May 19th--Happy Birthday from St Maurice

Dear Mother,

Happy Birthday!  Yesterday I took a birthday picture for you, a little something for you to translate from the Latin—I’ve always been impressed by what you remember from your Latin seven decades ago (or so) and how you emphasized cognates to me when I was studying it in high school.

 

Yesterday was a shooting day. I worked on some pictures and the blog in the first part of the morning, briefly saw Rachel, the Blough’s eldest, now a lawyer working in Paris, and then we headed out, Janice to get bread and something for her lunch, and me to get the metro and get shooting. I bought a nice sandwich at the local bakery (French baguette made of whole wheat and grains, ham and Swiss cheese and of course real butter). I bought another carnet (10 métro tickets) and got a train almost immediately. In fact, the subways come about every 3 minutes during the day, which is absolutely remarkable and so handy. Then I started daydreaming, and the next thing I knew, I had missed my station. So, out came the map, which is tantamount to wearing a sign that says “tourist!”, and I made new plans. I went a bit farther, to Chemin Vert (green path . . . I’m sure there was once grass in that part of the city, but not now). As luck would have it, this took me to the camera district, so I enjoyed a bit of window shopping, knowing that buying would be impossible (guarantees would not be valid in Canada, for starters). I then found my way to a church that was unknown to me, other than I had just seen it on a map, Saint-Denys-du-Sainte-Sacrement, finished in the early 1800s, during the Restoration, or after the Revolution had run its course and France wanted to return to normalacy of sorts. Its front looks more like a Greek temple than a church, but neoclassicism was all the range at that time, so neoclassic it was to be.

I liked the clean classical lines, arches and open spaces, so I shot there and wandered at leisure for perhaps an hour.  They had interesting wicker chairs and also wicker kneeling chairs, lower, with a place to rest your arms/hands when praying.  They looked hopelessly uncomfortable.

Hunger took over, so I left the church and started on the enormous sandwich. It may not have been exactly health food, but it certainly tasted great. This is the sort of sandwich I used to eat daily for lunch in Paris in the summer of 1977, so it likely brought back memories of living on a very tight budget, being lonely without the family, and wandering the streets after dinner in order to get exercise so I could sleep at night (after spending all day in the National library). I then realized I was getting close to the Isle St Louis, so I took the bridge, took the second left and found the church, St-Louis-en-Isle. Janice and I had come across this church on our last day in Paris last summer. At the time, I only had the G9 (camera) along, so those pictures did not turn out very well, but this time I had the big cannon and time to burn.

This church was much nicer than I had remembered. What photos cannot show is that the organ was played for the full two hours I was there, practicing some Bach fugues, possibly for Sunday, possibly for a concert. Men were setting up microphones by stringing them across the nave with pulleys. The organist did not change registrations very often, so I kept wishing to hear what else this new organ could accomplish (I think the organ was reconstructed after 2000). The music both slowed me down, in a very nice way, and encouraged me to stay longer. 

As the clouds moved, the light changed constantly in the sanctuary, so I would quietly return to spots to retake things in the new light. At one point, I was running out of ideas, so I thought to myself, “If Mark were here, what would he be seeing, and how would he shoot it?” Then I remembered that he (being younger) likes to crouch and take advantage of lower angles, so that’s what I did, for a while imagining we were shooting, side-by-side.  However, crouching is slowly becoming a major activity--getting up anyway, with the heavy camera backpack and all.

By 4:00 even my Kajamaynor had run out of ideas, so I decided to meander toward home, taking some shots along the way.

Seeing the bookstalls along the River Seine reminds me that it is time to replenish my supply of French books for the coming winter.  I have seen a few in shop windows but didn't want to lug them around all day.

Catching the metro and then changing to another, I emerged above below street level looking for something to make for supper. I settle on the lazy man’s choice, a grilled half chicken (an idea I stole from Hans). I like the taste and Really like the amount of work it requires of me (zilch). Janice added a salad of superb lettuce I got the day before, plus some lentils cooked with chicken (OK, from a can, we’re on holidays) and a fresh ripe black tomato that was delicious. Some flat beans (my favourite) rounded it off, plus a few perfectly ripe strawberries. I mentioned earlier that fruits and veggies are outstanding here. Well, it’s true, but they are also more expensive than in Canada, so I guess you get what you pay for.

Before supper, I mowed the lawn, which is ironic because I am paying someone to mow mine while I mow over here. The work day drawing to a close, Neal and I solved still more of the world's problems until about 7:00 and it was time to prepare things to eat.  After supper, I walked with Janice to the local post office so she could mail a postcard to her grade 5 students at the UBC farm.  It will be nice for them to get something from France, and give their teacher a 90-second distraction.

How nice it would be if you could somehow get out for your 89th today, and get away from the same food you have daily. As I was eating my lowly sandwich while strolling purposelessly on some side streets, I wished you could be here to have a quiet birthday lunch at some café with us. I still remember so fondly the time our paths briefly crossed in Paris in perhaps 1990, and you and Dad treated us to breakfast at your hotel's restaurant just before you flew back.

Again, happy birthday, Mom!

Love from us both, Evan