Sometimes it’s surprising how life twists back around upon itself, winding in coils that have you revisiting things you thought you had left, re-finding connections that would have seemed preposterous if proposed initially. Last week I went to visit my friend Marilyne in Lyon, and the fact that she and I are friends can only be described as one of those strange coincidences that fills the lives of those who believe in greater perspectives. Her mom grew up in the same tiny town where my family is from before moving to France after college. She eventually married a Frenchman who would become a pastor of a tiny church in northern Paris and have three daughters. Years later, I moved to France and sought that church out, only to find within its walls the French people who I still love today, including her daughter Marilyne, who had even briefly attended the same elementary school as me during a year with her aunt in Kentucky. But it didn’t stop there. Marilyne eventually fell in love and the two came to visit me in DC before spending Thanksgiving and Christmas eve with my family in Kentucky. And then on Christmas eve, in the same spot where I would celebrate my wedding 7 months later, Ismaël proposed. They visited James and I on their American honeymoon, squeezing into our little home. And now, a year later, I took the train down to Lyon to spend a couple days in their little home, letting life twist back on itself again. Here are some snippets from my quick trip to Lyon. //Let’s be honest: I am kind of a Paris snob. I have visited other places in France, but I do tend to stick to Paris. But oh man, was Lyon lovely. We ate the first night at a guingette beside the river, a nice break from the noise of Paris, and I spent most of my visit just marveling at how clean, lovely, green, and hilly Lyon is. // //The view the hill overlooking the city… and the walk down.// //As France jumped from cold to SO HOT in like a day, we obviously had to stop for ice-cream before noon. We stumbled on the cutest place in the old part of the city that had at least a million flavors, among which were exciting things like the one I am holding that is poppy flavored. As in the flower. Made into ice cream. Poppy also happens to be one of my favorite French words – coquelicot – and, surprisingly, I don’t usually get to use it.// //Sunlight through stained-glass slays me every time. // //À la prochaine, Lyon. Till next time. //
- "Art rediscovers, generation by generation, what is necessary to humanness. " -John Gardner
Lately, on InstagramOur second foray into the very quiet halls of the National Gallery went much better than our first, which ended approximately 10 seconds after Henry discovered the full echo potential of his voice. But today we made it a full hour of relative calm (high kicks and all) so I’m mildly intoxicated by our success and making bold plans for full days spent sketching and waxing poetic on the merits of Dutch still lifes.Heavy is the hand that holds the cake pop. 💞Valentine’s Day had a rough start (because toddler tantrums and bakeries across town being out of their special holiday pastry after you endured said tantrum to make the trek there), but the day was redeemed with homemade cake pops, enthusiastic friends, and no restraints in sprinkles application. After naps we strolled around the neighborhood delivering them to friends. Henry has made this day a verb and keeps on asking if he can “Valentines more people,” which means shower the people he loves with things he loves. And that is the very heart of what we should celebrate today, in all its inclusive and platonic goodness.