Stolen Moments

Few days ago, I found myself with an hour free between a business meeting and a cocktail party.
One hour doing nothing, for how long it did not happen to me?
What was I going to do?
I've been already to Flottes twice that day, and although I really like it, I decided to discover a new place.
I work rue Saint Honoré, Paris 1st, which is quite the center of the center in Paris.
I followed the advices of a customer, and went to the salon de thé hidden on the 1st floor of the Hotel Vendome, which is Place Vendome, 1.
Delicious place...
I was the only customer for an hour, and dear, I really enjoyed this peace...

 I was spoiled by the charming maître d'hôtel, and I had the lovely place all for myself.
I found this cute book (I must admit, the lovely cover attracted me first...), about vintage, dresses and the way you look can change your life. Sounds like the story of mine!

The whole decoration of the Salon de Thé looks like a Dior showroom in the 60s, or like the movie Quadrille, which is one of my favorite. I'm not even sure it has been translated into English, or I'm not even sure it's possible to translate it into English, the dialogues being so French, and so old fashion in the loveliest way ever.

Few pictures of the movie, anyway, just for the pleasure. It is such a master piece, each image seems gorgeous...

Hôtel de Vendome,
1 Place Vendome,
Paris 1st
Salon de thé located on the 1st floor.

Credo

Mademoiselle en Fleur

Between the colors and the flowers that haunt me nowadays, it seems that every pore of my skin is screaming for Spring!
Thank you Marie Claire Italia for celebrating Spring!

Credits Xevi Muntané for Marie Claire Italia

Color Power

Have you ever noticed that colors can actually make a real impact on your mood?
Wearing bold colors actually give me so much energy, I tend to always look more like a parrot than a sicilian widow.
It gets you noticed too, but in a nice, and funny way, you can feel people are nicely surprised to see someone having the courage to wear colors.

Poster from this lovely Etsy boutique.

I've discovered the power of colors, living for about 5 years in a country were women are covered with black, even with 50 degrees outside. Now that I am back to Paris, I notice with despair that French women like black, grey and fade colors just as much, even if they're free to wear anything else here.
But as the French Vogue, then Elle, Madame Figaro and all the other boring magazines have announced, color block is the trend of the season!
Which makes me wonder if I'm truly happy about it... Not that I'm happy to come across mini-me versions every where in the capital. But after a season, when everybody will be back to their boring sad colors, I'll look old-fashion, which is even worst than looking trendy I guess...

Detox anyone?

Yesterday morning, my daily happiness moment was all set: having my first coffee in ages.
Being on a detox diet for 9 days, it meant a lot to me.
But when I arrived at my new neighborhood favorite coffee shop, Kooka Boora, I was really shocked to hear the news: the coffee machine was down, and they were waiting for the handyman to fix it.
Nevermind, I got to stick to my detox diet and had a beetroot/orange/carrot/ginger mix instead.

My delicious- but yet surprising- detox juice

And so did all the people that stepped into the coffee shop that morning.

Not only did I follow my diet, but so did all my neighborhood.
And maybe it's me, but I felt people were more relaxed reading their newspaper that morning, their faces less tensed, some were even engaging conversation with their neighbor, or only commenting on the surprising beetroot juice (not really in the French culture), but I felt the detox was somehow working on everyone...
The handyman should not have bothered to come that day.

Fruit Salad

What if, happiness after all was not all about "when I'll get this", "when I'll be that"...
But only a succession of small gifts life is offering you?

Saturday morning, I'm having my usual breakfast on the café terrace across the street.
On a detox plan that's killing me since 5 days, I am about to dive into the divine fruit salad I prepared for myself, when an old lady passes by.
I don't know why, but I always smile to old ladies. And this one looks particularly charming, and... old.
Our eyes meet, our smiles answer to one other.
And then she goes:
- You are so pretty with your fruit salad! It reminds me of Bourvil*! Do you know Bourvil?
And she starts singing:
- Salade de fruits, jolie jolie...

She made my day.
I only regret I was not quick enough to invite her to sit with me.
Guess where you'll find me next Saturday morning, looking for an old lady who sings?

* An actor/singer/comic you cannot know if you are not above 50 years old and French.

Of Men and Gloves

It's hard to tell why I like Vintage so much. Is it the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the discovery, the story behind each item, the tough negotiation...
I like to know, or otherwise to imagine, where my treasure comes from, where it has been, in which condition it was bought,... I am very inventive when it comes to giving life to a mere piece of fabric.

Last week-end there was a flea market in my street.
As always, I like to chat with the sellers and try to know "the stories".
I found some fabulous pieces, but my best treasure is the story of "the Man and the Glove Box".
I bought some gorgeous laces from the 19th century to a delicious lady, Mrs Monique S (her stand is called 'Wardrobe Secrets')
When I asked her for the gloves, she had to reach for the glove box which was out of sight.
As I was diving into it, she told me the story.
It's been at least 3 years, every time she exposes (meaning about 18 times a year), she gets the visit of a man, about 55 to 60 years old, who comes and goes straight to her glove box on display. Then he spends one hour detailing the content of the box, looking carefully at each glove, one by one, to replace them all in the box and leave without a comment. After about 3 years, she starts to find this game a bit strange or fishy, and therefore keeps a lid on the box, and keeps it away from the display.
Last time he came, about a month ago, he was speechless to see the box covered, out of reach. He did not dare asking the lady if he could have a look, and left empty-handed.
She hasn't seen him this week-end, he hasn't come to the rue des Martyrs market.

This story gets my imagination running. I find it extremely romantic, and I'm sure there is a beautiful story behind. Maybe he is looking for a lost glove from a pair, maybe he is looking for gloves which belonged to his true love, maybe it is the gloves his mother used to caress him with he is looking for desperately. Suddenly I wish I could meet this man and know more about his story. It sounds like the beginning of a book.

The Glove Box from Wardrobe Secrets, by Mrs Monique S.

It also reminded me a short story I have read few weeks ago, called 'The Dreamer from Ostende' by the talented Eric Emmanuel Schmidt.