Paris, Perfume, and Popsicle Sticks

Serendipity- a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise"; a fortunate mistake.

In celebration of my 40^th birthday I invited 40 daydreamers to join me in Paris for a cup of coffee. I’d like to imagine what I lack in height, I make up for in imagination.  They were invited to email a picture.  I would paste their photo on a popsicle stick and bring their image along with me for the day.  My goal was simple, to gift myself a birthday to remember while allowing 40 daydreamers the opportunity to visualize themselves in a quintessential Parisian scene.  The events that transpired were filled with unexpected surprises.  

First was the lackluster response.  Only 13 people provided pictures (my own mom didn’t bother to email her photo).  It was deflating.  The upside was less work on my part and fewer popsicles for our family to consume (in retrospect, this was a disappointment to my girls).  So, with a handful of paper images on wooden sticks, I left on a quest to find a picture perfect cafe in Paris for me and my daydreamers. 

We started our adventure at a cake shop in the Latin Quarter.  Unlike the name of the district, nothing about the bakery pulsed with excitement.  No signs of a fiesta. I can’t fault the cake shop for the cake’s presentation, it was exactly as I had requested over the phone, chocolate with vanilla butter cream icing.  It stood tall and regal in a shade of pale yellow. This cake was sure of itself.  It wasn’t looking for anyone’s approval.  After all, it sat in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Paris.  The etched mirror on the wall seemed to offer it one last view of its voluptuous backside before being cut and consumed.  An employee brought over plates and a cutting knife. She was so quick in her departure, I couldn’t help but imagine her angst, not wanting to see yet another cake, so grand in stature, be consumed by strangers.  I then noticed the most important element of the cake was missing, a candle.  Not unlike my fellow companions on popsicle sticks, I too am a daydreamer. In 40 years I’ve never missed my annual wish.   Unfortunately I hadn’t brought candles and the cake shop said they didn’t have any.   Not only would my wish be denied, but the glorious cake would not meet its ending with the pomp and circumstance it so obviously deserved.  Fortunately, my 13 paper friends seemed unfazed.  We ate, snapped pictures, and without fanfare moved on.

The next stop reminded me why I love Paris.  Entering into the parfumerie Marie Antoinette is like tip toeing into a jewelry box.  In place of a twirling ballerina, stands the owner, Antonio de Figueiredo.  Behind a smile with sparkling white teeth is a man filled with a passion for perfume and the history of its origins.    If you want to know what history, gossip, and fragrance have in common, this is the place to find enlightenment.  Want to smell like Marie Antoinette or Josephine Bonaparte?  Not only can he tell you about the fragrance, but he can share with you the stories behind the creation (at times scandalous).   I sniffed a dozen fragrances before this gentleman of scents guided me like a monk on a mission to what he called, “my scent”.   As he lightly sprayed a piece of paper, he began to explain why he believed this scent in a bottle was destined for me.  He said, it was a fragrance unlike any other.  It had mysterious notes not easy to identify.  He imagined me waltzing within a lavish court ball, my hooped frocks swaying gently, while soft breezes carried my fragrance across the crowds, intriguing everyone within scents reach.  Antonio continued to tell me about the original creator of the perfume line he was convinced should sit upon my shelf.  He explained the history, which involved Queen Marie Antoinette.   With confidence, he said this perfume "would carry me through all seasons".  It wasn’t filled with overpowering notes of jasmine, roses, or gardenia, for in the world stage of perfume, these botanical scents only marry with spring and summer.   Without a doubt, I was going home with this fragrance. Antonio's poetic visual combined with the luxurious aroma looming under my nose had me sold. 

After leaving the store, I perched myself on a park bench outside the shop to reflect upon the day.  It had started dismal and disjointed at the cake shop.  The missing candle on the cake rattled me more than I care to admit.  It amplified my fears, the fear that growing another year older meant I was another year further removed from hopes and dreams.  Does the passage of time rob hearts of their natural inclination to wish on fallen stars and dandelions?  So I didn’t have 40 daydreamers, what’s in a number?  So the cake shop didn’t have candles or treat me as royal and regal as the cake they placed in front of me?  All these were out-shined by the gift I discovered while shopping within the walls of Marie Antoinette.  It wasn’t the delicate glass jar filled with liquid flowers and spices that shook me out of my pity party.  It was Antonio.  He unknowingly reminded me why I had invited others into Paris.  Behind the stores whimsical red facade was a daydreamer!  At my side, I had a pocket full of 13 eager individuals who willfully came along to share in a day filled with serendipity. 

After arriving home, I took the remnants of the half eaten cake, topped it with one pink candle, and made a wish.  The day wasn’t what I had envisioned.  Lyrical tunes from The Rolling Stones traveled through my mind before drifting off to dream, “You can't always get what you want, But if you try sometimes well you just might find, You get what you need”.

Under the Mallorcan Sun

Reaching the shores of Mallorca, off the southern coast of Spain made me a believer that not all post cards are photo shopped versions of a prettier reality.  As our plane descended over the translucent turquoise waters, it was obvious scenes still exist that are better than paper images carrying a postage stamp.  

I’m not certain when it happened, but over time I’ve come to dislike beaches.  It wasn’t always like this.  Growing up I remember my sister and me waiting anxiously for Mom to drive up from an eight hour nursing shift.  My ears could hear the gravel when the car slowly entered our driveway.  If we were lucky she would say “yes” to our desperate pleading to head to sand and water.

Over time, I’ve come to see the beach as nothing but a hassle.  Sand seems to take over everything, the car, clothes, the floors, not to mention every crevice of your body.  In addition, since having kids, I’ve found the beach tests my “control” limits.  I’m constantly on edge that I might lose sight of one of our girls, and then what?  The thought always stops before I reach a logical conclusion.  Being in Mallorca allowed me the opportunity to face some of my fears (including buying a swimsuit!).  It also gave me a glimpse into a forgotten time, youth.  Not my own, but my four daughters.

The girls were excited beyond belief when we booked our flights and vacation rental. Since arriving in Belgium two years ago they’ve begged to go somewhere sunny and warm.  Once we were booked, they immediately began to make a checklist of what we would need: swimsuits, sunscreen, sunglasses, and flip flops, etc...  I hadn’t thought of these things since I grew out of rompers and bubble gum flavored ice cream.   With their help, I clicked and purchased a new swimsuit for each of the girls, and me.

It wasn’t until we reached our holiday rental home that I learned the difference between a terrace, balcony, and patio.  Our vacation home had all three.  From all levels you could smell the salt from the ocean, see the island of Dragonera (called so, because it’s shaped like a sleeping dragon), and hear faint laughter from the nearby beach.  As soon as the girls ran to claim which room was theirs, they came running and shouting, “When can we go to the beach”?  My internal rolodex flipped immediately to childhood.  With a quick change of clothes, we were off in search of what I had long dreaded, sand.

 

This vacation offered many things. I could go on about the lovely trip into Palma where I met a man that owns the only rare English bookshop on the island.  I could go on about Deia, the home and resting place of the late poet, Robert Graves.  And I could go on about the most amazing hike I’ve yet to experience on the island of Drangonera.  But all these things would fail in comparison to what I learned at the beach. 

 

It took my four girls, the smell of coconut oil, and scents of the salty sea to be reminded that life really is good at the beach.  Letting go became easier when it was followed by sounds of laughter.  For the first time I realized why after working an eight hour shift my single mother would pack up my sister and me and head to the shores of SW Louisiana.  Something about the beach allows the body and mind to ease and relax. And it turns out the sand I have loathed since adulthood happens to be Mother Nature’s best exfoliator!  As for my fear of letting the girls out of my sight, they not only did escape my vision, but lived to tell about it.  And most likely we all had a better time because of.  Cheers to the beach~

Parisian Escape

For those that read my post in May, "Paris & Popsicle Sticks", you know I'm heading to Paris in celebration of my 40th birthday.  In addition to sipping coffee in numerous cafes with a pocket full of daydreamers, I'll also visit a Parfumerie where I'll select a scent to carry me into my 4th decade.  My last two stops will be a visit to a bakery, where I'll pick up a birthday cake and last, but certainly not least, a visit to Shakespeare and Company in search of a book to carry home.  And for those daydreamers that sent photos, thank you.  Expect a visual of our cafe visit to be emailed in the near future.  Highlights will be posted next week.

  Bon Journee mes amis~

Ryanair

Until recently, Ryanair has been like a mystical creature, urban legend.  For years I’ve heard about incredible deals to exotic locations throughout Europe.  I’d also heard unfavorable stories about long lines, luggage, and service (or lack of). After finding a deal too good to pass up to Spain, my husband and I decided to take a chance and book our flights!

My first job was a flight attendant. I learned many things, one of which was to pack light.  This lesson proves valuable when traveling with the no frills airline. Your ticket price doesn't include checked luggage, just one carry-on (a purse/backpack is considered a carry-on). After six weeks of flight attendant training I learned enough to cause a lifetime of trouble for anyone traveling alongside me. My husband laughs every time we fly together.  I not only subconsciously count the nearest exit row, but also read the cards in the seat back pockets. I know the inflight “ding” meanings and the color coded lights above the cockpit. And I would never consider talking through an emergency announcement.  Note, this is where I first noticed a slight difference on-board Ryanair.  This is a budget airline and they have clever ways of diffusing the low cost of your seat, like not having seat back pockets.  No worries, all the information you need is glued onto the plastic seat-back in front of you.  The flight attendants also do the usual safety announcements and demonstrations, but in less tailored uniforms.   

You won’t find the comforts of complimentary pillows or blankets being offered or reclining seat-backs.  In addition you won’t find freebies like soda, coffee, or peanuts.  Ryanair does offer an inflight cabin service, but anything that whets your appetite will cost you.  On our return flight, feeling generous and a bit confused (boarded before my morning coffee) I bought our family a round of drinks: Two coffees and four juice bottles.  It set me back 18 Euros!  There is also a meal service ranging from crackers with cheese, Oreo cookies, to fresh out of the microwave Chicken Marsala (food items ranged from 3-6 Euros). The airline also makes money by selling things like scratch off instant win lotto tickets, perfume, and phone credits.  It was truly entertaining watching the flight attendants juggle all their various hats with a smile.

My biggest concern with an airline is safety.  Without a doubt I felt the flight attendants, pilots, and condition of the airplane were safe.  The on-board experience wasn’t glitzy or glamorous, but I wasn’t looking for a plush seat.  I wanted reliable, safe transportation to take me from point A to point B without blowing our budget or crashing into the Mediterranean.  Mission accomplished.

Ryanair is no longer a mystical creature or urban legend.  It’s real and isn’t looking to be anything other than what it is…safe, reliable, and cheap!  Off to search for my next flight destination...

Belgian Comic Strip Center Museum

The Belgians are complex and diverse.   Many are aware of the country’s varied assortment of accomplishments: like producing some of the world’s best chocolate, lace and beer.  But did you know that Belgium is home to the world’s largest population of cartoon artists, over 700 reside in this tiny country.  They even have a museum in Brussels dedicated to what has become known as the world’s “Ninth Art”, Comics.

Walking into the Belgian Comic Strip Center, you’re greeted by a glistening red and white checkered rocket and a candy apple red convertible.  The building itself is the perfect home to the museum.  It was designed by Brussels very own Victor Horta, a leader in Art Nouveau design.  The whimsical glass and iron scrolls compliment the playful characters waiting upstairs to greet the curious visitor.

No English translations here, no matter. One of the beauties of comics is that they’re visual.  Our family was entertained by the colorful displays of stories.  There were also hands on activities incorporated into several displays.  I especially loved seeing my childhood favorite, The Smurfs (Les Schtroumpfs)!  It was fun discovering the actual height of a Smurf, only three apples high.  There was even a true-to-size mushroom village, tiny of course and behind glass.  As my feet moved forward, my childhood seemed one step closer in memory.

My husband liked the exhibits on some of his pint sized heroes like: Tintin, Spirou, and his personal favorite, Lucky Luke, the gun toting cowboy that could “Draw faster than his shadow”.   There are original posters and cartoons from Lucky Luke’s past.  Like the poster of him smoking his trademark cigarette.  When his popularity began to spread, health officials started to rally to have the cigarette removed.  In the mid 1980’s it was replaced with a piece of straw.  All of the exhibits walked you through the cartoon’s history, including the politically incorrect (and there are many!).

The gift I valued most on this journey was remembrance.   As I looked at the cuddly blue Smurfs, I couldn’t help but remember a time in life when my sister and I could indulge in Saturday morning cartoons.  There was nothing to schedule around.  It was the only day of the week that offered back-to-back episodes of cartoons, the only day we could watch the Smurfs. Every kid on the block knew, if you snooze you lose. Our window of animated childhood enlightenment only aired from 7-10am, after that was news and all the boring stuff our parents liked to watch.  Cable didn’t exist; DVD/VHS players were non-existent.  Visiting the museum served as a reminder of simpler times, a time before Skype, wireless, and instant TV. 

Meandering through life’s paper heroes turned out to be reassuring. It was a relief to see 21^st Century kids and adults get lost in the world’s “Ninth Art”, comics.  Everyone needs a hero, even if it’s only on paper.  It turns out my super hero was sitting next to me on Saturday mornings…but it would take a Smurf to remind me.

Kickstart Your Dream

Remember when you could barely see over the counter and people asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  In a recent issue of TIME Magazine, I discovered a company that makes it their business to see people’s creative ideas become a reality, Kickstarter.

Just like their name suggest, Kickstarter’s goal is to help kick start creative projects.  In order for a project to get off the ground it must fit their website's definition of a project, “A project is something with a clear end, like making an album, a film, or a new game.  A project will eventually be completed, and something will be produced as a result”.  Categories include: “Art, Comics, Dance, Design, Fashion, Film, Food, Games, Music, Photography, Publishing, Technology, and Theater”.  It’s also important to note that, as their website states; “Currently Kickstarter is only open to those with US or UK creditors over the age of 18” (they’re working on expanding). The idea is to allow viewers of their website to voluntarily back your creative dream through donations.  If 100% of the amount you’ve designated for your project is collected, then the funds will be deposited into your bank account for you to make your dream a reality.  If anything less than 100%, then the project is dismissed.  Nothing lost, nothing gained.

You may ask, what does the backer (or investor) have to gain supporting a project?  The answer is pretty simple.  It seems people feel good about taking an active role in someone else’s dream.  Individuals like to feel they’ve helped in the creative process. In addition, the creators of a project often have rewards for their backers.  The rewards are often as creative as the individual sharing their dream. For $15 I recently backed someone writing a memoir.  Because 100% of their funding goal was met, my reward will be a signed bookmark by the author with artwork from the book's cover.  Personally speaking, the bookmark is a bonus perk. The true reward comes from taking an active part and watching another individual's creative idea become reality.

If you have a dream you haven’t fulfilled do to lack of funding, you should look into Kickstarter.  They just might be the Super Hero cape you need for lift off. It’s free to register your idea, the only thing needed is your imagination~

http://www.kickstarter.com