Post by Admin on Aug 8th, 2006 at 2:51am
Nearly every household in Paris has a housekeeper who comes once or twice a week. There is a tax advantage to such an arrangement, the state paying a portion of the fee. This is not a do-it-yourself society; chores Americans would undertake are not necessarily done here. It's good for the bakeries.
We don't have a "femme de menage" for a variety of reasons, including the fact we pay our taxes in the US. It is hard to tell the difference in our house what is a treasure and what is trash.
"My parents never let me dust," our 8-year-old friend E, tells us, as she runs a finger along an extraordinarily dusty carved detail on our fireplace. "And you have plenty of dust." She was eager to clean our house, and we made a deal for the next day.
She came over Thursday afternoon, with a special dusting rag. I have a marvelous ostrich feather duster, which she hangs around her neck and wields with abandon. "This place is heaven," she exclaims, carefully removing the candles, stuffed mole, teapot, cards, lamps and other gems from the fireplace mantle. E loves this place for the very reason she wants to clean it: our house if full of stuff. Sticks, buttons and broken jewelry; we can never pass up a chair on the sidewalk -- every era is represented on our parquet. I dry flowers and collect rocks and shells. Whenever an American leaves Paris, they bequeath us those items they can't move: skin cream in pretty glass bottles, books with "dear" dedications, and hats. I love all these things as much for their temporary qualities as for their association with someone we liked. One day I might leave them with someone else, but for now, we and they are happily ensconced in the dust.
I can always think of something else to do besides clean. I go to the garden to paint. I water the flowers, I do the laundry, I cook. I clean, but rarely, and only for "special" guests. "Love me, love my room" the sign used to read at my sister T's bedroom door, when we were growing up.
E wipes off the edges of the outside of the windows. "This is the dirtiest house I've ever seen", she announces merrily. Not any more.
Laurie (text) and Blair (painting) PESSEMIER
Around the Carousel Oil on linen 10.5 x 16 inches
www.artnotesparis.blogspot.com
LauryAroundtheCarousel8-7-6.jpg (118 KB | )
We don't have a "femme de menage" for a variety of reasons, including the fact we pay our taxes in the US. It is hard to tell the difference in our house what is a treasure and what is trash.
"My parents never let me dust," our 8-year-old friend E, tells us, as she runs a finger along an extraordinarily dusty carved detail on our fireplace. "And you have plenty of dust." She was eager to clean our house, and we made a deal for the next day.
She came over Thursday afternoon, with a special dusting rag. I have a marvelous ostrich feather duster, which she hangs around her neck and wields with abandon. "This place is heaven," she exclaims, carefully removing the candles, stuffed mole, teapot, cards, lamps and other gems from the fireplace mantle. E loves this place for the very reason she wants to clean it: our house if full of stuff. Sticks, buttons and broken jewelry; we can never pass up a chair on the sidewalk -- every era is represented on our parquet. I dry flowers and collect rocks and shells. Whenever an American leaves Paris, they bequeath us those items they can't move: skin cream in pretty glass bottles, books with "dear" dedications, and hats. I love all these things as much for their temporary qualities as for their association with someone we liked. One day I might leave them with someone else, but for now, we and they are happily ensconced in the dust.
I can always think of something else to do besides clean. I go to the garden to paint. I water the flowers, I do the laundry, I cook. I clean, but rarely, and only for "special" guests. "Love me, love my room" the sign used to read at my sister T's bedroom door, when we were growing up.
E wipes off the edges of the outside of the windows. "This is the dirtiest house I've ever seen", she announces merrily. Not any more.
Laurie (text) and Blair (painting) PESSEMIER
Around the Carousel Oil on linen 10.5 x 16 inches
www.artnotesparis.blogspot.com
LauryAroundtheCarousel8-7-6.jpg (118 KB | )