After an incredibly long day of walking parts of Paris I didn’t even know existed {and that’s saying something}, and dealing with TC’s ridiculous requests — I was ready to call it an early night.
People. For reals. The second something is not going as planned, TC gets all up in arms and immediately is all, you need TO DO SOMETHING, you need TO GO ASK SOMEONE ABOUT THIS. What the HELL are you waiting for?!
Every single time he has said this {too many to count at this point}, I try to remain as calm as possible and as kindly as possible point out that his requests are completely absurd and will make both of us look like the most idiotic Americans who ever stepped foot in Paris, let alone all of France.
The most entertaining of these outbursts occurred today, right as we arrived at the Musée Jacquemart André.
Lines. Fancy that, People. And moi having to be the voice of reason. TC starts freaking out, demanding that I ask Monsieur Line Officiel if we really did need to wait in the line, or if we could wait in the other line that was noticeably shorter.
I point out the fact that there are signs in front of each line, clearly stating that one is for tickets and the other is just for the café. But no. TC continued on for a good 15 that I needed to ask and what was I waiting for when I can speak French and if I wasn’t going to ask he’d protest against me and blah blah blah blahhhhhhh.
Let me ask a question that the answer is written out in front of me. You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s entertaining, I will definitely give him that.
In an unforeseen twist of art fate on my part, TC was utterly bored with the Jacquemart. I thought he was insane, until I realized, the best part about it is the résidence itself.
You know, pretending that’s my Grande Salle d’art where I meet and greet and entertain … not like I’d ever actually do that. The meet and greet. I’m not the best entertainer. I so admire those of you who are.
Last summer I was in artifact heaven with their Egyptian exhibit — I have a big thing for the Egyptians and my badass heroine, Cleopatra. I still can’t get enough of her, even after reading Stacy Schiff’s book.
So I fully blame the sphinx’s for overshadowing all the boring art that makes up the permanent collection … it’s mainly all those portraits of the noblesse with weird hair wigs on and freaky looks of, I could be hiding dead bodies in my wine cellar, on their faces. Did I mention creepy? The portraits, not the pad, because let’s be clear — I freaking love that maison.
We were out of there in under an hour {a personal best} and TC insisted we go check out the canal. I insisted we call to see if boats were running {they normally start back up April 1st}, but for some reason I listened to him. We hauled all the way. Closed. I was forced to find comfort in a Nutella crepe.
Ended up walking a few miles of it, which was very cool and I was overjoyed to discover the Paris Water Club — how did I not know I could kayak and canoe the Seine?! Row it, too. Not like I could ever do that alone. Any of them. We all know that’s what I have Brother and The BF for. Working while I lounge.
We had a café pitstop at the former customs house – La Rotonde de la Villette.
I think I would have been perfectly happy, back in the day, working at this place. Marble, high vaulted ceilings, objects d’arts {where aren’t there objects d’arts?}, wonderful lighting, and a downright gorgeous building.
Getting hopped up on coffee was exactly what we needed because TC announced, immediately after downing all of the second café américain we were supposed to share, that we were going to go walk one of his fave spots in one of his fave ‘hoods — three miles of the Viaduc des Arts.
That TC really comes in handy. He has great ideas of things that would never be on my radar, like Le Viaduc. A must do if you’re in Paris.
By the time we finally got back to l’appartement, my feet were throbbing, TC was done in and the last thing I wanted to do was go back out. But I remembered – Saint Sulpice was having their Easter Vigil Service.
And there was Higher Self, telling me I needed to get off my ass, and make sure we made it. Damnit . So annoying. But so right.
What else is there to do when you have Higher Self telling you to do something? And then TC was freaked out that if we didn’t do what Higher Self wanted, we would be jinxed or cursed. This could be good bargaining power for later. Thanks for that, Higher Self.
We arrived Saint Sulpice and very carefully chose seats way in the back and at the side — for easy leaving access. The last thing either of us wanted was to get stuck in a high Catholic mass. I mean, considering we’re not Catholic and all. Right. Makes perfect sense.
As soon as we sat down, the priest made some announcement that I could barely hear, or understand. But it’s pretty damn easy to figure out what’s going on, when everyone stands up and walks out.
Alrighty then. We follow. We leave. A fire is lit outside. Candles are passed out. Warning : this is when it turns all holy.
People. Very few words for this. So few words for any of those moving, time stopping moments we have in our lives, right?
Where I’m afraid to even write about it, because how could words ever possibly do it justice? Won’t they just fail? They might but I’ll try anyway.
We were re-enacting the road to the cross, the Christ walk. Lighting the eternal flame of hope.
As we all filed in, one by one, illuminating a pitch black Saint Sulpice, I was overcome with emotion. Standing there in candlelight, shadows dancing upon the walls.
This breathtaking church from the 1600’s. Aglow. Light and life blending into one.
I listened carefully to the words being spoken, each one resonating in my being. Each syllable striking a chord of truth.
That’s what the truth does — it moves us. I always know when something is true, because I wait for the feeling … a little stirring flutter that starts in my stomach and gradually continues up to my heart.
I alternated between much standing and sitting, gripping that candle. Holding on so tightly that my fingers began to hurt. Trying trying trying to hold on.
To continue to feel this truth — of love for God and all {My} People. The message of service to others and to know that we are the flame of light. We are the ones who light up for each other and the world.
The absolute simplistic beauty of these words brought me to tears. It was the overwhelming emotion of a divine love … not only in me that I felt but that I just wanted and want to give, that I hope I do. In some little way throughout each day.
When everyone blew out their candles and that brief second of standing in total darkness occurred, I vowed to remember … light to dark … seeing to not seeing … this delicate dance of the back and forth we go through.
And If I can be the candle for just one person, I will consider myself to be a huge success. Maybe if we all … decided to be the light for one, we could power this world on our own.
I like to think it’s possible. Maybe … there’s nothing we have to do. Nothing we have to go buy and give away, no massive action to take, other than the act of simply loving one another.
This thing is not random. We are in this together. Always have been and always will be.