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Des Autres Bon Mots

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Happy Birthday, Mr. M.!

Wishing you a year-to-come full of wonderful meals with dear friends in lovely places. Thank you for making the world we know together a better and kinder place. 

Sunday, July 01, 2007

You Had Me at Bonjour

Last night we watched “A Good Year.” I loved it.

Honey P. teasingly griped annoyance at the plot: man (or woman) finds their way to happiness through a series of life detours. In cocktail genre terms, the Jerry Maguire. In this particular movie, a newly minted and emotionally impoverished millionaire inherits a chateau and vineyard from his estranged and newly deceased bon vivant uncle and rediscovers joie de vivre in Provence.

Who wouldn’t?

But the point of the movie isn’t the suspense. We KNOW he’ll find his soul ... and his soulmate. And everyone will get their groove back. It’s all about the backdrop. The cliff towns of the Luberon. The lush hills and long roads. And the chateau with the pool, the clay tennis court, the grapes vines. The local town with the quintessential open-air bistro. The scenery is spectacular, made all the better by the fact that we needn’t worry about the eventual outcome of the plot.

Now, I’m never going to inherit a chateau in France, but I’ll gratefully get lost in two hours of watching someone live out my retirement fantasy--for a little bit, I can pretend it’s me riding a motorcycle through the countryside, drinking extraordinary wine, and uttering moviestar lines like “Pardon my lips. They find joy in the most unusual places.”

Who wouldn’t?

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Sacred Sunday

Some people have date night. Honey P. and I have sacred Sunday. It’s the one day of the week that remains relatively untouched--barring weekend houseguests (not typical) or travel plans (even less likely)--and devoted to living in the margin.

The day begins with our reading the Sunday New York Times in our fuzzy robes. I get the Week in Review, Arts & Leisure, Travel, Business, and Sunday Styles. P. gets the homepage, sports, magazine and book review. We almost never trade sections. At the hour mark, breakfast (always eggs, bacon, toast, and espresso) begins. Then, clean up and ramp-up for what’s left of the morning and the afternoon.

Sometimes we spend the entire day working at our desks to unbury ourselves from the undispatched detritis of the week. Sometimes, we meet friends for a late brunch. Sometimes we walk into Andersonville and wander through the shops and boutiques.

Today, home improvement. We and half of the neighborhood showed up at The Gethsemane Garden Center for the first flush of spring/summer foliage. A little over $300 later, we returned home to plant. Two rosebushes. Three columbines. Two flats of vinca. Some shrubby purple flowers that looked adorable until I realized it would translate into five more minutes of stooping, digging, sweating, and swearing. And three hanging plants with baby petunias (I have no idea what they really are, but they look like petunias) for the balcony. Two hours later, I’m tan, sweaty, dirty, and wondering how we managed to move into another season of short-sleeve shirts and single layers without my shedding the extra 25 pounds that continue to make tanktops a privelege and not a right.

We move indoors. There’s a small space in the living room that, until two hours ago, housed a campaign desk, palm, and aphid-infested hibiscus. The hibiscus was rescued (better living through chemicals) and moved outdoors with the palm,, and we decided make that space a reading nook. Which meant wrapping the desk for storage and hauling it up to a relatively unused closet one floor up. And scrubbing the windows and floors clean of dead aphids (they’re like sea monkeys, but unflushable). And hauling a chair down three flights of stairs. (Few things try a relationship as easily as heavy furniture, winding staircases, and the need for someone to walk backwards.)

Then there was vaccuuming. And three loads of laundry. An hour worth of emails left from last Friday. And a second, desperately needed shower.

In a little bit I’m going to fire up the grill and pour myself a glass of wine to ease the pain in my back and legs and shoulders. Tonight’s dinner is skirt steak, grilled zucchini and onions tossed in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, a mixed green salad with tarragon dressing, and roasted potatoes. And after that, my favorite part of Sacred Sunday begins. The fuzzy robes, martinis, hours of incidental television, and our holding hands together on the couch. For just a little bit, the week that’s just passed is a distant memory, and the week-to-come feels a long and dim ways away. 

Thursday, March 15, 2007

My Name is Bob, and I’m an Addict

Yes, I’m addicted. To email. To my RSS feeds. To shopping on the internet. And I have no idea what I’m going to do, now that I’ve realized that WIFI is only available on ICE trains from Frankfurt to Koln and Dusseldorf. What about us poor sods going to Nurnberg, forfucksake. What are we going to do? Pack the entire contents of the minibar into our luggage? Not enough! (Besides, what are we doing to do the night before, if those little flacons of peace are already hidden in our briefcases?) Read? It’s near impossible to find a New Yorker (or Us, or People, or InStyle) in English here. I’m hyperventilating. Time for a happy....

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Haus Chicago

“I knew him when...”

...the store was a matter of casual conversation. You’re opening a store? Yes, said Greg. Where? Here in the neighborhood. Selling what? Usable art. Really? Yes, stuff that’s both beautiful and functional. Terrific, can’t wait! And Haus Chicago doesn’t disappoint.

Located at 5405 N. Clark Street, the boutique carries some of the most exquisite stuff. Jewelry, textiles, glass, pottery, wood, ceramics. But wait, there’s more--the handmade pottery goes in both dishwasher and microwave. The delicate silver pendant isn’t so delicate (I wore it night and day for a month). And the meteorite vase was beautiful enough to buy for myself and as a wedding gift for a colleague (different vase, I swear!).

It’s especially fun to go into the shop on weekends, when people are strolling up and down the Andersonville stretch. What’s more beautiful than the stuff Greg carries (and he has, for the record, almost flawless taste)? The people who buy them. Haus’ motto is “art for living.” Yes, indeed.

View photo gallery of some of Haus’ latest arrivals