Paris Shondering and The History of Emotion
Originally written, Thursday, September 19, 2013
Paris Shondering and The History of Emotion
The alarm went off like a scream in the night, and in spite of that, my mom still had to reach over and poke me to get me to fully wake up and dash over to turn it off. Yeah....no. I went back to bed.
About thirty minutes later, I realized there was coffee and corn flakes in the hotel lobby and I'd better get myself presentable and down there before the Crazy Ladies from Minnesota went through everything like American Locusts. As I stepped over the lobby/dining area, there they were, the Ladies from Minnesota. I grabbed my coffee and sat with my back to the wall so I could watch the theatre of these women. They were here for food, like so many other Americans...I just didn't get it…that ‘Food Tourist’ thing. Except for one...she was here for the CEMETERIES. I swear. I looked at her as she was telling her stories of her adventures in the cemeteries. She looked normal - not dressed in all black like I was, she was dressed in very utilitarian cotton trousers and t-shirt with a backpack and those Birkenstock sandals. Her hair looked like she cut it with a Flo-bee, or at the Barbers...again, utilitarian. Gasp! Think fast...! She was approaching me at a determined pace!
"Hi!" she said, a bit too loudly, and smiling a bit too broadly at me.
"Hi!" I said back, looking up at her and dropping both feet firmly to the ground in case I needed to run away.
"I'll bet you don't know where we're from!" she said, again, a bit too loudly. I mean, what was I gonna say? I could hear their Minne-SO-tah accents from the 2nd floor landing. "Well, I think probably...Wisconsin." I said, out loud to her, purposely aiming for the wrong state so I could allow her the delight of telling me where she was from. "Nope!" she said, sending the "oh" sound out through her nose. "We're from Minne-SO-tah!" I breathed out an expression of shock, "Ah-ha...! Really...??!" and crafted a smile and raised eyebrows in a surprised face just to add to the theater of the moment. She went on to tell me that her name was Shari, which means "Spirit" in some Asian language. She wanted to know if I "had languages" and if I "had religion". I decided to stay on the safe side of life and tell her "no", to both questions and made up a story about having to get busy with my day, just to make my escape.
The plan for the day was to visit Notre Dame and then head over to the Louvre with my Dad while my Mom went for her Great Paris Facial. The Great Paris Facial ended up costing her 60 Euros before she even got there, after she confused the location and had to hire at least 2 drivers to get to her to the Facialist. She accepts full responsibility and left feeling like Heaven's Angels had cleansed her face. Once my we and I got to the beautiful cathedral of Notre Dame, we were lucky enough to walk right in with a minimum of drama. Once inside, the humanity and history of this building took my breath away. 850 years of births, deaths, marriages, schemes, murder, political intrigue, and the mundane...painting, sweeping, wiring for electricity and telephone, replacing lamps, replacing prayer votive candles,picking up trash and even the hundred thousand times someone refilled the holy water in the front of the building.
It was all there...humanity, and it overwhelmed me - I felt as if I could feel the weight of the History of Emotion. After pausing to pay respect to the History of Emotion and all those souls who've gone before me, we moved along through the building and after reaching the back part of the cathedral, my mom noticed aloud, "See this? Why doesn't someone just dust this? If they would [dust this], you could see the colors so much better!" While I agreed with her, I did shrink a little bit in my DKNY tights. I could feel people staring. Mom also noticed aloud that the new Catholic confession service at Notre Dame was a modern face-to-face arrangement (very 21st century) and again, my mom soon noticed aloud that this new set-up looked a lot like a manicurist's station and proclaimed, "Look! Are they giving manicures?" By this time, I had shrunk so much in my tights that they were around my ankles.
After leaving the beauty of Notre Dame, we walked around the Latin Quarter (so named for the Sorbonne cooking school there), and my folks looked for a place to eat. I was not really interested in food (not unusual) and chose instead to do a little wandering and shopping, or SHONDERING. I left my folks at a cafe and skipped away, excited at the prospect of what I might find...like I was mining for experiences and adventures. After dropping a 5 Euro bill in the cup of a beggar who had the most adorable black spaniel at his feet (and making a mental note to bring my dog if I ever needed to beg on the streets), I turned down the street to my left. Wow...as if it's news to anyone; the sheer variety and amount of items for sale in Paris is staggering. I found a cool little gallery that dealt in vintage advertising, and found some amazing items. Enough said, the items there might be destined to be presents for someone, so I'll leave it at that. There was a vintage jewelry store nearby where I had to pray, chant, beg and will myself not to go in; like an alcoholic in a wine store, I just should not, ever, go into any jewelry store. Anywhere. Ever.
I ran into my dad as I was walking, still blindly chanting after leaving the vintage jewelry store, "Don't go in there...don"t go in there...don't go in there"
"Where have you been?" he said, with furrowed brow, as if I had been whisked off the streets by the Russian Mafia. "Shondering" I said, holding my package in the air like a trophy. "What??" he said, clearly confused. "Never mind" I said, "Didn't you want to walk over to The Louvre?"
