August 10, 1995…best day of my life because my daughter, Gracie,
was born. August 13, 2006…second best in my life because I met my husband.
November 12, 2014…yesterday, third best day of my life because I was fortunate
enough to have…a private visit of Coco Chanel’s apartment in Paris! Swear to
God, it was the third best day of my life.
I have a very special person to thank for this. My friend,
Diandra de Morell Douglas, made it all happen. I told her she is like my
personal Make-A-Wish Foundation. Diandra waved her magic wand and there I was…in
Coco Chanel’s living room. This was no wait in line, grab a headset, and mingle
with the masses kind of tour. As everything that Diandra touches, it was
special and by special I mean first class. We were greeted at 31 rue Cambon by
a very special woman named Madame VBA and an exceptionally handsome,
well-dressed gentleman who helped with our visit. For the next two hours, we
had a private tour of every inch of the legendary 31 rue Cambon.
But, as with everything in my life, nothing goes off
smoothly. The evening before our visit as I was organizing my outfit, I felt a
little pang in my right ribs…the exact position of my diaphragm pacer. A
diaphragm pacer is a surgically inserted stretch of wires that attach to five
different spots inside my delicate little body intended to aid my diaphragm
with breathing. After nearly dying in surgery a few years ago to have the
diaphragm pacer inserted, I spent the next eight weeks on oxycodone from the
pain. On top of that, after six months of trying…the diaphragm pacer was not
successful. So, all I have to show for it is five wires coming out of my right
rib cage causing me worry and stress every day. Usually, the pacer is fine and has
not caused me any actual trouble…until this night. The night before the best
day of my life at Mlle. Chanel’s apartment! I thought to myself, “Just ignore it.
Don’t tell my husband because he will do something about it. Deal with it after
Mlle. Chanel’s apartment.” No such luck. As much as I tried to ignore it, I knew
something was wrong. I had to tell my husband. Of course, he over-investigates
and starts poking and prodding and cleaning and touching my extremely delicate
diaphragm pacer. I almost fainted and I was forced to scream at David 500 times.
He is not the most gentle human being on earth and in case you don’t believe me…he
accidentally cut the cat’s ear off last week. David managed to clean and
sterilize the pacer, put gauze over it and decided to have the nurses look at
it in the morning.
The entire evening my thoughts were the following… “I don’t
care if my diaphragm pacer explodes, I am not going to the hospital and missing
my Coco Chanel apartment tour. I don’t care if I die as long as I die in Coco
Chanel’s apartment and actually, I hope that happens. Nothing is going to stop
me from visiting Coco Chanel’s apartment. Not my diaphragm pacer and not my
ALS. Come hell or high water I will be at 31 rue Cambon, Paris, at 3 PM on the
dot!”
Thanks be to Allah (that’s how my caregivers say it), I made
it through the night. I made a mental note of how many crazy pills I had left
just in case I had a panic attack in the morning. I was so stressed out, I
couldn’t even wash my hair so I had to wear a hat. It was a leopard hat, so
it’s okay. My nurses arrive at 10 AM and immediately dive into investigating
“le pacer.” It did not suck because my nurse (male) is a total babe.
Temperature taken, pulse taken, blood pressure taken, visual of pacer noted…
The results were in… The pacer was not infected but they were going to call a
doctor to come to my apartment anyway. My answer: “Please tell the doctor that
I am not available until after my Coco Chanel apartment tour.” They looked at
me like I was crazy but I didn’t care.
My caregivers got me, Humpty Dumpty, all put together and it
only took three hours. I swear to God it took three hours to put me together.
My daughter did my makeup and on my way out of the door there is a mirror in
the entry and I always look at it and say, “Hi Ellie. Remember when you were
pretty?” My husband, Gracie and I laughed that I am nearly a skeleton in
regards to weight but my face always looks fat. I carry my weight in my face.
That’s nice.
We decided to walk to Mlle. Chanel’s apartment because it is
only a few blocks from our apartment. That means I am technically neighbors
with Mlle. Chanel. On our walk down rue Saint-Honoré, I couldn’t help myself
but think, “Paris is truly amazing. The architecture, the gardens, the fashion,
the style… Everything has happened here and anything can happen here. I am
living in the middle of a history book. A glorious history book.”
Madame VBA greeted my husband, my daughter, my caregiver and
me at the bottom of the legendary Art Deco mirrored steps inside the front
doors of 31 rue Cambon. The very steps that Mlle. Chanel sat upon as she
watched her fashion shows. If I could have leapt out of my wheelchair and
licked the stairs, I would have. Luckily for my daughter, I remained seated but
I was truly in awe.
We were taken through a private elevator and up to the
second floor (third floor in France) to the entry of the famous apartment. When
our guide opened the double doors, I literally gasped. An
audible gasp. You would have too because before my eyes was a room completely
paneled in 18th-century Chinese cormandel screens. On the far left
wall was a German mirror with eagles and the center was shaped in the famous
hexagon shape mimicking Place Vendôme and the stopper of the Chanel No.5
perfume bottle. Under the mirror was an antique reddish altar table with two
deer/antelope and a bundle of gilt wheat atop it. There were two Venetian
statues greeting the guests. There was a French bergère chair that Karl
Lagerfeld found in an antique shop that was the exact chair that Mlle. Chanel
had been photographed in at Horst’s studio in 1937. On the opposite wall was
the chair of all chairs. It was the actual chair that Mlle. Chanel sat in,
kneeled on and stood on as she pinned her creations on the models/mannequins.
Be still my heart.
Next we were headed into the salon. That’s a living room to
us Americans. Another audible gasp. Maybe two…for here I
was…sitting in Mlle. Chanel’s living room! I honestly had to hold back tears. We
spent about 30 minutes in the salon and our wonderfully knowledgeable guide and
I had the best conversation I’ve ever had in my life. She told me about
everything in the room…its provenance, its significance, its details, and its
history. I thought to myself, “Okay, it’s official, I can die now. I have seen
the best and it will never get better than this.” My most favorite part about
the whole day was learning about all of the details. Starting at the top, the
rock crystal chandelier had subtle nearly hidden backward C’s and number 5’s in
the ironwork. It also had crystal beads mimicking Mlle. Chanel’s pearls. The
original sofa in beige suede had very unique pillows. Madame VBA brought the
pillow over to my wheelchair and showed me the details… It was quilted! It was
the original idea for the quilted bag and the exact size! This was the pillow
that started it all…the famous quilted bag! This room was everything. There
were more 18th-century Chinese screens, seated Buddha statues, rock
crystal orbs, rock crystal lamps, French needlepoint chairs, wheat table,
silver and marble lions (symbol of her astrological sign, Leo), books everywhere,
a petite black and gold painting of a sheath of wheat (symbol of abundance)
given to her by Salvador Dali, Cubist andirons, terra-cotta camel (symbol of
humility), glass frogs (symbol of luck), beautiful Korean bowls with painted
flowers and walls covered with a golden colored fabric/wallpaper that set the
tone for the whole room. And there were those famous deer! Those famous bronze
deer. They were given to Mlle. Chanel by her good friends, Misia and Joseph
Sert. If I could have licked those as well, I would have. As I was gazing
around the room I was trying to soak it up as much as humanly possible. I
wanted to breathe it in. I rudely asked if we could take a photo and our
generous host cheered, “Mais, oui!” This day just keeps getting better.
The third room that we were led into was the study. More 18th-century
Chinese screens but this time there was a little secret involved. We were told
that these are the screens that the current Chanel fashion designers take
yearly inspiration from and adapt into their design. There was a chic console
table designed by Jean Michel Frank (or was it Jean Prove) as well.
The last room of the apartment that we saw was a showstopper
as well…the dining room. Rock crystal chandelier, Venetian mirrors that were
not actually Venetian (they were something else but I forgot, maybe Spanish),
more 18th-century Chinese screens with symbolism, flanking the
fireplace were two tables that originally had marble tops but Mlle. Chanel
replaced them with black lacquer tops. Genius. While most of the apartment has
figures of animals there is one bust of an actual human. Our guide told us that
Mlle. Chanel would never reveal the heritage of the bust. We were told that
Mlle. Chanel would make up stories about the identification of the bust
differently to her guests. Only recently was it discovered that the bust was
the uncle of Mlle. Chanel’s lover and original patron, Boy Capel. All of the
curtains in the apartment were ivory/cream tailored straight, exactly touching
the floor, minimal design. No obnoxious fluff. The carpet was the same… ivory/cream
low pile (for lack of a better word).
What I noticed
most about the apartment was the symmetry. Pairs, pairs and more pairs. Double
mirrors, double side tables, double orbs, double chandeliers, double
candelabras, double deer, double camels, double lamps etc. And then to throw
that off, Mlle. Chanel would juxtapose the whole shebang with a singular
Buddha. What I learned the most about
the apartment was the symbolism. According to our guide, Mlle. Chanel was very
superstitious and had signs of good luck, wealth, abundance etc. scattered
throughout the apartment. What I admired
most about the apartment was the inspiration that she drew from her apartment
and incorporated into her design or quite possibly vice versa. The Camellia
flower, the pearls, the black lacquer, the Chinese screens, the number 5, the
hexagon, the shape of her famous perfume bottle embedded in the Chinese screen,
the quilted pillows etc..
I have never had so much fun in my entire life. I caught a
glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors and I could see that my face was
flushed. Flushed with happiness or maybe that was the diaphragm pacer infection
setting in. After the tour of the apartment, we were lucky enough to be invited
to the haute couture salon and into a room where the latest collection is on
display. Baccarat crystal chandeliers, black lacquered screens/doors, white
orchids, industrial chandeliers, double C carpet, white sofas and those famous
Art Deco mirrored stairs. After two hours of my blaze of glory apartment tour,
it was time to go. As much as I wanted to get on my knees and bow to our guide in
appreciation, my ALS forced me to have some decorum, remain seated and I
just politely said, “Merci Beaucoup,” about 4000 times.
I am aware that an event like this is very special and I am
very appreciative. I would like to thank everyone involved… Mme. Douglas, Mme. Karella,
Mme. Bouruet-Aubertot and M. Cruz.
In case you are wondering what happened with my diaphragm
pacer after the apartment visit here is the scoop… Because this is France, a
doctor, a real doctor, showed up at my apartment to personally check on my
diaphragm pacer. Good news…It is not infected and I am not going to die…at
least not today. The doctor wrote me a couple precautionary prescriptions for
antibiotics and a bonus of crazy pills. For the next week, a nurse will come to
my apartment to check on the pacer. Can you say “socialized medicine!”
*Something you don’t know about me? I truly love knowing all
about all of you. I am one of those people who is actually interested in the
personalities, the likes, dislikes, the nuances, the interesting stories and
the emotions of other people. My husband is the opposite and for that, I am
better than him. Thank you so much for all of your comments about yourselves.
You are all so unique and I love you all for it. My favorite is the woman who
said that she loved God and battered fish. Also a quick update on my Thanksgiving
dinner…Heather from lostinarles.blogspot.com, suggested I make a reservation at
Ralph’s restaurant. Ralph’s is the insanely chic restaurant in the Ralph Lauren
shop on the Left Bank of Paris. Genius idea! This is exactly where I need to
be. We called and emailed our reservation but received an email back that they
are fully booked…duh. I have never ever pulled the ALS card once in my entire career
of ALS but I might today…If any of you know anyone at Ralph’s restaurant (if
you have to call Mr. Lauren himself, feel free) who could help secure a
reservation and squeeze in a desperate American and her un-American French husband
for Thanksgiving dinner, I would so appreciate it. As a token of my
appreciation, you can have Grace. :-)
