NO ONE EVER TOLD ME …
They may look grungy, but memories flood to mind each time I lotion up my feet and wear these socks to watch TV and then to bed. My best girlfriend in Arkansas gave these to me and we had many fun "Mom Nights" and vacations together.
I’m sharing the following heart-warming short story from my new book about a trip with my brother.
No One Ever Told Me This Reason to Be Frugal!
After my divorce in the summer of 2007, I was so run down and mentally drained from work and four young children that by fall I had forgotten how to smile. Seriously, the corners of my mouth turned down and it was a struggle to turn them up even with constant coaxing. When walking by a mirror I would pause long enough to encourage my face to lift a smile using my hands to push up my cheeks.
Although I really couldn’t afford it, my brother insisted that I go along with him to Paris that fall. He knew that I needed to reboot with a lot of laughter and the arts. My brother, who is five years my senior, had always been my perfect travel partner. For many years the two of us had taken annual trips together because we had similar interests, including our taste in men.
One might think that going with a husband or boyfriend would be better. Not in my experience. Since we were siblings, we had our childhood to laugh about plus an understanding of each other’s sense of humor causing us to break out in laughter with simple eye contact. Plus, our love of the arts, of course, he in the performing arts and I in the visual arts.
We were always carefree and unguarded having an adventurous time on our crazy trips together; however, situationally aware and safe. Our trips were either an artistic nurturing adventure or a relaxing spa get-a-way. We had been to spas around the United States and Italy. I had never been to France, but my brother had been numerous times for artistic ventures and he spoke French. Having him as my guide would make it an easier experience with no stress. I really needed no stress! On this trip to Paris, we planned to go to the Paris Opera, Versailles Palace, Louvre Museum, a train trip to Orléans, and so much more, but we were most determined not to skimp on dining. There was no money to buy objects, delighting the senses with Parisian cuisine was much more important. I did splurge and buy myself one thing on that trip in the Fall of 2007; a grey wool Parisian cap.
Paris did not disappoint. The first day we visited Notre Dame Cathedral and delighted in supper across the Seine at an open-air traditional restaurant not far from Saint Michel fountain. The next morning began with espresso, delicate croissants, smooth delectable cheeses followed by walking about the city to galleries and gardens with a mid-afternoon café break. In the evening I wore my best black dress to the Paris Opera with a two-toned intricately designed black Pashmina wrap.
On our third day, we walked through a bustling park with older men playing the lawn game of boules with heavy metallic balls. We meandered by historic buildings into a neighborhood with tiny quaint shops on the ground floor. Around a corner, my brother and I walked slowly by a chapeau shop. Immediately we stopped, drawn into the tiny shop with caps lining the walls on both sides and a narrow isle down the middle barely wide enough for two people. My brother handed me a particular grey wool cap from the shelf and said, “Try this one on, it’s you.”
I recall the proprietress was a robust grandmother type, maybe five feet tall, with a most pleasing smile. She nodded her head in approval as I tucked my hair behind my ears in front of her mirror placing the cap snuggly slightly over my ears. She smiled and politely reached up to reposition it moderately slanted to one side of my head. I glanced at the mirror reflection of my brother, alongside the proprietress as they both nodded and smiled simultaneously.
He insisted and I quickly gave in to the extravagant purchase of a grey wool Parisian cap. Upon exiting the chapeau shop my brother impressed me to sit at a street cafe while he crossed over to capture a photograph of me at that moment; because, as he always says to me, "You look, marvelous darling!" That photo is a favorite of mine as he really did capture the simplicity of the moment. I wore jeans, black boots, a black sleeveless sweater with a matching cardigan over my shoulders, and the grey wool cap, sitting casually at a table for two with a look of anticipation and calm.
I wore the cap the entire day as we meandered under the Eiffel Tower, strolled down des Champs-Élysées after a late supper, and danced under the Arc de Triomphe. The next day, when we were having a late lunch at an open-air street café in the artistic bohemian neighborhood of Montmartre, a handsome pastel artist close to my age wanted to draw a quick sketch of me. I agreed knowing it would be inexpensive and a lovely reminder of the trip. When he finished, he showed us for our approval, then rolled it up and placed it in my hands, turning quickly, and walked away, not allowing me to pay him. For the remainder of the trip, the grey wool Parisian cap was worn. I did feel marvelous, stylish and lovely!
One cold and damp winter day in 2014, I grabbed my grey wool Parisian cap. Looking in the mirror to place it just right on my head the way the sweet proprietress had when I first tried it on. I paused and stared as the memories flooded my thoughts of buying the cap on that trip in 2007 to Paris with my brother. A pleasant easy smile emerged on my face and the memories immediately changed my outlook of the day thanks to my forced frugality on that trip to Paris.
If I had been able to buy many “things” in Paris, there might not have been any one singular item that encapsulated so much as the grey wool cap fills for me. It brings me great joy. Since then, I keep it out in clear view to enable a random glance of it to cause me to stop and smile.
Less really can be more!
