a time warp

I should be sailing, but am not, so I started to work on catching up on art stuff, and found myself reading Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, a "blog before there were blogs" that is attached to my name and my website when you Google me. It is rather personal, but interesting, so I've decided to give it some context here on this blog.

These "chapters" of Mr Toad's Wild Ride were written in Paris while I was there and still married to Peter Smith, then Deputy Director General for Education at UNESCO. If they have a somewhat strangled flavor to them, that's because I was in huge denial about his affair with Letitia Chambers, his "consultant." But they reflect some of the events and adventures of my life in Paris, living in the 15th arrondissement at 76, rue du Commerce for a year and a half.

Essential to this story is understanding how important Mme. Emily Keast Donohue of 18 bis, rue Amelie in the 7th arrondissement was. Without Emily, I do not think I would have dared to move to Paris; and without Emily, I would never have found the apartment on rue du Commerce that was such a treasure. UNESCO wanted us to live in the 16th arr. or over nearer UNESCO, but I continue to love the International-style, 60's penthouse apartment that Emily and I found on rue du Commerce. I would move back there if I had any excuse at all, though now there is a gate and a real concierge; our concierge was never sober that I can remember, and never really did have a clue about who we were, or what we were doing there.

But I loved it, except for the personal part. I loved having to walk everywhere or ride the Metro; I loved meeting Emily and Joy, the dog, every morning for a walk in the Champs de Mars; I loved carrying my fold up, Orchard Supply chair into the Louvre every day for a Paris Sketch class; I loved hopping on the train to go north, south, east or west, or to the UK to visit the Rev Dr. Jennifer Smith, or to St. Jean de Luz and San Sebastien, Spain; or hopping in a plane and going up to Oslo, or east to Doha, Qatar, and then even Vietnam.

I travelled alone or with someone, especially Emily, here and there for a year and a half, and I'll never forget it.

And I miss it occasionally - the bay tree and herbs I planted on my street-side balcony beneath my kitchen sink view of Montparnasse; I miss my terrace with a view of la Tour Eiffel and the bonsai pine tree; I miss the free concerts at the American Church in Paris on Sunday afternoons at 5. I miss the wonderfully deep bath tub with shower and glass wall that overlooked nothing but rooftops. And, of course, I miss the food - at Cafe du Commerce, an authentic, old-style French restaurant where you took a jug, and they filled it up with cask wine. And I miss Cafe Constant, over near Emily, on the rue St. Dominique, where Christian Constant fed people reasonably in an upstairs cafe, next to his 3 star and down the street from his 4 star restaurants, one of which Obama dined at when he was lately in Paris.

And I miss the people - Mme. Emily Donohue, Jan Olsson who ran the most wonderful "stages" or drawing and painting workshops in her artists' studio apartment at rue Balard, and all my artist friends from there - Susan Grieg, Jeannette, et al.; I miss the cheese ladies in the fromagere just down the street, and the Vietnamese market ladies; I miss my friend Kara and her two little girls, Kara who works for UNESCO still, and Mme. Odile Blondy, who took me to the Police Station to file "Un Declaration du Main Courant," which you must do when a spouse abandons the household in Paris.

But most of all, I miss the spirit of Paris - finally and most dramatically experienced by me, when I came down the Ave. Motte-Picquet on the day after Peter left. The man behind the newspaper kiosk, just there by the Metro stop at Motte-Piquet, came leaping out from behind his counter to give me a huge hug, saying "Je t'aime; je t'adore." Whereever he is, maintenant, I will be eternally grateful to him for reminding me that I was a person, and a lovable one still. So, vive la Paris, et a bientot.