Paris for Spring 2026

I wrote a summary of Paris for the store and posted on FB

 I returned to Paris first week in October with my sister Gael, photographer extraordinaire, to explore what's new and exciting for next spring and summer. As tiring as it is, Fashion Week is also pure pleasure, especially as LeslieJane believes in slow fashion and insists on filling the store with original creations from small ateliers. 

We visited the Palais  Brongniart and Tuileries Garden - beautiful spaces in their own right but for one week, they house an exclusive number of new designers.  We also walked the streets to storefronts and showrooms of those designers we have come to trust.

Be prepared for colour, vibrant colour, from such designers as Barbara Lang, Manuelle Guibal, La Fee Parisienne, and Epice. If you love orange like I love orange or rich green in its many variants, or blue too from baby to navy, they're the premiere colours for spring. 

Our Japanese designers - Vlas Bloome and Guptiha - offer a softer subtler range of colour in linen, cotton, and silk fabrics - so meticulously woven and constructed I consider them works of art.

My personal desire is to be a wilder and bolder. I want to mix and match and clash colour and pattern and designer.

I loved the film "Midnight in Paris" where many of the literary and artistic figures of bygone days came to life. I love how today's Parisienne woman tie a scarve and swing a bag, looking so put-together and confident.

I would like to say a special thanks to my sister who lent her eyes and enthusiasm to yet another Paris adventure.

Happy Birthday, Gill

 

Gilly, born 40 years plus 3 days after her papa, is a beauty who loves to dress up or down (sometimes to her father's chagrin) but she is unashamed, fierce and proud. Most important - to me - she is super smart, loyal, generous and loves with her whole heart. She loves me with a love that I sometimes think that I don't deserve but, perhaps I do. Like me, she is vulnerably human with an equal measure of sassiness. Thank the heavens, she has her father's sense of humour, his love of music and cooking, travel and so much more. She is my sunshine.

Happy Birthday, my precious daughter

The Wild Zone

 I am waiting for myself. I am waiting for something, some place to reveal itself where I can be me, a singular me, brave and free, wild - how I love this word - untamed, feminine, a woman of a certain age. I will not claim wisdom or experience. 

I have had my bursts of wildness and they have been exhilarating and terrifying. I felt as if I was jumping into a void, not knowing where I would land. I want another burst. Will I land on soft or hard ground, into light or dark? I wish for some beautiful place, an Oz of sorts - bright flowers, gold and gold dust, diamonds and pearls, emeralds and rubies everywhere - a walk down the yellow brick road. Fanciful. I do not want to think of a cold, dark, horrible space with growls and roars where I might be some beast's dinner. The only beast that I want to hear roar is me, without reserve, I'd like to do a little dance, without inhibition because at my age, I don't want to give a fuck. Yet, I don't want to offend anyone (or so I think at this moment). 

I want another wild person to mirror me, encourage me, challenge me. I want to soar, fly without measuring distance. I do not want to be careful. I do not want to feel obligated. I want to be kind. I want those I love to know that I love them. I want to be original, not a copycat. I want to love what I am doing, no holding back, no embarassment, just a wonderful acceptance of self, a permission to be.

How do I begin? I have already begun. I don't want to think that I'm at death's door - that's how I've been feeling for the last two years but enough is enough. I don't want to spend the rest of my life preparing for death. I want to move a little quicker. I want to magically be able to sing and not told to shut my mouth. I want to do something, more than one thing, that I've never done before. I want more fresh air, more sunshine, more art. I would like to sweep in front of my house. I would like to cook better meals for myself. I would like to ask more questions.

Am I asking for too much? I will not apologize. 

My life

 “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.

“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.

Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.

I am filled with gratitude. I had an operation yesterday for my hernia. It was a little scary - all the protocol at the hospital - but everyone was so kind, especially the male nurse who put the needle in my hand and the anaesthetist who said he was putting the potion in the tube and a mask on my face. Breathe deeply, he instructed. I disappeared on the fourth breath and woke up in the recovery room. Soon after, I was wheeled back to my little room where Brendan was waiting. I faded in and out of consciousness until I was told that I could dress and go home. Voila. I can see the tiny scar above my navel. No bump. It's been tucked back in place. 

I had a restless sleep but am told that it is the result of the anaesthetic. I don't mind. The feared operation is over and now I can get on with my life. Fingers crossed. 

I've fallen in love with PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA. This poem is called "Facts of Life":

That you were born/ and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough/ and sometimes not.

That you will lie/ if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations/ you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you/ more than you can say.

That you will live/ that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of/ your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg/ of two people who once were strangers/ and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.

That life is sometimes good/ and sometimes better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real/ and if you can survive it, well,/ survive it well

with love/ and art/ and meaning given/ where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret./ That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you/ may not be permanently constraining.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change/ before you die/ but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live

and you might as well love.

You might as well love.

You might as well love.

Experience the Impossible

I must look old as strangers offer to help me with my suitcase and rise to give me their seat on public transportation, but in my mind, I am young. Yes, I tire more easily and don't climb ladders. I cannot lift heavy objects and my fingers, affected slightly by arthritis, cannot open tightly sealed jars. Still, I do not feel decrepit.  

A quote by Albert Camus that I like:

The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. Inside this aging body is a heart still as curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth.... Never stop your goals and dreams. Travel to the places you dreamed of. Experience the impossible.

Rob's tragic fall taught me that time should not be taken for granted. It's precious. So precious. 

I watched two TED talks recently that are significant to me - more on this shortly.

https://www.ted.com/talks/alua_arthur_why_thinking_about_death_helps_you_live_a_better_life

https://www.ted.com/talks/katrina_spade_when_i_die_recompose_me

I am scattered, trying to find my way. 

"You must go in quest of yourself, and you will find yourself again only in the simple and forgotten things. Why not go into the forest for a time, literally? Sometimes a tree tells you more than can be read in books… "    —Carl Jung

Yesterday, I took Sebastian to Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park (London) for a forest camp. The park is wild and beautiful albeit eerie - like a scary setting in a Halloween movie - and reminds me once again of my mortality. 

And yet I feel content and so lucky to lead the life I'm leading. I flew from San Francisco to London a few days ago after spending time with my daughter and getting to know my youngest grandson. Six months after my last visit, he talks in complete sentences and we can communicate. He is one smart cookie with a mind of his own, and being two issues an emphatic "no" often. Gill is a gentle mother and only stern with Wilder when it is absolutely necessary. 

I love my daughter and she loves me and cannot imagine the world without me. 

 

I apologize. This once again is a simple blog. I spent a few days with Seb, my middle grandson - another charmer with a mind of his own - and Brendan and Jane who are dear to my heart too, and I have just repacked my suitcase to begin the trek back to France. This time, I am hitching a ride with a friend. We will take an overnight ferry and then drive for hours. 

Seaside, California

 

                                                                                             
 

I am slowly finding the rhythm of Gill's family - at times frantic and how can it not be with a curious two+ year old here, there, and everywhere? He is the apple of his parents' eyes, and is so damn cute that the world is his oyster, gaining smiles wherever he goes. He is also a handful with a mind of his own and when I'm in charge, he needs my full attention to keep him safe.

I observe my daughter. She is a good mother, wife, daughter, wellness coach and business owner. A whirlwind. I would like her to slow down but she cannot so I've been doing what I can to help but it seems like too little and it's making me anxious.

This week Wilder's schedule changes. He is in daycare four days a week so I should have time to complete what I need to do in regards to my own life and finances. I need help but I think I need to wait until I am in Vancouver and can talk to my accountant and bank people. 

I am weary of travel and yet I catch so many glimpses of beauty that I don't want to stop. I have to glue myself to a chair wherever I am and plan so I am not so scattered and have more interesting thoughts.  

Saatchi Gallery, London

The main exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is about flowers as they are an integral part of our lives. We have flowers decorate at weddings and funerals. We send them to express love. We use them to beautify our living space, our gardens, our clothes, and our advertising. 

My friend Maureen and I took a stroll through this gallery and admired drawings, paintings, sculptures, Mary Quant fashion, record covers, film clips of flowers awaking and wilting but one installation by Rebecca Louise Law "La Fleur Morte 2025" appealed to me the most:

The artist writes that "La Fleur Morte explores the place between life and death. By memorializing nature, the work invites contemplation of our human connection to this earth through flowers. 

I look at preserved flowers and I see time.

I see survival.

I see life.

And I see death.

But there is a spiritual place.

In-between.

A place we can connect.

A place we can value.

A place we can stop

And think

And be."