THE RITES OF SPRING

Iris as Marie Antoinette...
Lucie as Her Ladyship
Two Maries
Bruno sporting curls
Sir Noe

And, the Spring:
At a cafe

Ecole Active Bilingual, Noe's school.
Parc Monceau
Le Grand Palais, as seen from our terrace.

Spring in Paris is really beautiful.  Well, spring is just a beautiful season, but in Paris, there does seem to be something magical about it.  Perhaps it is just that in a big city, through the winter, one tends to forget about Nature, being confined to all the stone and steel.  Perhaps it is just the grace of new life bursting about everywhere that tends to inspire new energies each day.  Or perhaps Paris' spring really is something out of the ordinary, with its cafe terraces and Seine bridges.  Any way you go about it, it's something I recommend...

So here are a few photos commemorating the spring in Paris, along with some random ones of a Friday night at home.  It seems that wig-wearing is a Rite of Spring!

And, congratulations to my brother and Kate on the birth of Madeline Jane.  She is very beautiful, and yet another gift of this glorious season.  I miss you guys and can't wait to meet her!  

FORMALITIES/BROKEN

["young man" -diane arbus]

The Broken in Paris is a lovestory: the making of monuments, the tiny wool coats made for little girls, the Algerian barkeeps.  Silence is hard to find or bestow, but it gets repaired in conversations between mothers and sons, with oysters by the Seine, by handholders.  I find myself many times upon the bridges: someplace between joy and weeping.

Formalities are also quite lovely here.  Most frequently, it is the Americans whom disrupt them, but it is good and interesting because then you can note the Nature, make a sketch of the structures.  I appreciate them a lot- and they are adding to my conceptualization of both freedom and will.  (more on that later)  There is a lot of play when you are working with strict bounds, I like this, I like the movement in it, and going in between.  

LANGUAGE

Getting to know Paris is a challenge, to say the very least. After being here a few weeks, and reviewing my journal, I am finding my first impressions to still stand. Although I know most people probably speak English, I don't find myself in very many conversations outside of the home. Those conversations are often interesting, so I am grateful, but nonetheless, getting a little diversity through the general populace is something I haven't yet quite figured out. Even if you go hang out in a bar (which you don't do for very long considering the cheap beer works out to be about 11 US dollars a pint) it is hard to strike up some general chit-chat. No, folks, this is no Memphis: you're not going to sit down at a neighborhood barstool and be best friends with the old guy that comes in at 9am every day after the requisite five minutes. OK, I can adapt. But how?

Another aspect of mysterious Paris is its Literary reputation. If it still exists here, I am yet to find it. I think I have gathered some clues that may bring me a little closer, but so far... I've been wondering why all these writers found it so "inspirational." Of course, inspiration is a fickle lady, and I've had my moments, but I'm certainly not under her spell. One thing that may be important is this thing about Language. It seems that when your own language become less of a tool- for day to day, utilitarian communication- then it becomes just a means for expression, truly an art. That is a nice idea, I think. Hopefully, we'll start seeing more come from that. Au revoir for now!

FOOD

Eating in Paris is rather amazing, I must say...  and I haven't even been out to eat yet.  Upon coming here, I decided I would put anything proffered into my mouth, no questions asked, and that has proved to serve me quite well.  (I did stipulate to the Colombs that eating horse was considered cannibalism in my book, but fortunately, they don't eat them either.)  So far, I have had some of the very best seafood I've ever tasted- oysters, hazelnut clams, mussles that taste of the ocean, and yes, a lot of snails.  I have also learned that you eat certain things by the day of the week, for example, never have steak tartar on a Sunday- you could get sick as these things are not delivered on the weekends.  The bread, cheese, and pastries are also all to die for, gathered every day at the local shops.  The funny thing is, with all the rich foods, the girls seem to stay quite thin.  When I figure out how this happens, I will be sure to update.  It has been a lot of fun to try all these new things, but I must say, espresso has become one of the main staples of my diet!  

PARIS

A few photos, first- as the Blogger formatting is quite mysterious to me:

uncle Nappy

my house is the one that is not pink

"what?"

sunset from the second tier of the Tower/my birthday

going out/my room

the living room

Frenchie McFrencherson

me and Noe´




I have landed in Paris, of all places. Not a place that would have been my first instinct to settle, but I have a job, which a lot of French people can’t say. My job consists of augmenting a very precocious 10 year old’s education, as well as helping him with personal development- finding what it is in the world that inspires him. So basically, I take him to school at 8.30, and do whatever I want until 17.30 when I pick him up again. Then, we do some homework, the Chief (the father) comes home, and we all have dinner. there are two older children as well- girls- but one is in boarding school, and the other is 15, so she does her own thing for the most part. I find the children to be relatively agreeable- Iris, the oldest, has many philosophical questions about the world she is finding, and is rather intelligent and careful, thoughtful, so we have great discussions. Lucie, the middle child (in boarding school) seems to be fun and funny, but I know her the least. Noé, the boy, is bright but because of his talent, is quite temperamental. He can be a little gentleman or a total shit. I do not think that any of his previous teachers have been even more strong-willed than he is, so he has had some surprises when tantrums don’t work their usual magic. All in all, though, I find it humorous amidst very educational; these children all speak four languages- English, French, Russian, and Italian. So they have a lot to show me about the world as well. I think it is turning into being a rather symbiotic relationship.

Beyond my job, I am finding Paris to be quite interesting. My neighborhood lacks a bit in the sorts of oddities that might inspire me most (it is completely bourgeois, which in terms of terms, has all new meaning for me), but one does not ever have to venture too far here in Paris for such unknowns. I am beginning to believe that French people are crazy, however. Being of this decent, it adds to my own self-estimation; though I hate to generalize, many of them seem to have, well, issues. I could speculate upon their origin (and probably with a bit of accuracy, if I may say so myself), and may, at some point do so as it would make an interesting post. But for the present, I am trying to get this thing up to date; now that I have good internet, posts will be more frequent and varied in subject, rather than this boring overview stuff. Anyways, people are crazy, I suppose, so perhaps it is just a matter of experiencing for the first time the particular French brand of insanity. All I will say is that more logic ought to be taught in schools.

So, I turned 26 here in Paris. Seems good so far. 

WEIN

I arrived late last night in Vienna. It was good to get out of Germany. I know to most readers this seems like an abrupt jump, but my job with the horses did not play out as planned, (what is this Plan?) and due to visa considerations and fascist conditions, I made my leave. On Tuesday, I will go to Paris for a job interview which so far seems like it will be a little more my style and allot for some MUCH needed creative time rather than ride-eat-sleep-repeat.



But back to Wien… My dear friend Florian picked me up at the airport and then we went and had a drink. Well, I had a drink, as he does not imbibe. How good and blessed to have the sights and smells and other signs of a city! He was an elegant host, and today an equally accommodating cityguide. How good it was to be in a bar! Libations completely aside, I felt as if I was a real person again, amongst other people, living and seeing and speaking. (It also has proved true that I should under no circumstances speak any of the German I learned in a barn…) How true that we are herd animals! Community- even just proximity- is good and necessary, and I value it more than I ever have; what a silly girl I have been to damn such a gift! Times of solitude of course can be productive, and the ability to be alone is much neglected in most, I observe; but I do not think after my month in Groß Wittensee that either should be served in reactionary proportions. One must find a balance. So far, my less than 24 hours in Vienna have done wonders to repay the debt of humanity I was in. Other than being in a city, and in a room full of strangers- glorious, dirty, silly people!- I had a bath in a real bathtub, a proper dinner, and sleep that was relaxed but not out of sheer exhaustion. This morning, we walked through the fleamarket, another grace, and into the city center. I saw St. Stephen’s cathedral (finally!), the infamous Spanish Riding School (finally!), and had a bit of brunch (espresso, rolls with butter, and soft-boiled eggs) in an old artist’s café. (It filled with tourists around noon, and so we left. Germans, nonetheless!) We walked and walked. It was brilliant. It was also nice to see and hear some of the lesser-know treasures of a city filled with so many strange and wonderful things. Vienna is surely a place for the truly bizarre- it is not explicit or obvious, but the tone is calm and ancient and resourceful, inspirational for its plethora of the High arts, dark and bountiful in its mysteries.

In the end, Vienna left me charmed and feeling myself again, or if ever. Nights of long dinners with the thespians and the painters, film men and melancholy ladies, were each a special joy- rare, secluded- that included me utterly. It is brilliant to find a home such as this in the world, even from such a distance. The Viennese as a people are very cultured, dignified, friendly, not even so abrasive when they are being rude. Good will is the general glance of the street, and the city, despite its age and tragedies survived, is sentient as well. I would think of staying there, I was surprisingly comfortable.

as long as it was awaited

Unfortunately, I cannot yet post any pictures because the lack of plug adaptors has kept me from charging any of my electronics, and I am not on my own computer. Imagine... well, don't. Just wait until I can post pictures.

Where even to begin? Laying awake at night (as I am apt to do) I think up all sorts of things I would like to include here, but this adaptor problem combined with my workload has not left much time for the internet. I promise to be more regular with the posts, as at least half of this will be remedied this week. Let me just note that the place I have come to is so small that the aquisition of a simple adaptor has taken two weeks, and part of it was dont via mail.

I guess I will begin with the horses. That should get the flow going... You know those posters that say 'all I need to know in life I learned in kindergarten'? Well, I am pretty sure I understood the effect that the horse would have upon my very essence before kindergarten (children's garden, in german, btw), but that has certainly been confirmed. Holstein (the 'state' of Germany I have come to) is truly horse country. There are more horses than people here. The people live with their horses, literally. Houses are big brick buildings with huge, thatched roofs. One half is where the people live, and the other half is the barn. You can go to the barn without going outside. Inside the houses, to go to the 'barn' side of the house is just opening a bedroom door. Beyond that, I am riding some of the finest animals in the world. It is almost indescribable. My favorite horse is Johnny. He is a 7 year-old Holsteiner stallion. Yesterday, I jumped him 1meter20. That was pure bliss. You sit on his back, his big, gracious back, and he takes you places. Then, suddenly, you are not a man anymore, you are some other creature- one that has grown new parts, and has new capablities. Jumping him, you almost don't even feel the jumps- even though they are big- you are just going as this new entity, and the jumps come up underneath you, but the whole motion is fluid, elastic; it is earth, air, earth, air. You land after one fence, and he is looking with you for the next one, his ears up, he is exilerated too! You show him the direction of the next jump, and that in combination of asking for the lead change, he says, 'ok, little girl, that one? are you ready? hang on to me, keep your legs there, sit back, here we go!' and oh! how we go! I could close my eyes even, and still the whole thing would be perfect and seamless. Riding John makes me want to read more Plato. In him are all the Virtues- upon his back, in his 400 year-old blood, amongst his mane- I can percieve them all when I feel the softness of his coat. Everything could fall apart and I wouldn't mind as long as I could still have the grace that it is to ride that horse. Having just read a wonderful novel, 'The Life of Pi,' I am into this idea of things that will make one believe in God; riding Johnny will make you believe in God. Any of you men reading this that want to marry me, I'll just say now that I don't want a diamond or any of that silliness. I just want Johnny.

Another horse I really like is the Lifestar 5. I broke him last week (which, when done properly is NOT this cowboy-bucking-bronco shit you see on TV; there was no falling involved, no bucking, no rearing, nothing insane). He is a very sweet boy, just turned 4, is going to be a very cute hunter. He still has baby personality- putting everything in his mouth! But so nice; we started jumping him on Friday. All the horses here are really nice, they are just two of my babies.

My German is coming along. I know about 100 words. However, about 60% of them are specific to equispeak, another 25% are specific to Martin Heidegger, so I guess that only leaves about 15 words that matter to speaking the language generally. And considering that I can count to ten... maybe I actually need to work on that a little more. I will blame Torston. Torston is our mentally challenged stall cleaner. He tries to have complex conversations with me, even though he knows I don't really understand him. And, he is responsible for most of the German I am learning, so we will see what happens when I go to town and try to talk to people. I bet that will be comical. Someone should make a short film where that happens. No, actually, we have some pretty funny interactions. One would not believe what can be communicated through gesticulation. Since we work together, and he does do a bit more than just clean the stalls, sometimes it is very neccessary for us to relate information. 'Go and make the rope so I can turn the foals out in the riding halle' (This involves a complex system of ropes in which to guide the babies that cannot yet be lead with a halfter into the riding halle so they can run around) turns into a pantomime of small pferde (horse) which goes crazy and makes lots of noise when you try to lead it running through a maze and out into the open where it gets a big smile on its little horsey grill. Quite hilarious. I should get someone to video it secretly so you readers can see. Torston has no teeth, and smells very bad, but I am not confident that those aspects would not be lost on video... Mom, next time we play chardes, I'm going to kick your butt! Another interesting aspect of language is that sometimes, even with those that speak english, my vocabulary exceeds the person's comprehension. Here is a point where being a poet is actually quite practical; I can come up with pretty much endless similies for things. When you are miscommunicating, the best solution is to say what the thing you mean is like. Usually it only takes a few 'like' things to achieve understanding.

I live in a cottage on an organic farm. It is about a mile up the road from the barn. It is nice, but the farm is stinky. I have two wood burning fireplaces, and I cook a lot of curry. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because curry makes everything good, even cabage. Typical day: wake up at 7, get dressed, make coffee. Eat toast with nutella, pack lunch, put coffee in thermos. To barn by 8. Ride, turn out horses, tell the farrier what to do, perform silent film with Torston. 1pm, eat lunch: two hard-boiled eggs, almonds, yogurt, apple, bread; sometimes sausage and cheese instead of eggs and nuts. 2-6 ride some more, get yelled at by Max, try to get organized for the next day, clean bits, straighten tack room. Go home, make fire, curry. Shower, read, bed by 9pm. Sleep! Wake up, start over. I'm doing what I love, but working kinda sucks. Thank you, Lord, for my Johnny! It is pretty cold here. Every place I have ever injured myself pretty much constantly aches and complains. It is weird, because I feel like I am in the body of a teenager at times- I consistently am eating bread and butter and cheese and sausage and whole milk and chocolate (all SUPER delicious, btw) and I keep getting thinner and thinner and more muscled, even just after two weeks. But then, I have arthritis and cranky joints, and I can predict the weather with my bones as well as anybody three times my age. Human bodies are mysterious vehicles.

Ok, I think I have given a good overview to catch everyone up. More details to follow... Love from the other side of the sea...