This hope-colored sky

AuntBett

My Aunt Bett, who lives on Orcas Island in Washington State, has fallen and broken her hip, and probably will not be able to go home again. Ninety-three years old, still spunky and bright, still living in her house (with much help from her gentle and patient son and daughter-in-law), surrounded by beloved books and photographs, accustomed to feeding the songbirds and the stray cats that come to her door, she is taken aback by transplantation.

Formerly fiercely sociable and independent, she has found it very hard to grow old, to lose family and friends, to give up her dog, her car, and now her nest. We call, we send our loving thoughts, we hope it makes a dent in the sorrow.

Here is a sketch of Aunt Bett I made on our last visit. I post with it a poem she shared with me that I love. Thanks to Jason for finding its author for me.

With Caleb Age Two on the Porch

My weatherglass does not lie;
This hope-colored sky
Will again be gray with rain,
But while the sunlight flows
Honey-warm and honey-slow
It is enough and more
To simply sit and rock
With this small and sleeping
Grandson in my arms.

—Ken Wood

CakeWeddingDoug & Krissy

CakeBalloons2Rob

CakeDaisiesAnne’s Aunt KT


Hidden Stars

Some of these summer days have been too hot and mosquito-laden for sketching outside, even early in the morning. So, for our Botany block, my daughter and I have been indoors slicing through some of the fruits of the season, to find the surprises within. Circles! Triangles! Stars! (I’m hoping this will lead very naturally into 6th grade Geometry…)

BotanyStar5

Something there is that loves a wall

I post this hastily drawn very poor sketch of my son in Paris in honor of King Philippe-Auguste of France (sorry, Your Majesty), whose birthday it is today.

Mur

Years ago, when we lived in Paris, I encountered Philippe-Auguste (1165-1223) in a roundabout way, by means of the wall that he had constructed around the city for its protection between 1190 and 1215. The Gaulois had probably had a palisade around their village on the island of Lutetia (as Paris was formerly known), and a rampart certainly existed under Roman occupation of the Parisii as protection from barbarian invasion, but Philippe-Auguste’s wall was a great leap beyond these.

His wall, built of two outer walls of dressed stone and filled with rubble, grew to be twenty to twenty-five feet high and about ten feet thick at the base, with a walkway on the top, and along it were interspersed 77 towers and eleven gates (four more were added later). At the same time he built a fortress on the left bank of the Seine to defend from invasion by water. Little did Philippe know that one day eight million foreign invaders annually would traipse through his fortress (now greatly expanded in size and function) to stare at the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa.

People tended to build residences up against such city walls, making use of them for the back of the house. Voilà! one less wall to build! and a sturdy one besides!—trés commode. As the population grew, houses were also built up against the outside of the city wall (although citizens abandoned these homes and retreated within the walls during sieges). Eventually there were so many new people and structures that a new wall had to be built outside the old one. And so on.

Paris had a succession of these walls, a few reminders of which survive today. The Porte-Saint-Denis in the 10th arrondissement, for example, was built in 1672 to celebrate one of Louis XIV’s military victories. It actually replaced a medieval gate in the wall built by Charles V between 1364 and 1380 (one of the towers of which was the Bastille). But the medieval wall itself is long gone. Only Louis’ fancy newfangled gate remains to laud him and to recall the ghost wall. Some of the grand boulevards follow circuits of disappeared walls. But generally earlier walls were removed to make way for new construction.

But, because they tended to be incoporated into structures rather than replaced by roads, some fragments of Philippe’s 12th century wall survive. For some reason this wall has always fascinated me. Or, rather, what remains of it. Some is invisible, woven into the foundations of modern Paris (which exists above the level of the medieval city). But numerous fragments are visible, like this one on the rue Clovis, behind my son. Others can be found within buildings, down hallways, through shop windows. One lives in an underground parking garage, surrounded by Renaults and Peugeots. And a long stretch (now part of a lycée) stands on the rue des Jardins St.-Paul, and includes one of the 77 towers. There is a wonderful website with photos of these fragments.

Paris, like other continuously inhabited ancient cities of the world, is an architectural palimpsest, and perhaps that’s the source of fascination to one who grew up in an American suburb. Happy Birthday, Philippe-Auguste! You builded better than you knew.