"I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now. No matter who you're waiting for and if I never see you again, you belong to me, and all of Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and pen."
- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
Sunday, June 24, 2012
You Belong To Me Now
"I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now. No matter who you're waiting for and if I never see you again, you belong to me, and all of Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and pen."
- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Picnics and Pie
Paris is the most wonderful place for picnics. However, the weather since April has been (to put it gently) temperamental. But still, I've had a few lovely 'nics. One was with the fabulous and sweet Laurie from The Paris Blog (below) and Sophia.
We had salad, rosé and citron tarts.
Next up, I had decided to make a banana cream pie for my friend Elsa's birthday. However, with foreign ingredients and no electric mixer, I wasn't sure how it would all go down. So I made a practice pie.
I was totally ready.
But that day my electricity went out, so I worked furiously against the setting sun (luckily, it was 2 days before summer solstice so I got pretty far). By the end of the process, my workspace looked like this:
Luckily, it came out great! There was only one problem: I would have to eat the whole thing before making it all over again for Elsa's birthday. So I enlisted the help of my new friends Rebecca and Edna to eat it with me over a picnic. Of course it rained that day. So we enjoyed it inside, after cheese and bread.
As you can tell from Edna's face, the pie went over well with my guests.
We pretty much demolished it.
Friday night was the big birthday. Elsa had gathered her friends at Parc de la Villette to help her celebrate in the dwindling sunlight.
The ever-lovely Elsa.
I taught some Frenchies how to say American things like, "totes amazeballs."
The second pie went over well too. Elsa's brother was like, "It's really good. No, really. Really. It is really, very good."
Fun days, more fun nights.
We had salad, rosé and citron tarts.
Next up, I had decided to make a banana cream pie for my friend Elsa's birthday. However, with foreign ingredients and no electric mixer, I wasn't sure how it would all go down. So I made a practice pie.
I was totally ready.
But that day my electricity went out, so I worked furiously against the setting sun (luckily, it was 2 days before summer solstice so I got pretty far). By the end of the process, my workspace looked like this:
Luckily, it came out great! There was only one problem: I would have to eat the whole thing before making it all over again for Elsa's birthday. So I enlisted the help of my new friends Rebecca and Edna to eat it with me over a picnic. Of course it rained that day. So we enjoyed it inside, after cheese and bread.
As you can tell from Edna's face, the pie went over well with my guests.
We pretty much demolished it.
Friday night was the big birthday. Elsa had gathered her friends at Parc de la Villette to help her celebrate in the dwindling sunlight.
The ever-lovely Elsa.
I taught some Frenchies how to say American things like, "totes amazeballs."
The second pie went over well too. Elsa's brother was like, "It's really good. No, really. Really. It is really, very good."
Fun days, more fun nights.
Friday, June 22, 2012
It Was A Good Week For Mail
First I received this gem from Stephanie, who has fought a gallant battle against the international post system to get some treasures to me.
And it was worth the wait! Inside were one-of-a-kind photo sets from her spring weekend in Paris, plus a gorgeous photo zine, hand-bound by Lady Land herself.
A few days later I opened the mail box to find a treasure of uniqueness of grand proportions. My friend Colin in New York sent me a photo book of Coney Island, which itself is amazing, but it's the letter he sent with it that really rocked my socks off.
It's a 5-page letter that runs over notebook paper, a Metro newspaper, and this great book he found on the subway.
As he said, it's like a new kind of art, although these days any kind of hand-written letter is an art in itself.
Big, big, big smiles all around! Now I get to write back...
And it was worth the wait! Inside were one-of-a-kind photo sets from her spring weekend in Paris, plus a gorgeous photo zine, hand-bound by Lady Land herself.
A few days later I opened the mail box to find a treasure of uniqueness of grand proportions. My friend Colin in New York sent me a photo book of Coney Island, which itself is amazing, but it's the letter he sent with it that really rocked my socks off.
It's a 5-page letter that runs over notebook paper, a Metro newspaper, and this great book he found on the subway.
As he said, it's like a new kind of art, although these days any kind of hand-written letter is an art in itself.
Big, big, big smiles all around! Now I get to write back...
Sunday, June 17, 2012
A Tale of Two Dads
This Father's Day I'd like to pay tribute to two men who've helped make me who I am.
This Dad gave me my brown hair and brown eyes. He taught me how to bait a hook and play Blackjack and make hot chicken and dumplings and Key Lime pie. I treasure memories of going catfishing with him finished with sunset-lit Klondike bars, or digging crawdads out of the bucket he was holding, or sitting beside the fire pit at our cabin in Heber, or proudly holding up a 17-pound carp he taught me how to catch (and let me reel in myself) at Apache Lake. He taught me to always wear sunscreen and a seatbelt, and that you get more out of your shampoo if you put some water in the bottle. He was my first Final Cut Pro teacher. When I tell him about my future plans, I can always hear a (loving) concern in his voice, but he never tells me not to do what I want.
This Dad (Pops, as I say) taught me about Harry Nilsson and George Harrison and Miles Davis. I treasure memories of waking up to his band playing "Brown-Eyed Girl" in our E-Room (the loft space in the house reserved solely for his instruments and rock and roll memorabilia), and surfing with him in Hawaii, and making blueberry pancakes as he makes chorizo and hash browns on Christmas morning (wearing a Santa hat, of course). He values a good French press. When I call the house in a panic, he can always tell whether I'm crying and puts my mom on the phone pretty much right away. He very nonchalantly convinced me to ride my first real roller coaster. When I started crying as he drove me to the airport to come to Paris, he calmly said, "Hey, when you start to worry, just tell yourself, 'Just havin' some pizza, learnin' about Cuba.'"
I could go on about both of them. But suffice it to say that these two fathers, while completely different, are embedded in my heart. They've both helped to shape my tastes and my personality. Together they've set the bar high for the man who will be the father of my children. I'm so, so grateful to have both of them in my life, because while too many people don't even have one decent dad in their lives, I'm lucky enough to have two phenomenal ones.
love,
*jenna*
This Dad gave me my brown hair and brown eyes. He taught me how to bait a hook and play Blackjack and make hot chicken and dumplings and Key Lime pie. I treasure memories of going catfishing with him finished with sunset-lit Klondike bars, or digging crawdads out of the bucket he was holding, or sitting beside the fire pit at our cabin in Heber, or proudly holding up a 17-pound carp he taught me how to catch (and let me reel in myself) at Apache Lake. He taught me to always wear sunscreen and a seatbelt, and that you get more out of your shampoo if you put some water in the bottle. He was my first Final Cut Pro teacher. When I tell him about my future plans, I can always hear a (loving) concern in his voice, but he never tells me not to do what I want.
This Dad (Pops, as I say) taught me about Harry Nilsson and George Harrison and Miles Davis. I treasure memories of waking up to his band playing "Brown-Eyed Girl" in our E-Room (the loft space in the house reserved solely for his instruments and rock and roll memorabilia), and surfing with him in Hawaii, and making blueberry pancakes as he makes chorizo and hash browns on Christmas morning (wearing a Santa hat, of course). He values a good French press. When I call the house in a panic, he can always tell whether I'm crying and puts my mom on the phone pretty much right away. He very nonchalantly convinced me to ride my first real roller coaster. When I started crying as he drove me to the airport to come to Paris, he calmly said, "Hey, when you start to worry, just tell yourself, 'Just havin' some pizza, learnin' about Cuba.'"
I could go on about both of them. But suffice it to say that these two fathers, while completely different, are embedded in my heart. They've both helped to shape my tastes and my personality. Together they've set the bar high for the man who will be the father of my children. I'm so, so grateful to have both of them in my life, because while too many people don't even have one decent dad in their lives, I'm lucky enough to have two phenomenal ones.
love,
*jenna*
Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Well, I Never Thought This Would Happen.
8:30am at McDonald's Paris. I will admit, quietly, that it was not a nightmare.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Rue Mouffetard
There have been a few random, gloriously sunny days recently in Paris. One of them was last week, when I explored the Latin Quarter and splurged by having a couple of beers while writing an article for Girls' Guide to Paris and enjoyed the people-watching and the architectural details of the area, made so lovely by the warm glow of the sun.
Just lovely.
Just lovely.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Color of the Moment
Just so you guys know, a vivid blue teal is the color of the moment. It was on every. single. girl I hung out with last Friday night (including myself).
... not to mention in the stairwell I climbed (only 7 flights up).
Though the color may already be on the way out. When I marveled to Elsa about how I was seeing it everywhere, she sighed in frustration and said, "I KNOW. I've been wearing these pants" (the ones you see above) "for three years and suddenly everyone is wearing the same thing."
Life is hard for a fashionista!
... not to mention in the stairwell I climbed (only 7 flights up).
Though the color may already be on the way out. When I marveled to Elsa about how I was seeing it everywhere, she sighed in frustration and said, "I KNOW. I've been wearing these pants" (the ones you see above) "for three years and suddenly everyone is wearing the same thing."
Life is hard for a fashionista!
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