At the moment, I haven't sorted a rhythm to make that happen, but having identified the impatience, I think I'll get there over the next week or so. More words, less images perhaps. Not quite sure yet. Meanwhile, you're all so wonderfully supportive and patient, and on the days when I wonder if I should just quit, I'll read a comment that convinces me otherwise. Thank you SO!
Also meanwhile, for now I'll just post a Five Things Friday again, if you don't mind, and start clearing space in my head, time in my day, for delving a bit more deeply, or at least differently, in the next few weeks...
1. Thanks to Netflix, we've been watching Un Village Français with the French subtitles. Being able to read what I'm hearing is immensely useful to my development of aural comprehension, especially given my (slight to moderate) hearing impairment. The series was developed under the guidance of a French historian, Jean-Pierre Azéma, and although we're only 5 or 6 episodes in now, we're finding it devastatingly realistic. Very well written, thoughtfully cast, powerfully acted.
And for something lighter that also keeps our ears working in French, we follow an episode of UVF with one of La Vie Devant Elles, about the lives of three young women after the deaths of their fathers in a mining accident. Despite the tragic opening, the episodes we've seen so far (again, about 5) are lively and engaging and full of the colour, music, and style of mid-70s France as women begin to flex their newly emerging feminist muscles. Smart programming, I'd say, appealing to the sizeable Boomer population who lived this period and their kids -- especially daughters -- who might be able to relate to the three strong female protagonists.
2. This might be something I think more about in one of those extended posts I'm hoping to tackle, but for now just let me say that this time together, away from family and friends and new home whose packing boxes still need tending to, tough as it is in some ways (we do miss the grands!!), is so important to our marriage. Something about just walking together, no particular goal yet so much to slow down and admire, plenty of cultural possibilities to schedule time around but also much time to luxuriate in simple domesticity, enhanced by the exoticism of travel. . .
Even just taking a selfie together. . . really doesn't happen at home!
I know, it sounds like too much, but it's basic courtesy here, and I'm beginning to really appreciate the social space it clears. Even when you walk into a Café that's completely new to you, even if it's well peopled with folk you don't know, you do well to catch the proprietor's/server's eye and sing out a quick "Bonjour" or "Bon soir." If you're too shy or you forget, you might, like me, feel a hint of rebuke when the server gets there first with a "Bonjour M'sieu-Dame". . . But if you can get yourself into the habit, well, you might just have a moment here and there where you feel a little pat on the back, from your home self to your French-wannabe self. . .
4. Stonework. Simple Beauty. Lessons about Regularity and Repetition and the Reassurance of Order. (keeping in mind the Lessons that Street Art offers against becoming too caught up in those three R's)
Plus the same day I took these photos, I got a message from a former neighbour on "our" little island, telling me that she's been hired by the people who bought our old home to care for the garden I built, ginkgo tree and all. Made me so happy, and also, when I checked in with my feelings (as you do! ;-), I realised that the happiness was scarcely tinged with the sadness of missing. Not that those other feelings won't come back, but for the moment, I'm just happy someone else is enjoying "my garden." And that I can enjoy others myself. . .
This evening we're off to a Cine-Concert (at least, assuming it's not sold out by the time we get to the door) -- a showing of Fritz Lang's Metropolis in a cathedral on whose grand organ a master musician will improvise an accompaniment to the silent film. Cool, eh? I haven't seen the dystopic film in years (not since a Film Studies course I took as a "mature student" -- and when I think how old I felt then, compared to the other students, but how young I really was. . . .), and never with a "live" soundtrack in a big old stone building with magnificent acoustics. . . You?
What are you up to this weekend? (and wait, didn't I just ask that question? Time is spooling by, faster than any film. . . .)