P A R I S 2010

{ Paris, je t'aime. }

Paris 2010 has been a mantra for me since 2005. In that year I turned 35 (yes, the big 4-0 is merely a few days away), and although I hadn't yet been given the book "5", I challenged myself to think - "where will I be 5 years from today?" And as I sat at my desk my two biggest fascinations of chocolate and travel surrounded me in the form of books, postcards, maps on the wall, design, boxes of research, trinkets, photographs - an immediate answer came to me, P A R I S . I didn't really know how or why I would be there in 2010, but the idea resonated deeply within me. I told my friends and family. I got a call from my best friend - do you KNOW how much apartments COST in Paris????

No, I didn't.

And I really didn't care.

All that mattered was having this idea. And it stuck. And life just happened. And Paris 2010 turned into a reality for me, although in a way I couldn't of imagined it would. I didn't sit down and make spreadsheets, calculating and planning every step of the way. On the contrary, I just lived my life. I tried to do things that felt right to me, decisions about how I spent my time and my money, who I was with, and what interest I was focused on. Making a strict plan wouldn't have worked for me. I'm just not that way. Instead what happened I could not have planned for. A little wine with girlfriends last August turned into 5 girls with the determination to run the Paris Marathon in April 2010. Never been mentioned before, never had the inclination to do it, and at the time my life was totally up in the air. But it clicked, it clicked big time. And the meaning of Paris 2010 that I held in my mind all that time became something real and happy and good.

I just got the book Click, the magic of instant connections, by Ori and Rom Brafman. Recommend it if you are interested in how these "click" moments happen, and in grasping just how little we can predict what path our life will take because of them (I'd also say try reading The Black Swan for more on that).

Do what you love.

Do what feels right.

Trust yourself.

Be happy.

Have patience.

Things will fall into place.

(I'm a d-e-s-t-i-n-o sort of gal, if any of you remember one of the opening scenes from the greatest Robert Downey Jr/ Marisa Tomei movie Only You?)

For me things fell into place (coincidentally?) while in Paris for the marathon - I got the job offer that would allow me to move back to Austin, and be in a role at a fabulous company totally suited to my life and the way I live it. Click.

SO WHAT'S YOUR XXXX 2015??? I've decided on mine, but I'm not sure I'll tell - yet.....

PS - Thank you Stephie, for being my greatest supporter and friend. And to my other best girls - Rebecca the non-marathoner, and my partners in making it through the 6-7 months of training, the race, and all the emotional life before that - Brett, Heather, and Erin. Love you all.

photo: French macaron version of la tour eiffel in the window of Stohrer in Paris on the Rue Montorgueil. Taken April 10, 2010, the day before the marathon.

Falling Down { In Mexico and other places }

{ Runn-ing, runn-ing, we all -- fall -- down! }

Since my last post about my Paris marathon training buddy taking a spill during a run, I found out that 2 of the other 3 girls have fallen during their training as well...

B: within minutes of the start of a 14 miler, tripped over a railroad crossing, and did, as she calls it, a "sweet stunt woman type roll".

H: her words "a dang dog ran me down, and my girlfriend said she had never seen anyone fly up in the air like I did".

And although my sister hasn't yet fallen down while training, she did the Wii Fit fitness test over the holidays and it asked her if she often tripped when walking due to her balance. Hahahaha!

I love being able to laugh at ourselves with my girls! Our latest marathon safety motto: Beware of road gremlins.

Although I haven't fallen during my training, here is a short story I wrote this summer.

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FALLING DOWN IN MEXICO

Trips to the grocery store are something I honesty love to do, and if it’s a foreign country where I’m in need of groceries I treat it as a full-on cultural highlight of the location. I was in Playa del Carmen the day before my birthday, and planned to stay a week. That first day was occupied with settling in, drinks by the pool, checking out the beach and my surroundings. Day 2 was my birthday, and I needed supplies in the form of snacks, water, alcohol for my room, and sunscreen. The front desk directed me to the neighborhood Wal-mart -- only a few blocks away, she said. I told her I preferred to shop somewhere local, and she gave me a frown and a tisk-tisk, saying it had the biggest selection and the best prices. Well, who’s to argue.

I had been out to the beach that birthday morning, welcomed with a breakfast amuse-bouche chocolate cake, fruit platter, tea, and a mimosa.

The days were sweltering hot, so I left for my walk to the store about mid-morning, hastily pulling on a sundress over my swimsuit. So what, it’s a beach town, sure.

The walk took me a few blocks the opposite direction of the beach and 5th Avenue, the bustling center of all things tourist. Not surprisingly, the further you get from the beach the more you encounter real people who live there - baking bread just inside their windows, taking kids to school, hauling bricks, whatever. I found the smells coming from the little doors amazing. I imagined empanadas, and drippy meaty tacos on tender tortillas with fresh cheese, cilantro, and jalapenos.

Oh well, on to the big box super store.

What happened next I remember as a quick succession of frozen visual moments. Coming to the corner of a street that seemed perhaps to be a four-way stop, I made eye-contact with a young local man who came quickly around the corner of the building. Startled a bit, I kept walking, noticing there was a substantial curb drop-off onto the street right in front of me. Perception told me it was a large step but easy enough, and there were no cars coming - just a few people milling about around the intersection. I didn’t hesitate and stepped out - sandal to the pavement ok, next sandal to the pavement not ok, SLIP! and the next thing I know I’m on my ass in the intersection. First thought? Glad I’ve got a swimsuit on under this sundress. I’ve somehow scraped my leg and my knee, which I don’t even notice until later because of my express need to GET UP and get out of the street. The weirdness to it was, with all the locals around, how no one acted startled, moved to help, angled to get a better view, or otherwise paid any attention to me whatsoever. Funny to think, we are the center of our own world.

I dusted myself off, and went to Wal-mart.

Wal-mart in Playa was divine, with aisles and aisles of fun foods, liquor, wine, beach-going necessities, packaged cookies and sweets of endlessly entertaining marketing spin, and produce. What I liked best was that by paying with a credit card there was no need for me to engage or otherwise interact with cashiers as I try hopelessly to interpret Spanish numbers and fumble with pesos for which I have no idea how much they are worth.

I called my mom from Wal-mart to tell her about my street incident and have her wish me a happy birthday. We laughed and laughed - as much for my fall as we did that somehow, in a foreign country, even a trip to Wal-mart can be a memorable time.

Pen Pals and Penmanship

{  A new friend asked me today to be pen pals. Pen pals, as in handwritten, arrive in your mailbox pen pals. 

We barely know one another, have met in person only briefly, and yet via email, texting, and one very long phone conversation have solidly established a new friendship. People rarely make me stop in full wonder at them (in a good way). This request did it. I'm entranced.  }

The symmetry and flow of handwritten script is a thing of beauty. This photo I took in Paris last September of one of the myriad of messages written to Princess Diana on the Pont de l'Alma. The writing and its placement struck me as something very personal out of the tens or hundreds of other notes at the flame beside that bridge. 

More from my mind on pen pals and penmanship: 

- the "Hopelessly Devoted to You" scene from Grease. Sandy has a pen and paper and is trying to decide what to write to Danny. Girls, we all wanted to be Sandy. My cousin and I watched this movie scene recently and laughed thinking about being 8 years old, trying to imagine what boy other than John Travolta could ever inspire singing and letter writing. :)

- my 5th grade handwriting teacher, Mrs. Vivian. Thanks to her I got out of my little girl habit of writing everything in the teeniest tiniest letters I could possibly write. My mom thanks her for this, too.

- today I thought of the box of letters I have of my grandmother's. My grandfather wrote them to her before they were married, during the years of 1937 and 1938. Many are written in pencil on spiral bound notebook paper. The content I will write about some other time, but here are a few lines from the one I opened tonight just to peek:

May 25, 1937

Moody, Texas

I love you darling....Darling, we finished cutting oats yesterday afternoon and are going to start thrashing Friday or Saturday. ....Well honey I guess I had better say goodbye because mother said dinner is done. Of course darling you know I don't like to eat. Be sweet as ever and remember that Melborn loves you better than anything.

It's no wonder I'm entranced by the thought of this form of expression. Sentiments from a lovely, distant way of life and love.

And so tonight I will get out my pen and paper. Do I have good paper? Do I have a good pen that doesn't say Hilton, Hyatt, or Holiday Inn? It doesn't matter. I'm going to write a handwritten letter. One that cannot be forwarded, deleted, edited, or printed out, that doesn't exist in bits and bytes.

The crazy little apartment, and wardrobe woes in Paris

Stephanie is my sister. I got this note from her upon my arrival in Paris and subsequent day long search for internet cafe:

Monday, September 1, 2008

Steph: Wanting to make sure you made it ok and are liking the crazy little apartment?

Me: Bonjour! Jeeeeez I am only just now on email and NOT at the apartment! Charging the computer without blowing it up, weird French internet stuff driving me nuts -- finally found an internet cafe and when I walked in they are playing Madonna's Hard Candy, just like every radio station at home. Ahhh, was I expecting Edith Paif?

The apartment is awesome! In SUCH a nice area just off the Rue St. Honore so shops, the Louvre, metro stops, all of it right here. The stairs are a KILLER, 5th floor winding in a tight spiral up up up...but so worth it once there! The apartment is triangle shaped, so from the two sides with windows I peek out on Parisian life. On one side is maybe a fashion school? There are mannequins in the window and once in awhile the young 20-something students pour out onto the sidewalk to chain smoke and look cool (makes me aware I am totally dressed stupid. Whatever.). Out the other side of the apartment there are offices and I can see into peoples' apartments, so I imagine watching their lives as my version of a French soap opera for the next week or so. Cannot wait.

There is a Monoprix grocery right across the street from the apartment. I had pate and walnut bread from Poilane (OMG), and a bottle of champagne for dinner last night, with chocolate (Michel Cluizel) to finish! C'est magnifique! This is great because in my semi-jet lagged state I can eat at home when I'm hungry instead of waiting for "appropriate" lunch and dinner times -- allows me to avoid as much as possible being totally ignored and/or looked at with suspicion by waitstaff and/or regular French people who realize that no one worth their weight in escargot would approach a restaurant to eat prior to 8:30pm. Nothing more entertaining when it's 55 degrees and windy than a solo American in a t-shirt and flip flops barging into an empty restaurant at 6pm ready for her aperitif, and hoping to not order something like "sardines for 8" with her poor command of high school French (yes, I did! On my last trip, the waiters got a huge kick out of it, I got a gigantic bowl of sardines swimming in a gallon of olive oil). Yes, thank goodness for the Monoprix.

Btw, I tried to wear my cute new black patent flats today but after less than an hour I had to go all the way home (and up the 5 floors) to put on flip flops. What a loser. Definitely will wear boots tomorrow, regardless of weather, in attempt to feel more confidently dressed, and make it all day without returning to the apartment for wardrobe change! 

Love you and cannot WAIT for you to be here!!!