Pink roses

Every so often Cholo surprises me with flowers-- beautiful pale pink ones, the kind I like.

Our French Film Festival

When we went to the French Film Festival and found that they were out of tickets for the weekend, I was utterly crushed. We had been looking forward to it for weeks and had every detail planned—brunch at TWG, pastries from Paul, and six beautiful French movies one after the other. I was distraught.

Cholo, however, made everything better. As fast as he could, he acquired copies of all the festival movies and we had our own French Film festival at his home. It was infinitely better.

First we watched “Amorous et Turbulences,” the story of two former lovers and their pivotal chance encounter aboard a plane. We loved how it is adorable and poignant all at the same time, and seeing chic Paris on the screen delighted me to no end. “Mood Indigo,” on the other hand, for all its color, fantasy, and vibrancy, left us shaken. The world of “Mood Indigo” is one where god wants nothing to do with humanity, and where the philosopher “Jean-Sol Partre” is a rock star and human freedom is celebrated. This same freedom, however, we later found, is responsible for that hopeless forlornness, which will consume our beloved characters later on. Humanity is not as free and powerful after all. The movie’s surrealism, too, turns out to be but superficial, for it undeniably speaks glaring truths about the real. We were left utterly disturbed for the movie hit so close to home. And so we had to stop our festival for the moment, to turn to each other for hugs—we needed to be reminded that we are not alone in our forlornness.

Breakfast at Paul

I have always believed that the perfect farewell to the weekend is a truly splendid breakfast. At Paul Patisserie et Boulangerie, we usually get a pain au chocolat fresh from the oven and a cup of hot chocolate in which to soak it, but when paired with a sugary waffle drizzled with chocolate and topped with whipped cream, we find that a big pot of tea, light and fruity, does the trick. This morning when we went for breakfast, the tarte au fraises were still being assembled in the kitchen. We usually share one for dessert, but perhaps today we came in too early. Behind the counter a mini army of chefs dressed in their immaculate white were just very carefully placing delicate slivers of strawberries, fresh and vibrant in color, inside perfectly shaped pastry cups. We bought a bag of mini croissants instead. Next Sunday, next Sunday.

Next weekend, too, will be spent at the French Film Festival where we intend to watch six movies in all. I cannot, cannot wait. We are going to make a grand time of it-- a French brunch, of course, and macarons for the movie house. How fortunate I am to have a man who adores doing these things with me!

Saturday morning

This morning is filled with pale pink roses from Cholo, Henry James' compelling book on social climbing lovers, the soundtrack to "Midnight in Paris," and lots of warm sunshine. It was a good move, looking forward to the weekend.