I have painstakingly learned to count my blessings every day, a practice not particularly natural for an old cynic like me, but actually helpful in maintaining spiritual and emotional peace and calm. I suggest readers out there make this a practice too. I’m spilling over with gratitude right now, after my recent quickie trip to Paris with my husband, who had to travel there to make a speech. Here are a few of the many things I loved and felt grateful for in Paris:
2. Everyone speaks French (and English).
3. The bridges over the Seine, which connect the Left and Right Banks, especially the glorious Pont Alexandre III, with its Art Noveau lamps and its golden winged horses, cherubs and nymphs, and the Pont Solferino, where lovers place locks on the sides of the bridge and throw the keys into the Seine to symbolize their undying love! Where else but in Paris?
4. Reading “The Paris Wife” in Paris. Now I’ll have to read lots more Hemingway.
5. Having dinner with my husband’s French publisher, Dominique Gilbert, a lovely and kind woman (and of course brilliant for publishing him), her husband, and another couple, friends of theirs, at La Fontaine de Mars. This is the restaurant where President Obama ate with Michele and maybe snubbed Sarkozy???? Basque food. I’m glad I tried Cassoulet. It was very authentic, but might have been a little TOO authentic for me. (We’re talking beans, duck, and sausage.)
6. Receiving an email while there from a theater workshop back here granting me an interview. I’m hoping they’ll help me stage my play-in-progress, “Survival Instructions,” a kind of one woman autobiographical thing, with supporting players, based on my memoir. Do I have the acting chops to be the “one woman?” We’ll see. The last time I was on stage was 30 years ago, when I played “Inez,” one of three characters looking for a way out of hell in Jean-Paul Sartre’s “No Exit.” Also grateful for the other email I received, also while in Paris, that I now have an agent for that very memoir. On the creative front, things are definitely moving along nicely.
7. Watching my husband speak about his subject, entrepreneurship and customer development (His book is called, The Start Up Owners Manual. Here’s the link to the book on Amazon.) Bob was a hit, even if most of his jokes were lost on the French audience. I got the jokes however. (I’ve been getting them for 35 years.)
8. The Rodin Museum, where you can walk right up to some of the most famous statues in the world. Standing in front of Rodin’s white marble masterpiece, “The Kiss,” I found myself weeping. Only one other artist ever did that to me before. Jackson Pollack.
9. The artist Muriel Stalaven, whose work we saw in a street exhibition, also brought me to tears. (Wow. Two in one trip.) Here’s a link to her site, which includes a video that shows how she creates her figure drawings in ink in seconds. I’m not exactly sure why I was so moved by her work. Its simplicity, maybe.
11. The Church of St. Surplice. I love the churches of Europe, but I am always struck by how strange and ironic it is that the Catholic Church, the hierarchical and dogmatic church that erected such edifices (not to mention that often appears to be morally bankrupt, as in, say, the Inquisition, and the harboring of pedophile priests), could have developed out of the simple message of Jesus, who, it seems to me, preached only non-heirarchical kindness, inclusion, and love.