Lyon

As a 17 year old, I spent part of a school year homesick and lonely in Lyon, largely missing the city’s charms. Living with a French family who spoke no english and attending a local “lycée”, I was so far out of my comfort zone that I truly couldn’t appreciate it. I arrived just after Christmas to snow on the ground, which, in Seattle, is a rather rare treat. In Lyon however, the snow sat on the pavement of the sidewalks and streets getting filthy and smelly (think lots of dogs, few parks and lots of poop mixed with melting snow on the sidewalks). It was cold and gross and I had no one to talk to as I walked to and from school trying not to slip in the brown slush. With only two years of high school french under my belt, I sat through eight hours of philosophy a week, falling asleep in class nearly every day from the sheer exhaustion of trying to understand what was being said.

Returning to Lyon as an adult, I’m always surprised at how much it offers. For the last 20 years one of my Irish cousins and her husband have lived just outside the city, giving me reason to come back on several occasions. Usually, its been a stopover to meet her and her family to head off on some crazy adventure with our combined lot of six children. But this time, with the kids all well on their way to grown, I arrived to spend some time with her, her husband and sister. It had been over 10 years since I’d seen any of them, so we had a lot to catch up on. No grand adventures were planned, just being together.

Mornings usually found us long at the kitchen table munching croissants and drinking coffee regardless of the schemes concocted the night before. Whatever it was seemed to take on less urgency on the heels of yet another 2am bedtime. Some time after noon, we’d all of a sudden realize that the day was escaping and come up with an improvised plan based on how many hours remained until dinner. On one outing into town we checked out an area called “the docks” – previously warehouses along the river – which is being completely redone to house clubs, cutting edge furniture and interior design stores that cater to a hip, young, multi-cultural, international set.

An orange cube building initially caught my attention, but at further inspection, the buildings on either side matched the orange cube with their own innovative but less outrageously colorful elements.

We wandered through the medieval warren, “Vieux Lyon”, with its narrow alleys, covered walkways, and secret passages built to protect bolts of silk, (an industry for which Lyon was known up until some time in the 19th century). Theoretically, we were trying to decide where to eat dinner but got sidetracked by ice cream in a central plaza near the river, which gave us the opportunity to spend more time teasing each other, laughing and telling stories. But this is Lyon, and meals are serious business here, so after wandering and window shopping a little more, we retrieved warmer clothing to ward off the evening chill and launched ourselves into the evening’s next culinary adventure.

Some time since 1979, Lyon became home to a collective of artists who paint giant murals on the walls of the very ordinary urban residential buildings that line the banks of the Rhone and Saône rivers. Now, every other block sports a building or two painted with elaborate trompe l’oeil designs and enormous pictures of life in Lyon. I’d seen a few small, decrepit versions of these in the old part of town, but crossing the river, I looked up, stunned to see the playful, colorful paintings ornamenting the same buildings I had trudged by daily lamenting to myself the dreariness of this town where I’d landed.

After four days of hanging out with cousins, exploring the country lanes near their home as well as the contrasting newer and older parts of Lyon, I headed off on an early morning train to Italy, the second leg of my pilgrimage to reconnect with people I hadn’t seen in too long.

Saying goodbye, we vowed to do this again sooner. It was a new way of being together for all of us. No major plans, no destinations, no need to entertain young children, just hanging out, talking, eating and being. As I’ve said, I’m still learning how to do this thing, and I can’t say that there weren’t moments when I looked at the clock and thought, “Are we going to do anything today?” without an accompanying feeling of anxiety that indeed, we might not! In retrospect, I look back and think how silly that thought was. The idea behind it is that “if I’m all the way over here in France, shouldn’t I be doing something?” And being all the way over here in Seattle, I look at that and think, “how ridiculous.” Those memories of watching the royal wedding at 1am after finishing dinner somewhere close to midnight, sitting at breakfast until after noon and grilling steaks in the back yard are the ones that will stick with me long after I’ve forgotten the images from the cool trompe l’oeil paintings.

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Two Different Lenses

Friday Afternoon

After dragging my camera all over town with me today, it wasn’t until late this afternoon on my way home from a long list of errands that I found anything that inspired me. The warmth of real spring sunshine was distracting and I just wanted to wander aimlessly. I wasn’t really interested in finding the “great shot” for the blog.

After yesterday’s photographic excitement of the Aquarium with its coral and jellyfish, even the Arboretum, in the full glory of spring’s blossoming trees, wasn’t doing it. I love the Arboretum. Its a comfortable, familiar place. I loved walking through with my camera this afternoon, but its like being in the mountains, the photos never seem to quite capture the magnificence of the scene. Continue reading

St. Paddy’s Day

Camellia

Today’s title really has nothing to do with the writing, its just that I’m a good Irish girl and its St. Patrick’s day. I thought all along, while I was writing tonight, that something of that would show up, but it didn’t, so I’m taking the liberty of honoring my heritage in the title, with almost no reference to it beyond that point. I didn’t even photograph the lamb and potatoes I made for dinner. (My kids don’t like Corned Beef.)

Instead of coming home from taking my charming 13 year old to school this morning and sitting down with my morning pages, I sat down with my camera. 13 year old girls can be merciless at times, and I simply didn’t feel like rehashing the details of the morning and previous evening in words. Better just to let it slide away while slicing open flower buds and seed pods with a razor. Continue reading

Familiar and Unfamiliar

Warm and Sunny

Slowing down and allowing myself to feel the fatigue that I have resisted for a long time has side effects I wouldn’t have foreseen. Opening the door to disavowed feelings and sensations means opening a can of worms. I can’t just choose what I’m willing to feel that’s inside. The last couple of days I’ve run up against an uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling of discouragement. Continue reading

The Carrot

Waiting

Did I succeed in being in bed, lights out before 12? Yes. This reward thing could be the hot ticket for getting me to actually get more sleep and more rest.

Am I succeeding in feeling inspired tonight? No. But I did get to ski in a foot of new snow for the day. Continue reading

A Birthday

Washington Square Arch

It may not appear to be the case, but I have actually taken some photographs here during the day. The night ones are my favorites though. Its amazing because all three of them have been shot without a tripod. I’m not sure why I lugged that thing all the way from Seattle, but I suppose if the weather had been better and I were actually out on specific photographic missions, then I would bring it along. As it is, I’m kind of shooting when I’m not inside someplace warm and dry. Continue reading

Juice It!

Fresh Spring Greens at Juice It

So… how does this relate?

Actually, its the name of this place in the bottom of the Convention Center where I went with my brother for lunch. Brown rice, fresh raw veggies, yummy sauce… a perfect no-guilt way to fill up. We could have added some by finishing off our lunch with some fresh, warm chocolate chip cookies, which were part of the conversation, and might have, had the topic not taken a more serious turn. Continue reading