I've just started reading Kimberly Warner's memoir and one sentence stood out for me in her Preface: "Life emerges right where you are and not where you think you should be.” Now I've come to this chapter and I feel like it perfectly sits with what you conjured here.
Apparently, there is an unbreakable bond between you two - like gluons and quarks, the further they are separated, the stronger the force of attraction. ❤️
I see you writing this lounging on a loveseat, twirling pen in hand and reminiscing of Paris first, then the protagonists, D. in this case. Not sure if your eyes were dry, but I can feel the emotion is raw. Now, I'm curious how the story unfolds. xo
I love this comment. My eyes were not dry ... Please start at the beginning to see what actually happened, how it all started -- before you get to the end that is coming soon ... xo ~Mary
You've made me have to catch my breath, Mary. Beautiful.
I adore what you've written here: "Here’s how I think of my passport: On the front is a picture of my father. My picture lies under his and under my mother’s. Remembering from where I’ve come has helped. My father’s love, my mother’s love, my childhood with them lay inside that passport to my destination."
Wow! Exciting post, indeed! I'll discern it tomorrow with my morning coffee, but what I could read tonight (and I'm exhausted), was super interesting. Don't know if I told you but I lived in Paris for 2 1/2 years. I recognise many of those places and street names. And btw; you look so beautiful in that photo by the window! xo
Thank you so. René. Paris, so entrancing. Nice comment about the window photo and glad to see you here. Hope to hear from you after you've rested and had your morning coffee.
Beautiful, Mary. The passport, the solitary journey, the things lost or left behind—they all resonate powerfully with me. I've always loved that passage from Eliot, and you use it to such a telling effect.
Oh my. This is fabulous Mary. I want to read it a few times to detect all the layers. But life as passport, and the hidden self behind all the history, revealed when it’s finally lost.
Or more elegantly stated by you, I think this sentence is a perfect summary of your entire memoir: (and I too loved this about Musée Picasso!)
“When I’ve been to Paris before, I did visit the Musée Picasso and loved its orderly chronology of his work that results in the disorderly invention that is his work as if chronology will reveal. But discovery does not come in order.”
Gorgeous comment--though I do think you mean "detect" -- based on what follows the sentence about layers. I make zillions of typos, especially in emails! I wrote to Henry Jaglom's fans this morning directing them to the site where the audio is (he can't seem to find it!). I replied to all when he sent the text out to family and friends, thanking me profusely, and instead of "site" wrote "sire" -- Shoot me? Nah! Love you? Forever!!!
OH GOD! I swear, when I type comments from my phone, I get into a lot of trouble. It's only a matter of time before my phone auto-corrects Epi Pen to Epic Penis.
I read this twice, because it has so much depth and mystery to it. You end with a question, which i think is answered by the chapter and the Eliot. I think your answer is to find what you have lost, you have to let it go. But I'm not sure!
The juxtaposition of the deserted Place des Vosges and you smiling in your apartment is also telling of letting go in order to find.
You read well and generously. Thank you, David. Did you get my follow-up email to this post where you did not leave a comment? --and I'd welcome one: https://marytabor.substack.com/p/dear-david
I do want to encourage you and remain in contact, dear virtual friend.
I've just started reading Kimberly Warner's memoir and one sentence stood out for me in her Preface: "Life emerges right where you are and not where you think you should be.” Now I've come to this chapter and I feel like it perfectly sits with what you conjured here.
Indeed: Where do you find what you have lost? The last place you look.
Apparently, there is an unbreakable bond between you two - like gluons and quarks, the further they are separated, the stronger the force of attraction. ❤️
Ah, dear Bill. You are so kind, so generous, empathic. xx M.
Just exquisite. I can’t wait to read more. Will probably be up late tonight, reading this gorgeous story. Thank you so much for this.
Oh, my heart to yours. I'm tellin' you: soulmates ... xo Mary
I see you writing this lounging on a loveseat, twirling pen in hand and reminiscing of Paris first, then the protagonists, D. in this case. Not sure if your eyes were dry, but I can feel the emotion is raw. Now, I'm curious how the story unfolds. xo
I love this comment. My eyes were not dry ... Please start at the beginning to see what actually happened, how it all started -- before you get to the end that is coming soon ... xo ~Mary
You've made me have to catch my breath, Mary. Beautiful.
I adore what you've written here: "Here’s how I think of my passport: On the front is a picture of my father. My picture lies under his and under my mother’s. Remembering from where I’ve come has helped. My father’s love, my mother’s love, my childhood with them lay inside that passport to my destination."
Simply stunning. ❤️
Oh, what a love you are, Rebecca. Thank you from my heart to yours--and off to read your post for today!
😘
Wow! Exciting post, indeed! I'll discern it tomorrow with my morning coffee, but what I could read tonight (and I'm exhausted), was super interesting. Don't know if I told you but I lived in Paris for 2 1/2 years. I recognise many of those places and street names. And btw; you look so beautiful in that photo by the window! xo
Thank you so. René. Paris, so entrancing. Nice comment about the window photo and glad to see you here. Hope to hear from you after you've rested and had your morning coffee.
Beautiful, Mary. The passport, the solitary journey, the things lost or left behind—they all resonate powerfully with me. I've always loved that passage from Eliot, and you use it to such a telling effect.
Jeffrey, thank you so much for this lovely, generous comment on this moment in the journey.
Oh my. This is fabulous Mary. I want to read it a few times to detect all the layers. But life as passport, and the hidden self behind all the history, revealed when it’s finally lost.
Or more elegantly stated by you, I think this sentence is a perfect summary of your entire memoir: (and I too loved this about Musée Picasso!)
“When I’ve been to Paris before, I did visit the Musée Picasso and loved its orderly chronology of his work that results in the disorderly invention that is his work as if chronology will reveal. But discovery does not come in order.”
Gorgeous comment--though I do think you mean "detect" -- based on what follows the sentence about layers. I make zillions of typos, especially in emails! I wrote to Henry Jaglom's fans this morning directing them to the site where the audio is (he can't seem to find it!). I replied to all when he sent the text out to family and friends, thanking me profusely, and instead of "site" wrote "sire" -- Shoot me? Nah! Love you? Forever!!!
OH GOD! I swear, when I type comments from my phone, I get into a lot of trouble. It's only a matter of time before my phone auto-corrects Epi Pen to Epic Penis.
Me too! I know the feeling, as I explained. We all forgive typos or should, for sure. Love to you, dear Kimberly.
"Where we’ve arrived is not on any map."
beautiful
My heart to your, Veronika Bond. 💕
👌🏻
Words that resonate. "Only connect..." yes indeed. That's what your posts do.
Oh, how generous and kind. Thank you so< Isabelle. "Words that resonate" means so much!
Especially strong finish, Mary -- lots left to finish in the reader.
Blessings, Joshua, for your support.
Love this one too, Mary!
Oh, Diane, you have been such a cheerleader. I am grateful. Heart to heat. ~Mary
Thanks!
Mary,
I read this twice, because it has so much depth and mystery to it. You end with a question, which i think is answered by the chapter and the Eliot. I think your answer is to find what you have lost, you have to let it go. But I'm not sure!
The juxtaposition of the deserted Place des Vosges and you smiling in your apartment is also telling of letting go in order to find.
Eager to read the next chapter!
Best,
David
You read well and generously. Thank you, David. Did you get my follow-up email to this post where you did not leave a comment? --and I'd welcome one: https://marytabor.substack.com/p/dear-david
I do want to encourage you and remain in contact, dear virtual friend.