Chalk-ed up to Romance.

This is the first of many "why don't we (blank) anymore?" posts. Perhaps with your help, we can bring some of these fabulous things back.  I hope so.  Anyway, here's the first of my woes:

Why don't we make grand romantic gestures anymore? 

Like this one:  One morning during my stay in Paris (Did I mention I lived in Paris for 6 months? No? Well, we'll talk about that later.) I walked outside of my apartment to find a trail of chalk-drawn hearts on the sidewalk. Totally normal, right? Each heart had a little message in it, so being the curious romantic that I am, I decided to follow the trail and see where it lead.  The first:

 "I love you a little..."

By this point I was already secretly plotting how I could construct a tarp over this casual piece of art so the rain could never wash it away, when I spotted the next one:

 

"I love you a lot..." 

 Are you melting yet?  I was. Hardcore. A few more steps and I found the next:

"Are you starting to see where you're going?"

Okay, now I'm officially intrigued. Where are we going?!  What will we find when we get there?!

Realizing what a strange tourist I looked like, taking pictures of the ground, I moved along quickly, desperate to find the next message in line.  The trail wound through the tiny streets of the left bank, over the Seine on the wooden footbridge Passerelle des Arts, and across the street to the Louvre.  There I stood, in front of the museum famous for some of the most grandiose and romantic masterpieces in the world, staring at amateur chalk-drawn hearts on the ground.  I believe our friend Alanis would have something to say...isn't it ironic?  Don't you think?  Finally it appeared I had found the last message on the sidewalk scavenger hunt.  Pushing tourists out of the way before their white tennis shoes smudged the message, I found the happy ending:

"Tu es la femme de ma vie.  Veux-tu m'épouser?"

Translation: "You are the woman of my life.  Will you marry me?"

As Rachel Zoe says, I die!  Only in Paris would one follow a trail of glorified post-it notes a mile to discover a marriage proposal written so beautifully and yet so simply by a mystery writer.  When was the last time you saw something like this on the streets of New York?  Chicago? Anywhere?

So I say it's time to bring the love back.  Let's make grand romantic gestures just because we can!  And sorry fellas, a text message just doesn't cut it.  (Did I mention I was single?)

Edumacat-ed.

Just wanted to share a little inspirational verse on a gray Tuesday. It's really too bad Longfellow isn't on Twitter because I'd follow him to the end of the earth--never had a thing for facial hair, but I'd get over the beard thing (and the age difference) if only he'd recite lyrics to me all day. And if he spoke French, well, that would just be unfair.
  
A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.