Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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The “need” for a scarf to wear with my suede jacket, now that the weather has cooled, drove me to go shopping. In the cobbled courtyard, I opened the ancient door onto the street. There, in front of me, looking right at me, was a tall, tan man with curly salt-and-pepper hair. He’d been looking at the door. I said “bonjour,” because what else can you do when you’re suddenly face-to-face with someone, and you’re looking right at each other. It was too late to avoid direct eye contact. He said “bonjour,” and then, in French, he said “first I see a beautiful door, and then there is a beautiful woman.” I turned beet red, I’m sure, and then smiled and stammered that the door was very old, that it dates back to 1640. He smiled back, said a few words of appreciation, and then said, “merci, madame,” as we both went on our separate ways. That door has been commanding a lot of attention lately. I’d seen several shops in the Marché Saint Germain’s shopping mall section that displayed interesting scarves and other accessories. One that appears to be new to the Marché specializes in imports from Asia and South America. After looking around in the windows, I decided to go into that shop first. I was distracted by lovely cotton blouses from India and Thailand. Several were in my favorite shade of violet, and they were embroidered. I studied them for a while, then selected one that I simply had to have. When I went to the counter to pay for it, the shopkeeper, who’d been talking with another man, a friend, I suppose, suddenly noticed my existence. I said “bonjour,” and he returned the greeting, with apologies for having ignored me. I smiled and said “pas de probleme.” He seemed to be unusually pleased to be making a mere 34-euro sale. He was most polite and attentive as he completed the transaction and then bade me farewell. The scarves in his shop, however, weren’t quite right for me. So I continued to the next stop, a shop where I’ve purchased a few small things in the past. This tiny shop specializing in scarves, handbags, costume jewelry, and a few clothing items always seems to have a sale going on. The shop also always has a good selection of scarves. The shopkeeper was absent when I entered, but after a minute or two, she appeared in the doorway and I said “bonjour.” Amongst the stacks and racks of scarves, I found a beautiful, fine wool and cotton scarf in shades of violet as well as the tawny color of my suede jacket. It was large, and looked great with the jacket. The cost? 15 euros. As I went to the counter to pay for it, I asked the shopkeeper if she carried any clip-on earrings. She showed me a rack with several. One pair looked just right for me and my long hair. They were only 10 euros, so I bought them, too. By the time we went out for dinner, I felt almost completely re-outfitted. It was about time. I’ve been getting by on an amazingly few articles of clothing all summer. We had made plans to go out with our friends Roy and Barbara, over in the 15th arrondissement. We hopped on the line 10 of the metro at Mabillon, and within 20 minutes, we were back in our old neighborhood, exiting the Émile Zola station. The four of us walked down the avenue Félix Faure to Axuria, where we were warmly greeted and given the best table for four in the dining room. I’d made the reservation a few weeks ago. Dinner was terrific, except that Roy’s tuna was cooked a bit more than he would have liked. Three of us ordered the fabulous soufflé au grand marnier. It did not disappoint. I had the bass filet with the vegetable risotto again, and it was just about as good as the first time I tried that dish. Tom had the croustillants de queues de langoustines au basilic, balsamique de Modène (prawn tails wrapped in a thin, crispy layer of pastry, served with a small salad and balsamic vinaigrette) again, as a starter, followed by a superb rack of lamb. The other Barbara also had the rack of lamb. We sat around the table, talking, for a long time, until there was perhaps only one other table occupied in the resto, which had been almost full earlier in the evening. Much of our conversation was about politics, and some of it was about academia and retirement. A French man at a nearby table seemed to enjoy listening to us. He said “good evening” to us as he left. As we walked up the avenue Félix Faure, I told Roy and Barbara about the other two good restaurants near there, Le Granite and L’Accent Corse. Roy seemed to be especially interested in the Corsican restaurant. There, at rue de la Convention, we said goodbye. Tom and I walked several blocks to the line 12 metro, which took us up to the Sevres-Babylone station. We could have walked from there back to the apartment, but Tom was cold, so we remained underground to change to the line 10 at Sevres-Babylone, waited 8 minutes for a train to arrive (by which time we could have walked to the apartment), and then took it just one stop, to Mabillon. We were later than usual in arriving at home, and it took us a while to unwind. We are off to a late start this morning. When we checked our email, we learned that our friend Joyce passed away on Wednesday. We knew she’d been very ill, and was in the hospice unit in recent weeks – the same place where my dad passed away last year. Earlier in the week, I’d been told that she was not expected to live to the weekend. Joyce and Art, her husband, stayed in this apartment in the 6th a few years ago; we’d arranged it for them. Last week, I called Joyce from here, because I’d heard that she was still enjoying receiving phone calls. She loved it that she was receiving a call all the way from Paris. When the subject of her and Art’s visit here came up, she said, “Oh, so many happy memories.” That wasn’t their first time in Paris. They’d lived here in the late 1960s, when Art had an appointment at the Pasteur Institute. She was a beautiful, gracious woman; a kind, caring Democrat; a devoted American. She was a role model for me. I’ll miss her. She adored Paris, too. |
Thursday, September 13, 2012
The
door, this morning, as viewed from the street side.
The
door, as viewed from inside the courtyard.
The door is a listed historic monument, I believe.
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