Paris Parfait

The one she didn't want to write

On Harley Street in London, many fine examples of British architecture of the 18th and 19th-century are evident. With its expensive real estate, Harley Street is best known for addresses of some of London's top doctors and specialists.

For the past two days, I've been waging an internal debate about whether or not to post this news. After all, it's a private matter and this is the shout-it-out World Wide Web.

Then I read Cate's post Darting around Town in a "Riddler" Outfit and Corey's post Filtered Light and remembered a passage from Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat Pray Love about being absolutely truthful - particularly when your truth might help someone else.

So here it is: my trip to London didn't go as expected. If I'm honest, for a few months now, I've suspected something wasn't right. But I wasn't ready to face the dark shadow skulking about, waiting to make its reappearance.

My visit began inauspiciously enough. Train from Paris, taxi to hotel, dropped my luggage, tube to Oxford Circus and walked the short distance to Harley Street. A few grim minutes later, I was telling my doctor, "Just get it over with!" as he asked permission to perform an endometrial biopsy in his office, without anesthesia. Because it seems the pre-cervical cancer scare, for which I had surgery two years ago in London, has returned, adding an annoying new development for good measure. So after enduring three minutes of excruciating - and there is no other word for it - pain, I was good to go - on to the next test, the next scan, the next hastily-arranged appointment at a laboratory nearby.

In a flash, all my London plans flew out the window, replaced by rather more worrying ones. In two-and-a-half weeks, I'll be back in London having surgery. The problem must be treated quickly, before it leaps from "pre" into "the big C." Despite outward appearances, this is a good thing. I am lucky to have one of the top specialists in London looking after me and excellent health insurance to pay for most of it. Soon this little detour will fail to present an obstacle and I'll be back on the road to good health.

Living in the West, we are fortunate to reap the benefits of essential health care. Our fates might prove more guarded, should we live in a less-privileged part of the world. Recently, scientists have developed a vaccine that should help our daughters avoid the triple threats of cervical, vulvar and vaginal cancers.

I share this news not to elicit sympathy, but to urge you all - if you haven't already - to schedule a check-up with your gynecologist. My annual pap smears consistently have been normal; luckily, I had a wise doctor interpreting subtle signs pointing to trouble.

Most of my readers are women; many of you have been through something similar or something far worse - you know what it is to endure such woes. So please, take time to get regular check-ups. Sometimes we're so busy caring for others that we postpone looking after ourselves.

Cool Britannia

Cool Britannia - The British flag adds a modern twist and edgy humour to a Louis Quinze style chest at Liberty of London on Regent Street. Check back later for posts about this week's London experience.

Off to London

Take
train
Eurostar
London bound
Business, friends, shop
Catch up with blogosphere Friday.

Inspired by One Deep Breath, another poem using the Fibonnaci sequence. Photo courtesy of Eurostar

Buying antiques

How
old
is that?
How many
euros does it cost?
Your best price? Yes, I will buy it.

The Fibonnaci sequence poem was written for Poetry Thursday. This week's challenge was to write a poem using words or phrases frequently used in daily life. As I spend a considerable amount of time at antique fairs and brocantes in Paris, the French version of the vocabulary in my poem is used during buying transactions. Not quite up to last week's poem; nevertheless, it meets the requirements on deadline, as I'm traveling.

The German WMF (Wurttembergische Metallwaren Fabrik) Art Nouveau figure (pictured) was designed to hold calling cards. It was purchased in Paris for 60 euros or about $75.50. Last year an identical piece went for £1,500 or about $2,733 at a Christies auction in London! For the moment, I'm holding on to mine. Its value will increase.

Interrupted childhoods

Photo Cambodia, 2006 by Marie-Claire Holmes

For children in parts of Africa and Asia, having brightly-coloured balloons like those pictured or any other fun symbols of growing up is a distant dream. All too often children are made to work in the fields or in factories, or even worse, become soldiers in local militia groups. In Cambodia, a former child soldier helps find and disarm landmines he once planted. Read the story here.

Finding higher ground

Worlds apart we stand
Unchartered lands; draw new maps
Look for higher ground.

This Haiku was written for One Deep Breath. This week's challenge is to write a poem about design using the Fibonacci sequence of 1, 1, 2, 3, 5 and 8 syllables:

Break
all
current
boundaries,
circumvent borders.
Carve new world of peaceful prospects.

Photo taken at a perfume exhibition in Boulogne-Billancourt, France

The Spanish wall

In response to my posts Ode to Seville and Antique tiles from Seville, some readers have asked how I display my collection of tiles. One tile is framed as part of the "Spanish wall" in our hallway. The wall includes a mirror from Jordan (left), a tourist bullfight poster and a 1946 poster celebrating the Feria or traditional Easter week festivities. Also framed are two 19th-century lithographs from Seville and Madrid, as well as two art pieces painted by my daughter (far right).

These tiles are framed and hung on a narrow wall in the hallway of our Paris apartment (photo below). The 16th-century tile featured in Ode to Seville is displayed on a small table in the foyer. The wall behind the table features a collection of Spanish hand-hammered silver and wooden crosses, Italian church ornaments and Mexican milagros.

Magical music

On our CD player now: Bruce Springsteen's We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, Ben Harper's Both Sides of the Gun and the Gotan Project's Lunatico. The Gotan Project released their first album La Revancha del Tango five years ago, to worldwide success. The Paris-based group is originally from Argentina.

Music is the writing prompt for this week's Sunday Scribblings. Music's harmonious melodies have infused my life with meaning - like a pied piper, following me along all the winding roads I've traveled.

Walking along 33rd Street near Madison Square Garden in New York, I once heard music piped over outdoor loudspeakers. For a moment, I entertained the notion of how magical it would be if life were set to music - and one's subconscious automatically could select the music for every big occasion! Of course sometimes the sweetest music can be invoked in silence.

I love the universal language of music: how it can heighten or even alter a mood; how it punctuates big moments and special celebrations; how it can move one to tears or prompt a smile. From earliest recorded history, music's power to enchant its listeners is legendary.

During the American Depression, my great-grandfather, "Papa" was widowed and raising a son. Every Saturday morning he played the fiddle, in between giving free haircuts. Papa wasn't a barber, but in those days talent was incidental to need. Undoubtedly, Papa's fiddle playing and persistent good humour helped raise the spirits of men going through hard times. In those dark days they helped each other in whatever way they could.

A few years ago I was thrilled to meet a cousin in Northern California, who produced a cassette tape of my great-grandfather playing the fiddle. When I was a little girl, Papa could sometimes be coaxed into playing the fiddle, although arthritis probably made it difficult. Long after Papa passed away, I was proud that my daughter seemed to have inherited his talent, as she learned to played the violin beautifully.

When I was growing up in the South, we heard Pete Seeger (his songs recently performed admirably by Bruce Springsteen) and other folk music. A few times a year we attended gospel "singings" in little country churches, fanning ourselves with cardboard advertising fans, in futile attempts to diffuse the unbearable heat.

At lunchtime, the singers and their admirers rested long enough to enjoy potluck picnics, heaping plastic plates with fried chicken, salads and later pies and cakes from long tables spread with giant cotton tablecloths. Even under the trees' shade, the heat was too much, making anything containing mayonnaise quickly spoil. More than the music from these "singings," I remember getting sick from eating potato salad!

Antique tiles from Seville

After reading my poem Ode to Seville, some people requested to see more tiles from my collection. The tile pictured with the poem was from the 16th century. The tiles pictured here are from the 19th century, purchased through an antiques dealer specialising in pottery and tiles. One 18th-century tile was found at Seville's famous Thursday flea market. The price? Five euros (about $5.60)!

A set of 19th-century glazed tiles shows damage to the edges of both tiles. It is a reproduction of a Toledo design from 1475-1500. Nine tiles are required to show the overall pattern of interlocking diamond shapes, with a central starburst design in honey-brown.

These glazed tiles (above and below) depict various parts of an elaborate design. They are 19th-century reproductions of a Toledo tile from 1475-1500, glazed in white, honey-brown, green, blue and manganese-brown.

This tile from Triana, Seville dates from around 1845. It came from the estate of a local tile collector.

Islamic architectural domes are depicted in this 19th-century reproduction of a 16th-century piece. It was produced in Barcelona, but purchased in Seville.

French risk jail for immigrant children

The French have a history of sheltering children in times of war and difficult circumstance. Today, some brave French families are risking jail sentences for hiding immigrant children ordered to be deported at the end of the school year.

The French government is attempting to curb new immigration and deport illegal immigrants already in the country. Consequently, many children are suspended in a perilous limbo, hiding with sympathetic French families, while their parents live elsewhere. Under French law, it is illegal to deport children without their parents or parents without their children.

Read the BBC article here.

Esperance, esperanza and hope

Golden People oil on canvas by Tony Abeyta, photo courtesy of the Blue Rain Gallery, Taos, New Mexico.

The Poetry Thursday prompt is to write a poem using words you either love or hate. Inspired by the courageous women of the Congo and Rawanda - who have suffered unimaginable horrors at the hands of cowardly soldiers - this poem is about hope triumphing over despair:

They sing "We will never be broken,"
these women of formidable strength
Men tainted with evil tried to shatter their bodies,
but could not crush their proud spirits.

Tales of unimaginable horror they've lived to recount
Soldiers raped and maimed them; leaving parting gifts of Aids.
Still these women endure, overcoming horrific injuries;
determined their spirits will emerge from the veil of pain.

Despite trauma, despair, scars etching their bodies and their minds
With faith and joy they raise their loud voices to the heavens and sing
While a lone doctor struggles to tend their physical wounds,
they begin to heal their souls, finding comfort in shared survival.

No safe havens; all victims, they
yet refusing to remain so.
African warriors: They won't lie down, give up and die
Having survived what would kill lesser women.

They remain strong, no matter their bleak surroundings
No home to return to; no prospects for work;
No protection other than in this isolated place.
It could happen again, out there: snakes in the grass.

In Arabic, they shout "hiawan" when men behave like animals.
And "Haraam!" It is forbidden.
Such unspeakable behaviour unforgivable in every culture;
Will those criminals ever be made to pay for their inhumanity?

The women's stories won't let us forget;
their plight won't allow us to turn away from our television screens.
Their grief won't let us put down our newspapers and magazines
and gaze in the mirror and do nothing.

In French, the word is esperance.
In Spanish, esperanza is the term.
In English we say hope.
The universal meaning crosses all borders.

Reason to hope

In follow-up to my post in recogition of International Refugee Day, more thoughts:

I HOPE THEY WON'T KILL ME I HOPE NOBODY’S FOLLOWING ME I HOPE I DON’T STEP ON A LANDMINE I HOPE I FIND SOME WATER SOON I HOPE I DON’T DIE OUT HERE I HOPE SOMEONE WILL FIND ME I HOPE THE UNITED NATIONS CAN HELP ME I HOPE THEY’VE GOT FOOD AND SHELTER I HOPE THEY CAN HELP ME FIND MY FAMILY I HOPE WE’LL BE ABLE TO GO BACK ONE DAY I HOPE WE FIND A PLACE TO CALL HOME I HOPE WE LEARN TO FIT IN I HOPE WE CAN BUILD A FUTURE HERE.

- from a poster for the United Nations High Commission on Refugees: GIVING 19 MILLION REFUGEES REASON TO HOPE

All too often, medical care and relief aid is too slow to arrive. Children die of malnutrition; of disease; of curable illnesses easily treated in properly-stocked hospitals and clinics, IF the child gets help in time. The problem of course is that sheer logistics of employing relief to remote areas - particularly those overwhelmed by political and ethnic conflicts -can sometimes prove difficult. As is frequently the case in refugee crises around the world, children are usually the first victims.

"...If this were your country, your city, your town
would you wrench your eyes from their gaze at the ground?
If this were your child, so lonely and scared,
Would you act; could anyone say that you dared?

"Who will speak for that child, whose voice is now gone?
Will anyone protest, ‘He should have lived long!’
That promise, bright spirit, too quickly snuffed out
by hunger or a landmine that sweepers failed to rout."

from "A Stone's Throw Away" copyright 1998 Tara Bradford

International Refugee Day

Students (pictured) are backpacking and traveling by choice. Sadly, millions of people are forced from their homelands, taking only what they can carry.

It's reasonable to expect that everyone reading this has a roof over their head, food on their table and a passport or identity document with their name on it. But 20.8 million people in the world aren't so lucky.

Today is International Refugee Day. According to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), 8.4 million people have left their countries because of war, ethnic, tribal and religious violence; they cannot return home. Another 6.6 million people are internally displaced - forced to flee their homes, but without crossing their country's borders.

"Stateless" people total 2.4 million worldwide, with another 1.6 million considered returnees (i.e. Palestinian refugees who fled their homes in 1948 and have recently returned to the West Bank). Another 773,000 people are asylum seekers, fleeing war or difficult circumstances in their own countries and trying to remain in Western countries. And 960,000 more people fall outside these categories, but are considered by aid workers to be "of concern."

So many heartbreaking true stories exist about refugees forced to flee their homes. In Africa, the Middle East, in Asia, in parts of Europe, in Central and South America - the stories are multiple and varied, but with a common thread - each person had a home once; each person - either compelled by unhappy choice or by force - lost that home and has been forced to seek shelter and asylum elsewhere.

I have a friend whose mother was working with the Queen of Libya and her father for an American oil company in Tripoli. They woke up one morning to find Muammar Qaddafi's tanks surrounding their house. They escaped with just the clothes on their backs, making their way to Malta and eventually Jordan. Today they have Jordanian passports and have rebuilt their lives in their adopted country.

I personally know many stories of Palestinians who have lived all their lives in refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon; camps with one-room schoolhouses, basic housing structures made of concrete blocks and corrugated tin roofs held down by stones and children playing next to raw sewage running through the streets. In recent years, those conditions have improved, but not enough. I also know stories about those who returned home only to find their towns had been renamed and their houses replaced by newly-built settlements, no Arabs allowed. The Greek director Costa-Gavras explored this issue in his film Hannah K.

"Crush of the Day" and other joys

I'm just as excited as the French butcher who won the Prix d'Honneur (plaque pictured) must have been - Neil Kramer has honoured my weblog as his Crush of the Day!

For readers scratching your heads and wondering 'what's she going on about?' here's the scoop: In his wise and witty weblog Citizen of the Month, Neil awards the dubious distinction of Crush of the Day to a blogger who has momentarily captured his interest and attention. And today c'est moi!

I am honoured, as Neil is one of the funniest, smartest writers I've ever encountered. Check out his weblog - maybe you too can become his "Crush of the Day."

OK, Neil, was that enough of a kiss-up to retain the Crush of the Day title for more than one day?

Hard to match that excitement, but I'm also happy that I'll be spending five weeks in September and October in Seville, Spain. Besides taking an intensive Spanish course, I'll get to soak up the local culture, drink lots of Fino and/or Sangria and write about my exploits. As many of you know, I'm mad about Seville.

The third thing that's made me smile today is success for a 16-year-old French boy. For the last two years, I've been helping a neighbour's son with his English. Last week he passed difficult French exams and will be allowed to complete his studies at an excellent lycee. Sadly, the majority of his friends weren't so lucky; those exams are tough!

I'm pleased I could play a small role in helping Yoen improve his English and explain some distinctions between American and British word usage. For instance, the Brits say "homely," meaning pretty and cozy. In the US, we'd consider the word "homely" to mean ugly; we'd use "homey" to define comfy and cozy (And of course in slang, there's a whole different meaning for "homey." But I'll let Neil go into that on his blog). And that's just one example of the hundreds of words shared - but with disparate meanings - on a regular basis. It's no wonder English can be a bit tricky for foreigners to understand.

Pathways

Walking rocky paths
along the road less traveled;
Still we forge ahead.

This Haiku was written for One Deep Breath.
Photo New Zealand, 2005, Marie-Claire Holmes

Glimmer of light

Light filters through a stained glass partition in a courtyard at 36 rue Colisee, Paris.

A glimmer of light for Palestinians suffering serious economic woes, while Western nations argue about aid obligations versus politics.

The Palestinians will receive aid totaling more than $120m of European Union funds for health services and basic needs. The Quartet of the United Nations, the European Union, the United States and Russia have agreed to channel emergency relief funds through the World Bank, bypassing the Hamas-led Palestinian Authority.

As long as Hamas refuses to recognise Israel and previous peace accords established with the Jewish state, the Quartet has made it clear it will not distribute aid money directly to the government. All previously-scheduled aid was frozen, following Hamas's election earlier this year.

Concerns over a potential humanitarian crisis prompted the latest agreement. In a statement Sunday the Quartet nations endorsed the EU proposal to support local health services, provide fuel supplies and basic needs for poor Palestinians. The statement cautioned that the plan is "limited in scope and duration" and would be reconsidered in three months. The Quartet urged Israel and other international donors to participate in the scheme.

The European Union is considering an additional 100m euros in aid and expects to have the essential funding process operational early in July. For many years, the EU has provided the bulk of aid to the Palestinians, annually donating about 500m euros.

Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas said the latest aid is "a step forward." But he warned "the measure cancels the role of the government and cancels the role of the Palestinian Authority." Meanwhile, the Hamas government has referred to the plan as an "affront to democracy," widening the gap "between the people and their government." But what kind of government is Hamas, if it fails to serve its constituency? Hamas has made no move to attempt a compromise solution or to soften its hardline position vis-a-vis Israel and existing peace agreements.

Why is it that while people suffer, help available often boils down to a question of semantics - of what words are acceptable for both sides to move forward? Because while the Quartet appears willing to find "work-arounds" to meet diplomatic standards of acceptability, Hamas is standing firm - stubbornly refusing to bend their harsh rhetoric or budge one iota from their hardline mantra - even as the people they were elected to serve are forced to sell off personal belongings to buy food. Where is the humanity here? What's more important - people going hungry, coping without adequate medical care and supplies - or a fledgling government's pride?

Beds, beds and more beds

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is bed. Of course, there's more than one type of bed.

The wrought iron day bed - All my life, I wanted a wrought-iron day bed. I had rejected dozens before finding the lit de fer that sang to me. But at the last minute, the seller backed out, preferring to lease it for a movie set! So when my friend Gabrielle decided to sell this circa 1870 day bed, I jumped at the chance. The mattress had recently been handmade in the traditional French method.

As it turns out, the idea of this bed was better than the reality. It's so heavy it takes three people to lift it - even though it retains its original castor rollers. In our guest room, the day bed serves as a cozy nook for reading or as an extra bed when a family with young children is visiting. But will it go with us when next we move? Doubtful, due to the difficulty of maneuvering it.

The bed we actually sleep on is a wonderfully-firm Serta queen-sized bed from San Francisco. The only time I've slept on a better mattress was at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. My husband and I had flown non-stop from Paris and my neck was aching from the uncomfortable airplane seats. The moment I reclined on the hotel's "Heavenly" bed, I felt like I was in heaven! Sheer bliss. This inspired me to go to Macy's and buy a "Heavenly" pillow. Even though I would have liked to take all those "Heavenly" accoutrements back to Paris, alas the pillow was the only thing that would fit in the luggage.

Flower beds - When I was growing up in the South, everyone I knew had beautiful flower beds. Both my grandmothers had gorgeous hydrangeas and rosebushes and we always had lovely flowers growing in the yard. These days my parents enjoy cultivating their property with trees, plants, flowers and a waterfall and fish pond.

In Paris, my choices are a little less exotic. But this balcony-grown hydrangea - or hortensia, as the French call it - has bloomed each spring for four years, despite winter frosts, numerous lashings from storms and being doused with toxic sand-blasting chemicals by an over-enthusiastic construction crew. Originally the hydrangea was blue, but acidity in the soil turned its blossoms a bright pink.

My British husband reminded me that in England, a county called Bedfordshire is abbreviated as Beds. And in that county there's a town called Sandy, so the postal address is known as "Sandy, Beds."

Funnily enough, the first thing that came to mind when I read the "bed" prompt was a little poem my daughter Jordana wrote at the age of eight:

Air can go through the moon
in the sky
Air can go through the sun
and the light
Air can go through your hands
and your head
Air can go through your feet
in your bed
Air can go through a pencil
and eraser
Air can go through a man’s
shaving razor
Air Air Air can go through...

Au lit, les enfants! (Off to bed, children!)

Happy Father's Day!

My daddy, age 23 and me, about a month old

I've been lucky to have a wonderful father, although living so far away, I don't get to see him often enough.

My daddy is a man of few words, but with a loving and generous heart and spirit. He's always stood by me, even when he didn't necessarily agree with my choices. And his quiet strength and support have meant the world to me.

He taught me to work hard, stand up for myself and treat other people honestly and fairly, with respect. He always put his family first and has been a good grandfather, "Pa Bobby," to my daughter.

When my husband was six years old, his father died suddenly. Although he grew up with few memories of his father, those that remained helped set him on the path to being a good father to his own three children. Later, he welcomed my daughter into his life. We are both grateful for his steadying presence; for his humour, love and support in her endeavours. She is happy to call him Pappy.

Today Jordana and I salute these two amazing men. Happy Father's Day!

International perfume prototypes

More international perfume prototypes from an exhibition Friday in Boulogne-Billancourt are pictured. The exhibit shows original architectural drawings and designs of perfume bottles and their packaging. This is the last of three posts related to the exhibition.

Escada - Spain (photos above and below)

Cerruti 1881 - Italy (photos above and below)

Intuition - Estee Lauder, 2000 - United States

Intuition, Estee Lauder, 2000 - United States (photos above and below)

Kenzo - Japan (photos above and below)

More perfume prototypes

This is the second of three posts featuring perfume design and packaging prototypes from an exhibition Friday in Boulogne-Billancourt. Some of the images suffer overexposure from sunshine streaming through skylights.

Organza, Givenchy - Paris (photos above and below)

Cartier - Paris (photos below)

Tocade, Rochas - Paris (photo below)

O de Lancome, 1965 - Paris (photos below)

St. Louis, 1994 - Paris (photos below)

French perfume

One thing about living in a city: you never know what you're going to see next. This afternoon, I came across a fascinating exhibition of rare plants used in making perfumes, as well as design prototypes for bottles and packaging of some well-known perfumes. The plants had too many coloured lights trained on them to make photography realistic. Instead, I focused on display cases featuring the perfume design prototypes. Sunshine filtered through skylights also affected photography. This is the first of three posts about this exhibition in Boulogne-Billancourt.

Eau des Merveilles - Hermes, Paris (photos above and below)

Eau de Peace - Claude Montana, Paris (photos above and below)

Roberto Cavalli - Italy (photos above and below)

 

Ode to Seville

Glazed tile made in the workshop of Niculoso Francisco in Seville, Spain circa 1520-1550.

The central quatrefoil is endorsed by four linked semicircles enclosing stylized floral motifs.

A panel in the Museo do Azuleso, Lisbon, Portugal shows the full decorative effect of this design. The tile is part of my collection of antique tiles from Seville.

Look closely at my weary face
a roadmap of Sevilla etched within the fine lines,
scattered among the delicate flowers and leaves,
my beautiful image faded by time's passage.
Once part of a magnificent sala in the Alcazar Palace:
The Moors wiped their boots here
before their last sigh.
And there, a slight indention caused
by the invaders' horses' hooves.
Diplomats cooled their heels in the Salon de Embarjadores,
waiting for the restless attention of the Emir of Andalus.
The flamenco was danced with abandon across my Niculoso design -
see those dark scuff marks there and over there?
A sultry senorita waved her fan furiously, flinging it in impatience
on a hot night in Barrio Santa Cruz, scratching that corner,
as she scorned the advances of a poor wandering minstrel.
A guitarist played plaintive melodies on the banks of the Guadalquivir,
while awaiting an audience with the Caliph's vizier.
Jugglers' wooden pins clattered against my glazed surface,
as visitors strolled through summer festivals
in the fragrant evening shadow of La Giralda.
Gypsies selling oranges raked their painted fingernails over my leaves,
while eyeing wealthy men calling on the king and queen.
Many came to ask their blessings for travel
far across the sea, hoping to expand Spain's horizons.
Cristoforo Colombo waited two years here, seeking
Isabella's patronage for three sailing ships.
All these moments came and went and new worlds were found.
Still I survived, my face bearing witness to history:
songs of conquerors, adventurers, discoverers and zealots;
odes of love and passion; epics of greed and betrayal.
Stories of battles won and alliances lost;
of shifting loyalties and three religions' influence.
Tales of Sevilla and Andalucia:
the heartbeat of Spain!

This poem was written for Poetry Thursday.

Read the book; see the film

In neighbourhoods bordering China's largest cities, streams and rivers are polluted with industrial wastes and clean drinking water is hard to find.
Photos by Marie-Claire Holmes, 2005

China's rapid economic growth has produced impressive cityscapes, but contributed to hazardous environmental pollutants.

Al Gore is my hero. If you haven't yet seen the powerful film An Inconvenient Truth or read Gore's book An Inconvenient Truth: The Planetary Emergency of Global Warming and What We Can Do About It, I urge you to do so. As Gore says, what's happening to our environment "is not a political issue, it's a moral one. Our future is at stake."

You can read the transcript of Gore's impassioned appearance June 13 on CNN's Larry King Live here.

Mosquitoes on the metro

The Eiffel Tower - Bastille Day, 2005.
Photo, Qingbo Sun

Many people write to me expressing interest in moving to Paris and asking questions about various practical issues.

Like any big city, Paris is full of anomalies, both good and bad. For instance, in the summer mosquitoes sometimes travel on the metro. One of my husband's colleagues was bit more than a dozen times last weekend!

But seriously, if you want to move here, you've probably consulted your embassy or the state department about visas and assorted regulations, which vary depending upon from whence you hail.

Before you pack your bags and excitedly jump on a plane, take a moment to see past the romance and beauty and relaxed atmosphere you enjoyed when visiting here and take a hard look at some practical aspects of living here.

If you are from any country outside the European Union - including the United States - you will not be able to work legally in France, other than in extremely limited circumstances. This means you might have a long shot at working for an international organisation, such as UNESCO, but ONLY if you can fight off the competition and there is a slot available to meet the quota of jobs allowed from your country of origin.

French youth unemployment hovers at 22 percent, so many qualified French applicants are having trouble finding jobs. Some 300,000 French residents are now commuting to London, so limited is the job market in Paris. An administrative position at an international organisation in Paris recently fielded 287 applicants - almost all of them overqualified.

Do not fool yourself into believing you can find a job teaching English. Hundreds of English courses are offered in Paris, taught by people with university teaching degrees or who have trained to teach English as a second language. If you lack either of these qualifications, your only hope is to tutor students or offer private lessons. Even if you manage to find enough students to fill eight hours a day, this income will not pay your costs of living in Paris. If you have a partner who's earning a full-time salary, your lack of steady income won't be an issue. If you're on your own, the romance of living in Paris will soon be replaced by discomfort at your precarious financial situation.

Collecting religious art

For several years I've been collecting religious art - hand-hammered silver and wooden crosses; angel heads and angel wings; Spanish santos; Italian prayer ornaments; French Bible stands; gold-trimmed vestments; silver milagros and icons from Greece.

I like the idea of the stories behind these precious symbols of faith and belief: stories of prayers and miracles; of hope and despair; of strength and sorrow.

In many rural areas throughout Europe, small churches have closed, with their contents auctioned. The wooden monk figure on a pedestal (pictured right) is 18th-century, from a French monastery. It has a curious shortened and moveable right arm. The wooden figure holding a book (at left) is late 19th-century and came from a French church. It was purchased at a Paris antiquaire, who had bought it at auction.

The framed symbols are from the Napoleon III era, circa 1855. The banner over the cross says "The spirit of the heart of Jesus is here."

Leaves at the bottom of the white satin heart symbolise rebirth and renewal, while the thorns across the heart drip tears.

In the Arabic language, when talking about someone with a pure and good heart, the term "white heart" is used.

Paris by moonlight

Paris by moonlight
While centuries' ghosts sleep
Bright stars in your eyes.

This Haiku was written for One Deep Breath. Winter photos by Qingbo Sun, Paris.

Spanish sculpture series

Les Menines, three bronze and steel sculptures by Spanish artist Manolo Valdes are displayed at a plaza in Boulogne-Billancourt. Part of a 2005 series of 21, the sculptures represent l'enfante Margarita, the daughter of Queen Mariana of Spain.

Valdes's sculptures were inspired by the Spanish painter Velasquez's celebrity portraits on permanent display in the Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid. Valdes's work has been featured at the Metropolitan Museum, as well as the Museum of Modern Art in New York; the Guggenheim in Venice; the Guggenheim in Bilbao, Spain; the Queen Sofia Museum in Madrid; the Institute of Modern Art in Valencia and the Musee d'Art Moderne de Paris.

I love a mystery!

A mystery: In 200 years, the cityscape of Paris has remained virtually unchanged, despite revolution, wars and all attempts at modernisation.
Mid-19th-century lithograph of bird's eye view from St. Gervais.

Mystery intrigues me and I'm not alone - books, plays, television programs and movies painstakingly explore mystery after mystery.

As a child I spent hours reading Nancy Drew mysteries and the series about her male counterparts, the Hardy Boys. But my favourite was a book called Minute Mysteries. It presented numerous mini-mysteries for young readers to solve. When imagination and code-deciphering abilities failed, answers could be found at the back of the book.

Clue was my favourite board game. And I loved exploring new places and learning new things. The sound of foreign languages - the more indecipherable the better - was music to my ears. I loved Dashiell Hammett's gritty San Francisco detective novels, Edna Buchanan's mysteries in Miami and black-and-white film noir.

I always thought it would be fun being a detective. Instead, I decided to be a reporter, because I could write and the job combined many of my interests: meeting fascinating and sometimes dangerous movers and shakers; traveling to foreign climes and satisfying my boundless curiosity by fitting intricate pieces of a puzzle together to solve a mystery - the who, what, where, when and why. Getting to ask unlimited questions, seeing behind the scenes of other people's lives, learning to distinguish between truth and deliberate spin - what a great job - and I got paid for it!

I love the mystery of meeting someone and slowly getting to know and understand them. I love the romance and mystery of not knowing what will happen next; of believing that an unexpected treat is just around the corner. I love that life is rich with possibility and promise. If a seer or fortune-teller offered to predict my destiny, I wouldn't want to know. The magic's in the mystery - every single day.

But I'd personally like to unveil two unsolved mysteries from my past. I'd like to know who killed my former love. I'd also like to know what happened to Mary Jimmie "BoBo" Shinn, an artist and friend who disappeared, apparently abducted and murdered. Maybe if today's crime-scene technologies and specialised forensics investigators were available then, those killers would be behind bars.

A universal mystery that interests me is what makes some people survivors and others victims? Why do some people go through catastrophic illnesses or wrenching, terrible circumstances and survive - and even thrive - while others cling to the role of helpless victim? Why do some people moan and groan, relentlessly complaining "oh, woe is me," while others draw on unknown reserves of inner strength to meet any challenge?

Why do some people waste time shrieking and railing against their fate, while others muster enough grace to grapple with unforeseen events? Why do some people carry on a "poor pitiful Pearl" act years after some unfortunate incident - while others move forward, adapting to changing circumstances and carving out a future, albeit one proving vastly different than anticipated?

Why are some people mired in a quicksand of negative energy, while others rise to the occasion, no matter how challenging? Why do some people get back up to fight again, while others stay down for the count?

The strongest, bravest people I've ever met are survivors - those who have come through tough times and learned from their experiences. The weakest people I've come across are those who breeze through life seemingly with nary a worry or those who have never been able to see past a bad experience to envision a more positive future.

Is it a question of genetics or a matter of environmental conditioning? I'd like this complex mystery solved.

Of course a few practical mysteries continue to vex me on a fairly regular basis - such as why - even though I eat less than anyone I know and walk for miles- I easily gain weight? Why when I'm in a rush, I'm always in the line moving at a snail's pace?

Why do the rich get richer and the poor and innocents suffer? And why do the "best laid schemes of mice and men"* so often go awry?

*Robert Burns, "To a Mouse," 1785

Puppet theatres

Guignol puppet theatres were popular forms of entertainment in France during the 19th-century and early 20th-century. This Napoleon III puppet theatre was designed strictly for adults - a regular source of biting political satire and caricature from 1855 onwards. The elaborate giltwood design, hand-painted scenery and woven tapestry make this theatre very valuable. To find one in such good condition, with puppets, their costumes and all the scenery intact is rare. Such a piece would typically sell for around 1,350 euros or about $1,550.

This petite puppet theatre was crafted between 1910-1920. Children's songs, stories and plays were the featured entertainment originating from this particular theatre. The handmade and hand-painted marionnettes also danced for assembled audiences of enthralled children. This small "tabletop" theatre would sell for about 750 euros or $850.

French rugby championship

Update: Biarritz beat Toulouse 40-13 to claim the French rugby title.

Some lively Biarritz supporters enjoy the Paris sunshine on Saturday afternoon. They are in town to support their home team in the French Rugby Championship Final at 5:45 p.m. at Stade de France. Biarritz, which is near the Spanish border in Basque Country, will play another team from the Southwest, Toulouse. As the teams' win-loss records are similar, the projected winner is anyone's guess.

Back to Saint Sulpice

Mercury glass candlesticks, old and new

I've spent the afternoon browsing at the Foire aux Antiquaires at Saint Sulpice. In my Unexpected delight post, I mentioned that my husband and I had stumbled upon it by accident late Monday, after walking in the Jardin du Luxembourg. At the time, I had neither money nor time to explore; today, I went armed with both.

In the previous post, an 18th-century bisque angel's head is pictured. I bought that, along with the white plaster bust (also pictured). Alas, the armillary sphere I'd admired was gone.

Two 19th-century mercury glass candlesticks (pictured at left) were purchased from the same dealer. Each candlestick was part of a pair; I asked the dealer to break up the pairs and bought one of each. I plan to use them as part of a tableau, along with other old mercury glass and crystal candlesticks. I would never team the old ones with the modern ones pictured (above right), as the contrast is too great. I don't like matching pairs, except in rare instances.

I also purchased a 19th-century starburst giltwood mirror (with heavy mercury glass) from the dealer who owned the stand (pictured in the previous post) featuring the antique birdcage and chandelier with amber crystal drops. Upon closer examination, that chandelier is even more beautiful than the photo suggests. Besides the original lead crystal drops, the piece features handmade porcelain roses in mint condition and beaded crystal woven around the chandelier's arms.

The dealer wanted a small fortune for it - 19th-century Italian; recently rewired to meet safety standards. But he didn't have the paperwork to prove the latter claim and I couldn't tell by looking. I tried to bargain and we almost had agreed on a price (which was still high), but he insisted on cash. I told him if he wanted cash he'd have to lower the price, but he refused.

The trouble with paying cash when buying expensive antiques is that the buyer has no protection and no recourse, if the item has been misrepresented. This happens rarely in the antiques business in France, but it does happen. Caveat emptor - let the buyer beware!

So I reluctantly gave up on the chandelier. Meanwhile I found some unusual old kitchen items and a 19th-century wooden artist's easel that can be adjusted at various heights.

All in all, it was a successful expedition. When I return to pick up the rest of my purchases, I'll be accompanied by a friend, visiting the brocante for the first time. Perhaps by then, the chandelier seller will have lowered his price. Then again, I'm sure my husband would agree that I've spent quite enough money for one day. And there is another brocante on Sunday morning in our neighbourhood!

Liberty of London and William Morris fabrics

My previous post was about Chinese fabrics, but I prefer these antique designs, purchased recently at auction in London. They include original Liberty of London Art Nouveau and Arts and Crafts designs (left) and William Morris's furnishing fabric Strawberry Thief patented on May 11, 1883 (right) and Willow (upper right). For Strawberry Thief, Morris had architect Philip Webb draw the birds in the design.

A couple of years ago I bought an English Arts & Crafts chair at the Marches des Puces at Porte de Clignacourt in Paris. A talented ebeniste restored the chair to its former glory. As befitting the period, the chair was reupholstered in Morris's Strawberry Thief. The extra Strawberry Thief fabric will be used for a tablecloth or for pillow covers.

Chinese market goods

Rolls of every type of fabric imaginable, from lightweight cottons to rich velvets and heavy wools are offered cheaply at Chinese markets.

Brightly-coloured silks are popular fabrics widely available at neighbourhood markets in Beijing and Shanghai.

At big city markets, worsted wools and wool-blends, linens and lightweight cottons are sold to hand-tailor men's suits.

A Chinese vendor sells clothes, as well as cashmeres and other fabrics to sew individual designs. Photos by Marie-Claire Holmes, 2005

China must play by the rules, EU commissioner warns

Old traditional neighbourhoods are flanked by modern skyscrapers in Chinese cities. China's rapid growth has boosted its position among the world's major economies. Photo by Marie-Claire Holmes, 2005.

China needs to improve its market access and reduce piracy of foreign goods and intellectual property, Peter Mandelson, European Union Trade Commissioner said Thursday. Addressing students at Renmin University in Beijing, Mandelson warned that China faces a looming backlash in Europe unless it acts to "apply rather than cirumvent the rules."

"The more the Chinese door swings open and the world sees a responsible China playing by the rules, the more our citizens will be able to understand our shared interest in deepening our relationship," Mandelson told the students. The trade commissioner was in Beiijing for a meeting with his Chinese counterpart Bo Xilai.

Pirated goods for sale in China, as well as various trade issues have been the source of repeated disagreements with European and American businesses. Recently both Brussels and Washington have restricted import quotas after accusing China of flooding their markets with clothing and shoes. China claims it is able to produce goods cheaply and should not be stymied by Western trade protections.

The large volume of counterfeit goods available in China - including movies, fake designer-brand clothes and medicines - seemingly has been unaffected by government clamp-downs. Meanwhile, this week the US government threatened to bring China's "abuse of intellectual property rights" before the World Trade Organisation.

Cow Parade in Paris

Coming soon to a city near you - a Cow Parade! The event - for which local artists make fiberglass cows to raise money for charity - has already made its way through New York, Edinburgh, Sydney and Barcelona. Sixty cows are currently positioned at various locations in Paris. After June 30, the Paris cows will be auctioned, with all proceeds going to Africa Alive, a youth AIDS prevention initiative.

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt, "Are you listening?" is to eavesdrop on conversations, then write a poem about what was said. While walking in Paris, I overheard snatches of French conversation about what artists may have had in mind when producing their cows for the parade entry.

Les Temps Modernes was designed by French artist Frederic Perimon. It is on display at Saint Sulpice.

No longer the venerable dairy farm resident
Chewing my cud in an idyllic country dream,
I've taken my moxie and moved to the city
where they appreciate several varieties of cream!

My ice cream makes every child scream with delight
I'm also quite popular with lovers of cheese;
Some Parisiens prefer my rich double cream
They're always exclaiming, "Could I have more, please!"


Men's Agitat Molen, designed by artist Frederic Perimon is on display in the 6th arrondisement. Hundreds of metal spoons are applied to the sculpture.

A heavy metal punkster
Can they really allow
such a subversive image
to advertise a gentle cow?

Vachroom Graffiti was designed by artist Agnes Vidrequin. It is on display at the Carrefour de la Croix Rouge in the 6th arrondisement.

A symbol of amitie and liberte*
on the side of a cow?
Just watch the reactions -
won't that spark a row?!!

*Friendship and freedom

Paris shop windows

Walk down virtually any street in Central Paris and you'll find an incredible array of shops of every description. Most boast imaginative window displays, showcasing the talent of innovative local designers and artists.

Next door to the florist, its window filled with white peonies, orchids, seagrasses and unusual sea shells...

...one can buy a pale pink motor scooter for two with enough power to pull a matching camper, known as The Pod. The trailer provides sleeping facilities for two adults and a child, as well as luggage and assorted camping supplies.

If you need new clothes, the choices are endless. If you prefer romantic florals, delicate lace and long and flowing dresses and skirts, this store may be just the ticket. Hats and vintage jewelry - both real and reproduction - complete the retro look.

Unexpected delight

After leaving the Jardin du Luxembourg yesterday, my husband and I stumbled upon an unexpected treat - the 29th Foire aux Antiquaires at Place St. Sulpice! So many beautiful things, I was overwhelmed - especially sans bank cards, with only 20 euros cash! I could hardly bear to look, as everywhere I turned presented a feast for the eyes! I bought a silver mould of a victory medal to use as a paperweight and concentrated on taking photos - not looking too closely at what I could not consider buying. Later I found out the antiques fair continues from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. daily through June 12th! You can bet I'll be making a return trip - sans husband, avec cash!

In the photo above, unique curiosities and antiques abound from Sophie Pretelat's Anges et Demons shop at 14 rue Notre Dame in Cunault, France. I bought an antique Madonna's crown from her at a brocante at Bastille. At another stand, an exquisite gothic bird cage (below), chandelier with amber crystal drops and petite iron doll furniture are on offer.

Afternoon reading

A sunny afternoon is spent reading at Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris. The Eiffel Tower (Tour Eiffel) can be glimpsed over the treeline.

La caresse

A 19th-century green marble statue with a modern twist greets visitors in the Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris. The gardens cover 60 acres of land surrounding the Palais du Luxembourg on the Left Bank. The palace was built in 1631 for Marie de Medicis of Florence, Italy, widow of Henry IV. After the French Revolution, the palace was used briefly as a prison. During World War II, it served as German military headquarters. Today the building houses the French Senate!

Bamboo garden

Decorative wind chimes hang in tall bamboo trees planted recently on either side of a blue rock-strewn path in the Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris.