It’s ninety degrees Fahrenheit, people on the street are smiling, and I’m back at my favorite café, ordering the usual: best hummus salad this side of Switzerland.
It’s so good to be back.
Today I was gonna post about a letter I wrote to one of my favorite authors. Someone whose books actually altered the course of my life in a meaningful way. I was really jazzed about it, but now…now I’m still excited, but I want to take my time. Ease back into the city, enjoy the gorgeous day here. So we’ll save that particular goodness for Monday.
Enjoy the weekend, y’all! Especially your favorite haunts.
love,
Mixed greens, carrots, cherry tomatoes, sprouts (sprouts! in Spain! praise heaven). Creamy, delicious, fresh hummus. Sesame seeds. Lots of olive oil. Excitement.Chatted with this lovely woman a while back, outside the café. She's seen some hard times, drugs and homelessness, but has this real warmth about her. Meeting her was a pleasure.
Hey y’all, hope you had a wonderful weekend. It’s been quite an eventful few days for me, here in Paris. I guess I should have expected the unexpected from this city. On all sides.
>>Wandering the Jewish quarter, mouth full of falafel, and running into two college friends who, by pure coincidence, happen to be in town for three weeks, studying Yiddish.
>>Cringing at the colonialist overtones of a tiny upstairs Tea Museum.
>>Befriending a group of 1930’s-style jazz street musicians on Saturday night, and trying my hand at their washtub bass.
>>Getting some difficult news from a lover back in the States.
>>As a result, insisting on getting a phone number from Hicham, the beautiful, kind-eyed Moroccan man I meet the next day on a bridge over the Seine, and with whom I spend a couple of hours, talking in French, browsing a bookstore, and sitting in a small park. Insisting on getting his number because, in my forlornness, I can already tell that I’ll want to cancel our plans for the following day, so I’ll need a way to reach him and keep him from waiting for me at 2pm at Bastille.
>>And, after parting ways with Hicham, bawling my brains out watching The Reader in English with French subtitles. Seriously, by the end of the movie my whole clavicle was caked in salt and my eyes looked like two cherry tomatoes.
But even the sorrow has its upside. After all, Paris is a strong contender for Funniest Place To Be Heartbroken. When the view from my heavy, bleary eyes consists entirely of elegant balconies, kissing couples, and a view of La Tour Eiffel in the distance, it’s hard not to smile at the sheer cliché.
Later on this week I’ll write a bit more about this whole heartbreak thing — not for purposes of venting or divulging but because I think it’s a great chance to reflect on the meaning of sorrow in the pursuit of happiness. And observing my own reaction to the situation has been downright fascinating — an extraordinary reminder of just how much I’ve learned and grown over the last six months.
For now, though, indulge me. I am about to go crazy on lotus pictures. From a beautiful Sunday afternoon at the Paris Jazz Festival, in the stunning Parc Des Fleurs. By the time I left I wasn’t walking, but dancing — all the way back to the Metro. Wouldn’t you?
No, not birthday — Bastille Day! In honor of which, here’s some bikes, breakfast, babies, beads, and boats. French ones. And that’s about as deep as I plan to get about that. :)
Phew! Okay folks, here’s the last of the Cap-Ferret photos. It is a wonderful place to be. Even better than it looks. My French could use some work, but at least I’ve still got the accent — and a good accent opens doors and hearts, let me tell you. Say “Hello, good morning” with the right cadence and people take you for a native.
But mostly, words have been unnecessary. The ocean and I are old friends. And you know what Khalil Gibran says about friends:
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
Enjoy the photos, enjoy the weekend, and take care, everyone!
There’s something about beach towns. Even opulent beach towns. So much beauty in the weathering. Unlike giant cement cities, which seem so solid and indestructible, a little town by the ocean carries a sense of organic impermanence. Like a sand castle. Enjoy it while it’s here, because even now it is slowly, slowly washing away.
My camera isn’t super-fancy (not that I would know how to use a super-fancy camera if I had one! ha), so there’s a lot about the light and texture that I can’t get, but still, something of the color and gorgeous aging in this place comes through.
Les Galippettes: home of our friends the Chamaillards
Some of you might know this about me: I really like circles and curves. Roundness: happy and abundant. So even here in Cap Ferret, land of nautical stripes, I found myself a few spherical moments.
Beautiful blogger Katie left a comment recently, “be your own best gardener!” I love it. I’ve been holding it. Be my own best gardener…. and I’m trying. Sensing out what it is that would feed me, leave me feeling well cared for. What it is that my roots are asking for. And trying not to go into shock as I’m feeling a bit uprooted at the moment, raw. Best to start literal in this case. So I headed to the nursery with my box of plants in hand.
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Bethany’s post, with so many gorgeous green photos, just left me speechless. This is the most I can hope for from my blogging, or from commenting on other people’s blogs: to give someone the little nudge they needed to go seek deep joy. To nurture themselves.
Bethany, I can’t thank you enough. This was exactly the encouragement I needed, today. Quieting the little voice in my head that says: “What are you doing with your life? Why are you wasting all this time on the computer? Why don’t you do something useful; something practical; something that earns you a living; something that fights oppression; something that actually helps people?”
That voice has been ebbing and stilling lately, but the other day it swelled and got loud again. Thanks to you, though, I can smile and whisper back to it, with all my lovingness, “Shhh…it’s okay. I know. You’re afraid. But don’t worry. Just take it moment by moment, and together we’ll wind up fine.”
In reverse chronological order, some homes of the past five months. Except for the month when I was walking from home to home every day. Hopefully those fotos’ll come through soon!
This morning at the beach apartment. Is there a "happy spice" Spice Girl?This is the apartment where I'll be living in August...Funny, this place felt like home from the moment I walked in as a visitor.Note the ankle bells. Nuria is a wonderful bellydancer!
It was a little over one year ago when I announced to my friend Matt that I dislike flowers. Flowers in general. I believe I called them “too ostentatious.” Heh. Joke’s on me now, I guess. This spring, the beauties at the meditation center (completely barren when I arrived; then a paradise a few weeks later) just sucked in all my attention like dainty little nuclear-strength vacuums. This helped me to stay present, especially when meditation got hard. This is my thanks to them. Wassup, y’all.
Kloncke 