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
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
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.”
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.
Apparently, there is an unbreakable bond between you two - like gluons and quarks, the further they are separated, the stronger the force of attraction. ❤️
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.
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
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. ❤️
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
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.”
"Where we’ve arrived is not on any map."
beautiful
👌🏻
Words that resonate. "Only connect..." yes indeed. That's what your posts do.
Especially strong finish, Mary -- lots left to finish in the reader.
Love this one too, Mary!
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