years. Check out her terrific blog about her travels and life in Paris: https://julietinparis.net/ She wrote:
Getting to the Fondation Vuitton couldn't be easier! You take the metro (number one line) to Les Sablons and from there it's a short walk.)
Okay, now we know. Merci, Juliet.
When we got to the Fondation, another very long lineup for tickets to get in. Lynn had been before and never had to line up for bus or tickets. What we hadn't known but realized then: the huge crowds were because of the special exhibit: the Courtauld Collection, an incredible assemblage of Impressionist paintings, almost all of them by French painters, now housed in London.
After the long wait to get there, I did not want to stand for another hour to get in. Basta. So I said, I'll go in next time, let's just admire the building and then walk in the park. I mean, just seeing the structure is breathtaking - like a futuristic ship with metal and glass sails billowing.
To see the other side of the building, we learned we had to pay 5 euros to get into an amusement park area for children; after protesting, I paid it and we went in - and what did we find but the back entrance to the museum, with no lineup at all? So we got in painlessly for an additional 5 euros. USEFUL TOURIST TIP.The exhibition was so crowded it was hard to see the paintings,
but I shoved myself forward to take this stunning Van Gogh. I'll go again to the Courtauld next time I'm in London; last time I went, this museum crammed with masterpieces was almost empty.Gehry's building is amazing. We climbed to the top with a view of the park and the city; there are nooks everywhere, surprising landings with different kinds of art, huge light-filled gallery spaces with high ceilings - just gorgeous.
We finally went back into the park to stroll and find lunch, ended up surrounded by families near a manège - one of the ubiquitous ornate merry-go-rounds that are in every French town - at a snack bar, resigning ourselves to a dreadful instant lunch. But this is France; we sat outside at a picnic table with, for Madame, a hot corned beef sandwich and for me, spinach and salmon quiche, both delicious, with chunky hand-cut fries, salad, and a half bottle of Merlot. Each. That's a simple child-oriented picnic lunch for the French.
Madame tossed our little salad.It was cold - 4 degrees in the morning, just like in Toronto - and continued with a chill wind all day. But eating outside in the sun was wonderful.
The navette back to the Champs, and we strolled along with the massive crowds, Lynn pointing out the smashed glass and boarded up banks caused by the gilets jaunes, who will be out, somewhere, this afternoon. But thousands of people were shopping, buying ridiculously expensive French luxury goods, no problem.
A long walk, popping into bookstores - I bought Educated because I've heard nothing but good things about this memoir - until finally I suggested we take the bus home. The busses are slow but just the best way to see Paris. We did a little shop for wine, jam, fruit, cheese.
Do you see what I see? Skippy peanut butter - in a French grocery store! Don't tell me the world isn't changing for the better.Madame made scrambled eggs and creamed spinach, and then we read all evening. Educated is indeed very good.
A perfect day.
PS. Saturday morning - just in from marketing with Lynn. It's bloody freezing!
