Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Little Pleasures. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Little Pleasures. Afficher tous les articles
jeudi 21 avril 2011
jeudi 17 mars 2011
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.
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.
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.
mardi 15 mars 2011
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.
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.
dimanche 13 mars 2011
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.
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.
Flirting is in our genes
A super cute video made by Benefit to promote the benefits of a nice smile and translate body language. Nothing new under the sun, but it's just super cute...
dimanche 27 février 2011
Sundays are for lovers
And what if life is all about changing your coffee shop?
New coffee shop, new perspectives?
One of my favorite pleasures during the week-end, when I happen to be in Paris, is to buy the press and settle at the terrace of the coffee shop across the street. I just adore sinking in the news, getting drunk with the crazy rumours of the world, being ravished by the colors of Elle...
There are so many things to express, and so little to say.
And what if happiness is all about this kind of little pleasures?
My boiling café-crème, the first bite in my almond croissant, picking up the grains of sugar on the table, finding a coin under my chair, chitchatting with the garçon de café, with my old neighbor, with the florist, the baker, the janitor...
Some times ago, an ex pretender would get upset with me sinking in the newspapers on Sunday without paying attention to him, he thought we would soon look like an old couple, having nothing to say to each other. Well, truth is that I realized I actually had nothing to say to him anymore, and the problem was soon solved. I still enjoy my reading on Sundays, and I'm better alone.
But this morning, there was no more table for me at my favorite spot. We had to find another one, which happened to be even sunnier than my usual one.
At least Gizmo lets me read Le Monde and Elle, while he is sunbathing. I gained fresh ideas on a problem that is torturing me, a wise decision, and some freckles on my nose.
New terrace, new perspectives.
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