Parisienne Beauty

Françoise Sagan once wrote, “There is a certain age when a woman must be beautiful to be loved, and then there comes a time when she must be loved to be beautiful.”
Well, Francoise, French women are beautiful, even the ones that aren't. They make skin care and grooming a priority. The bestseller French Women Don't Get Fat is wrong, they WON'T get fat because they won't allow it. If they gain a few pounds, they immediately do what it takes to lose them. They eat and enjoy everything im moderation. Tiny servings. They do not, as a rule, go to gyms. They walk. They invest in good quality skin creams, they are not opposed to injectable or even surgical help as they age. French women take time for themselves, and their beauty routines may be simple, but they are committed to them. A common belief, and a worthy one is that too much foundation settles in the fine lines of the face. They use it sparingly, favoring a little blush instead. Lipstick, mascara, and maybe a neutral eyeshadow finishes the look. They work at maintaining perfect looking skin, so there's less to camouflage.
French women do not give up on beauty as they age as some American women do. Which leads me to the subject of my next blog: beauty and aging.

Night.

Night unfolds it's silky wings. There's a gentle rustling in the woods as the leaves whisper their secrets. Colors fade to shades of grey, the quiet settles . All may not be well with the world, but all is well with me tonight, and now is all I have. Night unfolds it's silky wings, and slowly I step in.

Bright lights, big city I love.

Last night, my son in law Chris and his band played a gig at a cool club in Philadelphia. We arrived at 8, got back to the house in the woods at 2 am. I guess I've been a country mouse too long, because coming into Philadelphia at night gave me a New York style jolt of excitement. The lights, the buildings, the people!!! The gig was in an upstairs room at the venue, there were lots of windows from which to enjoy the sights below before the band started. The hustle and bustle of 10 pm was even better by midnight. Where I live, if we had any pavements they'd be rolled up by 7 at night. A man playing the trumpet, people riding bikes, more cabs than cars, groups of dolled up girls walking fast with arms linked, onward to their next destination. Jefferson Hospital across the narrow street, lots of comings and goings. The rattle and hum of the traffic below, which would now keep me awake although it used to be my lullabye.
After the gig, we drove into South Philly to a favorite place of ours, still open and hopping at 11:30. The traffic was still crazy and so were the drivers. As a tiny sportscar buzzed around us when we were stopped at a light, I told my husband we weren't in Kansas anymore. It was good to come home to the country, so quiet you can hear a deer snap a twig outside, but boy oh boy, what a fun night in our beautiful hometown.