Happy Birthday
05.28.2011 
In the United States, members of the Teamster's Union take their birthdays off. That's a great idea, so Kaaren took the day off from writing Paris Play. Instead, she and our visiting friend Tristine, for two days made the rounds of Paris publishers, then had two celebratory dinners, one with Tristine, her friend Barbara, and me at our friend Richard's marvelous Lebanese fusion restaurant, Savannah, the second with a group of friends from my French school, L'Alliance Française.
In place of her prose, here's a tribute to the god Hermes, the god of liminal spaces, of entrances and exits, of passages, of doorsills and of windows. Paris has so many doors and windows, in styles from gothic, to baroque, to rococo, to plain, they are an endless fascination: Where do they lead? What do they hide? What do they reveal? How long have they been in service? Do they squeak, or are they smooth operators?
Today, Paris Play is wordless, a silent door or window into our Paris.
--Richard
Reader Comments (19)
Thank you Guys,
Keep it coming and don't think that a lack of response is indicative of a lack in interest. It's just that you're both too incredibly productive; those of us who live by other means are intimidated by your prolific output.
Richard,
I'm enjoying your photographic explorations. I'm going to try to figure out how to attach some photos I've taken recently. They may end up in an e-mail.
Take care.
Steve:
Thank you, thank you.
Yes, we don't sleep, we don't eat, we just prowl Paris asking her to reveal her charms, and, lo and behold, she does. Then we (California word coming!) channel what we get for you all.
It's also a lovely place to visit (hint, hint).
R & K
HOT!! very hot. xxm
Hope you had the happiest birthday yet, Kaaren! Something tells me so. ( : What a perfect birthday tribute -- my favorites were the face above the garage, the Dalmation, and the tasseled, diamond-lace curtain behind the blue-framed window. You both inspire me and I'm continually blown away by Paris as it's seen through your eyes.
xoj
Nice photos Richard. Intriguing. Paris beckons.
Such visual delights Richard — thanks!!! It is "doorway intrigue" and a fantastic salute to Kaaren's birthday.
There are more glasses clinking here from your old neighborhood of Venice, California to join the celebration.
Cheers to you both,
Joanne
Happy, happy Birthday to you dear Kaaren... hope it was lovely and full of laughter and joy!!!
And Richard ~ such marvelous photographs! Such character you have captured in each and every one. I especially like the Jussieu photo and that young woman's (unintentionally?) balletic stance... and, of course, the mermaids!
Thank you for sharing this essay of Paris through your eyes.
Much love to you both,
dawna
Thank you one and all, from Kaaren for the wishes, from me for the comments on the photographs.
Yes, Paris is tasseled lace curtains, people who stand (if only for a second) in ballet positions in the Metro, Deco mermaid door handles, Dalmatians who'd much rather be outside, weathered symmetrical shutters, locked doors under the quais of the Seine that lead who knows where (I think trolls), a wonderful combination of the crumbling and flaking and the new.
Each day I just count our blessings at being here, and snap the shutter.
Richard (& Kaaren)
I love seeing France through your eyes.
Merci, Liz:
We look forward to seeing you see Paris through YOUR eyes shortly.
R & K
Dear Kaaren:
Malika's birthday either same day or bookending yours... Once she figures out how to comment she'll do so... her silence is technical not personal...
Meanwhile, an appropriate poem to this posting from a new book of mine:
___________________________________________________________
DOORS
If you hammer three times on the
door
and the first time hear only cacophonous
music and a sound of something
going down stairs in boots
And the second time windows
bang open in a whinnying wind
and furious leaves leave furious trees
from inside the house
And the third time a deathly silence answers
or three knocks knock back at you from
inside then maybe it’s
the wrong door down the
wrong street in the wrong city in a
wrong world altogether without
horses on bright green hillsides in a
fine rain
or flakes of light accumulating like
snow in drifts where
no snow goes
How many doors in a silken silvery mountain
turn out to be rock?
How many turn out to be waterfalls across
the endless valve corridor into the heart?
There’s a glimpse there of a sunlit place
of pure placid lakes and birds
falling on updrafts to spiral
away
Each piece of furniture in our hallowed place can be a
hindrance or a help
as we gaze forehead to forehead
at the stars in all their rotational expanse
Each piece of sky that lays across our
eyes a patchwork glimpse of
God’s entirety in a human-sized frame
The only knockable doors
the inside doors that
turn inward and were
open all along
_______________________
11/27/2010 (from The Caged Bear Spies the Angel, soon to appear)
Happy, happy, joy, joy......that's the opposite of profound, right? But it was all that kept going through my head: Snoopy unseen before Richard's doors, dancing down the sidewalk.......
Richard and Kaaren: I saw Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris and your Paris Play has enriched the experience. I have developed this incredible hunger for Paris. An ache. Your pictures and words delight and always open up creative pathways for me. You are living the adventure of life with gusto and panache. I must visit. I must! Thank you your words and photos. All my love and cheers, Jon
I've really enjoyed the recent photos. I don't have lots of time, but when I do, I like to come here. It's almost like being in Paris. Thanks.
Jennifer, Joanne and Dawna,
Merci for the birthday wishes!
Love and bisous to you,
Kaaren
Dear Daniel,
I loved your poem about doors. You are a spiritual surrealist.
When is Malika's birthday? I lifted a glass of beaujolais to her in a little cafe with a view of Notre Dame the other night, protected from the rain and lightning by big green umbrellas. Please give her my love.
Mutual friends were at your reading in the Bay area, and said it was captivating, sparkling.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Oh boy, Jon,
That means you'll be here for sure. Wasn't Midnight in Paris a delight? I just read John Truby's analysis of the film, in which he says it's not a love story, but a utopian fantasy and the best thing Woody Allen's done in years. I agree.
There will be much to sate your hunger when you get to Paris. Follow the desire line! as Frank used to say.
There is a kind of ecstasy in just meandering down the street, looking into store windows, at necklaces from Afghanistan, ancient metal toys, a cafe serving nothing but pasta, a cramped bookstore full of first editions, a museum of signatures of the great, and intimate lovely gardens everywhere.
Thank you for reading our journal with such gusto and panache!
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear Anna,
I love your Snoopy image. But joy being the opposite of profound? I think joy is the most profound emotion. Deeper than grief, stronger than hate, the apex of human feeling. But it doesn't reign until we've been down to the bottom of the difficult and dark, and come through. (Or at least, that's been my experience.)
Love, love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Don,
It's fascinating to us how, through Facebook, we discover friends with whom we have so much in common: loving poetry, writing, walking, reading, favorite books like those of Chaucer, and The Odyssey, favorite films like Ikiru, and more. We're glad to be friends with you. Thank you for your appreciation. And we hope to see you one of these days in Paris.
Love,
Kaaren (& Richard)