Oh how I’ve missed your words! Reading you is a bit like doing a scavenger hunt…if I’m not fully paying attention I miss clues early on that inevitably enlighten clues forthcoming. Everything builds on everything that came before and it delights me to no end.
“the cancelling the opposition between inside and outside”, hiding, repairing, listening to when it’s time to return home so the oboe of your body can once again sing…
I have never been to Paris, and given my life, it looks quite unlikely. However, your writing gives me a taste of the city. Such is the gift of your writing.
I am the stereotypical New York speed walker, but in Paris I have to remind myself to slow down for many reasons.
Once, still in NYC mode, as I was trying to maneuver around a slower walking person, I ran myself into one of those metal posts about three feet high that separate a narrow sidewalk from a narrow street (Rue de Seine). A very painful collision!
Thank you for reminding me once again of this marvellous city. Lately I've found Parisians not to be the gentle people I used to get along with well, but my latest few trips showed me that this is changing. I got stuck at the metro a few yeasrs ago with a mob of people "enjoying" the good weather and it was not the most pleasant experience. But, always a great city. Go to the Shakespeare & Company bookshop at 37 Rue de la Bûcherie if you have time. Marvellous experience. Enjoy Paris!
I like this chapter's spirit, the dreamer's intimacy connecting with the oboe. Repair is a hopeful endeavor.
"If only I could paint this." Oh Mary, but you HAVE, in words. And the picture is stunning. 😊
"But then the oboe is lying on a bureau. It waits for him—like a demand: When will you be home? When will you play me?"
Oboe, clarinets, and saxophones. A tenor sax, all my life.
Oh how I’ve missed your words! Reading you is a bit like doing a scavenger hunt…if I’m not fully paying attention I miss clues early on that inevitably enlighten clues forthcoming. Everything builds on everything that came before and it delights me to no end.
“the cancelling the opposition between inside and outside”, hiding, repairing, listening to when it’s time to return home so the oboe of your body can once again sing…
Captures the sensuality of touch, taste, travel, and dreams.
I have never been to Paris, and given my life, it looks quite unlikely. However, your writing gives me a taste of the city. Such is the gift of your writing.
And now to find some rabbit for a recipe...
Lovely, Mary. Like David, I have good memories of walking in Paris (though I will say again that Prague is unbeatable in this regard, too!).
That repair shop image, and the echoes of it in your own healing, is exquisite. The recipe looks fantastic, too.
Thanks Mary. Paris and walking go together!
I am the stereotypical New York speed walker, but in Paris I have to remind myself to slow down for many reasons.
Once, still in NYC mode, as I was trying to maneuver around a slower walking person, I ran myself into one of those metal posts about three feet high that separate a narrow sidewalk from a narrow street (Rue de Seine). A very painful collision!
Thank you for reminding me once again of this marvellous city. Lately I've found Parisians not to be the gentle people I used to get along with well, but my latest few trips showed me that this is changing. I got stuck at the metro a few yeasrs ago with a mob of people "enjoying" the good weather and it was not the most pleasant experience. But, always a great city. Go to the Shakespeare & Company bookshop at 37 Rue de la Bûcherie if you have time. Marvellous experience. Enjoy Paris!