Details, Details!

One might think by my last few posts that I am taking a break from my blog break, but that person would be as wrong as a whole roasted pig at a summer company picnic.  I’m actually taking a break from Europe photos to show you some fantabulous new details at the loft.  And then I’ll get back to my blog break of showing you Europe from a TPH point of view.  The first pic is a toofer–you get the mirror and the reflection of the other lovely.

How awesome is that frame around the old bar mirror?  Bravo, Chris!  It is just what I wanted.  It is primed and ready for me to pick out a color.  I’m leaving the original frame finish and will match that gray for the trim details.  I freakin’ love the scale of it!

And the track door to the bedroom…perfect!  Just what I wanted, too!

Ebony stained oak–we saved money on the oak by using oak plywood instead of solid stock, and it looks just as good!  The divider walls are covered in pine 1x6s, which Chris ran over with a metal brush to accentuate the graining by scraping the softer wood.

The oak continues in the bedroom for the closet surround and the built-in bed.  It’s my little masculine concession for all the girliness.  The air vents have their first coat of pink!

My California friend Cheryl had an unexpected layover in Atlanta last week so we hooked up for some Ria’s Bluebird, Lotta Frutta, and a little loft tour.  She told Chris it was just like me to have a giant mirror.  We’ve been friends since we were 12…so I guess that means she kinda knows me.  Darn.  Oh well, this pic’s for you, Cheryl!

We go way back…

I love you, Cheryl, more than my new chevron door.  ’Cause my new chevron door’s got nothing on that blonde ‘fro.  Bali, next?

Now back to my break from my break from my blog break…I’m so confused.

Musée Rodin

Before I leave the subject of Paris, I have to remark on the loveliness of Musée Rodin.  I walked to the museum after meeting fellow blogger Peggy for coffee and croissants.  I was fascinated with her tales of being a young American mom living in Paris.  She insisted I would love the museum.

Dusty, grimey, worn, the estate-turned-museum ended up being one of my favorite stops in Paris because it felt human-scaled, intimate, and imperfect.  The galleries were as interesting to me as the sculptures–or maybe it is the combination of the two, the delicacy and the brute.  All I know is that I was also giving my victory yell and pumping my fist when I finally conquered the Metro.

A giant hand holding lovers…could Rodin be the father of bad mall art?

The gardens, ah, so beautiful–I was thankful that the rain held off long enough for me to have a stroll.  I think I’ve mentioned that I strolled a lot in Paris–and much of it in the rain.

Thank you, Peggy and Rodin, for a pleasant morning in Paris!

Exploring Paris

Lovers overlooking the Seine while the Eiffel Tower twinkles at twilight: yes, we did that.  But everyone keeps asking me what else about Paris?

As I’ve gone through the 500+ photos of the trip (edited down from the 700+ photos), there are two photos that stand out that embody the trip.  First, the walking:

Have I mentioned the walking?  Second, the map reading:

There were maps to Versailles, the Metro, the city, the Louvre…my nose was perpetually in a map, some kind of map.  Where the heck am I going, was always the question.  And the answer was probably, “To see another sculpture or painting of a woman with one breast exposed.”  Just one, mind you.  And this situation had my husband begging the question, “Where is this magical land of which the artists depict where a breast accidentally falls out for one and all to see?  Where, pray tell?”

It was our first time at Versailles.  Louis XIV knew how to live the good life, you think?  Here my courtier gazes out the window to the gardens wondering how he could graft his own boxwoods into a fleur de lis…or, how one might make it to that magical land…

After two nights in Paris with me, my love hopped on a plane and flew back home, leaving me to strike out on my own for a few days.  I had two things on my agenda:  shop and art.  I’ve been so busy that I didn’t really research beforehand except for pestering Ally for her suggestions and ideas.  The art was easy to plan, and I figured that I’d just wander for the shopping.  Twists and turns led me to some fun little discoveries, like this charmer on a quiet street.

There are always no less than 1,373,825 perfect photos to capture in the Old Country (I’m part Eastern European, so I’m legit to say OC), but I refrained because I just wanted to be...even though I was so tempted to photograph all those chippy-glossy blue, teal, and turquoise doors I kept seeing.  I mainly took photos to email back home to the kids, things that would interest them, like a random Mario on a Parisienne street behind the Centre Pompidou.

The little Painted House ones were constantly on my mind.  I could almost hear “Mama sweet, Mama purdy, Mama soft, maaa” from this sculpture at the Louvre.  ”Oh, Heavens to Betsy,” she says, “that pesky, perky mammary of mine has popped out of my flowy, drapey tunic again!  What ever will I do?”

Sacre Coeur hit my itinerary last-minute.  I sat, rested, and prayed in its dark expanse.  It was a fun touristy scene on the outside; and The Riff Raff, those cute chaps, were performing on the steps as I headed back down for more shopping in Montmartre.

Last words on Paris:  superb people watching, difficult for a vegan, love Zara Home, and I would love it more if Paris smoked less.

I’m working backwards here, but next up, our favorite spot on our first European trip since backpacking the continent in 1997.  It’s about as good as Cinque Terre.

Awkward in Paris

I thought about titling this post “American in Paris,” but I thought, oh, goodness, how many goofy bloggers have used that for their trips to Paris?  Plus, it may conjure up images of this goofy blogger as a fancy footworking scrappy artist who lands the perfect sponsor and her big break in the city of artists’ artists.  For one, I got no rhythm.  And, while I was doing some serious footwork, it was not fancy.  So, voila, as the French say, “Awkward” it is.

You see that?  A four-day museum pass with a smug Mona Lisa taunting me that I couldn’t stick it out.  That I couldn’t keep up with the paintings, the sculptures, the architecture, the walking.  I can and I did, you mysterious Italian cannoli with the mystic smile.  Trust me, she isn’t smiling to tempt a lover, she is smirking at your pathetic inability to be a man and walk every gallery of the Louvre…and then hit five other museums after that.

By the way, I’m still on a blog break, which kills me because the Modern Atlanta Home Tour was fun for me and the family and would have made good blog fodder–but I wasn’t toting my camera.  Visit Claire, she is giving great tours.  This one was my favorite, plus Terry was the docent here.  The house from railway containers interested me, too, in that it seemed surprisingly livable to me.  Terry has reports from the myriad Modern Atlanta events the week before the tour.

I will be back to bore you with my vacation photos.  On my blog break.

(You read that correctly.  A reference to both Gene Kelly and Nat King Cole:  I am a 85-year-old stuck in a 35-year-old’s body.)

Y’all doing okay?

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