The Bold Soul™

White night

The French term for pulling an "all nighter" is la nuit blanche or "white night".

I'm not normally a "white night" sort of person, never have been; even in college I don't think I did many of those, whether for my studies (yeah, like I'd be willing to lose sleep over THAT?) or even for partying. A half of a white night, maybe. But I'm a girl who likes my sleep.

Since I hit my 40s and the hormone changes gradually started taking over my life, I've had intermittent episodes of insomnia, but even on those unfortunate nights I manage to get at least 4 or 5 decent hours of rest.

But last night, I did something I never thought I ever would, or could, do. At least, not voluntarily.

I literally worked ALL NIGHT LONG to finish my manuscript so I could send it to the literary agent who asked to see it.

First, I worked on it for something like 12 hours on Saturday, but I went to bed at a normal time. Then, I worked on it for a little while Sunday morning, but we had post-New Year lunch plans with our good friends down the hill, so I had to put the project to the side to be sociable (that third glass of champagne probably wasn't the smartest thing I ever did, but this is France and I just can't say no to champagne). I did leave a little earlier than Georges and the Little Guy, though, so I could get home and get back to work, and that started at about 4pm. A bit of coffee helped me kill the champagne buzz.

And I worked steadily with a break and without eating dinner, all evening. But by 11pm it was clear that I was absolutely no where near ready to call it quits. I still had about 6 or 7 chapters to work on. It's amazing to any writer that no matter how much time we think we have already spent writing, editing, revising, tweaking our written work, there is ALWAYS something we missed the first 37 times around. There is always some part of it that you suddenly realize doesn't work, or something you could have said so much better than what's already on the page. All writers are cursed with the same quest for perfectionism, but of course it will never, ever be "perfect" or "done" in that sense. Eventually you just have to drive a stake in the ground and declare victory, even if a part of you feels that if you just had another hour, THEN you could absolutely make it perfect.

Having said that, my manuscript, once I got into it, really, REALLY needed a lot more work than I had anticipated. I had asked a friend to read just the first chapter last week, and she made me realize I had a real problem with the tenses and how I was jumping around in a way that was confusing for the reader. So then I felt I ought to go through the whole thing to search for those same problem areas. It's a lot better now, I think, but I'm pretty positive that anyone who reads this version will still probably uncover a few confusing or awkward areas. A few is a lot better than "every chapter is messed up", though.

I had promised the agent I would send the document by Sunday. The agent is in New York so really, that gave me until 6am Paris time on Monday (today) to meet that promise. And it turns out I needed every single minute of that time to do it. And actually I sent the email at something like 6:02 or 2 minutes past midnight, New York time. By the end, I was having difficult making my fingers hit the keys (even now I'm still so tired I'm naking a log of thping mistakes). After I hit SEND, I went and got everything set up for G and the Little Guy for breakfast, school, after school snacks, etc. Then I crawled into bed. Where I still haven't managed to get more than a few decent hours of sleep. I'm probably just too keyed up; tonight I can crash and burn and not think about it so much.

But I did it, and I was proud of what I sent out. 66,543 reasonably well-written words, 19 chapters and 188 pages, not counting table of contents and title page. Not too shabby. I still think that this agent, or any agent who may ask to read my manuscript, will find plenty to criticize constructively, plenty that needs to still be cleaned up before we could start pitching the book to any publishers, and I'm OK with that, it's all part of the process. In fact, I welcome it because while I may not agree with every change they may ask me to make, they ARE the professionals and I will need to set my ego aside long enough to listen and learn. But I'm still proud of how much progress I made on this thing. Now it REALLY feels like a book. It really feels like the story I wanted to tell about coming to Paris, finding myself and falling in love with Georges.

Who is also reading the book now for the first time. I can't wait to hear what he thinks, because his is and will always be the opinion that matters most to me.

If putting in a white night is what real writers do from time to time? Then I guess this makes me a member of the club already. Excuse me now while I go stick my head under a cold shower so I can wake up a bit more before I have to go out in public to pick up my kid at school.

I wouldn't want to show up like a sleep-walker, wearing my bra on the OUTSIDE of my shirt.

Café

Young lovers having a coffee on a Sunday afternoon.

Best day of my life

Four years ago, today, Georges and I met... and a new chapter of our lives began. Even now, we continue to be in awe of the way we met and how neither of us felt compelled to run the other way in fear, because it might well have been justified! But happily, we both just "knew" this was something very special and we both chose to roll with it and give it time to develop. And now, here we are!

To celebrate, we decided to go to dinner at the Vietnamese place we like on rue Véron (off rue Lepic near the "Amélie" Café des Deux Moulins) because (a) we love the food and (b) that is where Georges presented me with my engagement ring, with Paris' ugliest drag queen looking on at the next table (proving that no matter how much you try and plan something in life -- like the perfect romantic marriage proposal, for instance -- sometimes life just has a sense of humor and a plan of its own). We went there last night because they're closed Sundays, and were half-hoping the drag queen and his 1960s leisure-suit-wearing companion would be there again because THAT would have been the cherry on the cake.

Alas, we had to celebrate without them, but we did enjoy the same delicious bananas flambée for dessert:

And then as we walked toward Sacre Coeur and home, we realized we were just in time for the big fireworks spectacle for the Fête des Vendanges (Wine Harvest Festival), so we got to see this:

(Speaking of the wine festival, yesterday was also the big parade. I say it was a big parade because that's its official name, the Grande Défilé, but it was really a big disappointment this year, much smaller and much less interesting than in the past three years previously. And only ONE group was giving away free wine samples as they marched, what's up with that? They expect us to climb up that hill and buy their wine on a cold, rainy October afternoon without a little incentive? Oh well. But the fireworks last night? Absolutely first class!)

Today, we slept in, had a little brunch, then Georges wanted to go and vote in the presidential primary mid-afternoon. We were both hungry by that time, so we went back up to Sacre Coeur and cruised all the food and wine stalls. And how cool is it that around here, you can go to a street fair and get "take out" like a foie gras sandwich, escargots, cheese, wine AND churros for dessert? (We even bought some extra escargots and cheese to serve next weekend when we're having some family members come for lunch.)

So, we had a memorable, if a bit chilly, anniversary weekend, complete with fireworks. What's not to love?

And because I love this picture (and my husband) so much, here's how Georges and I looked four years ago. It was taken by our good friend Aimee about 4 or 5 weeks after we met, and remains one of our favorite photos of us ever taken.

The love we so clearly already felt for each other then has only quadrupled in four years, and grows daily. Je t'aime, mon coeur. Thank you for making EVERY day of the past four years the best day of my life.

Bon anniversaire à Georges!

So today is Georges' birthday, and he is officially twee-tahn years old.

Huh? I can hear you thinking.

His sister, whose hospitality we are enjoying this week, has said for years that when someone asks her age, she simply says she's "t-huit ans" (which in English sounds a bit like "tweet-ahn"). If you were saying you were, say, 38 years old, in French you'd say "trente-huit ans" (thirty eight years) and it would kind of blend together like "tren-twee-tahn". Georges' sister, to avoid revealing her actual age (she says it's no one's business, and she's right), just abbreviates that to "twee-tahn" and keeps everyone guessing. I think it's a pretty nice system, and think I'll adopt it now that I'm keeping Georges company in les années cinquante myself.

Alors... to my darling husband Georges, the man of my life and of my dreams, my wish on your birthday is that we have at least twee-tahn more wonderful years together, years full of joy, good health, prosperity and abundance, and much, much love.

Je te schtroumpf, mon coeur.

With this ring...

Three years ago today, at about 3:15 pm Eastern time, Georges and I married one another.

Without hesitation, I can say that Georges and I finding each other the way we did was a miracle in both our lives. Neither of us expected to discover a love like this -- that One True Love -- at this stage of life. It makes us realize that truly, anything IS possible.

Georges... I love you, my darling, mon coeur. Thank you for marrying me. And thank you for being my miracle.

Relaxing

The love of my life, just relaxing on our terrace while watching the Paris Air Show. It's miles away but it's amazing what we can see with binoculars.

In which Venice steals a little bit of my heart (again)... Part 2

Friday morning in Venice. We set an alarm to wake up just in time to make it to the included breakfast, which unfortunately they only served until 10am even on weekends (that might be my only "complaint" about the hotel). Even though the hotel is in an area with a lot of activity down on the street and in the lagoon, the room was actually pretty quiet and no one was above us, so we slept well (ask for room 206 if you're planning to stay there). Breakfast was typical: Italian croissants or buns, some sliced cold ham and cheese, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, cereals, fruit, juice, coffee.

We decided to spend the day out on the islands, because the weather was hot and sunny again, and last time I'd gone to the islands the weather had turned sour part-way through the day, and it had rained the entire time I'd been in Burano. This time, I wanted to see Venice's most colorful island in full sunshine.

The #5 vaporetto goes directly to Murano from the San Zaccharia stop, just outside our hotel's front door. (In Venice, you will no doubt spend so much time on a boat that you'll feel like you're still floating even when you're on dry land; I had that sensation often, especially at night!) Although there are three stops in Murano, and you could really take any of them to start your exploration of the island, we chose to get off at Colonna because there's a very good glass workshop there, a short walk along the quayside (just walk to the left when you get off the boat and keep going until you see a low deep-pink building with a line of people out front). The glass-blowing demonstration is free and takes only 10-15 minutes, so don't worry about the line because it will move. Afterward they have their main shop, and also a section with the more artistic glass pieces and the really GOOD jewelry, but you need to ask for one of their attendants to accompany you (I did that in 2007 and bought the most gorgeous set of green glass jewelry for myself). This time we limited our shopping to a gift for the Little Guy: a lovely glass dolphin for his collection (ever since our dolphin swim in Turkey last summer, this has become a recurring them in our family).

 

Afterward, we wandered down a deserted side street instead of following the other tourists; Murano's not a very big island so you can't really get "lost". We passed some interesting art glass pieces along the way, and finally ended up one one of the main canals where there are dozens of shops selling all the local glass. I looked in a few shops, trying to find some gifts for friends or family back home (early Christmas shopping) but nothing really jumped out at me, not even something for myself. After a while, Georges suggested we leave Murano early, go to Burano to have lunch, and then we could always come back and walk around Murano more on the way back. So we went to the Faro stop to wait for the boat (the "LN") to Burano.

We had a bit of a wait, so I ducked into a quay-side shop that was part of one of the workshops (they're really the best ones to go to because they're selling direct rather than reselling). Not having much time, I was sort of on a "power shopping" mission: I wanted to find a Venetian glass mirror, a small one for our bedroom, something I could hang above the dresser to see what I'm doing when I'm putting on my jewelry. The prices of the larger mirrors were much more than I wanted to spend, but I DID quickly find some table-top mirrors and chose one that I liked very much. So they rushed to wrap it for me and I ran to catch the boat, just in time (nearly giving Georges a heart attack because the boat actually came a few minutes earlier than expected!)

Burano was lovely and more colorful than I had remembered. It's a very small, sleepy little island, filled with shops selling the lace items for which Burano is so famous. My advice: skip ALL the shops you pass as you walk into town, and head for the open square near the church . On that square is the lace museum (if they're open, it's kind of interesting to see how they make the lace and they have a display of some very old pieces) and two shops. You want to go to the "Olga" shop -- THAT'S the shop people like Elton John go to for gifts (they have some framed photos of Elton by the cash register, so he must be a regular; I was also told Hugh Grant has shopped there). They have three floors of everything from lace tableclothes to handkerchiefs to clothing items for babies, children, and women. When I was there in 2007, there was a very old woman there, doing the lace work (she was also in one of the photos with Elton); I didn't see her there this time, so I inquired (they speak English, BTW) about her and was told that yes, she's still living, but now she's nearly blind and can't work anymore. I'm sure that must have been hard for her. Now they have younger women doing the lace-making demonstrations instead.

We walked around some more and finally chose a little restaurant a bit off the main canal, and had a nice lunch. Afterward, I went inside to use the WC and on the way out, spotted a wall of framed photos of what I imagine were all sorts of celebrities, probably European, posing with the owner or employees of the restaurant, but I didn't recognize any of the faces except for one unmistakably stunning woman: ELIZABETH TAYLOR, taken maybe 15 or 20 years ago. Wow. I have a knack for picking out the celebrity hot spots in Burano, I guess!

After lunch, we meandered around the village, taking photos of all the colorful houses. You will see no two houses the same color standing near each other, and all the window shutters are painted a dark green with white trim around the window frame; I am certain there is some sort of code of standards for how you can paint your house if you live there.

When we were ready to head back, we were a bit early for the boat, so along the quay we got some gelato and just relaxed in the shade. I decided I really didn't need to walk around Murano; I'd seen it before and Georges wasn't that interested in going to the glass museum there (which is actually quite interesting). Instead, we chose to take the vaporetto all the way back to Venice and change boats so we could go along the Grand Canal, which we hadn't done yet.

So, at Fondamenta Nove we took another boat that got us to the train station stop, Ferrovia. There we were able to board either the #1 or #2 (I forget which) and scored a spot standing up where we could both take photos and video as we headed toward San Marco, and "home".

Enjoy some of our little video souvenirs of our Day 2 in Venezia!

Venezia, Day 1 | To be continued...

 
   
   

 

 

In which Venice steals a little bit of my heart (again)... Part 1

I am still in the process of, well, processing our wonderful time in Venice last weekend, and also going through the hundreds of photos and videos Georges and I collected. My plan is to pick the best ones and put them in a Flickr group so I can share them, but I need a bit more time to work on that.

In the meantime, let me tell a few anecdotes. (And I'll break this post up since we did spend 4 1/2 days there; that's a lot of anecdotes.)

When I first went to Venice during my Grand Tour in 2007, I didn't expect to totally fall in love with this city that doesn't even feel like a city, but feels like a trip back in time. I chalk that up to there being no cars there, and all the little alleyways with the crumbling old buildings that are actually quite beautiful in their decaying state. And fall in love with Venice I did. Who could blame me?

This time around, I was especially eager to share my new special romantic place with the most special person in my life, because while I used to consider Paris the most romantic place on earth, living here sometimes takes just a little bit of the romance out of it... or maybe it's just because it's so familiar to me now, after 4+ years. But Venice? Is just incredibly romantic... even when you are struggling "upstream" against raging hoards of cruise ship tour groups all trying to get a photo of the Bridge of Sighs (which by the way, is nearly completely shrouded in tarps covered with tacky advertising).

Which just makes me sigh. And not in a good way.

Georges was just as excited as I was about this trip. He'd been there once before as well, but many years ago and with friends instead of with a special someone. We rarely get to go somewhere all alone together, somewhere special and fun that we can explore and discover and make our very own. Not only was this a "let me forget it's a major birthday" trip for me, but we decided to make it the honeymoon we never really got to take. We couldn't have chosen a better place.

We arrived very early, having (insanely) decided to take the 7:20am flight out of Paris, which meant we got up at 4:15am to arrive in Venice at 9am. In the airport, we bought our vaporetto passes for three days-worth of trips (you wave them in front of these little machines before getting on each boat; this is a new system that didn't exist in 2007 when you could sneak onto the boats without a valid ticket and no one ever checked), and we bought round-trip tickets to/from the airport on the Alilaguna line, which costs a fraction of what they charge for a private taxi-boat from the airport -- 100 euros for that! The Alilaguna is really slow and makes several stops before it gets to San Zaccharia, and I think it took about an hour and 20 minutes before we got to our hotel.

We stayed at the Hotel Paganelli, which is a very small hotel, but quite updated and nice (and very clean!) that is just down the way from the Piazza San Marco and the famous Hotel Danieli. I would definitely stay there again; we got what I think was the best room on the 2nd (European) floor (and there's an elevator) with two windows facing directly out over the lagoon and San Giorgio Maggiore. Plus, a nice little breakfast in the mornings, all inclusive. Oh, yeah, and free WiFi that actually WORKED! The front desk attendants speak English and French. You can stash your luggage before check-in and after check-out. And not only is it near the Piazza, the San Zaccharia vaporetto stop is just in front, so you've got the convenience of the airport boat stop there PLUS you can get the 1, 2, 41, 42, 52 and the 5 that goes directly to Murano (plus there are dozens of gondolas), just outside the hotel door. Throw in a nearby store selling bottled water, soda and snacks, and a few little restaurants with outdoor terraces, and it's a pretty nice setup. (The only downside is that flocks of tourists pass by here with their tour guides waving umbrellas, and there are a lot of vendors trying to unload cheap souvenirs and fake Gucci bags; we got around this by using some of the narrow side streets to go back and forth from the piazza, which was more pleasant and interesting.)

It was too early to check in, although we were told if we came back in just an hour, the room would be ready (check-in is normally much later, so that was very accomodating of them), so we took a little sack out of our luggage, filled it with a few necessities (a folding fan for me, a bottle of water, our Venice book and a map) and went to the Piazza to have something to drink. Georges suggested we go to the tea room at Florian, which is on the left side of the big piazza (which right now is about 50% covered with tarps, so I'm glad I got to see it four years ago without all the works being done). Florian is one of those places everyone comes to gawk at; the walls and ceilings are covered with paintings, and it's very old-world elegant. In fact, we're not entirely sure we didn't end up as part of some professional photographer's project, even though the manager was kind of shooing the guy off and he never asked our permission to photograph us... so we just kissed a lot and hoped he wouldn't want to use those photos. ;)

After we finally checked in and checked out our room, Georges suggested we try and make a reservation for the Terrace restaurant at the Hotel Danieli for that night, to celebrate my birthday. I hadn't even thought of going somewhere like that, but when we dropped by the hotel it was no problem getting a table that night; I told them it was for a birthday, hoping they'd give us an extra good table (because I'm not above admitting it's my birthday if special perks are involved from fancy restaurants!) We spent the rest of the afternoon having lunch and wandering around the streets, deliberately getting "lost". It was as wonderful as I'd remembered. It was also very sunny and very hot, and since neither of us brought hats or sunscreen, we bought a couple of straw hats from a street vendor (the next day I also bought a lace parasol to give my shoulders a little shade, because I got a little sunburn that first afternoon).

And we had a simply wonderful dinner that night, starting with a glass of champagne and opting for their special menu which had all sorts of different seafood dishes. Everything was delicious and perfect (and I even ate something with clams in it, and I didn't think I liked clams at all). There was a couple at the table next to us (he looked old enough to be her father but frankly, I don't think that was their relationship) and suddenly the waiters brought over a very special little cake with a candle, and sang Happy Birthday to her! I looked at Georges and said "I really hope that guy asked for that cake because I don't want them doing that to ME".

And... wouldn't you know it, about 15 minutes later: there was a cake with a candle in front of ME and three Italian waiters were singing Happy Birthday again. Oy. We were so stuffed from the three courses we'd already eaten that we didn't eat all the cake, luckily. But it was delicious -- a mille-feuille with pretty little fruits on top!

The other funny thing that happened during dinner was when the hotel and every other building on either side of us for about a "block" or so -- including the Doge's Palace -- had an electrical black out! On the restaurant terrace, we had candles on all the tables so it was fine there, but I looked over the terrace railing and everything was dark below. We started to wonder if we ought to take the stairs rather than the elevator when we were ready to leave. When the lights finally came back on and STAYED on (after a few false starts), all the gondola guys down below started to cheer! The head waiter just looked at us with a smile and said "Atmosphere!"

Atmosphere, indeed. I don't think I ever had a better birthday. Between Georges being Georges, us being so in love, and Venice giving us the perfect romantic backdrop, it was just amazing and I was truly HAPPY. Even if I did have to turn that "f" word... f-f-f-FIFTY.

To be continued... Venezia, Day 2

 

Mille Grazie, Venezia!

For giving us the perfect "stage" for us to create the best birthday and honeymoon ever.

My San Giorgio Maggiore

He's the reason I smile every single day. The reason my life finally makes sense. The reason I have so much love all around me now.

Merci, mon coeur, for the best birthday/honeymoon ever. Venise est à nous!

Surprise!

So it's 6:30 A-freaking-M and we're waiting to board our flight to VENICE. despite having had a coffee and croissant, we are both catatonic, having slept less than 4 hrs.

Suddenly, Georges pulls a little bag out of his pocket, smiles, and says "Bonne anniversaire, mon amour".

After I open it with great excitement (I knew from the packaging he'd been to our favorite little jewelry shop) he sort of apologizes for giving me a gift at this hour, in this strange place (and after I had told him NO GIFTS as the trip was supposed to be the gift).

To which I replied: "There is NEVER a wrong time for jewelry".

Isn't it gorgeous? And earrings to match, too. Merci, mon coeur!

Farewell, 40s

So, it's finally upon me. At 3:50am Eastern time tomorrow, May 19th, I will officially turn 50.

I am very NOT happy about this. That's the bottom line.

I don't know why this is bugging me so much. But it is, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't.

I planned our trip to Venice so I'd have something positive and happy going on, so we'll be heading to the airport at the ungodly hour of 5am tomorrow morning to get in a full day in Venice (we'll be there in time for a birthday breakfast, and I'm sure by the afternoon we'll be exhausted and ready for a nice siesta like all sensible Italians). We are both super-excited about this trip; we rarely get to go away somewhere like this, all alone, and for 4 1/2 full days. And let's face it, as far as romantic getaways go? Hard to top Venice.

I've also been working furiously to finish this book, and today's my last day to do that. The writing has been a good distraction from this feeling of sadness over the turning 50 thing; after I've clocked in 4, 5, even 6 hours of writing in a single day, I can't help but feel good about that.

It occurred to me last night that I really AM a late bloomer in so many ways. I spent the first half of my adult life not sure who I was or who I wanted to be. I struggled with old hurts and past demons. I suffered from serial insecurity. I was afraid to declare what I wanted out of life, mainly because I simply didn't know.. or if I DID know, I thought that what I wanted would be either unacceptable or out of reach.

I really LOVED my 40s, because as I cruised from my late 30s into the 40s, I was in a place of getting more clear about myself and my life. I changed careers. I changed relationships. I changed living spaces (a lot). It was in my 40s I finally found the cajones to live more boldly, and it was in my 40s when I finally fulfilled my dream of living in Paris and writing.

Now, as I drift into 50, I know I already have so much good in my life, so my sadness at turning 50 isn't so much about having big regrets about things I haven't done (although, I do regret that Oprah is ending her 25-year show before I could write a book she'd want to feature; another item, along with "flying on Concorde", I'll have to cross off my bucket list because it just won't be possible). I AM living in Paris. I AM writing. And to top it all off, I have the most amazing, loving, wonderful husband I could ever have wanted. I feel like such a lucky, blessed woman.

(I even got 50 bisous this morning from the Little Guy as a birthday cadeau, since I won't see him tomorrow, and there is nothing like 25 sweet little kisses on each cheek from a child you love to help shake you out of a crappy mood.)

Better a late bloomer than never, right? But I do wish I'd gotten my butt in gear earlier in life with regard to some of these things. I wish I hadn't waited as long as I did to take control of my life. I wish I was already a well-known writer with a great agent and publisher, and was just churning out new books every year with ease instead of still working through my "process". I wish I'd come to Paris sooner, met Georges sooner. Mostly because I feel like I wasted a lot of years being unhappy and settling for a sub-par life. My life today isn't always perfect but damn, it's pretty freaking great most of the time.

And for this, I am so grateful.

Maybe it's precisely BECAUSE I'm a late bloomer, that I feel sad about turning 50. Because I'm finally living the life I always wanted, the one I should have been living all along... but I'm NOT 25. I'm not 30. I'm not 35 or 40 or 45, even. On the inside, I feel excited, like life is just beginning for me. But it's not. I'm well into my years on this earth already. And sometimes, it's hard to reconcile that on the outside, I've got this body that is visibly aging while on the inside I still feel like a teenager a lot of the time.

I'm (deep breath)... 50. I just need to keep saying it until it feels OK.

Maybe, because I know I AM a late bloomer, my 50s will end up being the best decade yet. I do intend to get this book finished and published before I turn 51, and I've already got two or three other book ideas in the pipeline to follow. I also know that there will come a time when I have birthdays and instead of feeling sad that I'm another year older, I'll feel happy about it because it will mean I've survived another year of life. Hopefully, having a little "mid-life crisis" at 50 means I'll live to 100?

So, next time you see me online, I'll be 50, and that will be that. I can't change what is, I know that. It's just proving to be a bumpy transition, that's all.

Adieu, 49.

My step-kids' father

Checking out les bouquinistes along the Seine.

Another melon to drop

Happy engagement-versary to my beloved. Thank you for asking me.

Melon Beach, 3 years later

Three years ago tomorrow (oops) TODAY, Georges dropped the melon we'd just bought at the marché, dropped his hat, and dropped to one knee to ask me A Very Important Question.

It was not warm enough to go in the water that day, as it is today. (The water is still pretty cold, but you can walk in it and some brave people are actually swimming.) But we had all the warmth we needed when I answered with a Yes!