August 7, 2013

Installation.



Xavier met me for lunch near my office the other day. It was one of those spectacular New York days where, if you work on Park Avenue, the space the sun takes up between the mighty buildings seems to expand the stretch and beam of the avenue. During lunch on these days, people flood out to take in the air. They sit on the steps that line the buildings, eating their salads and sandwiches. Like any good Frenchman in reaction to this situation, Xavier is appalled. From his perspective, they are not properly installed to be eating lunch (I am going to borrow and use the French terminology in English for this phenomenon - " Être bien installé"). The general lack of proper installation has led Xavier (and many other Frenchies) to diagnose this as a pervasive cultural problem that affects many aspects of life and the proper realization of living. At first, I used to giggle at the absurdity of these judgments. Now I think the French may be on to something.

Food: French companies respect the rights of their employees to take the time every day to eat food at a proper table - fork and knife (the fact that a knife is often missing from American eating situations is a prime illustration of improper installation, according to you-know-who - not to mention how very "gold rush" it is). French friends are appalled when I recount that my lunch at work is generally eaten at my desk in front of my computer. But you are not properly installed to eat in that way! They object. This applies to all humans. Babies of Colette's age are expected to install themselves properly before being served any food and to continue sitting properly if they expect to continue to be served. In our recent séjour in France, the family were somewhat wide-eyed and alarmed when Colette, mid-meal, would stand up in her chair, reach out her arms to be put down and I would continue spooning yogurt in her mouth as she stood there on the ground (like a dog). Oh my. For my part, I just don't see her as being developmentally capable of sitting through an entire meal. Xavier says I am training her to be incapable of ever doing so by not insisting on it. I am literally depriving her of this important skill. I used to roll my eyes and mock him for insisting Marguerite sit properly in her high chair and be spoon fed through toddler-hood, never allowing her to touch her food until she was literally capable of correctly using a spoon. Now, as I watch Colette-the-monster make her food demands (points to the bottle of water and demands to drink from it), I sheepishly mull over the notion that he may be right.

Sleep: To be fair to the Frenchman this round, I have always admired his insistence on being "well-installed" for sleep. Marguerite has provided a fascinating aperture into French culture because I've watched Xavier literally transfer culture in teaching her the proper installation for things. Her sleep ritual has been constant and solemnized from day one. In France, this ritual begins for all people with shutters (les volets). Proper sleep cannot be achieved without barring light (and preferably sound) from windows (keep in mind, blinds and shutters are not the same thing). In a sleepy town like Bauge, les volets are shut before the sun sets and if you didn't know better, you might think everyone had vacated their homes and boarded them up. Alas, no. They are just getting installed to sleep. Even in Paris, every room with a bed's windows are equipped with proper metal shutters. This is obvious to the French. This past weekend, Xavier and I were walking along a US suburban street, full of houses with little wooden shutters and he remarked again and again, "These aren't real shutters! They don’t work." (If closed, these decorative shutters would only cover half the window pane). Truth be told, I had never actually thought that people close shutters until we lived in France. I only knew of the embellishing variety.

On any form of transportation: I really do love when the French talk about being "bien installé - en comfort." A train, plane, car or subway ride cannot be properly enjoyed without the proper setup.

Anyway, I think they are right. We, as Americans, are far too casual about the way we install ourselves to eat, sleep and enjoy life. Proper setup leads to a rich enjoyment/the opportunity to relish.

August 4, 2013

Bubbles.



Xavier, the marvelous papa, found a bubble machine that spurts out hundreds of bubbles at a time. Bubbles are Colette's current obsession. She says "bubb-ooos" over and over again and screeches with delight when one bubble gets blown. So, when suddenly there were bubbles abounding (he hooked the machine upstairs in a window and the bubbles cascaded everywhere in our little courtyard), Colette was literally shaking with astonishment. She had no idea bubbles could take this form. After standing with both hands near her face shaking for 60 seconds, watching the bubbles all around, she just began repeating *bubbles* *bubbles* *bubbles* *bubbles*. Marguerite was the perfect guide to dancing in the bubbles and eating them as delicacies in their descent to oblivion (we didn't have to lather much in the bath - both girls were pretty sudsy getting in).









August 1, 2013

Guggenheim.



Colette and I met Marc at the Guggenheim last weekend. The Guggenheim is one of Colette's favorites. Those ramps to walk up and then down - the sights, the sounds, the curves, the colors. The space outside. Everything is perfect for exploring, downdogs, dramatic breathing in and out - eyes wide open and shut.









Colette walked into the gallery space (which has been carved out of the grand open forum of the Guggenheim) and saw bodies sprawled all over the floor. She was delighted. "Dodo!" (Everyone is sleeping!) She joined right in, staring up at the rings of color above. Marc was glad to follow her lead.







James Turrell's rings were lovely in their moody fluctuations. Marc and I agreed the exhibition was strange in that it cut off one of the most compelling components of the museum - the ramp that leads up and down, allowing one to see the art from many vantage points. There was a sheath of fabric creating a tunnel from the top of the rings near the ceiling down to the lobby floor. We both wished we had been able to view the innards and workings behind the skin. Alas, no. We followed the ramp all the way up anyway - Colette loved the walk - and found a long line toward the top. No one knew what they were waiting for. Once we arrived many minutes later in a tiny room with a poorly lit, gray rectangular painting (?) on one wall of the space - our expectations were a bit dashed. Ah well. The rings are still worth the visit, however. If possible, go lie on the floor with the others on a week day when there are fewer little Colettes and bodies to distract. I think the light circles would be amazing to soak in with few distractions.

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