Paris Blues

It's been awhile since I have posted. In fact I was shocked to see how long when I logged in this afternoon. You see I "write" nightly - - in my head as I am falling asleep I think of beautiful things to write about Paris. But then I don't actually sit down at the computer and the beautiful things disappear in my dreams.

So now its September and I have wasted a summer of ideas. Paris hasn't been far from my thoughts though. On July 12 I fulfilled a on-my-must-do-list and had an Eiffel Tower tattooed on my right side. If I wasn't so worried about the ramifications of posting photos of oneself online, I would post a photo to show it off. Trust me, its perfect. And yes, I know true Parisians would probably faint from how unchic it is but I love it more than enough to justify its permanence. Chic or not.

And then of course there was the media explosion over the movie Julie & Julia.

Earlier this summer,following a soul enriching 2 week vacation/love-in spent entirely in downtown Paris with my husband, I bought him Julia Child's book My Life in France. Finally a book written by an American about France that isn't condescending or full of smug Americans traipsing all over Paris looking for non-fat dairy products. Julia Child LOVED France. Pure and simple. The book made me ache for Paris.

And no I still haven't seen the movie. I did just - barely - finish Julie Powell's bestselling book Julie & Julia and I must write that I believe a lot was lost on me. First, obviously the book is set in New York not Paris; second, I abhor cooking -even French cooking. It is really the one thing that can't be made better for simply being French.

A quick digression to list just a few things that are better because they are French: public transportation, hats, apricots, smoking, accordions, Vogue magazine, small tables and even smaller dogs.

Anyway as our vacation become more distant, my Paris Blues descended.

Then a few weeks ago a dear and very talented writer friend visited me from London. Over cocktails in a neighbourhood that can only be described as nouveau hippy chic, he "invited" me to Paris for his magazine's Paris issue celebration and launch. At the very famous English bookstore Shakespeare & Co. - this bookstore can be found in any Paris travel guide from stoic Rick Steeves to the backpacker bible Lonely Planet.

Sigh.

My Paris Blues are now clinical. This coming Friday while he toasts his magazine with French alcohol deliciousness, I will likely be curled up on my couch eating confiture d'abricot straight from the jar.