Sunday Salon: July Summary

It might be only the end of July to you, but to me, it is the end of Summer. By the time August comes, it's time to consider the new school year, and the days have a marked shadow over them. A shadow with lots of promise, because I love teaching, but a darkening of the days left for freedom. Fun. Reading and cycling and no meetings. Bliss...

July was beautiful. There was the glorious virtual trip to Paris brought to us by Tamara and Karen who sponsored Paris in July. Can we do it again next year? Please? For that event, my contributions were:

• the post that my mother wrote including her memories and sensations of Paris
• a review of Zola's Therese Raquin
• a review of Bolano's Monsieur Pain
• a review of the film Seraphine
• a review of Guerlain's Vol du Nuit, with the promise of the novel's review to come

In terms of the challenge I am hosting, the Japanese Literature Challenge 4, we are entering our third month with five more to go. The review site lists approximately 80 books which have been read so far; if you haven't found one to entice you yet, perhaps you will be inspired by looking around a bit and perusing the titles.

Books I've read in July include:

• STiLL ALiCE by Lisa Genova
• Sea Escape by Lynne Griffin
• Of Bees and Mist by Erick Setiawan
• Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann
• A Personal Matter by Kenzaburo Oe
• half of Middlemarch by George Eliot (for Nymeth's read-along the last week of August)

Finally, did you notice the new header photograph and colors? I love yellow, and I love red, but it seems I can't stay with one combination for long. In college, I was passionate for purple; I wore purple cowboy boots and purple jackets. My parents gave me a huge amethyst ring upon graduation. So, it's time to revisit purple, until I change again for the harvest in September. Don't get attached to one theme for too long Chez Bellezza. (That was Sunday, now it's Tuesday. We have what I hope to be the final header for the Fall; I came across Renoir's girls reading (La Lecture) and it's perfect for the start of school. To me, anyway.)

In the meantime, did you have a lovely July? Did you read anything spectacular? Are you anticipating August with anxiety or joy?

Vol De Nuit

I have found the next perfume I'll wear. It comes from the man who brought us Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) and Vol de Nuit (Night Flight): Antoine St. Exupery. Actually, the perfume was created by Guerlain, but it was inspired by St. Exupery following the novel that he wrote in 1933.

It is described as rare. Daring. Enigmatic.

• Top notes: Bergamot, galbanum, and petitgrain.

• Heart notes: Jasmine, daffodil, and spices.

• Base notes: Wood, iris, vanilla, amber notes, and an earthy forest note.

St. Exupery with plane

"Vol de Nuit derives its name from the novel by Antoine de Saint Exupery, which relates the drama and excitement of the early years of aviation. In the novel, a pilot, newly wed, loses control of his aircraft, while his wife in the control tower waits feverishly for a sign of life. Vol de Nuit is a vibrant homage to this moving love story and to women who know how to live with danger.

The design in relief on the bottle represents the moving propeller of an aircraft, while the name is cut out of a circle of gold metal suggesting the propeller belt." (Source here.)

I had so wanted to read and review the novel for Paris in July. Alas, I could not find it anywhere, and I had to resort to ordering it from a private bookseller. It did not arrive in time for me to review for Tamara's and Karen's Paris in July, but when it does arrive, I will be eagerly reading it. And giving you the review.

As to the perfume? Perhaps I'll be lucky enough to receive it from Saint Nicholas this December. (Then again, maybe I'll just ask for the eau de toilette since that's not in the triple digits.)

A Personal Matter by Oe

Nevermind about the selfishness of Bird's character, the way he abandons his unloved wife after she's given birth to a baby with a brain hernia. Nevermind about his four month drinking spree, which he spent completely inebriated after their wedding. Nevermind about him clinging to his girlfriend, Himiko, instead of waiting by his wife's bedside, or baby's incubator, in either hospital.

What jumped out at me was the focus Bird had, and the attention Oe gave, on his obsession with Africa. By examining this thread, we can see the changes that Bird undergoes throughout the novel:

Uneasily he wondered if the day would ever come when he actually set foot on African soil and gazed through dark sunglasses at the African sky. Or was he losing, this very minute, once and for all, any chance he might have had of setting out for Africa? Was he being forced to say good-by, in spite of himself, to the single and final occasion of dazzling tension in his youth? And what if I am? There's not a thing in hell I can do about it! (p. 3)

***

We'll manage to restore our family life to normal. And then, all over again, the same dissatisfactions, the same desires unrealized, Africa the same vast distance away... (p. 68)

***

Somehow I must get away from the monster baby. If I don't, ah, what will become of my trip to Africa? (p. 75)

***

He had just slightly more than thirty thousand yen in the bank, but it was money he had deposited as the beginning of a reserve fund for his trip to Africa. For the present, that thirty thousand odd yen was hardly more than a marker indicating a frame of mind. But even the marker was now about to be removed. Now, except for two road maps, Bird was left with nothing that related directly to a trip to Africa. (p. 78)

***

"You know, you often dream about leaving for Africa and shout things in Swahili! I've kept quiet about it all this time, but I've known you have no real desire to lead a quiet, respectable life with your wife and child. Bird?" (p. 97)

***

"That's not such a bad idea---" Himiko glanced at Bird as if to test him. "You could forget our unhahppiness about the baby, Bird. And I could forget my husband's suicide."

"Exactly, and that's so important!" Himiko's father-in-law declared. "Why don't the two of you just pack up and leave for Africa?"

"...I couldn't do that, I just couldn't," he said with a feckless sigh..."It's too slick, that's why, just happening to forget in the course of traveling around Africa that your baby's life has ebbed away. I...I just couldn't do it!" (p. 131-132)

This story, more about the father than his baby, is ultimately about growing up. Accepting responsibilities, disappointments, and the knowledge that there is very little in life we can control. No wonder it won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1994.

I will never forget it.

I read this novel with the Nonstructured Reading Group, including Claire, Emily, Frances, Sarah, Iris and Richard.

I've Been Nook-ed

Never in a million years did I think I'd succumb.

Give up the scent of the paper? The gentle crack of the spine? The turn of the fresh new page? Are you kidding me?

And then bloggers showed photographs of our Mount(s) TBR.

And then my friend, Joe, showed me his Kindle.

And then I began seriously considering the situation.

I arrived at this conclusion; with an e-reader from Barnes and Noble I'd have:

• storage and shelving problems solved
• the print enlarged for easy reading with my contacts on
• bestsellers "for a song"
• books that I love to read, but which are hard to find, accessible
• previews of books I might want to buy at my fingertips
• the ability to read e-books for free in their store

My son had given me a Barnes and Noble gift card many years ago which I'd been saving and saving. When I saw that their Nook was reduced to $149.00, with more capabilities than amazon's Kindle at $169.00, I added an extra $75.00 to his card and took the plunge.

I am now a happy woman.

I'd be even happier if my husband wouldn't rush me through bookstores so quickly. But, I guess it doesn't matter now. I have one at my fingertips.

Of Bees and Mist

She fell back into the chair shaking with anger. She tried to breathe, but the air had turned thick with bees. All this time Eva had been watching and listening patiently, storing her opportunities and keeping her insects silent. She was the one who had been careless, the one who had been too sure. Permony and Malin had warned her and she had not listened. Now Eva had struck and gotten Daniel where she wanted him-on her side and hateful to his own wife. (p. 331)

Of Bees and Mist, of selfishness and control, of mothers-in-law and husbands, this book weaves a tale which is part magical fantasy, part reality,and all tenacity of Meridia. My favorite character.

Yet, each character is drawn with such articulate strokes, it is easy to picture them all before you:

• Ravenna, Meridia's mother, with her high-necked, long-sleeved, black dress and iron knot of hair at the back of her head;
• Gabriel, her father, sitting at his baronial desk when he isn't accompanied by a blue or yellow mist to and from his home;
• Daniel, her love and husband, who was weak but became strong; and
• overshadowing them all is Eva: Malin, Permony and Daniel's mother, Elias' wife, Patina's daughter, and Meridia's mother in law.

Such a powerful creature of greed and control, selfishness and deceit, she is able to manipulate everything and everyone. She turns her mother's feet to goat hooves so that Patina hobbles humbly in serving the family. She turns one daughter against the other so skillfully it isn't until the eldest is an adult that she realizes how cruelly she treated her little sister. Eva tries, time and time again, to manipulate, Meridia. But, she cannot do it.

Not even her bees have power against Meridia's strength. Her bees can fill a room with their stinging needles and buzzing hisses, her bees come forth when she beckons them to do her will. But, Meridia has seen her mother seize a chair and break the window panes to pieces in order to let the bees escape. She knows of other tactics, most particularly that of fortitude, which will not permit the bees to have their way.

I loved, loved, loved this book.

In online PhD online programs you end up reading a lot of books too.

Sea Escape by Lynne Griffin and Give-Away

Seven months after I'd attached myself to Candy, my father died, and my mother was no longer satisfied to spend her afternoons with two young girls. She had trouble carving out time even for me. Instead she'd plant herself in the wing chair by the bank of windows overlooking the sea and spend her days with him, reading the love letters over and over. Letters she never let me read. And that was the beginning of me not being enough for her. (p. 35)

Laura Martinez, nee McIntyre, is a woman that many of us can relate to: mother, wife, daughter, working professional who balances her roles with alacrity and grace. Most of the time. Yet while her home may reflect a bit of chaos (the occasional misplaced shoe, the counter covered with breakfast dishes, the mad scramble not to miss the schoolbus) it is far more real than the illusion of perfection which her mother worked to create in her home, Sea Escape.

Her mother forbids sandy shoes to cross the threshold, loud voices to resonate the hallways, and dirty fingers to touch pristine material. Her mother sits, removed from others, in the grief she bears following Laura's father's death. Her mother reads his letters over and over, revelling in her love for him while imprisoning others in her dream of the perfect family.

Who has a perfect family? Who? No one I know. And the families which insist they are, often turn out to be the ones which are most deeply flawed.

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel, which revealed layer upon layer of emotion as well as secrecy. I love how it explored mother/daughter relationships, mother/child relationships, and husband/wife relationships. I love the way that Laura came to terms with her life at the novel's conclusion.

"People change, Laura. The Grace of God softens hard hearts, making them capable of hearing the truth. I've known your mother a long time. It's true she's not the woman she once was. In the midst of her great suffering, she's changed, not just in physical ways for the worse, but in soul-searching ways for the better. Her body may be weak, but her transcendent heart is strong." (p. 244)

I have one copy of Sea Escape, as well as Life Without Summer, to give away to a reader who lives in the U.S. or Canada. Sea Escape was recently an Indie Next List Notable pick, and it was also picked by Entertainment Weekly as one of the ten must read books of summer. Visit Lynn Griffen's page for more information about each novel, and simply leave a comment to be considered for a winner.

Thanks to TLC Book Tours, along with Simon and Schuster, for the opportunity to review this book. Find more information, and links to reviews, here.

Hello, Japan! July's Task: Haiku

Velvet and coral

cover their spheres~silver flesh

surprises within

Ranier cherries

tied together in nature~

who will sever them?

Tanabata's task for Hello, Japan in July is to explore haiku.

Taken in by the colors and flavors of summer fruit, I ventured to give it a try.

(Thank goodness we can always turn to Basho.)

Mailbox Monday

This week I found three additions to my Japanese literature library:

*Hotel Iris  sent to me from the Philippines by the ever thoughtful Mark David;

*What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, which completes my collection of Haruki Murakami works;

*A Personal Matter, on loan to my mother after I finished it for the group read on July 30;

a new book entitled Finny which I will review August 30 for TLC Book Tours;

and Suite Francaise which is my last prize from the library's Summer Reading Program.



Summer sure is sweet, even though the time allocated for pure pleasure reading is winding down...

A Whine With No Cheese

I'd love to say I haven't been around to your blogs, or posting on mine, because I've been busy.

But, that just wouldn't be true. I've been absent because I'm crabby. Over a million tiny things:

• the way I can never cycle through my town without feeling like I'm going to be run over, and I'm so careful to be respectful to drivers
• the way that b..ch completely ruined my first BookMooch experience by complaining I sent her an ARC, and then I lost my cool and said (publicly, on BookMooch), "Don't worry. I won't be sending books to you anymore." Like one of the third graders I teach instead of the calm, caring woman I try to be.
• the way it's nine million degrees in the shade here, with not a breath of air anywhere. I'll take snow in Chicago any day of the year over being chafed and irritable.
• the way some Japanese porn site is leaving spam comments all over my blog including the review sites for the Japanese Literature Challenges. (WordPress was infinitely better at stopping spam.)

That about covers the big things that are bugging me, which aren't really that big at all.

In the scope of life? Not even worth thinking about.

Tonight? Annoying as Hell.

STiLL ALiCE by Lisa Genova

She looked at the rows of books and periodicals on her bookcase, the stack of final exams to be corrected on her desk, the emails in her inbox, the red, flashing voice-mail light on her phone. She thought about the books she'd always wanted to read, the ones adorning the top shelf in her bedroom, the ones she figured she'd have time for later. Moby-Dick. She had experiments to perform, papers to write, and lectures to give and attend. Everything she did and loved, everything she was, required language. (p. 73-74)

Still reeling from just finishing Still Alice, a novel more frightening than anything Stephen King could conjure up, and he's pretty darn scary.

But nothing imagined is more terrifying than what's real, and the idea of losing one's memory, and along with it one's very self, is beyond horrific.

The character, Alice, is six months older than I. She's taught for twenty six years, as have I, only she's a professor of linguistic studies at Harvard. She gives international speeches, she guides post-doctoral studies, and she's forgetting things.

While running during her daily routine she completely forgets where she is. When introduced to a woman at a party, she promptly asks who she is after returning to the group with a glass of wine. Who she is, and where she belongs, is becoming more and more confusing, but it isn't due to the typical symptoms of menopause. Or, stress. She is diagnosed with early on-set Alzheimer's disease.

"Okay, Alice, can you spell the word water backwards for me?" he asked.

She would have found this question trivial and even insulting six months ago, but today, it was a serious question to be tackled with serious effort. She felt only marginally worried and humiliated by this, not nearly as worried and humiliated as she would've felt six months ago. More and more, she was experiencing a growing distance from her self-awareness. Her sense of Alice-what she knew and understood, what she liked and disliked, how she felt and perceived-was also like a soap bubble, ever higher in the sky and more difficult to identify, with nothing but the thinnest lipid membrane protecting it from popping into thinner air. (p. 242)

The novel focuses on the effects it has on her, but also on her husband and children. The family must learn how to cope with the needs that Alice has and the new person she's become. It is a heartbreaking, yet ultimately endearing, journey for all of us to witness.

I hope I never forget it. Or, its lessons.

Can We Talk About BookMooch?

Okay. For years I've been reading how bloggers have 'mooched' a book and found great contentment. So, I went ahead and joined last week. I've been sorting through my shelves anyway, and the idea that my beloved, but too many, books would not be cast before swine at some re-sale shop appealed to me greatly.

I wrapped up, and sent off, around fifteen of my books. They cost $2.88 each for delivery in the states, and they've all been shipped to eager moochers.

Only, here's the problem. While I have a gazillion BookMooch points, I can find no books I want; zero, none.

Now, I understand that they might not have 'unusual' titles such as novels which might come from Kirino or Murakami. But, I looked for classics such as A Room With a View. Nope. Next, I searched for the five best historical novels of all time per The Wall Street Journal. Nope.

What do they have? Seriously. Can you help with any suggestions? Has BookMooch worked for you?

A Few Thoughts on Robert B. Parker

I often find that when I look at something, and it seems facile, it's not. Have you ever watched an athlete who's incredible at what he does, and think, "Wow. Maybe I could do that."? Then, when you try, you know, "Mmmm, maybe not."

It holds true for teaching. A really good teacher makes it look effortless. She holds the classes' attention and spirits in her hands and simultaneously increases their knowledge and confidence.

It holds true for writing as well. I'm reluctantly finishing the last few novels that Robert B. Parker has written. In my opinion, he's one of the few best-selling writers who really knew what he was doing. I'm reading along half thinking, "Yeah. Murder. Mystery. Resolution. Witty repartee. Fine, fine, fine."

But, just try to create what he does: an intricately woven plot, with characters so real you feel like you've lived with them, and a psychological insight at the end to boot.

I've read a lot of books by the highly erudite, the stuffed shirt type of academic if you will, that can't hold a candle to what Robert did in every single one of his novels.

Pity that there will be no more.

Bellezza, Unveiled. Sort Of.

Normally, I hide behind a green and gold door covered in vines when in the blog-o-sphere. It's cozy that way, and there's a certain wonder about going straight to what we say as bloggers, instead of what we look like.

This is the only picture I've posted of myself online, for my birthday in 2007:

But, when Judith of Leeswammes's asked if I'd like to participate in one of her Book Bloggers Abroad posts, I agreed. So, if you want to know a bit more, head on over. I'd love to answer any questions you may have.

Seraphine

My husband chose Seraphine, a film by Martin Provost, when we were out last Friday. I watched it absolutely mesmerized. Although the subtitles appeared below our screen, too far down to easily read, I was able to comprehend enough of the film to follow it completely. That's not because my French is so fluent any more, but because the pace of this film is slow and calm. It is lovely beyond words.

Seraphine is the true story of Seraphine Louis (Yolande Moreau-Paris Je T'aime, Amelie), a simple and profoundly devout housekeeper who in 1905 at age 41, began painting brilliantly colorful canvases. In 1912, a German art critic (Ulrich Tukur-The Lives of Others) discovered her paintings while she was working for him as his maid. The film tells the story of the relationship between the avant-garde dealer and the visionary cleaning lady forging a testament to the mysteries of creativity and the resilience of one woman's spirit. (back cover)

It has won 7 Cesar awards including:

• Best Actress – Leading Role (Yolande Moreau)
• Best Cinematography (Laurent Brunet)
• Best Costume Design (Madeline Fontaine)
• Best Film
• Best Music Written for a Film (Michael Galasso)
• Best Production Design (Thierry François)
• Best Writing – Original (Marc Abdelnour and Martin Provost)

So, even if you aren't celebrating Paris in July? You should see this film. Vraiment.

p.s. It's available on DVD.

Mailbox Monday

This lovely stack came into my mailbox this week; perhaps this post would be better suited for a Library Loot post as many of them came from the library.

~The Changeling is Kenzaburo Oe's newest novel

~A Fine Balance and Skeletons At The Feast were a quarter each from the Used Book shelf

~Of Bees and Mist was sent to me from Simon and Schuster for review

~Olive Kitteridge is the Pulitzer Prize book I've been longing to read, which was a prize for the Summer Reading Program, a library program I've been addicted to since I was a child

Are there any on this stack which you would grab first? Recommend I begin today?

N.P. by Banana Yoshimoto

"I've come to visit," I said.

"Welcome."

He still seemed slightly embarrassed about his late-night visit. I felt strange. N.P. is just a book, for heaven's sake. Even if you become obsessed with the book, eventually you should be able to chase it out of your mind, unless you're tragically flawed.

But what was the deal with these people? Take Sui, for excample. At first she seems real to me, as she talks, shakes her hair off her face, smiles with her full lips, spills food, has gooey nosebleeds. She reacts to what I say in real time. But then reality starts to creep away, and everything goes fuzzy, and it feels unreal to me. It's been that way since I met her. She is N.P. (p. 88)

What's N.P.? Literally, the initials stand for North Point. But, it's a collection of short stories written by Sarao Takase, a very unhappy Japanese writer. For some reason, when the ninety-eighth story is translated from Japanese to English, the translator commits suicide. Takase himself took his life, leaving behind a wife and two children. It is through the eyes of these two children, their older half sister, Sui, and the narrator, Kazami, that Banana Yoshimoto touches on themes of lesbians, religion, writing, friendship, family, and to me, growing up.

All three of them smelled strongly of their pasts, when life was vital and rich. For me, being with people like this seemed like being in a flower garden that is subtly out of sync with reality. I felt that strongly. This time in my life was splendid, beautiful. But there was a limit. It couldn't last forever. I would open my eyes and wonder why I was still there with them. (p. 135)

It reminds me of my youth, when everything seemed new and exciting. When summers shone brighter than any other season, and the idea that there was nothing I couldn't do felt impossible.

Monsieur Pain by Bolano

Although Monsieur Pain is written by a writer from Chile, I read it for Paris In July because the setting is Paris, 1938.

It is the first novel I have ever read written by Roberto Bolano, and it remains as murky in my mind as Haruki Murakami's works did when I first began reading him. Perhaps one reads him more for the atmospheric qualities, the surrealistic and the noire aspects, more than the plot. I don't have a single astute thing to say, as my mind is reeling, except that this was a fascinating novel of mood...one that left me as confused and as unsure as Monsieur Pain was himself.

It does not escape me that his name, Pain, so resembles the English word "pain", although the French translation is "bread". Much to think about here...

Paris, 1938. The Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo is in the hospital, unable to stop hiccuping. His wife calls on an acquaintance of her friend Madame Reynaud; the mesmerist Monsieur Pain. A timid bachelor, Pain is in love with the widow Reynaud, and agrees to try to use his powers to help save the poet's life. But then two mysterious Spanish agents intervene, determined to keep him from treating the patient.

Terrible anxiety enters the story--along with another practitioner of the occult sciences, tarot cards, nightmares, Mme Curie, WWII, hopeless love, and an assassination. Poor Monsieur Pain, haunted and guilty, wanders the crepuscular, rainy streets of Paris...(inside flap)

Have you read Bolano? Is he as difficult to define as I am finding?

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here: Inferno by Dante

Fortunately for me, Amateur Reader set me on the path of a great translation in order to read Dante's Inferno along with Richard and friends. This copy of mine, translated by John Ciardi, is written in beautiful poetry; each stanza of three lines ends in rhyme:

They are mixed here with that despicable corps

of angels who were neither for God nor Satan,

but only for themselves. The Creator

scourged them from Hevean for its perfect beauty,

and Hell will not receive them since the wicked

might feel some glory over them." And I

"Master, what gnaws at them so hideously

their lamentation stuns the very air?"

"They have no hope of death," he answsered me,

"and in their blind and unattaining state

their miserable lives have sunk so low

that they must envy every other fate." (Canto III, 35-45)

It's hard to imagine that a work written over six centures ago can have such bearing on our lives today. And yet, it's easy to imagine people who are "neither for God nor Satan, but only for themselves." It's easy to find myself in at least one of those who suffer within the seven circles of Hell.

I enjoyed finding mention in Inferno of things which I've encountered before ("Abandon all hope ye who enter here" above the gate), the river Styx (as in one of my favorite rock groups in college) and the three-headed dog (where did you get that idea, Ms. Rowling?).

At the same, time I found this book a bit tedious, a tad over my head. There were allusions to people I've never heard of before separated by a few lines from the famous (Cleopatra). There were references to Bible verses (the prophecy of Daniel where the man has a golden head and feet of clay) which had totally different interpreations in Dante's hands.

Still, I'm glad to have finally tucked Inferno under my literary belt. It is ever the quest, ever the hope of the Christian, to find his place with his Creator no matter how arduous, or circuitous, the journey.

Therese Raquin by Emile Zola

From the very first kiss she showed herself adept in the arts of love. Her unsated body threw itself frantically into pleasure; she was emerging as from a dream, she was being born into passion. She was pasing from the weakly arms of Camille into the vigorous embrace of Laurent, and this approach of a virile man was the sudden shock that aroused her from the sleep of the flesh. All the instincts of this highly-strung woman burst forth with unparalleled violence; her mother's blood, the African blood that burned in her veins, now began to rush and beat furiously through her thin and still almost virgin body. She paraded this body, offering herself with supreme shamelessness. And long spasms ran through her from head to foot. (p. 64)

How quickly Therese fell from passion to depression. Little more than 100 pages later, this is the sentence which strikes my soul:

And each side of her the murderers sat silent and motionless, apparently listening attentively, though in reality they made no attempt to follow the old lady's ramblings but were merely grateful for the sound of soft words which prevented their hearing the shouting of their thoughts. (p. 186)

It seems the shouting of their thoughts got them into this demise in the first place. First, their thoughts were shouting passion at any price. Then, their thoughts were shouting untold misery.

It's a story of getting exactly what you wish for. Much like Madame Bovary before her. I love them both.

(Special thanks to Claire who mentioned this book in a comment regarding Paris in July.)

Paris, From My Mother

(I asked my mother to write of Paris for it was she who first took me there. At her hands I learned to read, at her hands I learned of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. We have returned several times over the course of my growing up, but Paris holds its own place in each individual's heart. Here is what it means to her...)


I remember rolling the word Paris around on my tongue when I probably didn’t know it was a city far away across the Atlantic. The word itself was exciting unlike another and though my mother's blue bottled perfume said, Evening in Paris, its inherent qualities told me little. I loved the magic of the word as I grew and began to discover where Paris was and how many adventurers had escaped to its shine. Then I realized that paintings I liked were painted by artists with French names. In a sophisticated restaurant (in the prairie city of Winnipeg) in my favorite Eaton’s store! items on the menu that I didn’t understand, were written in this special language. About that time I was beginning French in my junior high, Earl Grey. Soon I was trying those glamorous words, (made in Paris, I thought) on my tongue. I began to search for any and all opportunities to learn about Paris.

The passion has never dimmed. Even after my first visit in1974 to the city to rendezvous with an Israeli artist friend, who led my family and I on many treks and searches, the city made itself known to me in very small discreet increments. Of course we sat in cafes ordering Schweppes with lime and café au lait and ate jambon sandwich in the Luxembourg Gardens watching les petites float their boats. Strangely (to me) my husband tired of the city and made arrangements for the family to visit the country. We chose Gourdon in the Dordogne Valley and traveled there by train. My sad au revoir to Paris was quickly healed as we began to discover the countryside around Sarlat, Rocamadour, Combescue on horseback. In fact the randoneur who led our trip told us we were the first Americans to ride those trails.

Too soon too soon we had to say another au revoir and I promised myself I would return no matter what or how. I did, with my two children. We spent a summer visiting Paris then the chateaux of the Loire, Bretagne, finally safely back to the country town of Gourdon.

I have returned many times, with family, with my husband and even alone. Paris remains an ultimate glamour pill. No coincidence that I offered my daughter the opportunity to buy her wedding dress in Paris. No wonder I encouraged her study of French which quickly surpassed my Berlitz drivel; assuring her mastery of the menu at the Tour Eiffel, even hushed translation of the concert at St. Sulpice.

I wait and hope and look for opportunities to do it all just one more time. The perfume makers of Grasse continue to waft their treasures to my attention, the ancient city of Aigues Mortes with its walled fortifications provides not only memories but were a fine prelude to the Camargue, and Mont St.Michel is so outstanding I returned a second time with my beloved to eat omelettes and gaze at the incredible beauty of sea and stone.

Nevertheless and always Paris has its own beat unlike any other. And though the Jeu de Paume has changed to the Musee d’Orsay and the Louvre now sports the I.M. Pei glass triangle the Mona Lisa still lives there and the Rodin garden continues to welcome lovers of all ages. Coffee, whose fragrance combined with diesel flavours the air of Paris reminds visitors like me that they are still welcome. At home I am transported to my fantasies by a whiff of coffee or Chamade, while the real essence remains in my heart.