Okay, I haven’t left for Paris. Yet. That will happen on Sunday when my husband Alan and I leave behind our three (for the most-part )grown up children, our aged mothers and old dog and board the plane. Irresponsible? I don’t think so. There are elaborate plans to keep everyone going in our absence. And forgive me if I think we really deserve this. While others spent their youths hitch-hiking across Europe to Nepal, I had babies. When others were staying up late partying with their grad school chums I was working nine-to five and fitting grad studies into a 5 a.m. to 8 a.m. slot so we could pay the mortgage. This will be my fabulous middle age experience and I plan to be wild, free and far more interesting than anybody’s mother. We will be living in the Marais, in a small one bedroom, for the next three months. We will walk, see art, drink wine, see art, eat great food, see art, cook up a storm, and haunt the flea markets where we no doubt will see some interesting art. As a painter I will work everyday to make the best art I can under the influence of all this wonderfulness. Now is my time.
Curious about our apartment? Obviously, so am I since we rented it from an agency sight unseen. The exterior looks much like this.
The bedroom has double french windows like this and so does the livingroom.
There is a tiny kitchen much like this.
That’s all I know. I hope it will be as great as my fantasies of it and that soon it will be home as my drawings and paintings fill the dining room and our market finds soften the emptiness and rough edges. Let’s hope that it’s not located above the noisiest bistro in town. Let’s hope at the very least for decent plumbing. I hope you will come along with me, not just for the Paris adventure but to share with me as I try to work and live to my fullest capacity. Please leave your comments, ideas, tips and maybe even your own stories.