warmest

Virginia Woolf to her lover, the English poet Vita Sackville-West, in her exquisite 1927 love letter. But that missive was preceded by one from Vita herself, sent from Milan on January 21 the same year. Disarmingly honest, heartfelt, and unguarded, it stands in beautiful contrast with Virginia’s passionate prose:

"…I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your undumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it should lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is really just a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this — But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I don’t really resent it."

Ernest Hemingway to Mary Welsh, April 16, 1945

“Dearest Pickle,

So now I’m going out on the boat with Paxthe and Don Andres and Gregorio and stay out all day and then come in and will be sure there will be letters or a letter. And maybe there will be. If there aren’t I’ll be a sad s.o.a.b. But you know how you handle that of course? You last through until the next morning. I suppose I’d better figure on there being nothing until tomorrow night and then it won’t be so bad tonight.

Please write me Pickle. If it were a job you had to do you’d do it. It’s tough as hell without you and I’m doing it straight but I miss you so [I] could die. If anything happened to you I’d die the way an animal will die in the Zoo if something happens to his mate.

Much love my dearest Mary and know I’m not impatient. I’m just desperate.

--Ernest”

“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”―Francois Sagon

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” ― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity and her flaming self respect.  And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be.  I love her and that is the begging of everything.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald

“You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest and most beautiful person I have ever know - and even that is an understatement.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald 

London 2014

"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." Samuel Johnson

"Oh, I love London society! It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics.  

Just what society should be." Oscar Wilde

"This melancholy London -- I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually.  One feels them passing like a whiff of air." William Butler Yeats



"In London, love and scandal are considered the best sweeteners of tea."  John Osborne

What do you think?

A bit late, Paris Day 3.

I had held strong to my DayQuil and NyQuil regiment, but today was caught out in the cold with no meds, and quite a dismal body ache.  But if you have to be sick, Paris is the place to be. 

Today started rather late - 12:00 we finally made it out the door and down the five flights of twisting stairs.  We stumbled onto the Metro in hopes of finding the apparently elusive vintage flea market.  Mitchee and my sweet mother read about this unmarked flea market on a blog and were determined to find it. 

And my oh my did we find a flea market.  To anyone who knows the estate sale junkies my family is - you know the giddy amusement this allotted us. 

We spent a good five hours searching for treasures, pursing the curious oddities and gazing at the gilded glimpses of a world passed.  I value old things - old trinkets, old furniture, old clothes, - old friends - I cherish the imperfections, fragility and stories they innately possess.  Each of us found a little treasure.  My treasure - a 1940’s noir necklace - heavy, chunky, dazzling - just the perfect juxtaposition of feminine and masculine.  I wasn’t going to buy it, but my mom is the queen of dealin’ and worked her magic.  I wondered back to see what she had found and without a word my dad placed a colorfully wrapped package in my hand.  My necklace.  What a special surprise,  treasured memory, and perfect start of a story.

After a long traipse back to our flat - we were all exhausted.  A hot bath and a long nap was a perfect solution for this fading lady.

We spent the rest of the evening in comfy clothes, around the big table - playing games.

We have almost gone through a whole bottle of olive oil - I have eaten a whole baguette by myself and discovered “boggle” - a new favorite game.  Mom is the queen of Uno, Dunkin reigns in most everything else - although the girls are currently winning in Taboo.

As cranky as I sometimes am with my sniffiling nose and pounding head - I sure love Paris, and more then that I sure love just sitting around the table playing games with my lovely family.  I think I could go anywhere with them and be happy -

Paris Day 2

11:13AM.  My room is still dark.  The flat is eerily quiet.  Did everyone leave?  There is no way everyone is still asleep. 

An array of circular mirrors line the long hallway leading from my bedroom to the kitchen.  If I run my fingers over them, ever so slowly, it is like a myriad of notes, tinging together to make a cacophony of discord - the notes ever so faint, ever so satisfying. 

Empty kitchen. To my amusement, I am the first one up.

Off to find some breakfast - Nutella Crêpe number two today, and as an afterthought Mitchee ordered some french fries, man I love that girl.

Nifty museum passes let us skip the long line, dad you are always two steps and a skip ahead.  Through the throngs of people, past the iconic glass pyramid, down the marble stairs - welcome to the Louvre.

The stairs are well traveled, the marble treads worn into a distinctive depressed “U” shape by the familiar patter of patron feet.

Putting the Louvre into words is pure languish.  Never in my life have I experienced a day more grand.  The sweeping photos can never do it justice and distinguishing between reality and fantasy is purely a matter of opinion.  You must look up, you must look down, you must look close and you must step back - you will miss something you never even knew existed.  The paintings - brushed masterpieces, the sculptures - chiseled perfection, ceilings - cupid adorned, floors - a matrix of magic.

From the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe is a much longer walk then it looks.  We didn't quite make it - but the walk was everything one would imagine - pools, manicured gardens - even dead they look majestic.  Friendly pigeons, larger then life sculptures, a quaint ferris wheel, handsomely clad lads and dapper ladies doting the picturesque promenade - so chic. 

We meandered through a leftover christmas market.  Duncan got a sausage, dad some dried mangos and pears, and Mitchee and I some hot cider.  The cider was a bit too mulled and could have used a few lumps of sugar for my liking.  But it warmed my hands quite nicely, dad liked it and as Mitchee pointed out - I like everything just a tad too sweet.

Soon we tired of the crowds,  it sprinkled a bit, but thankfully the metro was conveniently just across the street.  A few quick looks at the map, one lucky guess and dad and I managed to get us within a block of our flat.  Successfully navigating a new city brings its own kind of joy - a kind that starches your collar, polishes your shoes and makes you stand just a little taller. 

Today as we walked I had a smile plastered on my face.  A smile that was not tried, fake or chosen.  A smile that required no mustering or prodding - but just a genuine upturn of a recently heavy mouth.  It felt good, really good. 

Stripped down, bare.  I just slipped into the must delectable, piping hot bath.  Familiar red webs wind across my heat sensitive skin, I can feel my cheeks flush. The smooth water encompasses my tired limbs, wrapping its heavy arms around me, like only a familiar lover would know how.  The water laps at my chin, wetting my lips and filling my ears.  It is quiet.  The kind of quite that only comes when the water is running the world away. 

A perfect end, to a perfect day.

Paris Day 1

I wrapped my scarf around my neck, just high enough to cover my mouth, but just low enough to let my nose peek out.  I do not like things covering my nose, but I hope covering my mouth will inhibit the plague I currently possess from spreading. Last thing I want is to pass my heavy cough and pounding headache to the rest of the flight.  

Twelve hours on that Air France plane cramps my 5’10’’ frame and plugs my sensitive ears, but the kind company of my seat companion made for good conversation.  Fazal speaks fourteen different languages and is well-versed in all subjects from foreign policy to clean energy alternatives.  His brain works quick - he is unchangingly smart, yet unapologetically in love with all of humanity.  His ethical core is evident.  Impeccably humble and wisely discerning, he is quite impressive, quite inspiring.

Finally off the plane.

The biting air catches in my already tight chest.  My gait is long and brisk as my muscles enjoy the new found space to stretch.  As I make my way from the terminal, onto the tram the halls are lined with artist memoirs - Monet, Degas, Van Gogh.  My heart flickers - pieces I forgot even knew how to shine.

One stamp - a shy “merci” and I have made it through customs.

Our flat is quintessential Paris.  Complete with herringbone wood floors, decadent crown molding and narrow dreamy balconies.  I plan to watch each sunrise and sunset from a balcony - coffee in one hand, pen in the other - wrapped in a heavy down comforter, cuddling with the cool breeze.  From my balcony I see the backside of the Louvre - a dreamlike scape of perfectly sculpted courtyards and iron work so impeccable, it looks to have been drawn on by a calligraphist.

The cobble stone streets, intricate architecture and melodic mystery that stumbles past my ears has already carried me away.  As we wandered through the narrow streets a familiar, yet forgotten sense of awe settles over me.  Nutella crêpe in hand and my family by my side, it seems 2014 is already full of new wonders and unimaginable beauty.


 

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It's the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.” 
― Audrey Hepburn

ready. set. go.

I kinda feel like I have been running a never ending race - excited, exhausted, determined.  This morning a song came on my Pandora and it made my whole morning.  Have you seen the adorable movie Matilda?  It is based a story written by Roald Dahl.  IMBD describes it as, "Story of a wonderful little girl, who happens to be a genius, and her wonderful teacher vs. the worst parents ever and the worst school principal imaginable." I first heard this song in that movie - I remember awkward dancing to on my bed, curls flying, feet squishing, without a care in the world.  Today, it was just what I needed.

"After The Storm"

And after the storm,

I run and run as the rains come

And I look up, I look up,

on my knees and out of luck,

I look up.

Night has always pushed up day

You must know life to see decay

But I won't rot, I won't rot

Not this mind and not this heart,

I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand

And we stood tall,

And remembered our own land,

What we lived for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.

And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,

With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew

I saw exactly what was true

But oh no more.

That's why I hold,

That's why I hold with all I have.

That's why I hold.

And I won't die alone and be left there.

Well I guess I'll just go home,

Oh God knows where.

Because death is just so full and man so small.

Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.

And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,

With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.

And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,

With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

Promise yourself that you will be

 honest 

about how you 

feel - 

that you will let yourself fall hard and take a risk.  

Promise you will let yourself feel so strongly about something,

 you will choose to 

be 

vulnerable 

over-and-over-again 

to 

risk 

being told 

no 

 just because the hope of getting a 

yes 

is 

too

 strong

 to ignore.

  Promise yourself that you will care enough to be hurt 

to hurt

 in a way that 

will 

not 

go away quick or maybe even ever 

but

 is a constant reminder that what you had 

was 

true.  

Promise yourself that you will be strong

but not cynical -

 hopeful,

 not helpless

 and kind,

 not cutting.

Promise yourself 

these 

things 

now

because someday when all is spinning and nothing makes sense, 

these are the things you will cling to,

 these are the things you will know to be true.