Fantasy Time When It Is Cold: Thursday's Reflection

Yes, it is cold here, but no problem, for I've decided to go to Paris.
At least vicariously.

Now I know it is not Arizona or Florida warm there in the winter, but when I checked this morning, it will be 37 with light snow today. I happen to love winter, so this sounds quite divine to me. What could be better than strolling along Saint-Germain-des-Pres, stopping for hot chocolate and a croissant at some charming cafe. Of course, I have a chic scarf wrapped around my neck and beautiful leather boots, and a sleek coat in a sunset color. And I speak impeccable French.

A cold winter day is the perfect time for fantasy. 

And so, as I dream of Paris, I browse through a charming book by Minnesota artist, David Coggins. Paris in Winter, An Illustrated Memoir combines ink and watercolor drawings with vignettes about his family's annual New Year's sojourns to Paris. 

           

            

            Museums are like churches. At least old Paris

            museums. The light is dim, floors throw back

            footsteps and the air is rarified if warmer. Most

            people go to museums and churches for the same

            reason--to be uplifted, to be comforted. (p. 91)

            Days are clear and mild, with spells of light

            rain and chill to remind us it's winter. The blue

            skies are welcome, but don't seem quite right. 

            Paris in winter is most itself when the sky is low

            and gray and sun nowhere to be found. Streets

            are more wistful and private, colors are deeper,

            wine better. (p. 170)

            We cross the Seine on the Pond des Arts. It's

            midnight. The hour changes and the Eiffel Tower

            lights up. We walk along the river next to the

            Louvre and cross back over on Point Royal. 

            Down rue du Bac to rue de l'University looking

            in the antique shops. We go into the cafe and sit

            down in one of the red banquettes.

                "Yes, I know," the waiter says, "Two Cognacs."

             (p. 211)

Alas, that is not my life, but I intend to take to heart what Coggins says about his book, "I hope people may be inspired to go out and find their own pleasures, find their own Paris...what speaks to you."

So this year I intend to find my own Paris in the life I have here. I have a head start because I work in a garret with books tumbling all around me. I own many scarves, even one I bought in Paris when we spent two glorious fall weeks there several years ago, and in the summer I sit at a bistro table in the side garden I call "Paris."

I know there is more Paris in my life just waiting for me to notice or to notice with new eyes. A cafe, a museum, a book store, a stroll along the river, a small theatre, the Cathedral, a gem of a house on a side street, an antique shop with gold-gilt treasures in the window. 

My version of Paris awaits. 

An Invitation

Where will you find Paris or perhaps another place and time that beckons you? I would love to know.