Perspective

You're in for a suprise: A large rooftop dining room, under a huge glass dome, offering a prix fixe meal for 300 francs (85 cents). It includes salad or melon, meat plate, desert; and this is no thrown-together meal - nothing in Paris is.

- Arthur Frommer in 1956 on Printemps

The French are, admittedly, a very particular people. It is true: Nothing in Paris is thrown together. The city's layout, the location of monuments - all executed with geometric precision. The cuisine, architecture and fashion are precise. The decisions of all things Paris are calculated and exact resulting in a capital that is visually appealing and unwaveringly interesting to look at, to take in.

Walking through Paris inevitably becomes a sort of connect the dots of history, beauty and grandeur. Perhaps my favorite walk from this trip went like this:

First, we started in the 10th arrondissement walking South and happened upon the Museum of Modern Art. This being Paris, we thought it appropriate to go into a marche, buy some camembert and then head to a boulangerie for a baguette to sit and enjoy at the Place de Republique outside the museum. The hippies were there peddling jewelry, starving artists were selling their works to tourists, Parisians with their funny little dogs walked by, couples sat and enjoyed a bottle of red wine. Dad and I sat and ate out bread and cheese.

Once we finished our lunch we continued down Rue St. Martin to the Seine. We crossed the bridge over to Ile de la Cite and took in Notre Dame. We decided to continue our walk down the Seine. On the way back to the river we stumbled into the Marche aux Fleurs -- rows and rows of blooms in a beautiful outdoor flower market.

The walk along the Seine is absolutely phenomenal. The buildings that line the river are grand and full of intricate detail. I love the roof tops -- so distinctly Parisian. A closer look shows the clay chimney tops shared by the apartments within. Bridges are accented with gold fleur-de-lis.

Even the metro signs hint at the city's affinity toward detail and design.

We wandered down the Seine to the Louvre, which has a storied history of its own. One, in the recent past, wrought with conflict and outrage over the addition of the glass pyramids (gasp!) in the courtyard. You see, some believe that these structures do not line up (literally) with the other monuments of the city and therefore throw everything off. Nothing in Paris is thrown together, remember?

Later in the week Dad and I made our way to the cafe in Printemps, truly one of our favorite pasttimes. Since Printemps is a department store (grand magasin) that consists of 2 blocks of 9 story buildings, it is no surprise that we discovered a new cafe. This one was on the top floor and was entirely constructed from glass. It was as if someone placed a glass cube on top of the building. From the rooftop you could see the most magnificent view of Paris. The afternoon we were there it was drizzly and a gray haze fell over the city. This didn't stop us from being able to spot Sacre Coeur and the Eiffel Tower, and even off in the distance the top of Notre Dame. Dad had a glass of red wine and I enjoyed the best chocolat chaud I have ever had, and as we sipped we looked out and oooo'd and awww'd at the beauty strewn at before us. The grandeur, the history, the detail.

I love Paris, I really do. There is something so alluring about its beauty. And from the 9th floor in the middle of that city, looking out over centuries of history and observing the passers by, I think it is hard not to gain a little bit more perspective on the every day -- an understanding that somewhere in the midst of the city where I live, in the midst of my comings and goings, even in the midst of my own life is beauty and something worth seeing, worth watching. There is history in the making and even though I lack a rooftop perch from which to observe and even though I lack that delicious hot chocolate, life is happening and it is good.

Nothing is thrown together -- the grandeur, the history, the detail. The beauty.

France

Little Town, it's a quiet village. Every day, like the one before. Little town, full of little people waking up to say… Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!

-Belle, Beauty and the Beast

If I were to live in a small town in France, it would be this one. Old buildings and cobblestone streets, the city center with lovely patisseries and cafes, gargoyles and the towering steeple of a very old Gothic cathedral. A town whose favorite past time is sipping champagne. A town with kilometers upon kilometers of underground champagne caves...

The people of Reims are serious about their champagne...more to come about that in another post...

Packing

There are a few things of which I am certain. I am certain of my love for Fenway Park. I am certain that mornings are simply better after a cup of good coffee. I am certain that I should have a pug.

But then there are some things of which I think I am certain only until I realize that I don't know what I am talking about. This happens fairly often.

For example, every summer growing up my family would go to Rhode Island. We would go for several weeks. I can remember being about 13 and thinking that it absolutely made sense to bring every single remotely fashionable piece of clothing that I owned. I think that I stuffed two giant black roller bags full for our 3 week trip.

My father's mantra before such car trips was "Pack light." He would remind me at least 10 times before we left. He would also remind my mother, who would then get extremely irritated and proceed to continue packing her giant duffle bag, two hang bags and massive toiletry/make-caboodle.

I am pretty sure that that summer I ended up wearing the same 2 baby doll tee shirts the entire time.

In November I took a 3 week trip and was forced to only bring a carry-on for my personal items. I almost had a caniption, how in the world would I fit everything? Well, first I did some strategic shopping. I hit a few inexpensive spots and tried to put together outfits like you find in a fashion magazine where you can wear the same blazer 10 different ways. Then, I threw in a few favorites and voila. I felt confident in my choices and let me tell you that I was able to fit everything I needed in those 22 x 14 x 9 inches of carryon space.

Plus, with only a carry-on I got to fly through baggage claim without stopping and waiting. Security checkpoints were a breeze. Furthermore, I didn't have to look like a fool trying to keep a purse on my shoulder while dragging two suitcases. How chic.

One time one the way to Kenya I got stranded along with a fellow traveler in London. We both had 2 75 lb. suitcases that were perpetually falling over or bumping into people. Getting them into the elevator at the hotel was a joke. My big toe was run over in the process and my toe nail got split in half from the weight of the bags. Lesson learned.

So now, I am a convert. Tomorrow I am leaving the country for 5 days and let me tell you the one thing that I know for certain: I will only be bringing a carryon.

Mom

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his." Oscar Wilde

My mother has a zip-up hooded sweatshirt in every color of the rainbow. She has one to match any outfit that could possibly be assembled. And she takes her sweatshirts everywhere -- to the grocery store, to dinner, to baseball games and to the mall. I am certainly not like my mother, do not even own a zip up sweatshirt.

I wait entirely too long to do my laundry. First, the hamper must be stuffed to the brim and overflowing. Then, I separate out the dark colors and the light colors and leave them in piles on my floor so that there is more space in the hamper and I can continue to pile things in and avoid using the washer and dryer. When my floor is covered and the hamper is overflowing (exactly like it is right now), then I finally cave in and do the laundry. I put every pair of jeans that I own in the washer at the same time and I choose the "large" setting, never the "extra large" setting because that takes entirely too long to rinse. Then my mother finds the washer chocked full of wet jeans and gets very cross because the jeans will never get clean this way and because "I am going to break the washer." I am certainly not like my mother, she washes clothes sorted in small, organized laundry bins and is patient enough to use the "extra large" setting.

This weekend Ryan and I watched his two little cousins for 24 hours. I am exhausted. These are two great little kids. They are well-mannered; they sat through a whole dinner at Cheeseburger in Paradise without spilling any drinks or causing a scene. No loud outburts; no crying for soda refills. Ah yes, good kids. So before we went to see a movie we took them to the Dollar Store to stock up on candy. After several trips to the potty (who knew using the bathroom could be so laborious?), we made our way to some great seats to see Prince Caspian.

I have been excited to see this movie for ages. I love Aslan, I really do. I knew that taking the two kids to see the movie would slightly decrease the pleasure of my cinematic experience, but I prepared myself in advance that I would need to do things like open gummy hamburgers and put straws into juice boxes during the movie. I was ok with that. I also ensured that we used the potty one last time during the previews so that there would be no major interruptions.

Boy was I wrong. I guess I will see the second half of Prince Caspian another time.

We came home and eventually got the kids in bed. Then I passed out. I heard little feet starting at about 7:00am. 7:00am! On a Sunday. Are you kidding? I begrudgingly got out of bed and said good morning. I was met with "when are we going to the beach?" and "I'm hungry." Oh, nice to see you this morning also. I got the kids cereal and pop tarts. (Ryan had still not gotten up from his bed upstairs, out of hearing range of the pitter patter of little feet.) I was asked when we were going to the beach at least ten more times. It was 8:00am. A little while later I sent the kids to wake up Ryan. He stumbled downstairs in a sleepy stooper and asked where the coffee was. Note the assumption that I had already made the coffee. I pointed him in the direction and kindly let him know that I had already gotten the kids dressed and fed them.

By 10:15 we were on our way to the beach. We laid out towels and set up chairs. I sat down. Ah, sitting finally. Then I heard: "Kristin, this beach is boring. Why are we here? I want to go home." WHAT?! You have been pestering me to bring you to the beach for 2 hours. Are you serious?

Back at home by noon, I got the kids bathed and turned on a movie. They were tired so they sat in their bean bag chairs and tuned in. I went to take a shower. Afterwards I sat down, and no kidding literally the second that I got comfy in the chair, I heard, "Kristin can you get me a juice box and string cheese?"

I guess when you are a mother you don't get to sit down.

I began to seriously contemplate whether I ever wanted to have children. Then I began to think about my mother. How many juice boxes and string cheese did she bring to me so that I could keep watching my princess movies? How many times did I complain to her about going to the beach after begging her for hours to take me? How many times did she just want to sit down?

So I guess, maybe, I hope I do turn into my mother. I don't necessarily want all the zip-up sweatshirts though.

Thanks Mom for always taking care of me, always feeding me, always making sure I was having fun and for never complaining about not sitting down. I hope one day I can do that too.

Lean

I really don't like leaning. It's uncomfortable and so in between. Honestly, I'd rather sit or stand or maybe even run, than lean. In fact, I typically avoid leaning at all costs.

Ryan and I had to make a pretty big decision in the last 16 hours. I'm sure in a few months or years we'll look back and laugh at the tears that were cried and the intensity of the discussions that we had with our friends and families, but to be honest right now it still feels huge.

The process was clarifying in a lot of ways and absolutely mystifying in others. We were forced to acknowledge just how much we value our friends and how much we love our families. We were in a 16 hour long place where we were really trying to love each other selflessly and figuring out how to make a big decision together as a couple for the first time. It was good. It was also excruciating. The very bigness of it was, perhaps, the draw -- the allure of the something new and challenging, the desire to do something great.

The questions linger. Our decision really doesn't make a whole lot of sense, in fact it doesn't make much sense at all. My head is telling me that I'm crazy, that I am really going to miss out. But I think it is a good decision, maybe even the right decision -- whatever that means.

A few weeks ago I wrote in my journal that I wanted to spend more time in the "place in the center that is and knows," as Robert Frost says. Be careful what you ask for, I just spent one long night there. This was the only place where a decision like this could be made. The trip into that place was scary and marked by insecurities and expectations. Walking past them was nearly impossible, if it weren't for the beckoning of stillness and some sort of knowing. And in that place, that place deep inside that is and knows, fear and hope are so interwoven.

I thought that upon my arrival, and perhaps after a few hours spent there, I would be able to make a decision, that the road ahead would suddenly be lit up. That didn't exactly happen. I was pleading with the Lord to make things more clear -- I was met not with an answer to a question, but with a promise and a tiny bit of direction: "I will be with you...lean not on your own understanding." I trust that God will be with me, I even trust that he is good. And I trust my deepest feeling on this decision, but the part I am really not ok with is the leaning on the Lord -- really buying into the fact that although our decision doesn't make sense, even though it defies what my brain tells me I should do, that it is right.

This morning I woke up and still felt sad and conflicted. But work called and so life kept going. I wasn't really ready for it to, I wanted to pick the decision apart a little more and I wanted to try to make it more rational. But I couldn't. I have been to the place that knows and I, maybe for the first time, want to try leaning. Only a little bit, but its a start. I stopped on my way to work and got some Earl Grey tea. I hardly ever drink Earl Grey but it is so wonderfully calming and soothing and so I thought a cup might be a little help as I start trying to lean.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Bundle

"Now there are some things we all know , but we don't take 'em out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal...There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being." Thornton Wilder, Our Town

On May 7th Brooke Elizabeth finally arrived! We rushed to the hospital to await her arrival with the family. Soon-to-be-grandmothers couldn't contain their excitement, nervous chit chat went back and forth about potential baby names and whether or not we would have to endure an episode of Jeopardy before meeting this little girl. Then, Nathan came into the waiting room and told us that she had arrived!


We went to the nursery to see brand new baby Brooke being poked and prodded and measured and weighed by the nurses. She is incredible! It was so special and so surreal watching her trying to navigate her little limbs, trying to get oriented to gravity and space. What was going on before us felt so big -- her first breaths on earth, her first introduction to life on her own. Her brand new life right there before us, what a beautiful, sacred, eternal thing.


It was also a big moment for Ryan who saw the nurses tossing Brooke around like a little sack of potatoes while she was getting a bath. I think that he realized that it would be possible for him to hold a baby and not break it. So he gave it a go...


And after a few pointers from the Aunties....he was a pro!

Brooke,
Welcome! We are so glad you are here. You are so loved. Thanks for coming and teaching us a little bit more about what joy means and how love works. You are wonderful and you can always count on great flats from Aunt Erin and Aunt Kristin.

Ordinary Moments

Someone a lot smarter than me said that "In life there are no ordinary moments." It is the most ordinary of moments which really make up the fabric of life and yet these are the moments that fly by without notice, without acknowledgement.

Last night Ryan and I went to Chick's for dinner. It was just what we needed-- a pitcher of Blue Moon, incredible weather and a table on the patio to enjoy the sunset. And it was important for us, we talked about life and being together and what that looks like. It was ordinary, but it was also one of the nights that helped build us into the future, that almost unknowingly nudged us in the direction of what's next.

It's also exactly the kind of moment that I always forget. I am so forgetful. Ryan has a great memory always referring to "that time when..." which usually brings me to a state of panic trying to drum up the memory that he is referencing. I am almost always unsuccessful. I want to remember more of those moments. I want to be able to be able to look back and see the culmination of their ordinariness. And so in an effort to remember, in an effort to be thankful for those moments, I enter into the world of blogging...