Treasures

I am totally that freak. You know the one - the freak who checks out what people leave out on the street for the trash to pick up. Despite my extreme fear of bed bugs and germs, there is something about one man's trash, that inspires me to search for treasures.

And Paris is full of them!

Just the other day, as I was walking back to my office from a quick stop at the boulangerie, I noticed that the building next door was under renovation. More precisely, they were changing out all of the windows and replacing them with sad, no-charm, double-paned PVC windows.  To truly understand the tragedy of which I speak, remember that this building was probably built in the 1700's if not before! The old, single-paned, lead-painted windows, were leaning against the stone wall.

I couldn't help myself. I had to save these windows! Never again will buildings have windows like these! They are historical and lovely and I couldn't let them die a sad death in the Paris trash heap. So I did what any freak would do - I went on a treasure hunt and picked out three of the best windows that were in the pile. I wanted to save them all, but I reminded myself that I live in 53 meters squared and I can't save the world.

As I lugged them into my office, I announced to my colleagues that I was saving the windows, and since they are cool people (or just freaks like me), they started giving me great ideas of what I could do with them: make mirrors! turn them into a coffee table! make a headboard! 

yes, yes, yes!

One of my colleagues offered to bring them to my house in her car, another asked me how many other windows were out there for the taking. Treasures, I tell you.

Today the windows are sitting in my living room, waiting for inspiration. I've cleaned off the muck of time and now it's simply a logistical problem - how do I attach windows to my wall? How do I cut a mirror to fit? Should I repaint them or let them keep their old luster à la shabby chic? It's quite a predicament, but one that I absolutely love having.

In my teeny Parisian apartment, I would walk past treasures in the street, not allowing myself to dream of the wonderful things I could make with them. But today, in my little chez moi, I CAN bring home century-old windows without blocking the door to the bathroom. Makes me want to bust a Princess Jasmine on y'all - A whole new wooooorld...!

Behold the beauty of my windows:

I know that I'll have to reign in my craziness since I can't save all of the treasures that get put on the street (even though I totally dream of long, old window doors for my (currently non-existent) closets...), but it's nice to have a little creative project to make our house a home. I've written about my relationship with things, about really being here, and I can't tell you what a relief it is to not worry about that anymore. I still find lots of inspiration from minimalists, and I don't want to go overboard on stuff in such a small space, but it is lovely to feel happy in my space, no matter how small it may be, and to surround myself with carefully selected items that tell a story. 

So the next time you visit chez moi, I'll tell you the story of these windows, which were once in a gorgeous, old hôtel particulier in the Marais, but that I saved from destruction.  

My Relationship with Things - Part Deux

Thank god for girlfriends. 

I called my copine d'enfance after the ridiculous cup issues I had been having a few weeks ago. She was having an equally bad day, and as we laughed and cried over our ridiculousness, she came up with this great advice:

After every paycheck, just get one house thing that makes you happy.  Stop thinking it out so much (AKA obsessing) and just BUY THE DARN THING. 

So, last Thursday, I bought  Hema mugs.  It made me so happy to have 4 matching mugs, that on Friday I bought Hema wine glasses. 

Then I thought about getting a fifth Hema mug, just in case one broke. 

In the meantime, I started checking out Vente Privée on a regular basis...and ordered a Guy Degrenne "New Club" silverware set (that just arrived this week!). 

I was so inspired by my new things, that I decided that I must have bowls as well. So this Friday, I bought five yellow and blue Hema bowls. (And while I was there, I got that fifth mug I had been thinking about). 

Basically, I can't stop myself.

I've been so obsessed with NOT buying things that make me happy in my teeny Parisian mouse hole, that now that I've allowed myself the pleasure, I just can't seem to slow it down.

Proof: I'm typing this blog post by the lovely glow of my new taupe Asian lantern with cutouts, that casts soft shadows on my bare white walls.

Now if only I had an apartment big enough to invite people over for dinner...

Cannes Cannes and the Cups

After finishing work early yesterday, I was flat out exhausted. I think I may be coming down with something - bleh. But before going home to lie on my couch in PJs and convince Copain to watch a chick flick with me, I took a detour to Hema, an amazing Ikea-esque store near Châtelet les Halles. 

Remember my Hema-tights???

I'm not sure why I thought that going to Hema was a good idea - it just makes me want things. And you know how I feel about things.

Bref, I pretty much tortured myself for an hour. All I could think about was how I don't have one water glass that matches another, that I only have one wine glass because all the others are broken, that my bowls are cracked and crappy and that oh my god I hate my apartment and I need all new stuff but I can't have all new stuff until I get a bigger apartment and crap this sucks and I want everything in this store! ... But oh no! What if I buy everything in this store and then I decide not to live in France and then what will I do with it ahhhhh????????

It was enough to send me into an existential tailspin.

I came home with 5 new bath towels, a bag of my favorite spicy rice crackers for food therapy, and some door hook hanger thingys to hang the towels on. Then I washed all the towels and overloaded my teeny apartment with wet towels to dry. 

Thank god Copain was up for a chick flick, otherwise I may have had a complete breakdown.

This morning I woke up with a stuffy nose and ridiculous depression. The girl who has a roof over her head, food to eat, a good job, wonderful friends and family - the girl who has no reason to be depressed, is sad because her cups don't match. And if she does buy cups, it somehow means something about her life here. Wow. Way to be awesome Cannes Cannes.

As I explained my frustration to Copain, the ridiculous tears welling up, he started to sing a little song:

Doo doo doo dooooo

Chin up!

And get the dust off of you!

Isn't that how it goes? The song your mom used to sing to you?

Doo doo doo dooooo

Chin up!

And get the dust off of you!

How can you be sad when your Copain starts to sing the song that your mom sang to you when you fell down as a child? 

Pick yourself up,

Dust yourself off,

and start all over again!

Even though he got the words all wrong, he got the meaning behind it right. And even though as adults we don't fall down on playgrounds and scrape our knees in the sand, sometimes we do have to pick ourselves up, dust off the silly sadness, and start over again - remembering that our futures are shiny. Right?

And then, just to make me feel better, Copain took out all our cups, lined them up and laughed at the off-the-wall collection that has overtaken our miniature cupboards:

Then he promised me a trip to Ikea. Baby steps, baby steps.

Me Day

Saturday was a me day. I could tell I needed to get the heck out of dodge and just be with me. You know those kinds of days?

Saturday also happened to be my copine's birthday, and we decided that we would treat ourselves to a hammam, just like we did last winter.  It was such an amazing day that we knew it was a perfect way to spend a Saturday, chill out and feel pampered from head to toe.  

We chose the Hammam de Pacha this time, which did not have the same ambiance as the quaint Bains Montorgeuil, but we still enjoyed ourselves, ate a piping hot chicken tagine, drank freshly-squeezed juices, and came out with clean baby skin and fleur d'oranger-smelling hair. 

Like last year, we followed our spa day with shopping for kitchen stuff for my copine's new house, and I admired all of the things that I want to buy but didn't, because of my relationship with things. I was able to let go for a quick trip to Habitat, where I got a thrill out of buying new bed sheets that were on sale (to match the new pillow and mattress pad that I just purchased on vente-privée!...I really am 30, aren't I??)

My copine had dinner plans with her kids, so I wandered around the rive gauche, in and out of shops, making mental lists of all of the things that I will buy one day, when I don't live in a teeny Parisian apartment...

wine glasses, a teapot, nice plates and bowls, espresso cups with funky patterns, a large, plush rug....I could go on and on....

Don't even get me started on all of the amazing couches I saw at Habitat - I don't know why I torture myself so.

At any rate, I was going to head home, but my growling tummy told me that sushi was a better idea. I found a table for one at Sushi House, ordered a huge bâteau all to myself, and sipped my kir as I topped each roll with mounds of ginger and wasabi. 

My day ended on the phone as I walked home and chatted with my copine d'enfance - poor girl was home with the stomach flu after spending the night before up with her one-year old, also fighting the same bug. (I know how that goes - minus the sick kiddo part). She laughed and told me that I really was old, having chosen a quiet night with myself, rather than having made plans. She totally understood why that sounded absolutely perfect. And that's why we're good friends.

(Then she had to run and pray to the porcelain gods - and forgot to take me off speaker phone :-) )