soleil couchant

So, I didn't really sleep well after the news of Grandma Ruth's passing. I went to work and when I got there, we were practicing resuscitation techniques. So that was pretty much a disaster. I got really dizzy and almost fainted, so Clara, my supervisor, took me aside. I explained to she and Aude (my real boss) the situation. Right away, they told me to take today off, and take it day by day as to when I can work again. Without me asking, Aude told me that it is a definite option to return to the U.S., but that it's my choice and try won't advise me either way.
My mom sent me a Skype video message at around 11 their time and officially told me. Joey was crying quietly in the background and it broke my heart. They don't know when they'll hold the funeral as Wednesday is too soon (only one day in the obituary), Thursday my cousin's wife is getting induced, Friday Bethany leaves for Italy (leaving Saturday out of the question). My thoughts are "what about me? You would move the funeral around for everyone but not me?" That's irrational, I know, as I'm across an ocean. But still, I'm not very rational when it comes to those I love.
I don't know why this is so hard this time around. My face is raw from crying. As cliché as it is, I miss her so much already. I can't stand the thought of never having her kiss my cheek again or never helping her address her Christmas cards (which she sent out every single year, even after my grandpa Arvo died).
My heart is also grieving paris. I can't loose this city yet. How can I possibly leave, and how can I possibly stay? I'm reminded of my grandma everywhere here. Apparently last Friday, she went to city creek with my aunt Laura like they did every week. My grandma didn't want to pay for parking, so she bought some more Chanel perfume to put on her dressing table. Typical Ruth. I keep on thinking about that table with all of the jewelry (how are they going to get off her wedding ring? Who will inherent it? I swear if it's Bethany, I will scream). Her taste was very Parisian.
The flower stands, the children with their socks falling down, the boats along the seine. She would've loved all of it.
The church bells are especially piercing.
She always found beauty in the smallest of things. Even though she was so alone. She kept ice cream in her freezer, just as a treat for herself.
I'm not handling being alone very gracefully today. Yet, everything seems sharper, like I'm seeing paris for her, even like I am her, because she's more than with me, she is me.
In Starbucks they're playing my favorite song of all time, "for Emma." It always feels like it's for just for me, except this time it's for her. Everyone takes it as a song about a failed relationship; but it's more.
"Saw death on a sunny snow"
"Seek the light...my knees are cold"
"For all your lies, you're still very lovable"
"I toured the light
So many foreign roads
For Emma, forever ago."

It's about the complexity of loss. About stretching beyond time and definition and newness and being both warm and cold. It's about how no love ever truly leaves us and about how no love is ever perfect.

It seems fitting that paris is here to be with me during my sadness. I've been so alone here. Just like how no matter what anyone says, we are alone in our sadness, even until the end.

Saying that, I wish that I was there, to walk in her house, to run my fingers over her tubes of lipstick, to see the photograph I have of her in my London lunchbox when she was my age.


Plus que jamais,

Emily

en haut

i woke up with a sore throat this morning. a really bad sore throat. and that was after thirteen hours of sleep. 

it was my day off from school (you know, the one where i was supposed to go to London?). so in keeping with my Jo March attitude, i decided that i'd be darned if a sore throat would keep me from my Paris free time. 

that was until i got out of bed and saw stars. so i crept back under the covers to read the Picture of Dorian Gray. 

at about 13h00, after forcing orange juice down my throat and jumbling together a outfit comfortable enough for how i felt yet fashionable enough for Paris, i ventured outside my apartment where a torrential rainstorm awaited. i made my way to the post office a block away to mail postcards. But, in tradition of long French meals everywhere, the post office was closed for another hour for lunch. 

so, i bought an orange, crossed the street to the train station to seek refuge from the elements, and listened to the saxophone man play "Hey Jude" like he does all day every day.

at the end of the hour, i went back to the post office. after waiting in line for a half an hour, i realized that there was a machine that said "affranchissement" or "postage." feeling a tinsy bit dumb that for standing there forever, i rushed over to the machine and followed the instructions to buy a sheet of postage. 

that's when i broke the machine. with several rushed Parisians behind me. My one euro coin got stuck. don't ask me how. i sill don't know. a sweet older man came forward and asked "Avez-vous un problème?" what a dear. He offered me a key to un-jam the euro, then a pen, then a knife, then a paper clip. Finally, i asked the woman at the front desk to help me. I apologized for bothering her/breaking the machine/holding up the whole post office. She was only kindness. After twenty minutes or so of fidgeting, it budged! i bought my postage, stuck them on the postcards, and hurried home to get back in bed. 

i practically threw those postcards into the post box. i was so relieved to be home. that's when i realized i had bought domestic postage, not international. Seeing that i was almost in tears, my sweet roommate melissa offered to go back and ask them if they could open it up. 

Can you guess the end to this run-on story? they said no. 

so now all of your postcards are going to end up in an incinerator somewhere on the outskirts of Paris. 

i'm sorry. i tried. 

love, ems.  

l'hérrison

{might be my favorite buy ever}

Ce weekend...

i went to the centre pompidou, where i stared at vivid colors and defined lines, so different from any other museum in paris. it was so refreshing and worth the view from the top.

 i sat in parc monceau, a park in a ritzy part of town.The park was created in 1769 and is not crowded with many tourists, unlike many other parks in Paris. There are many white, mansard-roofed, ironed-gated buildings bordering the park. The first parachute drop happened here from a hot-air balloon and children play in the roman ruins and carousel. The park was a lovely mix of beautiful gardens and quirky attractions that gave it a oh-so parisien feel.

i ate lots and lots of pastries! Before France, i never loved desserts. If nothing else, Paris has changed that about me. In pierre hermé and laudurée, buying deserts is an experience. You choose your dessert from underneath a glass case, someone takes it out for you, and they wrap it nicely in a box with a bow. Leave it to the French to make buying dessert feel like buying expensive jewelry. It may be a little bit cliché snooty-french, but so worth it.

i stumbled upon an ethnic market by place de la bastille. I lost track of time with all of the foreign scents and sounds. I'm beginning to love this side of Paris as much as the French side of Paris.

i went to see the contemporary ballet Romeo and Juliet at l'opéra de la bastille. A mix between opera and ballet, the show, while a bit bizarre at times, was breathtaking.

i went to mass at l'église de la madeline. The service was beautiful, but my favorite part was watching the catholic school girls in their uniforms who sat in front of us.

i picnicked at Montmartre, sat along the Seine while reading Oscar Wilde, and the most delicious falafel i've ever had in the Marais.

i realized i only have so much time left here in the city of lights. le sigh. 

renard.

a little taste of what i'm doing

{that's me in the background}

my lovely friend Blair was featured in an article you can read by clicking here.

The article is about the people we help and how they cope with their personal loneliness. There are lovely photos of some of the women with whom I interact, and the relationship between Blair and Madame Mege is absolutely precious.

I love sundays in Paris. Sunday. What a great word. Life always seems a bit brighter on Sunday, n'est-ce pas? On another note, I'm starting to realize the impossibility of documenting my time here in Paris. How can i possibly describe the way the metro sways side to side as it zips through the tunnels? Or the cool light of the afternoon, the way the rays of the sun seek every nook and cranny? Or, the distinctly parisian smell of cigarette smoke combined with pastries and fresh flowers and couscous? But i keep trying. If not for memory's sake (because memory is as fickle as it is fleeting) then to understand this time of change and growth in my life.

Today after church I was able to attend a baptism of a new member of the Saint-Marais ward. The service was beautiful. There weren't very many members there, but love was in abundance. As I played with these little girls after, my whole outlook on Paris shifted. Lately, i'll admit, i've grown a bit tired of speaking French. In our prep course they warned us this would happen but of course i didn't believe them. But yet, here I am and my brain hurts from all of the frenchness around me. However, when I played with these darling girls, speaking french didn't seem like such a task. I felt so so lucky to be able to talk and joke around with these little girls. That's why I want to learn french. Not for the cute sidewalk cafes, not for the street lamps, not for the chiming bells of Notre Dame. It's for those little moments of connection. 

chats

horologe.