Vincent, Happy

Roy Lichtenstein’s Room in Arles is gentrified Van Gogh. The floor is scrubbed a bright green, the towel hanging on the wall is neatly folded. His and hers portraits hang normally over the bed. The window has a clear view. The red claustrophobia dissipates in the color hatching interspersed with happy white. The picture of cool water sits ready. The clothes on hangers are prepared for the day to come. Sunshine in Provence.

Pigeons on the balcony

Lately, a couple of pigeons have appeared on my balcony. There’s just enough room for my folding chair and TV tray to place a cup of tea. I have a set of bookshelves out there on which I cultivate a number of potted plants. Maybe it was this semblance of a cultivated city garden which attracted them. My feelings are mixed. It’s early spring and they are looking to nest. My balcony faces south, it is sheltered from the wind, and it was undisturbed for a week when I was in France. But now I am back and I want to plant some herbs, sit out there on weekend mornings with a newspaper. There’s not enough room for the three of us. If they were there, I could not leave my tasty snacks unattended. If they had a chick in their nest, no right-minded pigeon parent would leave it while I quaffed tea and gathered herbs. So far, several days of assertive disturbance seem to have off the pigeons. As of yet, I haven’t resorted to a fake "scare" owl. Whether or not those work, I wonder.

Slowness

Last month, people just didn’t come, said my acupuncturist, herself preparing for a long holiday back in China. Can you spare me something for a sandwich? my corner newspaper guy asks; I had seen him working hard, standing in all weather, unable to shift his goods. I thought I had more friends, said an economist – the work they said would come never did, the foreign work turns out more promising. Ten years ago, I sat in a borrowed office at the US Consul in Hong Kong. I was scheduled to visit local officials, gathering news about their policy intentions. The Australian fellow, formerly in politics, a surfer, still young, representing one of the more aggressively entrepreneurial companies in the industry presented his case. They needed a couple of fair shakes from the Hong Kong regulator. Who in HK could make this happen? He sits back, the Chief Secretary. I’m not seeing the Chief Secretary, I say. We both know I’m good, but not that good. He slips back and I realize, he is asking me to help him keep his job. Either this, or it’s back to the beaches of Australia, pleasant but a backwater from the teeming cosmopolitan center of Hong Kong.

Habit formations

Recently, in Paris I again stayed in the 7th near the church of St. Germain de Pres where, in the evening, there is a man in a cart who sells crepes. The first time I lined up for one of his crepes, the customer before me left the beverage he had paid for. I took it, ran after him, and delivered. When I returned this trip, the cart was still there. I like the Nutella crepes – the sticky, sweet, hazelnut cream. Nutella + Grand Marnier is good too. At Christmastime, the crepes cart man also sold hot spiced red wine. I tried a similar treat at the Champs Elysee, the old crepes cart man’s was still the best. Yesterday, back in DC, what appeared in the chilly cold? A crepes shack outside the Gallery Place movie theater. Nutella is on the menu! And authentic, too. Now, I just have to wait for the hot spiced wine.

Martha's Table

The majority formed two queues. One for the hot soup, the other for a combo of sandwiches and doughnuts. I was in charge of the sweets. A few had requests – some wanted the chocolate doughnuts; others wanted cookies.

At one point my sandwich buddy – a tall lawyer in the government’s federal service – paused and asked out land – has anyone here not been served at least once yet? The customers were taking a share and returning to the end of the queue. His remark halted the circulating line. The men all paused thoughtfully. Not a single one wasn’t bigger than me.

I still had a tray full of pastries, so I motioned to the man in front. A black man with a baseball cap, grey beard, in T-shirt and long pants. At the pause, he had stepped back respectfully, waiting for other to step up if need be. His patience imprinted on my mind. I motioned to him to step forward, no one had not yet been served. Better to get on with the business of distribution.