The Bold Soul

Swatches

You might have noticed a few changes around here today. With all the changes taking place in my life, I felt the need to do some spring cleaning of my blog design and give it a fresh coat of paint, so to speak. You know... new life, new look. This year it's all about change for me. I'm making a few adjustments in my business as well and that web site will also be updated accordingly in the next few weeks*.

The new color scheme was mostly inspired by a piece of pottery I bought in the Luberon this time last year when I was spending my birthday weekend with my friend Linda and her husband. It's a water pitcher with poppies painted on it as well as hues of green and goldenrod, and it reminded me of the fields of poppies I saw there.

When choosing color swatches, sometimes you just can't beat Mother Nature for inspiration.

I did have one other source of inspiration though. The shades of green are the color of what I hope will be my wedding dress.

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*Once I get an idea in my head, I just run with it. My writing web site has now been completely redesigned, and now that site and this blog are more color-coordinated.

If you need me, I'll be in my OTHER office

Today being a Wednesday, which means no school for our Little Guy and the neighbor's 5-year-old and 1-year-old, and knowing they would be at home with the nanny a good part of the day since it will probably (finally!) rain later, I decided to beat a hasty retreat in order to hopefully get some much-needed work done.

It's a bit of a hike across town for me to come to my "other office", but I love being at my friend Aimee's tea shop, L'Oisive Thé, on rue de la Butte aux Cailles in the 13th. I come early, during the pre-lunch hour, to have a few minutes to chat with my friend while she and her serveuse are doing the daily preparation for lunch and afternoon tea. Coming early means I score a small table in the corner near a window. Good light, a lovely cool breeze, and plenty of room to work (and to drink tea and have some delicious food as well!)

I've visited a few times since the grand opening at the beginning of April: once Georges and I brought the Little Guy here for Sunday brunch, and then a couple of weeks ago I came by with my computer but had problems with my power adaptor and didn't have enough battery life to work, so I had lunch and tea and then had to leave. I've loved watching the little changes Aimee has made to her shop, making it even more charming than it originally was, with her personal little touches like hand-sewn tablecloths, lots of green plants and flowers, and books and magazines to read as well as teas to buy and drink!

Today, though, I'm planning to hang out for a long time, and I've come prepared to work. I desperately need to get some work done. My guilt is palpable, the guilt of knowing clients are waiting for me to deliver things but that I'm having trouble getting myself in gear to do any actual work. As you can see, my writer's block is somewhat selective; writing my own thoughts on my blog is a breeze. It's writing OTHER people's thoughts that requires so much more of my concentration. But then, that's why they pay me the "big (ha) bucks".

I wonder if I'd be this distracted if I wasn't planning a wedding?

Last night I "confessed" (voluntarily) to Georges that lately, when I am claiming I am working, I'm usually not. He being an excellent procrastinator himself (at times), he knows how easy it is to be lured away from the things we need to do by those other things we prefer to do. And since we've met, he's often had the same problems I've had, forcing myself to work when I'd rather just be in our little bubble o' love. We'd rather keep having fun and not have to deal with work. But we're grown-ups, we two, and we have grown-up responsibilities.

So today, I've got a chapter to research and write for one client, and if I get that done and done well, then I move onto editing a first draft manuscript for a second client. Then there's a third client who is waiting on a book proposal. And after that I'm sure there are other things I've promised someone, somewhere.

And now, I work. If you're in the neighborhood today, drop by and say Bonjour and have some of Aimee's homemade cookies or delicious salads, and cup of tea -- of course!

Inventing new excuses for not working

My telephone is here. My computers are here -- both of them. We have moved some furniture around to create a room, with a door that closes, which is now my office. I haven't moved all my things in yet, but I have enough things here that I can get by. I have no more reasons to sleep at my apartment now; the apartment is now just a storage locker.

I think it's official. Georges and I are living ensemble.

Yesterday was Day 1. Usually on a Monday morning, I get up when he does, and we take the train to Odéon together, grab some coffee and apple strudel from this little hole-in-the-wall cafe we know, and then he goes to his office while I head "home" to my apartment. Only this Monday, I already AM "home". So after kissing him goodbye, I rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking I had the house all to myself.

Until about 9:40 am when I heard someone in the house. I knew who it was, of course; the nanny and the neighbors' two little ones. Georges' youngest shares the nanny with these other kids, but he's on holidays this week. However Georges' house ends up being the day-care center most days; the neighbors are photographers and work in their house, and that's not easy with les petits garçons underfoot.

I had planned to just relax and adjust to my new environment quietly, but that clearly wasn't going to be easy with the kids around, so I decided it would be as good a time as any to make a major dent in the packing back at my apartment. It went well and there is now a pile of boxes in the middle of the living room floor. I took the bus home -- to my new home. Checked email. Caught up on blog-reading. Chatted with my mom on the phone. Georges came home from work. We set up my office space so that I can work with some privacy even when there are others in the house. I blogged a bit myself. And that was my first day. All in all, very nice. But I didn't get any work done.

Today -- Day 2 -- I had intentions of working. Knowing the nanny might be coming by with the little ones again (starting tomorrow they are en vacances, too) I got up earlier, got dressed and had breakfast. Once they arrived, I decided to go to the supermarket. I've been there twice before with Georges and thought I knew the way -- but wouldn't you know it, I actually got a little LOST (and I never get lost). In the rain, no less. Eventually I found the store, and found my way around the store, and furthermore found everything on the list except one thing... plastic liner bags for the cat's litter box. Oh well, nobody's perfect. I managed to find my way home without getting lost again. By the time I put everything away, it was lunch time. I ate, and then retreated to the (relative) quiet of my new office, ready to write.

Where I quickly discovered that, even with a dedicated work space -- the first one I've had in over a year -- I find it just as hard to settle down and work when I need to. I used to blame my procrastination on the fact that I had to work in the living room, with the TV and DVD player just in front of me, tempting me to just take "a few minutes" to watch something. Now, I'm in a room with no such distractions, and yet I managed to be distracted anyway. I could hear all the kids playing elsewhere in the house (it's an open loft-style plan) but that wasn't really the problem, because the mental chatter in my own head is often far louder than the sound of three pre-schoolers and a baby.

Clearly, I am going to need to work on my self-discipline and learning to work despite distractions. In the corporate world where I worked as a programmer and systems analyst, I used to work in a cubicle with no full walls or door, in the middle of a room full of ringing telephones and other people who were sometimes very loud. And I was totally productive. I kicked ass in the productivity department in that job, if I may modestly say so. Nothing ever distracted me... well other than that one time one of the directors (a big kid at heart) was wandering the hallways with a Super-Soaker and I suddenly noticed it was raining in my cubicle.

What is it about writing that brings out the procrastinator in me?

J'ai trois ans!

Oh, mon Dieu! I nearly forgot --

The Bold Soul is THREE YEARS OLD TODAY!

It is hard to believe but it's true... I started this blog on February 25, 2005. My stated goal, in that first post, was that I wanted to be a writer, and to be a writer in Paris. I was shocked to get two comments on that first post, one from a dear friend but one from a total stranger; I still have no idea how someone discovered my blog so quickly.

In those days, I thought I would write about what it was like to be over 40 and single in Paris. I never thought beyond the "being single" part, and therefore it was never in my "plan" to meet and fall in love with a Frenchman. It just shows you that sometimes, the Powers That Be in the Universe know what we need, better than we know for ourselves.

And so, here I am, three very happy years later. In Paris. A Writer. And sitting next to the One I waited for my entire life, who just happened to turn out to be in the one place I always wanted to live.

Thanks for reading, commenting, encouraging, telling your friends, and coming back again and again. I can't wait to see what Year Four of this blog will bring... I have some pretty good ideas, of course, but I guess we'll all have to stick around and find out, together.

Un mille

THIS is my ONE THOUSANDTH BLOG POST!

Oh! My! God!

1,000 blog posts? Really? That is amazing to me. Doesn't seem possible. That's alotta bloggin'.

In just 10 days, The Bold Soul will also celebrate it's 3rd birthday and will kick off Year 4, so with 1,000 posts under my belt (whips out calculator to do the math) this means an average of:

• 333.3 posts per year
• 27.8 posts per month
• 6.4 posts per week

Not to mention the 2,238 comments received over the three years. Very cool -- thank you!

And since we're talking numbers, I want to wish my "baby sister", Susan, a very happy 45th birthday today. However, I will have to phone her to do so -- because she doesn't read my blog! Oh well, I love her anyway.

The pause that refreshes

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, and nothing is wrong. (Being a bit of a bavard, people are always thinking there is something wrong whenever I am just in a quiet mood!) I've just been too busy LIVING my life to BLOG about my life (for a change). But all is most definitely well. Even the weather has gotten a bit better and I hope it stays that way for the next two days while I'm off for my romantic rendez-vous with Georges. Normal blogging service shall resume shortly.

Bon week-end, tout le monde!

Oops, almost forgot

If you would prefer to receive The Bold Soul via your email instead of via RSS feed or by having to remember to come here and check the blog every day, now you can! Just provide your email address using the little form in the left sidebar to join my mailing list. Starting the next day, you'll receive an email each day I post something new to the blog, courtesy of Feedblitz which manages this service.

For those who are vision-challenged, Feedblitz provides an AUDIO version of each and every post in the email as well (this is not the same as a podcast) and it's funny to hear the text of my posts being "read aloud" by whatever computer-generated voice system is being used. The reading is a bit mechanical in tone but it works, and I think it's a great feature.

FYI, I never give or sell my mailing lists to others - EVER - so you can feel secure in signing up.

Misspent Youth

It has been far too long since I participated in a Sunday Scribblings prompt, but this week's topic seemed to spark some inspiration.

As a young child, I was a "dream kid" for my parents... easy and cooperative most of the time, and the kind of little girl other parents loved, too, because not only was I a "nice girl" (which is what little girls in the 1960s were raised to be) but I was a child who would talk to adults and was comfortable doing so.

Entering the teen years, I'd say I was pretty typical. I did my fair share of rebelling against my mother's need to try and control me (as I saw it, anyway), cut school sometimes and did a little under-age drinking. Oddly enough, I don't consider any of that time as "misspent", and while I wouldn't brag about those escapades to my nieces and nephews, I have many fond memories of those teen years -- even the things that probably drove my poor mother to distraction and made her wonder if I would EVER "grow up" and make something of myself.

There is one way, however, I believe that I misspent my time growing up; one area where I look back with some dissatisfaction on my choices as a younger person. And that is how much energy I wasted in NOT realizing just how amazing a person I really was. And how much focus I put on the good opinion of others, and on feeling bad about ME when I didn't get that good opinion. Where I misspent my youth most was in believing I was never good enough. At anything. For anyone.

I know everyone feels this way from time to time, and it's normal. And in my case, I often did a great job of masking my deeper insecurities. Nonetheless, they existed, and as a result I walked around with a constantly nagging need to find ways to feel acceptable, even preferred, to other people. I suppose I could have resorted to really self-destructive behaviors to get these needs met, but at least I found what proved to be healthier outlets for my gut-wrenching lack of self-esteem.

I desperately wanted people to like and approve of me. I wanted applause. So I joined all the performing arts activities the school provided: plays, school bands, choir, everything. I wanted to be praised for something, and music seemed to be one thing I could do well enough to earn some kudos. This despite being virtually self-taught at relearning the piano (I had had some lessons as a child but had not touched a piano in something like 5-6 years when I joined the jazz band) and being completely self-taught at playing the xylophone (if you want to stand out in a school band, play an instrument NO ONE else can play, and play it well enough to get an entire solo in the spring concert!)

I wanted to have lots of friends, to feel just a little bit popular. In hanging around the the musical/artsy crowd, I found a group of kindred spirits and a social life. I got invited to parties. I hosted parties where everyone wanted to come. I was "in", at least within my own chosen group.

I wanted to have a boyfriend. Within the band kids, there were lots of really nice boys, boys with whom I developed friendships, and occasionally a bit more. As kids often do at that age, your affections could switch loyalties rather quickly, and when boys I liked chose other girls, I was devastated. But I always tried to act like it didn't bother me. Consequently I came away from high school feeling like I would perpetually be the kind of girl that boys would always want to be friends with (nice) but who would probably never want to go out with (oh, so sad). That feeling carried with me all the way into adulthood, and even when therapy and self-help books made me see how silly this was, the feeling continued to haunt me on occasions even until... well, recently, when I fell in love with a man who definitely wants to be much more than just my "friend", and who gives me the message every single day that I am perfect just the way I am and I need not change a thing.

I remember in the movie "The Holiday" where Kate Winslet's character is talking to this older gentleman, Arthur, about her sad love life. Arthur says: "There are two kinds of women in the movies: the leading lady, and the best friend. You're acting like the best friend." And Kate says, "You're right! You're supposed to be the leading lady in your own life!" I spent my youth believing I was never meant to the the leading lady in anything, but only a supporting character. What a waste!

So looking back, where I regret having misspent my youth was the time I spent on feeling badly about myself at all. I wish that all teenagers had a way of understanding that there is a huge world out there to be experienced and conquered, and everyone is going to be good at something. Everyone will eventually find out what they are good at. They will find out what their best personal attributes are and they will sometimes even feel beautiful or handsome, even if THEIR photos are not those being posted on billboards and on the covers of magazines as the standard of what is considered attractive by our culture.

And the biggest way we short-change ourselves is in wasting time feeling "less than" anyone, for any reason. We are all magnificent, each in his or her own way. To believe any less of yourself -- whether you are young, or not so young -- is the only real "sin", to my way of thinking.

So, while I will entertain myself at odd moments with cheerful memories of my crazy youth -- such as the time I went to a school dance with some friends, drank too much blackberry brandy (I can't even stand the smell of that stuff now), came home drunk with my 15-year old sister, who fell coming in the front door, and got read the riot act by our understandably FURIOUS mother at 1 o'clock in the morning, to which I slurred the following response: "Mom, I am in no condition to appreciate this right now. Can't you wait until the morning and yell at me then?" -- and will have no regrets about those memories (after all, I survived them and no real harm done), I will sometimes wistfully wish I had known better back then.

Known what a truly incredible human being I already was and would turn out to be. Known that my life would be something I would be proud of, despite having made many mistakes along the way. Known that, although perhaps later than I thought, I would find a sense of self, plus adventure and love, and that I would become what and who I always wanted to be.

My only regret is not being able to go back in time and tell the younger Me to stop being so hard on herself and to stop caring so much what everyone else thought of her. I finally got that message. It just took me way too long.

Six figures

This blog just hit 100,000 visitors.

Excuse me while I scream "Holy Shit!" and do a little happy dance around my apartment. ... ... ... OK. I'm fine now. I'm calm.

This completely floors me, the notion that 100,000 people actually took time out of their own busy, hectic, crazy lives during the past 2 1/2 years, to read something I wrote. Some came by accident, of course, perhaps misdirected by a wayward Google search, and I'm sure many of those people took one look, and went away never to return because The Bold Soul wasn't what they were really looking for. And that's fine. Maybe a few of those hung around anyway, though. Others came by referral from other blogs or sites -- I'm very grateful for those links, those of you who've provided them. And some of you, once you got here, however you got here, simply decided to come back and visit again and again. Thank you for doing that.

A personal blog isn't something you ever think will necessarily interest another living soul (bold or otherwise), except for a few people close to you. I started this thing in February 2005, after some initial resistance, because I thought "who would want to read about my single life and my dream of moving to Paris?" which at that time was still a long ways off. But I decided to just do it anyway, because it seemed fun, harmless and a good way to get into more creative writing for myself. And so I began. After I moved here last year, visitor traffic seemed to grow quite quickly, and it has more than tripled in the past year. And here I thought blogging would just be a convenient way for friends and family to know what I'm up to over here, so far away.

But now... 100,000 visitors total, and now tracking nearly 10,000 a month (last month it was 9,996, another "record"), and still climbing. I had no idea. FYI, the 100,000th visitor was from Berkeley, California -- hello, Berkeley!

I just wanted to take a moment to say: Thank you. Merci mille fois. I am gratified and humbled by your interest in what I am doing here. I wish I could send you all a puppy with a red ribbon around its neck as a thank you gift.

Timeless

I was re-reading the text of the early chat sessions between Georges and I, from the very first one up until the hour just before we met in person. It now feels so far in the past that it is almost like observing two other people altogether... and yet this is the record of how we began.

What strikes me, upon reading through these chat logs, is two key things:

1. These are two people who are on the verge of an amazing journey, and
2. They do not have a single clue what is about to hit them.

The first few chats are what I'd call lively banter. Nothing too flirty, but just some witty conversation between two strangers. A better-than-average chat experience, certainly, but nothing really to hint at anything incroyable to come.

Then an invitation from him to meet for lunch the following week, readily accepted by me. Both acknowledging how much we are enjoying the great conversation and finding more things in common. Mainly we seem to be enjoying each other's virtual company, and coming back for more.

And then, things started to take a more interesting turn. Some personal information revealed and shared: where we both lived, etc. ("When is your birthday? And yours?" - He is a Leo, I'm a Taurus.) A slightly serious chat about "What are you looking for/not looking for?" A bit of flirtation, then a bit more, but nothing out of bounds or "too much" - just enough to keep us both very intrigued. Saying we feel happy to "see" each other online.

The day before the lunch date, we were really getting a bit impatient to finally meet. He asked me to meet him that day instead, and when I couldn't do that, he asked me to meet him a half hour earlier for lunch the next day -- no problem there.

That afternoon, I blogged about the prospects of meeting him, before I actually met him, and how the word play between us had really captured my full attention... and he read it and told me he thought I was "merveilleuse" for writing it, and how he felt the same way.

And then... we met.

One of the best parts about writing a personal blog or even keeping a private journal of your thoughts and experiences, is that you get an opportunity to flip back through the pages of time, and see where you've been. You might get some important insights, or see something you hadn't seen before that might help you in the future. At the very least, you might get to relive some good memories. The writing, in itself, is cathartic, but there are times it really helps to go back and review that catharsis.

What I feel when I look back now, as an observer, at the documented "evidence" of those few days before our first meeting, is kind of like what happens in a book or a movie: when you, the audience, is "in on" what is about to happen to the central characters, but they are completely unaware. You know they are heading for something big, something life-changing, and you can see what's ahead for them... but they aren't in on the secret, yet. You, the observer, have the upper hand; you've got the 411. They are blissfully ignorant that they are about to turn down a road that is going to lead them into uncharted territory, where only later will they be able to look back and see that first hint, the glimpse, the premonition, of what is to come at the moment when their two worlds finally collide and are evermore intertwined... mingled... mixed.

"No, I haven't chewed gum since I was 13. I'm an a-typical American that way!"

"I'll tell you, from my experience which is small, and my heart which is bigger, what I feel you are."

"I'll wait to hear that in person."

"Oh yes, I don't know yet. It will take years... or seconds... nobody knows."

"That's true. Perhaps both... years and seconds."

I think we have many, many seconds ahead of us now.

Coming soon, to an online bookstore near you

It's coming out in just a few week. FINALLY, in print!

She looks just like I feel right now:

It was two years ago September that I decided to write this book. By January of 2006, it was written and for sale via my web site as an e-book. I always intended to get it in print, but things just got in the way (like moving to Paris -- yeah, I know, you feel so sorry for me about that). This summer, I finally took the plunge, and set it up in paperback via iUniverse. I also updated it and added about 25 pages of new material from what was included in the original e-book version. (If you prefer e-books, this updated print addition will also be available as an e-book from iUniverse as well.)

The advance copies are winging their way to my address in New Jersey, so my family will actually get to see it before I will. Then they will ship me the copies here, so I can double check them for any mistakes. And THEN I will let you know where to buy it! It will be available through the usual on-line booksellers like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and others, as well as at iUniverse.

If you want to see more, here's the back cover:

This makes just one more wonderful thing happening in my life right now. And it's not even the best thing. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Or at least the luckiest in Paris.

How I can tell you're all back from vacation

Because my daily blog visitor stats, which for the entire month of August never cracked 250/day even with the Grand Tour photos and posts, are now consistently up again, hovering around 275 and inching ever closer to 300, just as they were before the summer holidays began.

Whoever said "size doesn't matter" never wrote a blog.

Welcome back.

Blackouts

No post on Tuesday because Typepad was hit by a blackout of some kind. Shame on them for not having a better back-up plan to cover natural disasters. What am I paying them for, anyway?

Speaking of blackouts, I finally got a chance for a nice long chat with my almost-15 year old niece (her birthday is Saturday, the cutie!) She was at camp for a week and then spent another week with her parents and her father's family at a lake in Upstate NY where the extended family has been spending summers for several generations. She was away when the 5th Harry Potter movie was released and also when the 7th book came out last week. Harry Potter is our "thing", something we love-love-love talking about together, and I have been eager for her to come back to real life so we can escape together into our Harry Potter mania. So she was telling me that on Monday she finally got to see the movie with some friends, and what do you think happened? They were getting to the part where Harry is just about to kiss Cho, and the entire theatre blacked out! There were some bad storms in the neighborhood and I guess the entire area lost power for over an hour, forcing theatre management to finally ask people to leave, but giving them a free pass to get back in for the movie at a future time.

My niece managed to go back later that same day with my mom to see the complete movie (I'm sure my mom enjoyed it as much as my niece). But WHAT A PLACE FOR A MOVIE BLACKOUT - RIGHT BEFORE THE BIG KISSING SCENE!

Timefinders

A few weeks ago, I had a very charming email from a reader, asking permission to reprint my post on "It's about the journey, not the destination" in her on-line magazine!

So please take a moment to check out Jill Crossland's "TimeFinders" July/August issue, find out more about her publication and get your own free subscription. She's currently running a series of articles on "Women Who Dare"!

And thank you, Jill, for your interest in sharing this article with your readers!

When in the course of human events, some writers DO change the world

I never thought I might ever have something in common with Thomas Jefferson, but it turns out I do: we were both writers, and Americans who loved living in France. OK, so he was famous (I'm not - yet), he was President (a job they couldn't PAY me to do), he's got his portrait on the 2-dollar bill (OK, that's not much to be envious of), and he was a whole lot of other brilliant things I'll never be. But we have the writer/francophone thing in common. Before I left for Paris last fall, my French teacher, Martine, gave me a lovely gift, a book of Jefferson's letters written while he traveled from Paris to the south of France in 1787. He wrote letters about his experiences in France; I write the same through my blog.

But not all writers are created equal. Today, I'm editing the final draft of a client's book manuscript. It's interesting enough if you like reading about computer software, but it's not going to affect the lives of millions. And what was Jefferson doing, 231 years ago this very July 3rd? He was probably editing the final draft of a document that literally changed the world -- a little letter to King George of England, otherwise known as The Declaration of Independence -- preparing it for reading and ratification the next day by the Continental Congress in Philadelphia, 1776.

In case you've never read it, it's powerful and brilliant (with apologies for the racially insensitive passages, but put it in context of the times in which it was written), and here's your chance to read it now.

John Trumbull's "Declaration of Independence"

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IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. --That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. --Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

-- He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

-- He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

-- He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

-- He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

-- He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

-- He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

-- He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

-- He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

-- He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

-- He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

-- He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

-- He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

-- He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

-- For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

-- For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

-- For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

-- For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

-- For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

-- For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences

-- For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

-- For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

-- For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

-- He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

-- He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

-- He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

-- He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

-- He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

---

The 56 signatures on the Declaration appear in the positions indicated:

Column 1
Georgia:
   Button Gwinnett
   Lyman Hall
   George Walton

Column 2
North Carolina:
   William Hooper
   Joseph Hewes
   John Penn
South Carolina:
   Edward Rutledge
   Thomas Heyward, Jr.
   Thomas Lynch, Jr.
   Arthur Middleton

Column 3
Massachusetts:
  John Hancock
Maryland:
  Samuel Chase
  William Paca
  Thomas Stone
  Charles Carroll of Carrollton
Virginia:
  George Wythe
  Richard Henry Lee
  Thomas Jefferson
  Benjamin Harrison
  Thomas Nelson, Jr.
  Francis Lightfoot Lee
  Carter Braxton

Column 4
Pennsylvania:
   Robert Morris
   Benjamin Rush
   Benjamin Franklin
   John Morton
   George Clymer
   James Smith
   George Taylor
   James Wilson
   George Ross
Delaware:
   Caesar Rodney
   George Read
   Thomas McKean

Column 5
New York:
   William Floyd
   Philip Livingston
   Francis Lewis
   Lewis Morris
New Jersey:
   Richard Stockton
   John Witherspoon
   Francis Hopkinson
   John Hart
   Abraham Clark

Column 6
New Hampshire:
   Josiah Bartlett
   William Whipple
Massachusetts:
   Samuel Adams
   John Adams
   Robert Treat Paine
   Elbridge Gerry
Rhode Island:
   Stephen Hopkins
   William Ellery
Connecticut:
   Roger Sherman
   Samuel Huntington
   William Williams
   Oliver Wolcott
New Hampshire:
   Matthew Thornton

[Source for Declaration of Independence: WhiteHouse.gov]

Why I should never listen to Pavarotti when I'm trying to write

Because when he sings "Nessun Dorma", I must -- and I mean MUST -- stop whatever it is I'm doing. I mean that literally... I am physically unable to do anything other than listen. I close my eyes, hands over my heart... and the tears just flow.

Like they're doing now while I watch this YouTube clip. I had to stop typing after the word "watch" because I couldn't breathe... I find myself breathing in rhythm with his singing as he builds to the crescendo, every time.

Il principe ignoto

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa,

nella tua fredda stanza

guardi le stelle

che tremano d'amore e di speranza...

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,

il nome mio nessun saprà!

No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò,

quando la luce splenderà!

Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio

che ti fa mia.

Voci di donne

Il nome suo nessun saprà...

E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir!

Il principe ignoto

Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle!

Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò!

Vincerò! Vincerò!

Translated from the score, Puccini's "Turandot":

The Prince Nobody shall sleep!... Nobody shall sleep! Even you, o Princess, in your cold room, watch the stars, that tremble with love and with hope.
But my secret is hidden within me, my name no one shall know... No!...No!... On your mouth I will tell it when the light shines.
And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!...

The Chorus of women No one will know his name and we must, alas, die.

The Prince Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win!

Paris: Just One Beautiful Distraction after Another

Procrastination has been a recurring theme in my life as a writer, and never more so since I moved to Paris last November. The problem with trying to be a working writer in a city like Paris is that there are just too many wonderful things to do with one's time when one is supposed to be working. On the one hand, I do need to work so that I can afford to live here (and I also enjoy the work I do), but who could expect me to stay home and write when my adopted city is constantly calling me to come out and play?

When I relocated here, I spent the first few months working very little and playing tourist a lot. It didn't help my wavering work ethic that I had a string of friends from home coming to visit Paris during those early months, which gave me even more reasons to go out and experience the city. As a newcomer myself, I was still getting the lay of the land and discovering the city, and it was fun to be able to do that with my good friends since I knew virtually no one in the city and I'm living here on my own. Exploring the different arrondissements, finding out which restaurants I liked, going to museums, taking hundreds thousands of photos... having the luxury to spend weeks doing that instead of just days was my dream come to life.

As the months have passed, I've now settled into a routine where I feel more like a "local" than a tourist. There is less of that feeling of (completely self-imposed) pressure for me to rush around "seeing things" with camera in hand, and I can relax and enjoy the small pleasures of the city as well as occasionally blending in with the tourists at a major attraction (even the Parisians go to the Louvre on occasion). Along the way, I've finally managed to do two things that are critically important to actually building a new life for myself in Paris: (1) I've made some delightful new friends and have started dating, and (2) I now spend a lot more of my time working. The problem is, accomplishing the former makes it that much harder to stick to the latter.

Take this past weekend, for instance. I had an important project deadline to meet for one of my clients, and I really needed to spend a portion of my weekend time working. But I had tickets to a production of "Measure for Measure" (Shakespeare - my favorite!) held in an outdoor theatre in the middle of the Bois de Boulogne, where I was joining a group of about 55 other ex-pats from a Meetup.com group. The choice between work or a play... what to do? Well, I'm not a workaholic (anymore), so of course I went to the play and told myself I could catch up on the work later.

I was really glad I went... the weather was clear, sunny, and a bit too hot for my tastes (but a few of us managed to score seats in the shady edge of the lawn). The open-air theatre was charmingly unexpected: no fabricated stage or amphitheater, it was completely natural and was set with simple red drapes hanging from the trees on the "stage" (a raised stone and gravel terrace backed by a stone arch and stone steps leading into the tiered shrubbery), a few tables, chairs, and a carpet for props. It felt exactly like the garden of an Italian villa! It was such a delight to experience Shakespeare in such a lovely setting. And having access to cultural events like this is one of the reasons I love living in Paris so much.

Afterward, I dutifully skipped the after-event dinner invites from my friends, and headed home to get back to work. The challenge then was that it was roughly a 25-minute walk from the theatre through the incredibly beautiful and HUGE park (my first time there; I loved seeing all the people out rowing on the lake) to the nearest Métro station, and by the time I got all the way home I was happily exhausted and mellow from the day. After all that, who could bear to work on a Saturday night?

So, instead of working as I had intended, I ended up on-line and then on the phone with a (charming, attractive and also younger) French guy, someone I had just met through the wonders of Match.com. We've got a date to meet for drinks later this week. (Oh yes I DID!)

See what I mean? Too many distractions!

My regular blog readers already know this about me, that I've often blogged about the myriad of ways I (like most writers) can dream up to avoid doing ANY sort of productive writing whatsoever, even before I set foot on French soil. Paris is just giving me a lot more interesting (and fun) reasons to procrastinate! At this rate, between the warmer weather and the outdoor cafés, the concerts, the Meetup get-togethers, blogger picnics in the park or along the Seine, and all these nice-looking men out there to be met and conquered... how is a girl supposed to get any work done around here?

So now that I've killed enough spent adequate time working on this post, I see that it's now time for dinner. After which -- I promise -- I will do some work.

Really, I will.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: In case you were wondering (and thinking you were crazy), I did post another variation on this article several days ago as a new contributor to The Paris Blog. However there were some editorial bugs to be worked out with that article, so I took it down for a few days in order to rework it. Sorry for any confusion. But if you haven't checked out The Paris Blog, it's something all you francophones will love and a great way to discover other blogs about Paris. Enjoy!

Cloistered

The Cloisters at the Cathédral Saint-Sauveur, Aix-en-Provence.

I'm voluntarily cloistering myself in my apartment for the next three days as I work on some writing projects for my clients, and even a few for myself. Happy Memorial Day to my American friends and family back home -- hey, have a margarita and a few hot dogs for me!

You asked for it, you've got it

I've been doing a little blog housekeeping lately: new banner (time for a change), moving a few posts around and miscellaneous whatnots. And I finally decided (since I'm no longer writing for them, mainly because I haven't got much free time and they don't pay their contributors -- and if I'm going to write for free, I might as well do that HERE) that I would post the COMPLETE text of all my Bonjour Paris articles that I contributed from September 2006-January 2007.

So, here they are, in case you didn't get the chance to read the Premium articles (or any of them) - link away and enjoy!

• Single and Moving to Paris, September 26, 2006
• To Visa or Not to Visa, That is the Question, October 5, 2006
• When Your Paris Plans Don't Go According to Plan, October 12, 2006
• Safety in the City, October 19, 2006
• Packing Light, October 26, 2006
• So Many Men, So Little to Talk About, November 2, 2006
• Paris: Reflections, November 8, 2006
• The Firsts and Lasts of Moving Abroad, November 16, 2006
• An Etrangère in a Strange Land, November 23, 2006
• Making Amis, December 1, 2006
• Lost in Translation, December 7, 2006
• Chocolat 'til you drop!, December 14, 2006
• Down the Rabbit Hole, and Back Again, December 23, 2006
• There's No Place Like Home, January 5, 2007
• The Direct Approach to Dating in Paris,  January 24, 2007

Plain and Simple

I haven't always been someone who can slow down enough to appreciate doing things the plain and simple way. Throughout much of my life, I've perhaps sometimes often consistently overcomplicated things more than I've needed to. I think most people, at least in western cultures, do this, but Americans in particular are famous for it. This is why we feel we need to live to work rather than work to live. We don't seem to embrace the idea of keeping things plain and simple; instead we think the more we pile on, the more valuable and important we become. It's downright sad, if you ask me.

That's the plain and simple truth.

Traveling has taught me that there are different ways to live, and that the rush-rush-rush of the uber-busy American lifestyle isn't always best, not all the time at least. When you're so busy you can't stop to notice your own life and whether or not you're even happy with that life, then that's a problem. When you're so busy being busy that slowing down feels painful, that's also a problem.

Plain and simple.

Being in France, I'm learning to notice that there are ways to balance being productive (rather than being busy for busy's sake) with enjoying the plain and simple things. Take café-sitting for example: whether you're alone or with friends, sitting in a café while watching people walk by is endlessly fascinating. I don't take a book or my laptop when I do this, and I don't listen to my iPod; I just enjoy my coffee or my salad and fresh bread, and watch whatever is passing by at the time. Then I can go back to my work feeling energized and refreshed, the better for having taken the time to relax and just BE. It's not always about the "doing".

The plain and simple stuff is growing on me.

While on my recent short holiday to Provence, I loved just being able to sit and read a novel in the late afternoon on the terrace, periodically stopping to enjoy the wonderful view down into the valley below. The view didn't change, but it never got old.

Things can be plain and simple, and still be interesting.

So now that I'm another year older and hopefully a whole lot wiser, I see that the quality of my life is more important to me than how much I'm packing into it. I'm redefining what is meaningful to me, and what I consider worthwhile and interesting. I'm choosing things differently and seeing the world differently.

And plain and simple is looking pretty darned good.

The perks of working from home

From 1980 to 1998 I worked in a corporate cubicle. I had a series of different jobs at different companies, most of them pretty high-paying with some prestige, but always in a cubicle. Never once did I have an office with solid walls and a door I could close to get a few moments peace from the daily corporate hell-on-earth life.

In those days, Dilbert comics gave me some much-needed, well, comic relief (yeah, I know -- bad pun). Creator Scott Adams seemed to have an uncanny knack for reflecting back EXACTLY what was going on in MY big company, and I used to wonder, "How did he KNOW?"

Like the time our VP was told by his boss, the president of the company, to look into off-shore consulting (i.e. outsourcing our jobs overseas) and I got stuck heading up the flipping project and had to deal with a team of consultants from India (who were very nice, very talented and very professional, and probably being paid about 5% of what I was getting paid for the same type of work). I kid you not, the very week before the consultants were due to arrive, Dilbert was told by HIS pointy-haired boss that he had to work with a team of off-shore consultants from a mythical country called Elbonia (that was mainly a swamp, apparently). Being able to look at those comics on my cubicle wall every day helped me keep my sanity and do the job I was hired to do, despite knowing in my heart of hearts this idea was never going to work. (Out of respect for our Indian counterparts, I made sure to always take those comics down off the wall whenever they were in town. It wasn't about them, personally... it was about the idiocy of some guy at the top making a unilateral decision because he didn't want our company to be the only one on the block NOT outsouring something.)

I remember when these strips were run in the papers, showing Dilbert discovering the joys of telecommuting, and I used to think to myself how effing great it would be if I could only do that, too. At the time I wasn't thinking about NOT having a corporate 9-5 job, but wishing I had some good reason to work from home at least some of the time, short of actually giving birth (which was the only reason they let women work from home in those days).

Then, miraculously, I got my wish. I fell at home in my living room where I missed just ONE step on the stairs, broke my left leg and ankle in three places, had emergency surgery involving a lot of hardware and morphine, and got a three-month free pass to work from home. (I guess I should have been more specific with the Universe and requested a pain-free way to achieve that goal, but then I wouldn't have gotten any Percocet or Tylenol with Codeine. The legal narcotics almost made up for having to spend four nights in the hospital orthopedic wing where some poor deranged woman with a busted hip kept the entire ward up all night shrieking at nothing but whatever was in her sad imagination.) My boss was more than happy to have me telecommute because he needed me on the job, and he sent people over to my house to hook everything up for me. He also paid for a taxi to come and bring me to physical therapy every week followed by a pit-stop in the office so I could do some in-person meetings for one half-day a week.

Just like Dilbert in the first comic, where he asks about whether he owes his boss the usual 8 hours or just the two productive ones he normally put in, I discovered that while working at home, I could actually accomplish in just a few short hours what it often took me all day to do while in the office. I had never realized before how many distractions there are, working in a company: coffee breaks, water cooler talk, long lunches, more coffee breaks, phone calls with your best friend to bitch about your jobs to each other, talking about the latest episode of Seinfeld,  making fun of the neurotic angry guy who sits in the cubicle two rows over and placing bets on what new imaginary grievance is going to set him off today... I mean seriously, how does anyone who works in corporate America ever get ANYTHING done?

That little 3-month "sabbatical" of working from home taught me one important thing: I LIKED IT. A LOT. I never wanted to give it up. After nearly twenty years of working in a big office, I was ready to call it quits. And in 1998, I did.  It's not always perfect -- not having a steady paycheck is the single biggest issue when you're self-employed -- but it's right for me. I've never once regretted the decision or considered going back.

Other than missing the water-cooler chit-chat, I'm much happier working at home. I can sleep in most days and set my own schedule the rest of the day. Some days I'll work a lot of hours, and others very few, depending on what's going on and which client needs what when. I can pick days to meet a friend for lunch, and take my sweet time coming back home, maybe doing some shopping on the way or going to a museum. The freedom and lack of stress has been really good for me in every imaginable way; no traffic to fight, no crazy bosses or unreasonable co-workers (although in my last job I actually had fantastic people to work with and for, for the most part), and the only deadlines are those I impose on myself. And I don't have to outsource ANYTHING unless I darn well feel like it. That's called "delegating".

I even take showers daily -- well, most days, anyway... sometimes I do give myself "pajama days" where work attire is pretty much "come as you were when you rolled out of bed that morning". But I do find that taking the time to clean up and dress in some kind of clothing appropriate for public appearances at the supermarket does help me feel like I'm supposed to be working instead of lying around watching TV.

Despite no longer working in the corporate rat-race, I still enjoy reading Dilbert when I can, and I follow Scott Adams' blog pretty regularly. It's amazing how many of his fans say the same thing I was saying all those years ago: "How did you know THAT was going on in MY company, too!"

And I'm always grateful that Dilbert gave me my first glimpse of La Vie en Rose Télécommutante (I just made that last word up; I doubt it's real French). Because who knows how long it might have taken for me to make the leap to change careers to something that lets me live in Paris or anywhere else I might choose. For all I know, I might still be held hostage in that grey corporate world in that grey corporate cubicle whining about the latest pointless corporate project. Working at home not only gives me a healthier way to balance my life, it also gives me time to write and blog.

But one thing I can promise you. I do not blog naked. Ever. (I can tell you're a bit relieved to hear that. I don't blame you.) I might blog in my underwear on rare occasions, but never naked.

I may be in Paris but I've still got my puritan American roots.

50,000!

Oh, how cool is this... I just noticed that my visitor counter is about to hit has hit has passed 50,000!

Not too shabby, huh?

I started this blog in February 2005 and in July 2005 I started using the sitemeter to track traffic. In my first month of tracking, I had less than 600 visitors total. Now I'm averaging over 6,000 a month, and traffic has been doubling roughly every few months. It's really gratifying that so many people are interested in what goes on around here, because you're not all just wandering in here by mistake through some rogue Google search gone bad. At least a few of you must be coming back on purpose, other than my friends and family (and I certainly don't have 50,000 of those). So that is the coolest part of all, realizing that some readers like The Bold Soul enough to return frequently once they discover it. That's how strangers become friends.

So thanks to everyone who stumbled in here, unaware... and then decided to come back for more. And tell your friends. And link to me from your own blogs and websites. And comment once in awhile to let me know you're out there.

Because -- waxing philosophical for a moment -- just like the "if a tree falls in the woods and there's no one around to hear it" question, is a writer really a writer if there's no one around to read what she writes?

Merci mille fois, mes amis!

(Up)rooted

Sometimes I find it curious that at a stage of life where many people seem to care about putting down roots and creating security for the future, that I have chosen to do a bit of the opposite. By age 45, I think it's safe to say that most people are married or have been married, many are raising children of just about any age (depending on whether or not they started young), and most are fairly well established in their careers or businesses (though some take advantage of this time in life to explore new careers or business ventures).

I, on the other hand, have not yet married (and don't know if I ever will), am not planning on having kids, and I'm in career transition for the third time in less than a decade -- doing well at it but it's not running on auto-pilot yet. (The good news here is that I'm planning on writing being my LAST career... because I can't imagine anything better!)

Other people are seeking to put down or extend their roots because that's what makes them happy; I'm happier right now being rootless.

Others very sensibly put financial security first and figure they'll "run away from home and travel" later; I've run away from home to travel in order to CREATE more financial freedom for myself in the long run.

Others stay put because of the bond they feel with family and friends and familiar places; I feel like my bonds with those I love are strong enough to withstand geographic separation (love knows no boundaries) and as much as I love being with those people, right now I get more joy from the unfamiliar places I'm exploring and the risks I'm taking in "trying on" a new way of living -- and when I'm happy, I feel I have more love to give to those I love, even from a distance.

There is nothing wrong with being someone who seeks to be rooted, secure and estalished, just as there is nothing wrong with being someone who prefers a different and less rooted path in life. One way of living is not better than the other; each has value in its own right, depending on what's best for the individual. And what's clearly best for me right now is being sans roots.

Recently I met an American couple here in Paris, Vicki and Bob, who are a little bit older than am I, who have moved to France permanently in the past year. They first came to the decision that they wanted to live in Paris over 20 years ago and actually wanted to do it back then, but life and raising their daughters took center stage. In the interim years, they did manage to travel quite a lot, to something like 30 countries. After their youngest graduated college not long ago, they decided to wait no longer to make the move they'd dreamed of 20+ years earlier. They sold everything and decided to start fresh by committing to a year in Paris. Neither of them had work visas, either, so they figured they had enough to live on for a year and then they'd figure out their next move. Pretty bold stuff, huh? Well, it's been about a year now and Bob has unexpectedly found employment and Vicki is doing what a lot of ex-pats do here: teaching business English to French executives. They love it here and they are not planning to move back to the States. They first decided to give themselves a year to be rootless; now they seem to be putting down NEW roots here in the City of Light.

Will I end up doing the same? After giving myself permission to be rootless for a while, will I start to crave some roots again, either in France or even somewhere else? Will I, too, someday want security and a retirement plan? Only time will tell; fortunately being a writer is a career no one can force you to retire from -- I can make a living as a writer for the NEXT 45 years if I want to do so.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying my somewhat nomadic status. When people ask me how long I'm staying here, I respond: "As long as I'm still having fun." I'm OK with the element of the unknown right now. I have the creature comforts of a nice little apartment I can call "home", the fun of discovering new things around the city and beyond (as I am starting to make plans to travel around France and farther afield), and the fascination of meeting so many interesting people from all over the world.

The rest, I'm just making up as I go along, with no roots to hold me down. And it feels fabulous.