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I confess, I returned and stood in Tania’s little kitchen and I wolfed it down in a matter of seconds (not very French!). And then I took a shower. I did not take a bath in the enormous claw-foot bathtub, even though it was so beautiful and so enticing.
After the shower, I got into bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep, only to awake with a feeling of panic. I knew I would now have to get dressed and find my way back to Tania’s office. I would have to walk or take a bus to the Métro, change Métros, then walk some more. And so, armed with my French-English dictionary, the Métro map, Tania’s directions, and a great deal of determination, I managed. I actually arrived at Métro L’Opera a little early and had time to walk around and take photographs at the Chanel store and then stare at the delicate, multicolored macarons in the windows of the famous Ladurée.
And then, I sat in the lobby on the white leather chair and observed French office workers coming down the stairs and out the door. I saw no elevators. Instead, everyone seemed to come down these beautifully ornate stairs. And for me, sitting in the lobby, full of wonder—it was as if I was watching a fashion show! The men wore dark suits, white shirts, and brightly colored ties. Clearly, there was no such thing as casual Friday. The Frenchwomen wore stylish black dresses, scarves, fitted skirts in charcoal, black, and navy, and yes, I saw the occasional pair of jeans, but they were fitted perfectly to the woman wearing them and accompanied by an elegant white shirt and some baubles or bijoux. It seemed to me that they wore very few prints, but rather a basic palette of black, navy, and white or beige with a dash of color from a scarf or an interesting accessory—a trendy bag (or sac, as they call them) and some fabulous heels or cute ballet flats.
Finally, Tania arrived. She said that before we went to dinner, she wanted to pick up some tickets for an upcoming concert. Did I mind walking a bit more? “Oh, no, not at all!,” I said. And we were off. Walking fast. And this was no short walk. By the time we had dinner and took the Métro and then the bus back to her apartment, I was ready to go directly to sleep.
But before I did, I noticed that Tania turned on her computer and checked e-mail for about fifteen minutes. She did not turn on the television. And unlike me—when confronted with my laptop and my e-mail—she did not spend hours at it. But rather, it seemed that her priority that evening was to enjoy a long, leisurely bath in that big, beautiful bathtub.
I was impressed by how self-contained she was and how she seemed to not share as much as my American girlfriends. And this is not just the case with Tania. I have encountered so many Frenchwomen and they simply don’t “dish” the way Americans do. You know what I’m talking about—how we can meet a woman at a party and within five minutes we are sharing the most intimate details of our lives, our childhood, how we are having marital difficulties or we are feuding with our sister or how our oldest son is failing in school. The French just don’t do this. They keep it hidden. Or at least they wait a long time before revealing all. This is part of their Secret Garden. And it is definitely part of how they keep their mystery and their confidence, because they never get that feeling that bits and pieces of their soul are scattered all about town.
Get Some Rest
Everyone knows that stress is bad for us. Stress makes us cranky and tired. We’re more likely to make mistakes and to make decisions that we regret. Stress makes us unhealthy. It can lead to weight gain. It can lead to heart attacks. But you can reduce a lot of the stress in your life by simply creating a Secret Garden. This Secret Garden can be in your bedroom, where you spend a few hours every weekend, sleeping late, or reading in bed, writing in a journal or just daydreaming. Perhaps you don’t have a house with pretty blue shutters, but you can block out the day’s hustle and bustle and demanding light with a pretty silk sleep mask and a pair of earplugs. I know from personal experience that some lavender potpourri or scented candles can be incredibly soothing.
Your Secret Garden might also involve a long, luxurious bath with lavender oil. Then again, there are secret gardens that are real gardens. The French are brilliant at creating these sacred spaces—intimate and enchanting gardens behind stone walls. From the outside on the street, there is only a stone wall, but once you enter a gate, an entire world of lilacs and gardenias, tulips and roses, fruit trees and olive trees might be revealed. Your Secret Garden might be a small vegetable garden that you plant in the springtime and then tend to in the early morning and later afternoons. It could be a small herbal garden you keep on your deck or windowsill. Watching a garden grow—even in the city where your little garden might be part of a larger communal garden—is truly a Zen experience. When you first plant your lettuce, days go by and it seems as if nothing is happening. Your garden is not growing, but then one day—voilà! There are little green shoots coming up and if you did not know it, you might think they are only bits of grass or weeds, but with patience and time and water and sunshine, your garden grows.
Here’s what my friend Marjorie tells me about the Secret Garden:
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