Face It: Paris Ate My Knitting

A friend once proposed a rival site to Facebook, called Face It. People would only post when they were having a bad day and wanted commiseration. No vacation photos or adorable kiddie antics allowed. Face It posts are written in that spirit. They are "complaining songs" to put it in the parlance of Winnie-the-Pooh.

"I can't really love Paris.  She's too expensive a mistress."  These were the words of our friend Justin, who works in France and occasionally visits the capital city. When I heard them, a big part of me agreed.  Yes, you do well to keep your heart aloof.  This city is too pretty, too popular, too expensive.

Living in the suburbs, we don't pay the exorbitant Paris housing prices, nor do we live on a daily  basis with the city's costly enticements. Our flirtation with Paris happens on weekend and holiday trips. During these outings, it's easy to feel like we are hemorrhaging money.  There's the train fare, the museum entrance, the carousel ride, the menu fixe lunch in the Latin quarter, the cafe gourmande that give us courage for the train ride home.  Sometimes, there's shopping--a beret, a children's book from the museum shop.  We don't stint on little purchases that make traveling more comfortable--after all, we won't be here much longer, and it's not often that we muster the energy to get ourselves into the city. These expenses are par for the course.

But Paris isn't only greedy for our money.  She also likes our stuff.  It seems like a rarity that we return home with all that we brought. We've lost umbrellas, sweaters, stainless steel water bottles and whole boxes of pastry. We once took a trip into the city to shop the seasonal sales.  We returned plus a stylish cardigan and blazer for Donnie and minus a smartphone.  The phone may have fallen out of my pocket, but more likely, it was helped out by some light-fingered denizen of the Paris underworld. Needless to say, Whatever we saved that day by buying clothing on sale was lost in the cost of replacing the phone.

For a while, the city seemed satiated. We had a few visits with no losses and I forgot her rumbling tummy.  But she was just between courses.

This time, she got my knitting--an aviatrix hat in Debbie Bliss merino wool.  It was a Christmas gift for Loulou, and one of my first forays into knitting from an actual pattern.  It took about a week of evenings to knit, but that doesn't count the small practice hat I knit in a coarser wool.  I sewed the button and wove in the ends, and the next day I foolishly--ever so foolishly--put it on Louisa's head for our outing to the Louvre.  We managed to hold onto it until the trip back. And then it was gone.

Luckily, there are a few photos of the hat.  They're not-so-great, but I'm thankful to have them.

Rest in peace, deep purple aviatrix hat!  I like to think you might survive to warm the head of a different toddler.  My misgiving heart tells a different story.  It sees legions of uncaring feet grinding your fibers into the urine-spattered asphalt of the Paris Underground.

Despite the loss of the hat, the outing was a success--our first time going inside the Louvre. On previous visits, the long security line always dissuaded us from entering.  We almost turned away this time as well, but two security guards waylaid us as we were casting about for a place to eat our lunch.  As it t turns out, if you have small children, they rush you to the front of the line!  So, if you're going to the Louvre, be sure to bring a kid or a convincing doll in a carrier.

We saw an exhibit of paintings from the last years of Raphael's life.  I often feel numbed and overwhelmed by art museums, but the focused nature of this exhibit made for a wonderful experience.  The Raphaels were truly great---they seem more real than real.

And as for the hat...I might say that the it was actually on the small side for Loulou, and during the short time she wore it, I fretted over its flaws and its prematurely fuzzy appearance.  I might philosophize that being lost is the most merciful fate possible for an early knitting project---the knitter must neither live with her mistakes nor admit defeat and unravel.

I might also say that losing the hat made the whole day more memorable, and thanks to its loss,  Raphael's luminous virgins are all the more deeply engraved in my mind.

Would this be superstition?  Sour grapes?  Positive reappraisal?

Regardless, it will be a while before I knit Louisa another hat.  And when I do, I won't allow her to wear it---at least, not to Paris.

Snail Hat or the Hat of Diplomacy

I majored in Anthropology and hope someday to put my training to use and write something insightful about French culture. Well, I'll work on that. In the meantime, I'll share this observation.

The French are not rude.

I was told with great earnestness that the French can be downright bellicose towards English-speakers. But I find that even when I (almost inevitably) fall into English, people are courteous and even warm.

Now I'm going to do something that's very "in" in Social Science, and explain why this observation can't be trusted as a general rule.  My grounds for lacking objectivity are quite tangible and boil down to this:

I walk around town with this person strapped to my chest.  Not only is it a baby, but it's a baby in a snail hat. Un petit escargot tres mignon!  Just try to be rude to someone wearing a baby in snail hat. I dare you!  Even cool and indifferent becomes a challenge when faced with a drooly smile and two pompoms.

It may just be that I'm a nursing mom high on oxytosin, but I think the baby-in-hat thing could bring about a new kind of diplomacy. International negotiations could begin with a presentation of representative infants wearing the cutest head gear their countries could devise. The attending politicians would have to greet the babies and say "isn't that adorable" before talks commenced.  It would have the salutatory effect of a.) putting everyone in a positive frame of mind, and b.) reminding officials of their duty to the next generation. Think about it...

The hat, by the way, was my second knitting project ever.  ("Aha," you say, "a crafting post cleverly disguised as cultural commentary!")  It actually was meant to be a hat for Maria, to go with the knitted collar I made her, but I misjudged the number of stitches and it turned out more Loulou-sized.  It's the simplest hat possible--you just need to know how to knit, purl, and make pompoms.  You can find directions here.

Truth be told, I got awfully impatient while making it and it came out too small even for Louisa. It wouldn't fit over her ears. Then my mom came to the rescue and crocheted the headband and the little ear flaps. A knitter I am not.

So if any of you real knitters know of a good beginner beginner project that I could move on to (maybe something a little more interesting) I'd love to hear about it. If it can further international relations, that would be a plus.

Notes

Last Sunday I finished my first knitting project. It's a collar for Maria to wear in lieu of a scarf. (Those little scarfs do get awfully tight around little necks!) I'm grateful that it turned out to be a wearable garments. There were moments when I thought I probably out to unravel it and start again. When I started, I was in a bit of a frenzy to make something and didn't consult any patterns or instructions. I did most of it in the stockinette stitch, which means that the edges are all bumpy, but I think it ended up working.

There's a little loop of elastic that goes around the button flower and holds it together.

My friend Eva taught me how to cast on, knit, and purl---I'm indebted to her for starting me in what will hopefully become a lifelong hobby. By the way, Eva gave birth to a beautiful baby boy about 12 hours before these pictures were taken. Little Conor is destined for a well-dressed life wearing his mama's beautiful knitting!


Sunday evening, we had Moirin and the Wrights over for dinner. Dinner was grilled flank steak with homemade flatbread with green chutney.

I have little expertise in dealing with large cuts of meat (for budget reasons, we usually stick to chicken thighs and ground beef), but there's a marinade recipe that I'm very fond of. The marinate is a bright green and has a wonderful tangy, herby smell. It makes the preparation almost as pleasurable as the eating!

On Monday, Maria and I joined Lynn and Gracie for some strawberry picking. The strawberries were pretty sparse--we filled about half of the containers we took before the girls needed to stop--but they were oh so sweet and delicately textured. It was hard work, but very satisfying. Berry picking is such a wonderful summer rite! I'm grateful that Lynn asked us along. It was a long trip and we wouldn't have done it on our own.

A little update on Maria. She's been doing a lot of talking. Lately, she has been particularly enthusiastic about the words "button" and "bottle." She's been stringing words together and forming questions "Where da choo choo ball?" (she has a ball with Thomas the Tank Engine on it), and likes pointing out when something is wet ("Mama hand all wet"= Mama's hands are all wet) or finished ("Dada bre all done" = Dad is all done with his food). She's also gotten pretty good at jumping. Now, when she's particularly happy about something, she'll give a little hop to express her pleasure. It's such a joy to see these little developments!