Museums, gardens, churches... and closure

It's LBH here, guest-blogging for a day or two a) because it's my turn, b) because Hadley has sore feet from all the walking and is dog-tired, and c) because I do like to offer commentary on... well... lots of things.

Look what we found near our apartment--a little slice of Australia by the Seine!  Apparently the Australian Embassy is close by, too, which may or may not explain why we have run into more than a dozen Australian tourists just in the elevator over the past five days.  Either that, or Australians are the only people who have any money to holiday overseas any more after the GFC (i.e., "Global Financial Crisis").  Come to think of it, Aussies were taking over New York when we were there in June, too.

 CQH was initially rather excited about riding the Metro.  Some of the gloss of novelty has worn off over the past few days, though recently we've had a few of those "hijack buskers" get on our train carriage and start rapping, playing the accordion, dancing, singing, whatever.  It's annoying, but at least it's a change from rumbling along and pretending there's no-one else in the carriage.

 Yes, we're BEHIND the giant clock at the Musee d'Orsay.  Just like Hugo.  Only we didn't climb outside and hang off the hands.

A big stone lady on the roof of the Musee d'Orsay.  She looks somewhat startled.  I would be too if I was up there without a railing to hold on to.

 EBH very much enjoyed the elephant statue outside the Musee d'Orsay.  There was a matching rhinoceros, of course, but our view of him was blocked by a horde of foreigners (as are many things in Paris).

 And here is the exterior of the Musee d'Orsay in all its magnificent, post-railway glory.  (For those not in the know, the building used to be train station and was re-purposed into a museum not all that long ago.)

The rear of a church never looked so beautiful!  I would've taken a photo of the front, but it's undergoing construction and not looking terribly picturesque at the moment.  This is La Madeleine, by the way, reeking of classic revival on the outside but rather lavishly decorated on the inside.

Moi-meme, at La Madeleine.

 EBH never needs a reason to strike a pose.  But finding one's self in front of a giant fluted column at a very lovely church seemed an appropriate opportunity to ham it up.

 CQH has discovered the joy of lighting candles in Catholic churches, and isn't entirely satisfied until at least a half-dozen patron saints and souls of the departed have been involved (at 2 euro a pop).  I quite enjoy the idea of lighting a candle in a church myself--must be my inner pyromaniac re-emerging from childhood.  But C (whose proclivity for both drama and ritual is extraordinarily well-developed) seems especially drawn to this practice.  Maybe we could suggest it as an idea for Sharing Time or Activity Days.

If only we could have a view like this at our church.  We'd have something to look at when the high council talks got boring, and we could skip Gospel Doctrine altogether.  I've always treasured the concept that a building and its ornamentation can teach you as powerfully the truths of heaven (if not more so) than a person can.  I also understand the need to keep our own meeting houses functional and inexpensive, but that doesn't mean I can't long for something more.

And finally... some closure.

Six years ago, when we were last in Europe, HDH saw a particular variety of red Swatch at a store somewhere in France (I think) at the start of our vacation and fell in love.  It called her name, and she called back.  They became dear friends instantly.  Then I, ever the practical thinker in situations like this, said "Let's not get it here.  Let's pick it up later at any one of the hundreds of Swatch stores we'll be passing during the next three weeks."
  

As in all classical tragedies, this was my hamartia, my fatal flaw.  This particular watch--so red, so happy in its redness, so exuberantly longing to belong to H, was nowhere to be found.  I even called the original store, emailed every Swatch merchant I could find an address for, all to no avail.  Our opportunity had passed, and the red Swatch had vanished.

HDH never forgot that little plastic circle of cheerful Swiss ingenuity, and longed for it like a lost puppy for six years.  Silently (mostly), but deeply.

Fast forward to today when, on something of a whim, we walked into the Swatch store on the Champs Elysees.  "For old times' sake," we thought.  There, on a table at the front of the store, right before our eyes and within our grasp, was the watch.  THE watch.  The very same one!  There was no question this time--it had to be ours. 

It was a miracle.  If this story had happened 2000 years ago you would've read about it in scripture.  And now the object of this heart-warming fable is being modeled for you above by the lovely CQH, who picked up her own very fancy (and very green) Swatch with her own spending money (thanks, GMM!) while we were in the store.

As the saying goes, "It will be alright in the end.  And if it isn't alright, it isn't the end."