Pisces 19° (March 9)


Paris, Day Forty Six of Sixty. And Day Eighteen of Bikram. Nearly two thirds the way through! Anyway I wanted to get right back to where I was on Saturday, sitting with Stella, at the Café du Marche, which has these red tables. We shared some red wine and sparkling water, in a red bottle, and she was wearing a poppy red shirt. I was seeing red in the best way. No Saturday has been this pure a Saturday in distant memory. Remember Saturdays? I don’t think I’ve felt like this since the early 1990s and I’m not so sure I didn’t have preoccupations then that would have prevented the purity of emotion on this day. We had done our exercise, we had eaten caviar omelets, we had walked three or four miles through Paris and now we were seated, in the late afternoon sipping wine and water and ordering some soup and frites and fried nuggets of fresh cod. As mentioned, the people watching was epic. Everybody was an Arbus who lived in the neighborhood, wearing clothes from forty years ago, and walking their dogs, grabbing last minute alimentaries from the market, some in slippers. We had p’tit cafés and set back out and strolled to Avenue Bosquet and down toward the river. There was this sort of designer hock shop with an Hermes section. We didn’t go in but it was duly noted. It felt a bit warmer out. We turned right onto rue de L’U and strolled the greige world of old and new buildings that characterizes this bit of the quartier. There is the Erik Satie center and some consulat that are modern and respectively (and sometimes at once) very cool and an eye sore. We zigged to the quai and zagged past the American Church and strolled across the pont des Invalides, noticing how flooded the Seine was—two boys were trying to ride their bikes through it—later on the TV news we would see an emission about it warning people about getting washed away by the current—hope they were ok—I suppose we might have heard if not (then again we don’t really watch or read the news).

It was more than just warmer we decided. It was suddenly the return of the chaleur of Spring, for real. There was no more chill in the air. As we crossed the river coming upon the Petit and Grand Palais, and through gardens that were connecting this last bit of the Champs Élyssées to the Tuilleries, it suddenly dawned on us, in a field of flowers and blossoming trees, that we had indeed turned that corner. We crossed the Place de la Concorde and diagnaled toward the carousel in the twightlight to take some pictures and out of the garden, crossed Rivoli, up Castiglioni, making a right onto St. Honore. It had been apparent how empty everywhere is. It was Saturday night and there were hardly any people or cars and even strolling on this narrow, usually crowded rue, it was sparse of humans and the prevailing sound was that conversational birds who seemed to be saying good night and celebrating this sense of returning Spring all at once. We had an easy time slipping through the gallery at Palais Royale and through Place des Victoires down Etienne Marcel. We thought maybe we’d go up toe Bretagne and Barav, so we did another diagonal northeast along Tiquetonne, but it actually parallels Etienne Marcel and empties out on Turbigo just where it meets Sebastapol. Here though, between that large road and rue Beaubourg, we did a little exploring—rue du Bourg Abbé, across Saint-Martin, then Montmorency over to Temple and down to get some wine and water and crackers at the fromage lady. And so we had a picnic: celery and radish and taziki and cheeses and fruit, a delicious organic Sancerre and a usual red. It was pretty heavenly. We fell asleep watching Grace and Frankie which is the worst TV show but the best sleep aid. And after being awakened by outside noise and upstairs creaking, I fell into bed and slept until seven thirty, enough time to slowly get ready for a nine o’clock Bikram with Martine, the smiling torturer, in a very difficult class. After that we grabbed some fish and a few veggies and came home and had (second day in a row) caviar omelets with chive and crème fraiche and a green salad, and I continue to get my soup moving. I wrote through a great many thoughts here while making a fresh spinach soup. And by that time I was ready for a nice little stroll. To be clear Martine’s yoga class was yesterday. Not to be confused with the one taught today by Marine.

I woke up today feeling as if all this exercise is working on me deeply, not just physically but emotionally as well. Last night ended on a tetchy note with a day-long conversation about the failing internet being too much for me to continue. I made a lovely salmon with avocado and roasted tomato and salad, a spinach soup that we will eat today, and a pear compote that I put on yoghurt this morning. We did a bunch of shopping for supplies, water mainly, which we are drinking by the gallons as the hot yoga continues. I keep saying to myself that I will take it easy in class but I never do. I had this urge to look up Gertrude Stein and found that the Salon is on rue de Fleurus. We will have to have a Gertrude Stein day. Tonight we have a rezzie at Le Mazemay on rue de Montmorency, after a California client and chat with potential publisher Hachette. I still cannot believe that Anna has not been in touch with us. Or Jackie for that matter. Something is truly amiss here. Anyway not my problem. I’m going to be doing a great bit of self promo as time unfolds and I’m going to let all the answers come in today. I’ve initiated a plan to go by Merci as I have yet to go there. We will do so after a lunch of soup. Which we did. We didn’t buy anything but we had a citron tart and some coffee and then went to Maison Plisson for some vinegar, oat milk and wine. You know, the three major food groups. It is the Supermoon today and things feel very odd outside. I’m going to stop here and tell you more tomorrow.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.


Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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