Palm groves and Cockatoos

I wake up early Sunday morning, which is unusual because I’ve never gotten used to the time change. Since I got to Europe in September, I frequently find myself awake in the middle of the night and then sleep until ten. I know you are wondering what 37 year old sleeps until ten? Well, it is one of the perks of a barren, childless existence envied by tired parents everywhere. However, today I’m strolling the isles of the bird market by 8:00AM. I find it suspect that the avian demand in Paris is so strong that an entire market is dedicated to birds and their accoutrements. For the most part, they are not even exotic birds, just parakeets and sparrows jumping around their little cages. Maybe it’s another example of Americans' love of showmanship, but if I’m going to make the effort to go to the bird market early Sunday morning, I want to see Toucan Sam making the moves on a coquettish Cockatoo. At the very least, one of them should request a cracker from me.

Since I planned to attend 10:30 mass at my neighborhood church, Saint Severin, I have some time after the bird market. I wander over to Notre Dame and I must say that I’m in love with flying buttresses. They are so typically French. The style of the period demanded the church appear “thinner” than the materials and methods allowed so the supports were placed on the outside. They remind me of those life size cardboard cutouts of Marilyn Monroe you find at Spencer's. As I’m touring, the organ starts for 9:30 mass. I consider staying (the organ is that impressive), but decide against it with my heart set on Saint Severin.
And it is amazing. Saint Severin is small with crazy architectural elements that create a sense of grandeur. The columns that delineate the aisles from the nave are in the flamboyant gothic style and have been dubbed the palm grove. Saint Severin is beautiful, austere, and a little goofy, just my kind of church, and mass was packed. I love a well used church. There were no benches for kneeling, as in Italy, but there was a great deal of smoke. I don’t really know the significance, since the mass was in French, but they were constantly waving around a gold goblet of incense. If you close your eyes, you might think you were at a spa or Dead show. I guess they are sacred institutions in their own right. The church is also delightfully close to Shakespeare and Company, an English language bookstore famous for such patrons as Hemmingway, Stein, etc. Books are stacked everywhere, and it has a whole floor filled with books that aren’t for sale. Very French. There is nothing worse than being easy. Where is the fun in just going to a store, finding a book, and purchasing it? This place has got some serious mojo. I buy A Moveable Feast by Hemmingway in celebration. When I’m checking out, the sales woman asks if I want my book stamped with the store logo, a Mecca for bibliophilic tourists.