Confetti in June

On the way back to the Abesses station in Montematre I Spy 4 little boys gleefully chunking water balloons at each other and the occasional hapless passing tourist Chuckle. it’s sunny it’s late afternoon little remnants of colorful rubber litter the pavement damp from their generous recent showers Chortles of laughter scatter up the curve of the street and pieces of June scatter into clear … Continue reading Confetti in June


It’s so strangely intimate visiting someone else’s house. Victor Hugo’s apartment at le Place des Vosges wasn’t exactly what I anticipated. It was all too grandiose, from the papered walls and patterned ceilings, to the heavily carved dark wooden furniture, to the exorbitant displays of paintings, the hanging rows of porcelain, the grand mirrors. Treading along the polished floorboards, I realized that for years I had … Continue reading Hugo


“La gare” [train station] is quickly becoming my new favorite word. Something about the push and pull, the rush to the platform followed by the slow drawn out wait for the train as anticipation licks our lips. The promise of travel, the glimpse of new worlds, new pictures, new places far beyond the high vaulted, metal-laced glass ceiling, somewhere out beyond the silent sentinel of the … Continue reading Rescue

the way it creeps back into your life shadowing conversations with a faint gray tinge dangling off every movement of your aching tendons dusting your eyelids clinging to your ankles painting every cell with a soft but perceptible leaden coating slithering in with the unpredictable stealthy tread of loss. It’s funny how something that leaves you so empty can take up so much space. Continue reading

The Best Dancing

I’m one of those stereotypes: Mother plopped me in a “movement class” as soon as she realized that my crazy 4-year old whirling dervishes around the sharp kitchen counters would result in a more than one cut forehead. “Movement class” evolved into ballet class pursued rigorously right through college on pointed toes. The stage is the goal for a ballerina. It’s a wonderful goal. Dazzling lights, … Continue reading The Best Dancing


It’s 6:30 AM at La Défense and the sun rises crisply over the rails only to be kissed into rose tinted nuages [clouds] by morning mist. Most of Paris still sleeps but the working man goes home. At the subterranean quai some sapeur-pompiers [firemen], neat white bands around the ankles of their baggy navy pantaloons, walk onto waiting trains. Night shift over, the slight slouch … Continue reading 6:30


There are Paintings everywhere. Windows frame perfect yet transient masterpieces of the garden . And a little corner tangent; white linens on a brown chair.    A woman picking flowers, and a sewing machine.    canvas          The bubble              window.    Creamy yellow sills, wide French doors, simple buttery chairs, and a table ready for feasting.     … Continue reading Giverny