trying on the reading glasses at 30

had a dinner party last night in the warm still summerish air of the candle-lit backyard, in the company of a few good friends from college and paris who i don't get to see very often, the algerian, and my parents (my mom planned it as a surprise thing for my bday today) it was really nice, really good friends, really good conversation, really really really laughing. really.

 

and i figured since i'm 30 now and people seem to think that's a big deal and old, that i should act old and look old, so i should maybe wear my mom's reading glasses (the drugstore kind) i mean, 'old' people wear reading glasses right? ;) so i wore them all night i can't say they (the glasses) made it easy to see when walking around, especially outside at night... but i suppose like all things... like this new age..new decade... i'll get used to it. and on the bright side, i am excited for the potential of a new accessory--- and if all else fails, i'll wait another 10 years and try again...

x c 

(check out the full story on my flickr!)

photos : by c (flickr)

classic.

somehow opened up to this article in the paper (no kidding, the real newspaper) the other day. the san francisco chronicle features classic articles from years (and years and years) past... i thought this one from june 3, 1963 by stanton delaplane was really great.

Chronicle Classic :
Delaplane flying high

The new TWA polar flight is nonstop from the U.S. West Coast to Paris, France. 

It takes 10 hours and 5 minutes and is crammed with so much passenger activity that everybody must work hard and seriously to accomplish his task before the wheels touch down. 

Each passenger is expected to eat a five-course luncheon and a six-course dinner. Between these he must view a full-length feature movie. He should - TWA expects every man to do his duty - precede each meal with an appropriate martini. 

The airline surveyed martini drinkers recently. It found West Coast lushes were ordering the bottled Heublein's martinis. Then they would order a straight gin. They were spiking their martinis. 

Therefore, TWA ordered West Coast martinis mixed at new odds of 16-to-1 - gin versus vermouth. Two of these and the stewardess resets your controls to automatic. You are no longer considered fit to fly yourself. 

On the west-to-east crossing, the movie is a late, late show. The jets simply eat up time. So you go to the movie in the afternoon and you get out in the middle of the night. 

Coming back the situation is reversed. 

You start lunch at midday. And when you finish it is still noon. 

This is very confusing and TWA is justly proud of it. It is not only on its toes with competing airlines. It is way ahead of the passenger.

(article continued-- full version-- and other classics : here)

forgive before forgotten :: train de nuit :: haiku

dust off the window
peer in-- the world still as it
was we are could be




image :: train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film
haiku :: by moi :: more here on my new blog

train station whispers :: train de nuit :: haiku

train station whispers
dusty windows glimpse glamour
days past our time glows

image :: train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film
haiku :: by moi :: more here on my new blog

still :: train de nuit :: haiku

after all this-- train
still passes in the distance
in our distance-- still--


image :: train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film
haiku :: by moi :: more here on my new blog

somehow know :: train de nuit :: haiku

there's a whisper in
the air can't quite hear somehow
know-- it's about you



image :: train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film
haiku :: by moi :: more here on my new blog

train de nuit

train de nuit the new chanel N°5 film

i know i'm late in writing about this and posting these simply breathtaking images, but i don't think anyone will mind. this new epic chanel N°5 film/commercial came out earlier in spring and though i've watched it many times since... last night/early this morning when i'd awoken with yet another headache, this served as a delicious distraction, i'm completely swept up in the images, and the way that this small breath of a film takes mine with it and holds so many images and sights, ideas that have been sources of inspiration to me for so long....

trains play a huge role in my life and have, literally.. metaphorically.. poetically.. in paris but also in california {i didn't get my license until i was almost 30..eh hem... i'm 29 haha} and i've cherished train station glances and goodbyes, and hellos, and... and rides that went where they weren't supposed to, and train tickets at the bottom of my purse that remind me.....

the orient express. feel as though i've traveled on it so many times in my mind, in my relationships, in my passions and tastes for more... the train leaves paris {the city.. 'the one that got away' for me} and istanbul {the next stop on my travel ticket, where some of my dearest friends live, canim cok optum girls}

the colors... brilliant, muted, reflecting, deep tinged with nostalgia.... signature glow of jean-pierre jeunet {the director of amelie} who i, along with my dear crazy friend, chased through the streets of montmartre in 2001 as he conducted interviews, did press photo shoots and met with members of the amelie cast in the cafe where it was filmed. we even met him and took photos and autographs and les bises... the only two non-press, english-speaking 'fans' that were present, we were still new to paris and hadn't realized that the french don't drool over celebrities as americans do. but quand meme we had an amazing experience, and were far more refined when we sat next to audrey in our favorite cafe months later, or when my parents and i sat next to another of the film's actresses while she ate an omelet and entertained her very small baby, just the two of them, a rainy afternoon in paris, in yet another cafe.

anyway. too much writing, i'm sure you just want to look at the images, as they are lovely. i will post a few of the film stills separately with some of my train haiku from the past that seemed fitting. also, watch the film on here, or check out the chanel website the video and website it's nice to watch it on there.

:: missed chances taking you where you belong, on an old train found with the one you'd never dreamed of until today ::

a tout.... x c

this is me......

image by {one of my favs} carla coulson

they can't understand
doesn't make it easier
to realize---

::

to realize---
doesn't make it easier
they can't understand

a hush falls... on rue mademoiselle

rough day. been meaning to write for the past few days... in fact, i've been doing so, been writing so much, just not posting recently. i will. the haiku have been flowing..... i will also be back to communicating with all of you, i haven't forgotten. but i'm writing this late night post {in lieu of sleeping off this headache} because i received some news just now that saddens and slightly startles me, despite the fact that i knew.. one day.. it would happen. the beautiful sophie marie of mon bon chien in paris who touched something in us all with her devoted eyes and perfectly manicured paws has passed on in search of greener grass, more squirrils to chase, and walks with cedric that never end. i miss her presence already. and in heavy-hearted haste, tried to capture her sweet, gentle, patient, loyal spirit in this poem:

though i knew
one day it would arrive--
still my heart--
skipped a beat
sweet face tender eyes baby in her paws
resting her chin patiently attentive
as she'd sit waiting for the next adventure



ears alert to the sound of
biscuits dropping on the floor
or the infamous sliding door--
gentle loyal soph soph sniffing the air with curiosity
found her way into our hears and smiles
{as well as the biscuit cabinet, the kitchen..}
and into her french quartier and our laughter
the golden
pink painted paws touch softly
the sidewalks of paris
now only in our sweetest memories



and every time we pass
the window of her shop
somehow we know she's still there
crunching nostalgic dreams
and squirrels yet to chase
and on occasion {though cleverly disguised
as only a diva so artfully can}
tapping her tail on the floor over
her next mischievous but ever harmless trick
her next meal her next hug from harriet
daily caresses of small eager hands
who come from all over paris
to pet her soft {shedding everywhere} fur
on rue mademoiselle
and her next steps
into the forest she knew one day
she'd run through once more
in our bittersweet dreams

from squirrels in seattle to tempting baguettes and birthday parties on rue mademoiselle, the infamous, almost 14-year-old golden retriever with pink nail polish has retired from her position as princess of the boutique mon bon chien paris, leaving both joy and emptiness in our hearts. we still expect her to awake out of the deepest sleep and come out of nowhere just to sneak another biscuit. from all sides of the world, we remember her sweet eyes, her silly ways, her eyebrows that told stories of their own, and her devoted owner harriet, who started her doggie bakery business so that she could spend every day with sophalina. sending love and peanut butter kisses to you both, and dearest diablo {soph soph's rascal of a little brother.}

my puppy poulet {the one jumping here in the picture} learned his best tricks from sophie marie, he grew up in her sparkling shadow: how to guard the treats and how to sneak extra, patience and fidelity, guilt and begging as well as pouting to get what he wants {ok, that last one he may have learned from me}, his kindness to other dogs and feisty guarding of the bone, how to dress to impress and confidently wear pink, and soph's trademark move he does every morning that makes me laugh and think of sophie, the rollin' on the back with the legs flailing about it the air move.

you guys are the best thing that ever happened to us....
can’t imagine where we’d be without you.

i will write more mon bon chien stories soon {and please check past mbc posts here.} images: from the mon bon chien site where you can order biscuits online shipped all over the world, and from my camera last summer when i spent some quality time with soph. poulet {my little guy} is performing his trademark move above in the photo and sophie is, as ever, begging gracefully by his side.

"sweets to the sweet, farewell!"
shakespeare

train music

© Eni Turkeshi Photography

wow, i wrote this poem years ago on a train {imagine that} going from bordeaux back to paris, i scribbled it down on an old piece of scrap of paper in my purse..... at the time it meant something completely different to me than what it whispers to me today as i read it over and over after having found it tucked away in the files of my old laptop. it's startling how much it still relates to my life in yet a completely different way... almost prophetic.... big thanks and teşekkürler to eni, it's your gorgeous albanian train photo that reminded me to look for this in the first place. the way past and present, future and memory all blur together - suspended - speeding past in slow motion, through an air that's both very much the same, familiar and yet transformed - changed - leaves me sitting here perplexed, yet i can't help but feel some breath of hope. and this image, this photo, inspires another poetic sentiment within me, which i will share another time. perhaps that whisper i heard was destiny, or maybe just a haunted whistle of trains past.

train music

empty parking lots and street signs
my reflection and reflections
looking out looking in
music and time melt together
not sure how fast we’re going
empty words and broken dreams
looking forward
signs in the distance
going back
not sure how fast we’re going
music and time melt together
looking out looking in
my reflection and reflections
empty parking lots and street signs

happy 1er mai and bon week-end

ahhhhh the days when i was young and free in paris {haha, uh...about two years ago} i loved 1er mai. it usually rained {hey paris in the spring} but everyone had the day off which meant that the night before was an extra night to go out to some soirée until the wee hours when april turned softly {or often, not so softly} into may........

then in the morning {when i was on my way home, ahh to be young again...haha} and all day long, vendors would sell {they still do, i'm just not there, so i'm using the past tense to capture the bitter..sweet... nostalgia that sets in for me...and in case you didn't sense it, that was purposefully overly dramatized, perhaps on account of the amount of coffee i've had thus far today...but nevertheless...back to my musings..}

vendors stand about the streets selling small bouquets of the precious lily of the valley {en francais: muguet} that friends and family exchange on 1er mai. {certain people close to me at the time weren't french and were rather oblivious to this amazing tradition, and thus every single year, i'd have to nudge and hint and finally say, "get me some of those flowers on your way home" well, it always worked, quand meme}

so anyway, just wanted to quickly post these longings before running off to press the coffee that's been sitting in the pot for far too long already.........yes, more coffee.

et s'il te plait, get me some of those flowers on your way home. merci.

bisou bisou ♥c

look book

Have of late been fascinated by images of books. And since I adore every aspect of books, not merely the story from beginning to end, but the sentences themselves, and the lives of the authors who wrote them, the shelves that lovingly hold them and the hands that carry them, the books themselves, the old and the new, well loved, well worn, and the world within them....... from time to time I'll share these book images I've been discovering and adoring, and start a 'look book' section to give them some deserved spotlight.

A while back this image caught my eye on flickr, and come to find out it's not just a stack of books, but a stack of books in the beloved Shakespeare & co. bookshop in Paris. Thanks to austinevan on flickr.

weather the storm

was going through some old pics and found these from when we tried to ice skate on the eiffel tower one year. i say try, because it's difficult to ice skate in a puddle, no matter how aesthetically pleasing the surroundings may be.




this year there's no doubt that puddle would in fact stay frozen, the amount of snow in paris ((and all of france right now)) has simply taken my breath away. in all five years i never even dreamed anything like this, i remember cheering the one day the snow stuck to the ground. i wonder how long i'd be able to stand the cold though.....



here are some great photos from carla coulson who's stuck right there amidst the flurry of this parisian winter wonderland.



ugh, i still can't believe it. and i still can't decide whether i'm insanely jealous that i'm missing it, or insanely lucky to have been out and about all day in a lightweight sweater and dark sunglasses........as always, with me the answer is never clear, or simple, black, or white, or for that matter, here when i need it, perhaps it's stuck in the snow. and that reminds me of something i wanted to tell my sister, a rather appropriate thought for this late winter hour, even if you don't have all the answers, show them your potential to uncover them...

"A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him."

d a v i d b r i n k l e y


((image: photographer sabine weiss via carla loves photography))

a saucy moment

So I woke up, glanced at my daily list of blogs I enjoy and my eyes fell on this: "Ne pas savoir à quelle sauce on va être mangé" on Chocolat & Zuccini, the latest in Clotilde’s series on edible idiomatic expressions in the French language. I clicked on it immediately as I knew that this was an expression for me at this very minute in my little, uncertain life, and I thought it was an amusing way to look at my situation, a new and perhaps even delicious perspective.

For those of you that up to this point have no idea what those words means, Clotilde explains it’s “Literally translated as, ‘not knowing what sauce one is going to be eaten with,’ it means that one's prospects are uncertain, not very good, and entirely outside of one's control.”

Let’s just say that in my current situation in life, I simply don’t even know what sauce I’m going to be eaten with. Right now my sauce is definitely a sweet and sour one, or sweet and salty one, and I’m wondering if things will get sweeter, or spicier...((or richer ;))) or perhaps at this point I might be struggling to have any sauce at all!!

She also says it can be used in less drastic situations ((than my life, ha, kidding)) like a first time going to the acupuncturist as she uses in this example, "C'était la première fois que j'allais chez l'acupuncteur, alors je ne savais pas à quelle sauce j'allais être mangé." And I really do find it relevant to our present circumstances, don’t you? Very pertinent.

So I read that and smiled to myself ((before even having my coffee)), because let’s face it, I’m not even sure what recipe to choose these days to begin to make that sauce, or where my spoon is, or if there’s gonna be any bread to dip in the sauce....so I really appreciated this tasteful way of stating what is already an obvious uncertainty at this point in my life, and in many of our lives I’d imagine... donc, merci Clotilde.

"’Je me demande à quelle sauce je vais être mangé’
(I wonder what sauce I'm going to be eaten with).”

Hope it's a good one. Maybe I'll know after I have my coffee.......

A plus tard x c


((Photo by Angie Cao, found it on Tea For Joy’s Typewriter Tuesday))

"to live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."

e m i l y d i c k i n s o n

((This painting is by Hippolyte Romain, a French artist who has an amazing and vibrant collection of great scenes like this one here. I discovered him on Carla Loves Photography, and then went straight to his site, really fun stuff.))

foufou

about 30 minutes ago my little Poupou ((my dog Poulet)) was running around the house like mad, literally like a chicken with his head cut off. ((Poulet means chicken in French.)) he was kind enough to pose for these shots here, and then proceeded to run laps around the house. by the time I got these pics loaded on my computer he was fast asleep, snoring loudly, partially hanging off the bed.

it’s been raining these past few days in California, and very cold...which explains why he’s clothed ((and perhaps why he’s crazy, though it’s not really new behavior.)) he has quite the wardrobe from his chilly days growing up in Paris, shopping sprees chez Mon Bon Chien, and daily café outings

((and the occasional bar scene at night just hanging out with the best of us))

this raincoat is very handy, actually keeps him dry and is cheap entertainment when the hood goes over his face and he can’t see where he’s going, he starts darting about in all directions.....

but for now he’s snoring, dreaming of Soph Soph, walks to Mon Bon Chien, and the good ol’ days when someone left the cookie case open and he could walk right in and help himself out..... seriously if you are in Paris, even if you don’t have a dog ((or cat)) stop by this shop, it’s delightful and cheerful and I imagine all decorated for the holidays...

12 rue Mademoiselle in the 15th
Métro Commerce

tell Harriet I sent you....
((and try the peanut butter truffle...yes, technically it’s for the dogs, but tastes like Reese’s to the rest of us ;)))

Bonne nuit x c & pou

((just in case you didn't get enough of this pic the first time..))

“A person who is looking for something doesn’t travel very fast.”

e.b. w h i t e

“The day we left I had hashbrowns..."

The first time I went to France I was 11. I went with a very special woman who is like an aunt to me. When I see the clothes I wore on this trip ((in that picture below that you really can’t miss)), it’s a wonder they ever let me back into the country, and straight into the stylish capital nonetheless.... well anyway, what can I say really, I was 11.





And in case the outfit didn’t give it away ((yes that's one extra large t-shirt over spandex shorts, the baseball cap and double socks are self explanatory)), I invite you to read a lovely excerpt from my travel journal. The travel journal that ((at the time)) I felt had been cruelly forced upon me by my mother “Dearest Chantal, may this first trip to Europe be the beginning of a lifetime of worldwide adventures...” she had the nerve to write on the inside cover ;) and this cruel and unusual punishment of a daily journal entry was strictly reinforced by my aunt. Oui, moi, the writer, refused to write. I did write, but when you read the eloquent first few pages that I’ve copied here, the refusal part will become screamingly evident. Did I mention I was 11? That too, will be alarmingly clear.

MY TRIP TO FRANCE/SWISS
August 6 1991 - August 18 1991
age 11

“The day we left I had hashbrowns. When I went on the plane I found out that I HATE ((underlined)) them because the food is SICK ((underlined)) and they get to COLD ((you guessed it, underlined)) and they don’t have good radio stations or good movies the first movie was the hardways with Michael J. fox in it it was STUPID! ((underlined)) The second movie was King Ralph that I wanted to see but the head phones were fuzzy the whole time! (at least I got my money back) The food on the plane looked like liver in sticky dark blood. And I had that 2 times! (I did not eat it!) the 3rd plane I got lunch. It was cold cuts on a sweet roll DISCUSTING ((underlined)) The cheese was swiss and it had tiny hairs on it and the meet was dirty. Finally I got to the air port and went to the car rental place and the girl that helped us looked exactly like the French girl I know! She was verry pritty and even talked like her except she talked to us in english!....”

...aaaand one can only take so much of that at once, so... to be continued, I’m sure you’re anxious to hear the next installment. ((note I’ve always been a creative speller, I didn’t change a single letter, word, capital letter or punctuation mark))

I’m writing a travel guide, or series of travel guides to Paris. This will be the opening, my first true appreciation of all that France had to offer...lol. And even if the term lol existed at the time, I don’t recall thinking any of this was the least bit funny. Did I mention I was 11? And let’s turn the page, shall we..

ps does anyone know how to underline text on here??? ((obviously I don't...))
x c

the day

And for those of you wondering, why yes, in fact today ((or the remaining 10 minutes of it)) is my name day, my fête, December 12 Saint Chantal. Well I mean, technically they call it St. Jeanne de Chantal...but it’s enough for me. Last year I was sitting on a crisp afternoon in Paris writing in the Tuileries, so content that I didn’t even realize how chilly it was. That is my favorite time of year to be in the gardens, it’s quiet and empty, you can be completely alone but not at all lonely, or even if the loneliness seeps in a bit, it somehow becomes more tolerable, gentler in this light, and there’s this stillness, this frosty lull in the air that envelops the trees..... and this year, well, I’m sitting at my computer writing, not quite the same but for a moment there I really was back in Paris. And for the evening, at least, I wasn’t alone, I had the pleasure of sitting in a warm café with a warm Algerian.



In other news, the word from Mon Bon Chien is that Sophie Marie is miraculously at home now, and enjoying every minute of love from Harriet. I’m working on some special international guest interviews I will be posting in the next few days, a few simple questions on this time of the year, just searching for a snapshot of what it looks like this season in the parts of the world where some of my dearest friends will celebrate the new year. And I do believe I hear the first sounds of steady rain falling out my window...

À demain.