Paris Album

I left Paris feeling kind of worn out, like I'd done a lot of walking but not much inspired art-making. It was a lot like my first time in Venice: for the most part, I never really broke through that surface layer. (I wrote a bit about that experience in this post) I don't know why it's taken me so long to realize this, but if I want a more quiet, daydreamy time to photograph, I need to get up early--jet lag be damned!--and go wandering before the throngs hit the streets. That said, despite being out and about at peak times of day, I was happy to discover I'd made a few images that evoke the Paris I dreamed of finding. Here are a few first drafts.

** Here are my other Paris posts:  A Day in Paris, and Paris Album, Part 2

Thanks, Mom (with love)

When my mom died, I inherited her sewing machine: nothing fancy, just a little entry-level Singer.  It wasn't the industrial-weighted, institutional green one that once belonged to my grandmother and sat in a corner of my Mom & Dad's bedroom, tucked inside its own little table until it was somehow miraculously unfolded out of its hiding spot when it came time to make something.  I learned to sew a seam on that machine.  I'm guessing my mother did too, long before I was born.  I'm not sure when that ancient Singer disappeared -- maybe while I was away at college? -- but during a Thanksgiving visit with my parents years later, my Mom decided she wanted to sew again, and that, since Christmas was coming, maybe a new machine could find its way under the tree.

I went to Target with her. Mom didn't want anything with bells & whistles, as she never really sewed garments or quilts, so she bought a basic Singer model with a few simple stitches.  At Christmastime I wrapped up the box and left it under the tree. Of course she knew what it was -- that was half the fun! -- but it didn't matter. What mattered in the end was that she got sick and died and only used that machine a few times and now it was mine.  The box, which she had kept in the garage attic, still had a tiny piece of wrapping paper stuck to it with scotch tape. I carefully peeled it off and saved it but now I don't know where it is. Somehow this leaves me heartbroken.

While I can say my mom taught me how to sew a seam, I can only claim to have become a sewer a couple years ago, thanks to a friend of mine who was a tailor.  He took a new job managing a restaurant and had no more free time to alter all the skirts and dresses I'd given him in the months before, so I said, "Give me something to work on that you think I can do and tell me how." Trying to do this over the phone (he lives in Florida and I do not) did not really work very well, so I supplemented our conversations with YouYube tutorials and sewing blogs. My very first project was shortening a favorite thrift store floor length skirt and using the extra fabric to make a larger waistband. That project also gave me my first zipper and buttonhole experiences.  

After that, I made pajama bottoms and my first dress, cut from an old sheet that I'd saved years ago specifically because I thought it would make a pretty sundress "if I ever learned to sew."

I made a skirt I'm sure my mom might have worn on a night out.

I learned to sew with stretchy knits.

Over time my skills improved but my sewing machine was becoming temperamental.

It made a heavy clunking sound, which the repair shop fixed, but they suggested that sooner or later I should think about getting a new one. If I was going to invest in a new machine, I wanted a good one, and those weren't inexpensive.  Did I really see myself continuing to sew or was it just a temporary interest? I told myself that if I was still sewing a year after altering that first skirt, I would take the leap.

My mom left me part of a small IRA and every year I'm required to take a little bit of money out of it. Yes, I could reinvest it, but instead I consider it a yearly gift from Mom, as if she's asking "Is there something special on your Christmas wish list?"  After that first year of sewing passed, she nudged me. "So what about finally getting that new sewing machine...?"  Suddenly I felt sad. "But this was YOUR machine, Mom..." I wondered why I felt so attached; it wasn't the old green one that I'd grown up with. Nonetheless, it seemed to be a connection as strong as her perfume and pearls, which were now also mine.  "Claud," she said, "you're sewing your own clothes. For Petes' sake, get yourself a machine that will last."
        
It was such a thrill to finally walk into my favorite Columbus sewing shop and try out a Juki. It was so quiet! Sewing through fabric felt like slicing through butter, not hammering away at an anvil (I could finally sew at night and not wake up my neighbors!) Plus there were unexpected luxuries I never even thought to want: it had an automatic needle threader (!) overlock stitches (!)  You could program the foot pedal to do just about anything but fry an egg. It even said "hello" when you turned it on.  Would I use all these extra amenities? It seemed almost too much. But then I thought, yes, you can make due with a falling-apart jalopy of a car for awhile -- it will get you from point A to point B -- but ohhh to have some air conditioning in the summer, comfortable seats, a good stereo (and to NOT have it spend half its time at the mechanic.)  I handed over my credit card. This was a sewing machine that I could grow into.

I thought I might have buyers' remorse but I think I experienced the exact opposite. I was in love. Nothing beats buying local either.  Sure, I could have saved a little money by shopping online, but there wouldn't have been anyone to share the joy with. Anita, the owner of Sew to Speak, was excited that I'd finally bought a new machine, and Jessica, one of the shop's teachers, spent an afternoon showing me how to use it before sending me back out into the world. A week later I sewed my first dress on my new machine and loved it. 

Meanwhile, Mom's Singer sat on the floor.  I didn't really know what to do with it.  It didn't make sense to keep it, even as a doorstop or a decoration. But I still struggled. It had been so good to me. "Good grief, take it to the thrift store!" Mom said. Was she getting impatient? 

It was a drizzly fall day when I finally wrapped the foot pedal and power cords around that sewing machine, put all its accessories into a plastic bag, and taped it to the side.  I put it in the car, along with a bag of no-longer-worn clothes and a box of other stuff waiting for a next life at the Goodwill. The guy at the drop-off opened the door and sorted my things into different wheeled laundry carts: clothes, knick-knacks, etc. The sewing machine received its very own. It looked lonely sitting there at the bottom, all by itself. My eyes welled up. "It's not me in there," Mom said.  "I know," I said. "But still."

If things had turned out differently, if my mother were still on this earth, every time I visited I'd put on a little fashion show after unpacking my suitcase. And like grade-school me bringing home some fresh-off-the-easel painting from art class, I would say:  "Hey, Mom, look what I made!"

A Day in Paris

John and I took his youngest daughter, Katherine, to Paris in early April. She said it was on her bucket list (an 11 year-old with a bucket list, go figure) to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and John's sister-in-law, who'd been living in Paris for the last few years, was moving back to the States.  Anyone who wanted to visit needed to do so pronto.  Off we went! 

I'm still sorting through photographs from the trip, so there are more posts on the way, but I wanted to share a photo-an-hour diary of our last day there. (Why not work backwards?) Here goes:

7am - Waking up to the trees in the courtyard...

8am - Out the door and through the gate, passing all the perfect spring flowers along the way.

Our route to the Metro bordered the woods of Bois de Boulogne.

We'd stop every day at the boulangerie near the Metro for donuts and ham and cheese baguettes to take with us for lunch. It was my favorite place to practice French... the ladies there were so nice.

9am - The Metro! Today we planned to start out in Montmartre.

10am - La Cimetière de Montmartre. Old and beautiful and quiet... I loved it here. Previous days had been spent in crowded places and I just felt so peopled-out. I could have spent the entire day here just sitting on a bench.

11 am - We wandered through quiet neighborhoods near Sacré-Coeur...

12pm - Sacré-Coeur was as beautiful as all the photos I'd seen. Behind it, a quiet street ended at a park, which is where we found the La Vie Est Une Aventure! graffiti written on a stone bench.

1pm - We took the far west steps below the church to get down to the main street again.  I couldn't help stopping to photograph this tree.  Paris in spring!  

2:30pm -  We stood in line for a good long while to get into Angelina's for their famous hot chocolate (recommended to us by Maureen, our flight attendant on the way over). Yum!

3:30pm - Walking the Coulée Verte, which is an old elevated railroad bed that has been transformed into a walking path. Apparently the first of its kind, it inspired New York City's Highline, which I've also walked. It had started drizzling earlier in the day, so everything was lush-green and bright.

4:30pm - Made some friends along the way. 

5pm - A view from one of the bridges.

By the time we got to the end, it was POURING. Katherine's umbrella was turning inside-out from the wind, my shoes had puddles in them, and we underestimated how long it would take to get to the Metro station we were looking for. Of course!

6pm - We stopped in the Marais to hunt for a shop I'd read about in my favorite online sewing magazine. My winter coat needs some new buttons, and Le Mercerie Parisienne apparently specializes in all kinds of unique buttons.

I found two sets that I really liked.  We'll see which one works out the best...

7:30pm - Back to Neuilly for dinner at Piccolo Mondo, the restaurant we went to on our first night.  The server remembered us, which was fun.  I know I know, we should have ended our trip with traditional French fare, but why, when this place was sooo good?

It was a long day --- and a rainy one! --- but we had fun and I am happy we didn't abandon our plans just because of the weather.

** Here are my other two Paris posts... Paris Album 2 and Paris Album

Thank you, Christine, for the raincoat, umbrella, and, most and best of all, for sharing your home, stories, and Paris travel tips with us :-)