Posts from June 2015

Paris In The Springtime

June 3, 2015

The first time I went to Paris was with my mother. I was about ten-years-old and I wore pink leather shoes with bows on them and ate frog’s legs on the bateau mouche. My next trip was in my late teens to see Tartuffe and explore the Musée d’Orsay with the school. We spent a lot of time sitting in tabacs smoking Gauloise, drinking coffee and painting our nails rouge noir. Clichéd I know, but so cool. Jason and I stayed in the latin quarter in the winter of 1999 and explored the entire city by foot and shared the best steak frites and tarte tatin we’ll ever eat. More clichés, more cool. He bought me a pair of Stephane Kélian shoes that I’m pretty sure I still have in a box, somewhere. We went back again, with Iole fresh in my belly, and bought beautiful bras from the Bon Marché, spent seven-minutes in the Louvre (to wave at ML) and had our first taste of a Ladurée macaron (before they were a cliché). One day, I’ll take Iole to Paris to buy a vintage umbrella and drink hot chocolate at Angelina’s. And yes, we’ll ride the bateau mouche.




Push Tack

June 3, 2015

My neighbour is an avid windsurfer, a sport she says is more about skill than strength.  I have a tendency –– with stubborn lids, pesky locks or hard-to-open packaging –– to use brute force with zero patience and no technique. Minus bashing a door down or breaking a piñata, few things are accomplished that way. When I was in the pushing stages of childbirth with Antimo, I remember the nurse, Irina, encouraging me not to push with such wild abandon. “Stop sending your energy to your fists and your wrists and your toes. Send it to the right place.” Her advice helped, and minutes later, out flew my beautiful, 9 lbs baby boy. Luma was my longest and most physically challenging labour of the three, but my body must have learned something along the way, because I have never felt as controlled, confident and in sync with another human being as as I did pushing her tiny body into the world.



June 2, 2015

My neighbour Josephine brought me a fully bloomed peony from a tree in her garden today. It’s Schiaparelli pink and it belonged to Josephine’s mother, who divided the root and gave one part to Jo and the other to her sister. I’ve never really thought about the lifespan of a peony, but this one is almost eighty-years-old. Peonies are my absolute favourite –– the grande dame of flowers.




Very Valentino

June 1, 2015

We christened Iole in the tiny Pandanassa church on the edge of chora on the island of Folegandros. I wore an Ungaro dress of my mother’s to church and then changed into a vintage Valentino skirt for the dinner we hosted in Iole’s honour that evening. The skirt is white and covered in appliqué flowers, and in true Cycladic spirit, I wore it with a pretty silk blouse, blue like the shutters on a sugar cube house. Last week, I played dress up with my Mama, (who is visiting from London) and tried on an exquisite Rochas skirt made of heavy silk and printed all over with bright coloured birds. It’s breathtaking, and if not for the wild price tag, I would have worn it to Luma’s christening. Instead, I’m going to pull out the Valentino again. And maybe one day the girls will wear it, too. Much like the Rochas, it’s a future heirloom if I ever saw one.



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