Love and beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Monday was an interesting day.

First of all, it seemed like my mood had a fever, you know how it hurt when you touch your skin. It became apparent as soon as I left the house how annoyed I was with everything and everyone in traffic. I do have a history with road rage. While I was biking slowly along a quiet street looking for a store to buy palo santo, a boy rode up next to me, keeping the same pace. He had big curly hair in a ponytail, black sweats, similar to one of these “cool kids” from the area where I live. He was on one of these tiny bikes. “Bonjour Madame” he said. I was confused and said hello back. I started laughing from the absurdity of the situation and asked, “Are you 9 years old?” and he replied “no, I am 18" which was obviously a lie. Was I being chatted up by a teenage boy? “Ok, I am 13” he finally admitted, and I continued laughing. I told him I remember what it was like to be 13 years old. It was pretty cool. He continued to bike slowly next to me, and I didn’t understand what is going to happen next. Then he asked, “How was your day, not too stressful?” and I’m not even able to answer, I’m just so stunned and taken aback by the surrealism of this. What is this? Suddenly, we were tragically torn apart by traffic. And I continued on my way, quite a few laughs lighter.

I decided to go to one of my favorite cafés in Saint Germain with a view of a church called Saint Sulpice. My mood was still inflamed — you know, just one of those days (where I guess I should have stayed home). I decided to mend my being with a glass of Chardonnay and a little snack. Next to me was a woman in her 80s with her daughter. She was a slender woman in a tight dress and high pointy heels. Her hair was colored black, her nails were painted, and she was wearing several pieces of jewelry. The first thing I heard her say was “I am so happy to be back at this café, it has been such a long time”. She said it over and over. Later, her granddaughter arrived, a particularly chic kind of teenager (think Blair Waldorf) with a little black dress, Mary Jane strappy sandals and a Burberry headband.

As the young girl approached, the grandmother exclaims “oh, you are ravishing!!” and continues to tell her over and over again. A part of the story is that this woman had some kind of illness that made her limbs quite stiff, and she had to strain herself to speak. Yet everything that came out of her mouth was loving words to her family members. She continues to exclaim how happy she is to be at this terrasse, sipping her glass of rosé. After a while, the wind picked up, and er granddaughter asked to borrow her jacket. Her grandmother gushed over how chic she looked in the jacket and said, “maybe I’ll give it to you one day”. The young girl hesitated, not sure if it was her style. After a while the grandmother shouts repeatedly “I’m giving it to you!”

At this point I am naturally crying at the next table, having tried to read my book or write, but I couldn’t concentrate to save my life. I thought about how I miss my own grandmother in Norway and about the ones I’ve lost. This woman was in her winter years, and she knew it. She used all her energy to give love to the ones around her. She is a woman to admire.

I left the café to bike home, tears travelling discreetly down my cheeks. I stopped by another church dome in the late daylight and wanted to make a little video of the bells ringing. At this point I just needed to let all my emotions out, so I gave myself permission to have a good cry, alas in public. Though a bit embarrassed, I knew it would do me good. Suddenly a young man came over, headphones around his neck and a tan face sprinkled with beautiful freckles. He asked if I was in trouble, and I tried to smile through my sobs and said “No, I’m not in trouble, I’m just emotional”. I thanked him for asking, the gesture in itself being comforting enough for me to take myself home.

Love and beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Pernille

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