Another late night (though I see so many apartments with their lights on and so many cars still moving about in the street), we are working our way through Aunt Charlotte’s liquor cabinet concocting concoctions, smoking her stale clove cigarettes (don’t try this at home) and listening to her scratchy, mostly bought in the 1950s record collection. Right now, a lush almost film noir version of Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé with Edo de Waart conducting the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra. This morning while walking in the gray, cold, rainy rues near rue d’Avron, on our way to Père Lachaise to say hello to a few friends John Galliano jogged by. Elizabeth squeaked causing him to nearly fall on the wet pavement. Regaining his balance he smiled, winked and jogged on. Elizabeth couldn’t speak for the rest of the day. The record is over. Another concoction or bed?

love,

- Sarah