Last night we three hit the streets for free entertainment and dinner. After making one more round of the artists’ stalls in Monmartre and catching some questionable-quality street acts, we got serious about dinner. A little place I had staked out proved complet, or full. And in France there’s no hoping for a later seating because dinner is sacrosanct and none rushes anyone through the sacrament.
We opted for outdoor seating at a busy little corner which held promise of great people watching, regardless of the quality of food. And really bad food is rare in Paris. Fate didn’t fail us and we ended up chatting with a charming lady who lived around the corner who was walking her three month old puppy. She was and artist from Connecticut, who moved here twenty years ago to paint Paris. Hmmm…
This morning after kissing Jim, who is somewhere over the Atlantic, goodbye, Griffin and I took in Monet’s huge panels of water lilies, les Nymphéas, at the Musèe Orangerie, which surround you in two oval galleries, tricking you into thinking you’re in the middle of the lily pond as much as we are in the midst of Paris. I can’t wait to see how that mesmerizing experience will affect the paint flowing on our own panels will in two days when we hit the hills and streams of the Perigord.
For tonight, we have one more night to basque in this magical city of light. But I half expect our new friend, Mary Blake, to show up in the morning with her easel packed ready to join us on the next leg of our painting excursion. She’s but one of the lilies which has blossomed in this season of rare moments.