Paris Letters (24 page)

After my morning coffees with Christophe, I walked around the city with my camera, capturing scenes that I would take home with me to paint on days when the clouds were too gray, the pavement was too wet, or the wind was too strong. As I painted, I imagined the letter I would write, describing this time of my life in Paris. I deliberately omitted certain unpleasantries. There was no room in my letters for the vulgarities spewed by mad men belching on the street, the army of thieves who literally rob the city of its charms, or the constant and abrasive loudness of tourists.

The longer I painted, the more I realized so much of my life had been in training for this moment in time. The most obvious training was the painting classes I took sporadically along the way and the career as a copywriter that taught me to write. But also the weekend workshop in bookbinding I took a few years ago that taught me how to fold hundreds of papers neatly and quickly came in handy when folding my hundreds of letters. Less obvious training was the stock market that pulled my investments down low enough to rev me up to create a money-making project in Paris. And it was easy with my Etsy store that was already open, the PayPal account that was already set, and the fans from my blog that were already there waiting for me to tour them around Europe via painted letters. All these bits of training melded into a collage that unleashed the artist in me. When looking back, this training was so perfectly arranged that I couldn’t help but think there was someone wiser than myself pulling the strings.

Whenever one of my painted letters was dry and ready to copy, I walked it carefully over to the print shop. The print master greeted me with his usual “Bonjour, MacLeod of the clan MacLeod.”

“Bonjour, Norman,” I would reply. He was French, though his name was not.

Norman would smile at my latest work of art and make the copies. I would walk the box of letters home and address each one. Dear Matthew, Dear Heather, Dear Kelsey…and I meant it. Dear lovely person. You are dear.

I have sent over ten thousand painted letters about life in Paris so far. The original plan was to afford daily life and keep pushing my buffer of money further ahead of me so I had plenty left for when I retire. Suze Orman would be so proud. But now I’m building up funds for the next adventure too, making sure I keep my wardrobe down to one suitcase. Well, with Christophe, two suitcases.

After my wedding gown was stored and the final thank-you card mailed, I took to running and walking through Jardin des Plantes, around the corner from the mosque that serves the most delicious mint tea. In the park, there are two long, tree-lined lanes that have been pruned inward, creating a shaded verdant canopy. Each morning, I walked or ran with a tissue in one hand (allergies!) and my keychain with all my keys in the other. One day, for no reason at all, my house keys fell off the chain and landed on the ground. Just my house keys. This seemed physically impossible. And yet, there they were in the sand. I picked them up, refastened them to my keychain, and continued on my run. Upon returning home, I checked the mail. Another beautiful letter from Mary describing the joys of life in the country.

When Christophe came home from lunch, I told him about the keys. “But how?” he asked. I shrugged. Over a lunch of brie, baguette, sliced meat, and salted tomatoes, I translated Mary’s letter. He sighed. After his time in Canada, he wanted to move there, to a house on a lake. A place where we could have children and a garden and grow roots. For him, Canada was the perfect present, but for me, it was my imperfect past. I was still haunted by high school bullies who I feared running into at the grocery store. I explained this to Christophe.

“That is all done now, my darling,” he said.

I looked at the keys and Mary’s letter. I nodded, understanding that I could choose to see Canada as he did, in the present with the fresh eyes of a tourist, and that there was an expiration date on my childhood that was met long ago. Perhaps I could evolve the Paris Letters to write Garden Letters. I could make it work. I would figure it out, with Christophe at one side and my handy journal at the other. I nodded.

He took my hand and kissed the back. “Let’s go, my princess.”

Dear Áine,

Happy New Year! In Paris, they say Bonne Année and often answer with a singsong “et Bonne Santé” —and good health. Back home, we wish each other a prosperous New Year, but in France, prosperity isn’t as big of a mark of success. In fact, the French have been known to chop off the heads of anyone who has risen above the crowd. All this probably explains why, when the world is talking about fiscal cliffs and recessions, the mayor of Paris is talking about carousels. Paris has recently added 20 more carousels to the 35 permanent ones in its collection as a gift to citizens and visitors of Paris.

Now, along with being the City of Lights, it’s the City of Carousels. And the rides are FREE! All winter, these merry-go-rounds of wonder sparkle like whirling jewels. Don’t think for one minute I won’t be trying to out-race kids to get to the best horse. Game on! I’ve been living in Paris for a while now. I thought the enchantment would fade, but then the carousels came to town and I’m back to being amazed, my mouth agape in awe around nearly every bend in this magical city.

Warmly,

Janice

January, Canada

Dear Janice,

Loved the carousel painting—And to think the rides are free! Here is one old lady who would be pushing not only the kids, but you sweet young thing out of the way, too!

Bonne Année et Bonne Santé seems a very appropriate wish for around here as there is much malaise going around. For the past two years, I have been snowshoeing with a couple of women. Our first real snow came the week before Christmas and I have been out faithfully tromping my trails ever since. Now that they are usable and well-packed, one friend has sciatica and the other has been battling the flu since before Christmas—ergh! So I am tromping alone.

I chose this chickadee card as we have a small flock that we feed all winter. They get quite friendly and quite cheeky if the food isn’t put out on time!

We saw the flying squirrels the other night (on the feeder), the first since last spring. We have a feeder at one of our windows, easy to just open and put out the food, and gives us a great viewing spot. Last night there was a fat, furry raccoon cleaning off everything the birds had left. I thought he’d have been sleeping by now, but maybe it hasn’t been cold enough to really put him out.

You’ve been in Paris over a year! I’m so glad to have been part of the first discoveries and enjoyments. I think if one really loves the place where they are, there are always enchantments to be found. Keep looking.

Mary

33

Paris Letters

One of my subscribers is the copywriter who took over my old job. Each night after work, he walks up to his front door and pulls out mail from the box. Most of it is the junk mail that he created during the day. He checks a few headlines, then tosses most of it in the recycle box. But then, inside the stack, he spies a little letter from Paris. A grin forms. He takes the letter into the house, sits on the couch, and exhales the tension of the day. He opens the letter and begins to read.

Dear Áine,

I’ve got the Fitzgeralds on my mind these days. F. Scott and Zelda—the emblem expats of the 1920s Lost Generation in Paris. It was in these cafés, on cold wintry days, where they sat huddled together writing, sipping, and discussing their work. “What do you think of The Great Gatsby as a title?” he would ask, and history would be made. Right here in these cafés! It boggles the mind. Eventually, madness and jealousy came along, but before they did, F. Scott and Zelda sat in these cafés kissing and writing, piecing together storylines and poems, always believing the happiness would never end and inspiration would always seep out of the sidewalk. These days, I sit in the same cafés and wonder if I’m sitting next to the future F. Scott or Zelda. Perhaps they wonder the same about me. What do you think of Paris Letters as a title?

Au revoir!

Janice

My Little and Big Acts to Save Up or Not Spend $100 a Day

1. Canceled my television service.

2. Sold my television. Saved money and time.

3. Used up my samples from Sephora.

4. Used up free things from swag bags given out at film industry events.

5. Used up all my cosmetics that were on the brink of their expiration dates.

6. Used up the creams that were just so-so before I repurchased my favorite.

7. Stopped buying things just because they were on sale and a good deal.

8. Stopped buying decorative items for my apartment.

9. Sold everything I didn’t use on a daily basis on Craigslist and eBay.

10. Traded clothes and bric-a-brac at the thrift store for a tax receipt.

11. Paid off my credit cards, thereby not paying interest or late fees.

12. Sold a few paintings on Etsy.

13. Added small price tags to the finished paintings I hung in my house. Visitors often bought without me feeling like I was selling.

14. Donated paintings to charity auctions instead of buying at the auctions.

15. Gave paintings as gifts, thereby not buying gifts.

16. Stopped buying art supplies and used up what I had.

17. Sold all the art supplies I had left.

18. Stopped going to energy-zapping group dinners.

19. Stopped spending time with draining friends (usually by not joining them for dinner).

20. Invited friends out for hikes, coffees, or frozen yogurt rather than wait until they invited me to pricey dinners.

21. Lied to friends. Or more specifically, told some of them I was busy when they invited me out. I think angels purposely put people in our path to ask us out to do fun things the moment we decide to take time for ourselves. It’s as if they are asking, “Are you sure?” Yes, angels! I’m sure. Stop giving me free tickets to see Dave Matthews!

22. Accepted free tickets to Dave Matthews. C’mon. It’s Dave Matthews.

23. Used up my running shoes. I had enough with enough zip to get me through the year.

24. Oatmeal.

25. Gave away books on my blog.

26. Scanned in photos and important documents then sold my scanner.

27. Became vegan, which is cheaper than eating meat. However I also became anemic, so I should have added iron supplements.

28. Drank all the tea in my house before buying more. Oh lordy, I had a lot of tea.

29. Drank all the protein shakes in my house before buying more. Same.

30. Took all the vitamins I’d bought. Same.

31. Went out on picnics and used up the plastic forks, knives, and chopsticks I had saved over time.

32. Traded stocks.

33. Actively participated in my health care plan. I got check-ups galore before I hit the road to make sure I was healthy. Preventative care, yo.

34. Stopped having house parties. They drained my soul and pocketbook.

35. Got my taxes up-to-date. Refund. Score.

36. Had car-free weekends. I took my bike instead and saved on the gas.

37. Near the end, I sold my car.

38. Sold my bicycle too.

39. Ordered a small coffee instead of a latte. It would have been cheaper to make coffee at home, but less social.

40. Said no to dinners at restaurants.

41. Stayed home at night and painted instead.

42. Took myself on reading dates instead of real dates.

43. Gave up on dating. There was always something to buy and I wasn’t interested in a romance once I had my eye on the road.

44. Stopped with the heavy (and therefore pricey) extra scoop of macaroni and cheese at the Whole Foods salad bar.

45. Also stopped with the mashed potatoes.

46. Stopped going to salad bars and started chopping my own vegetables.

47. Cooked at home. Startlingly easy if I planned ahead.

48. Only went to movies I actually wanted to see. In LA, it’s easy to get in the habit of going to every movie just to be fully educated.

49. Used up my movie gift certificates.

50. Did my own nails with all the polish I already bought.

51. Accepted gifts from people. Strange, but the more I released, the more I received gifts, largely in the form of free meals and stationery. I received them with a grateful thank-you.

52. Played guitar at night instead of watching TV. I did not sell my guitar.

53. Welcomed overnight guests into my home. Strange, but they basically fed me half the time out of gratitude for the free place to stay, and I was delighted to see them.

54. Traded my big seventeen-inch MacBook Pro and bought a smaller MacBook Pro. There are cheaper computers out there, but no. No, no. No.

55. Got a cheaper phone plan.

56. Got a cheaper phone. Most of those gigabytes were wasted on me anyway.

57. Searched my medicine cabinet before I went to the pharmacy. What I needed was usually in there.

58. Cancelled my online dating service as I had given up that my love lived in LA.

59. Stopped taking birth control. Saved the cash, but really, I wasn’t getting much anyway.

60. Listened to language CDs from the library.

61. Stopped walking into used bookstores. The temptation was too great.

62. Stopped falling for coupons. You know what’s cheaper? Not buying it at all.

63. Sold all my furniture except my couch that no one wanted. Ben ended up taking it off my hands, thereby saving me the Apartment Clearing Fee that I would have had to pay to my rental agency.

64. Sold my refrigerator to my rental agency. I figured the new renters would need a fridge. My friend Emily suggested this idea. I made them an offer and they took it.

65. Discussed the best way to sell things with my friends. They often knew.

66. Sold my kitchen table and used the cash to buy a coat from Patagonia, which I still wear nearly every day in rainy Paris.

67. Never EVER stopped having a housekeeper. She was cheaper than therapy.

68. Stopped going to therapy. It all worked out.

69. Tap water, not bottled water. It all worked out too.