"Everything you want is out there waiting for you to ask. Everything you want also wants you. But you have to take action to get it." Jules Renard, French writer, 1864-1910

With the recent information imparted by the print specialist, I was eager to begin a new search. Confined indoors by the recent snowstorm I cozied up on the couch with my laptop and a cup of thé vert ready to pursue my new lead. Easier said than done. After an hour of googling souvenir shops in Paris all I came up with were copious hits for Eiffel Tower replicas in various sizes and materials, and a modicum of regret that I never actually purchased one as a memento when I was there.

The best case scenario would be a return trip to the City of Lights to do another in-person investigation but my suggestion was met with a reaction that sounded a lot like Ricky Ricardo's oft-repeated reply to Lucy's hair-brained ideas, "What's the matter with you? Are you crazy or somethin'?" Looks like a trip to Paris won't be happening anytime soon. At times like this I really wish I had a French pen pal. But I do have two readers with friends in French places so I contacted both readers to plead my case and ask for help in locating long-established souvenir shops and print galleries. Both came through for me. One, perhaps fearful that my notoriously poor mastery of the French language might inadvertently damage his relationship with his French friend, kindly offered to contact his friend for me. The other reader, also aware of my language problem, provided a few French phrases for me to insert in Google France to help locate the correct type of shops.

Of course, once I locate the shops there remains the next step, that of contacting the proprietors of said shops and relating my story. So I composed an email explaining my great desire to find my beloved Hubert. After re-reading the email I realized that what I wrote could possibly sound like a solicitation for an online French dating service, so I plugged the paragraph into a web-based translation site rather than relying on my high school French. Hopefully this will avoid any lost in translation issues. Now I just have to weed through the hundreds of sites on Google France to try to determine the most appropriate shops to contact - in French. Hindered once again by my my inability to read or write any more than the most basic French phrases, it's been extremely slow-going and I've only been able to recognize a few sites to contact on my own and follow up with an email.

So far, I've yet to receive a response to the few emails I've sent. Not even one in error from French match.com....

"She just wanted to show me some French etchings." The Thin Man by Hammett

I've taken to showing my Hubert etchings to anyone that shows a glimmer of interest. A tad disconcerting for my husband who would much prefer that I occupy my time getting back into the 9 to 5 grind instead of playing host to a procession of onlookers parading through the Hubert gallery I set up in the upstairs hallway of our house. But showing my etchings has finally paid off.

The print expert at the library who graciously accepted my proposal to view my etchings up close and personal kindly agreed to meet with me last week. Fearful perhaps that in my overly enthusiastic state I would show up with a U-haul in tow unloading crates of Hubert's work, he tactfully suggested bringing two or three examples of Hubert's works for him to examine. But thrilled at the prospect of finally speaking in person with someone knowledgeable on the subject I set out with a dozen etchings in my bag and enough excitement to propel me up the hundreds of steps to the third floor print room of the imposing historic building.

A self-described bibliophile, I gawked at the reams of beautiful leather-bound books lining the wood paneled walls while I waited for the front-desk librarian to summon the print expert. Expecting a bespectacled, bow-tied, bearded gentleman I was greeted by a man who more closely resembled a big- screen star than someone who spends his time pouring over works of art. Distracted by musing about which actor would best play his part should they ever shoot a movie about the NY Public Library, I  quickly regained my focus remembering my mission and proceeded to dress the large wooden library table with my dozen etchings.

Unfortunately, the library has no record of Hubert in their archives. Although we still don't know who Hubert is, we now know conclusively who Hubert is not. Hubert is not Alfred Hubert nor is he Hubert Robert having been incorrectly identified as both on occasion. After examination and discussion, it was determined that most likely Hubert was a souvenir artist (and a pretty good one at that) which explains why his work shows up all over the world. It also explains why I've had negative responses from the various museums I've contacted. Apparently I've been barking up the wrong tree. Looks like I need to zero in on long established antique shops and souvenir shops in the Paris area. And my search gets more and more difficult. But on a positive note I now have a new direction, and, thanks to the very charming print expert, I finally feel validated in my search...

"It is exercise alone that supports the spirits, and keeps the mind in vigor." Cicero

To recapitulate or bring you up to speed as Inspector Clouseau said, to date responses from le Musee d'Orsay, Musee des Annees 30, Musea Brugge, Sothebys, and the NY Public Library have been negative so far as having any evidence of Hubert in their databases. No response has been received from le Musee de Montmartre nor from the print detective I emailed back in December. No appraisal yet due to lack of funds but I'm not sure how worthwhile an appraisal would prove to be as it would most likely estimate the value of the print rather than impart any knowledge about the artist. I'm currently waiting and hoping for the NY Public Library's print expert to scrutinize the etchings and perhaps shed some light on the subject or point me in a new direction. I've sent copies of some of my Hubert etchings and business cards to my ex-federal agent friend to explore museums and maybe a university or two in his hometown to expand my search across interstate lines.

My search for Hubert, although still unresolved, has been plodding along with leads then dead ends, advice then dead ends, ideas then dead ends. And now the plodding has come to a grinding halt. I'm stumped, stymied, at a standstill. I've hit a brick wall at 57 m.p.h. Unsure of what to do or where to go next I turn to my usual source of salvation - when the going gets tough, the tough go to the gym. A respite from the interminable challenges of life, I find solace in the steely arms of the fitness equipment. Jobs, money, people drop out of your life inexplicably but the gym is always there for me to run out my frustrations on the treadmill, climb my way out of a melancholy mood on the stairclimber, or just punch out my anger on the sandbag.

I do some of my best thinking at the gym - there's really not much else to do while running or climbing for 60 minutes unless you count eavesdropping on the conversations about the sexual exploits of the two couture clad women in full makeup to the left of me, or the two senior citizens to the right of me comparing colonoscopy narratives. Once again, I find myself at the gym looking for answers, this time to my Hubert conundrum. Instead of answers I got a severe muscle cramp in my right shoulder from overdoing my workout and a crick in my neck from straining to glimpse the well-developed quadriceps of the weightlifters. I'm out of ideas but I'm not out of hope yet. As Fran, the 94 year-old gym regular, optimistically replies to the perfunctory "Good morning, how are you doing today?" greeting from her many admirers  - "Well, I'm still here, aren't I!"....