He does. Who can blame him? He is sitting on a picnic-blanket-sized towel made by an old friend, who is reviving the handwoven towel craft in rural Turkey. I took this on the terrace the other day — our first sunny day in quite a while. And if you find Jennifer’s Hamam (jenifershamam — If your Instagram feed is a full as mine, you’ll want to find it, look at all her photos, and like mine. Vote early and vote often!) on Instagram and vote for this picture, I just might win a few towels to help us all enjoy our summers a little more. No pressure. He’s so cute, I might win anyway.
This birthday was a big one. I hesitate to tell you I turned 65. I want to hide behind all those old lady caveats — “but that doesn’t really describe me,” “but I don’t feel a day over 24, 35, whatever,” but all that just makes me sound, you know, old. Nothing to do about it, really. It is what it is.The best thing I can say is that I celebrated in France. Friends got this old lady out to a nice restaurant or two. Other friends celebrated at home. Much champagne was consumed, enough to help a person forget most anything. And Mr. France, in a stroke of absolute genius, booked us into a week of thalassotherapy.
Les Thermes Marins are at a grand old hotel on the beach at Saint Malo. In case you are wondering, I get nothing for mentioning them. I’m just saying. I could go back any time. More yoga, more massage, more time doing guided meditation while floating in warmed and purified sea water, bring it on. Oh, and as long as you don’t drag him right into the spa, your dog can come, too. You can see him above, hoping that if he holds still for a bit, we can go to the beach. and here, if the link works, is he actually at the beach.
We weren’t ready to go back to Paris, so Mr. France found a little hotel that is part of a group called “Relais du Silence,” luxury hotels out in the middle of the countryside. So which part of the countryside did we choose? You get one guess and one hint.
Now back to real life.
This is Jacques at the vet. We had just gotten to the house from Paris and the little apartment bound guy was running off some energy. He found a cat and chased it way deep into the back garden. You see only part of the result. His bloody little butt is the other part.
I’m sure the cat owner would argue that his beloved was acting in self – defense. Me? I would argue that the psychopathic sport – killer was trespassing and disrespecting the security guard. He deserved far worse than a good scare. If I lived in Texas, like my sister, I’d be packing heat; “cat” would be written on every bullet.
However I’m in France, so I found a nearby 24-hour vet. Jacques got a shot for the pain, plus some pills and ointments. We’ll see how he does. It’s amazing how the French kicks in when it has to. Ordinarily I can barely order a coffee.
There are cat people and dog people. I guess you could say I’m a dog person.
So Jacques got a scratched eyelid. The eye itself was not damaged. We can’t really tell what happened at the other end, apart from a solid hit. He’s taking antibiotics. I added Neosporin for his bottom, in addition to the vet-supplied drops and ointment for his eye. Of all things, his tail may be broken. He cries every time we touch it, so we’re waiting to see about that.
I’ll stop now. You don’t want to hear my 10 – point rant on why psychopathic sport – killers — oh, oops, cats — should be kept indoors.
Must wake up.
Apart from that extra five or six daytime sleep hours — no, it doesn’t really affect the amount of sleep I need at night — it has been a good day.
I got my hair cut. I’m a regular now, greeted like an old friend. The stuffed ostrich behind my hairdresser is totally ordinary, part of the furniture, though I would miss it if it were gone. The surprise was that David Mallet took a break from doing shoulder-length blunt cuts on stunning young women — straight out of Haircuts 101 — to do something sculpted and very flattering for a woman even older than I am. I was impressed; when the situation calls for it, that man can cut hair. The place was happy and busy, maybe because Fashion Week just ended and everybody can get back to real life. This is one of my favorite places in Paris. I am glad I can finally go in there every six weeks, just like I’m supposed to.
On the way to the Metro I found a shop that sells incredible housewares. No, sorry, don’t know the name, but it is just off rue Rivoli. Across the street is the Louvre des Antiquaires and to the left and across rue Rivoli is the Louvre itself. I resisted the stunning sushi plates and tea bowls, only just, contenting myself with a little Chilewich mat for dog bowls. Zero One One? Was that the name of the shop?
Did I mention the puppy? No? Well, he’s not here yet. All in good time.