Paris, jour cinq

Le 29 décembre

I think the neighbours are drug dealers. They never work, they are always up very late, they are home all day.

I am standing in front of that big, white wheel they’ve installed between the Jeu de Paume, where I am headed, and the Orangerie. It is a Ferris wheel and when I was here in April for the marathon, I took a spin on it, by myself, doesn’t that sound perfectly lonely? Well, perhaps, but think of it this way: imagine not going on it because one is alone, waiting until the sweet day when, romantically, one would ride it with that special someone. Those who wait shall weep! There is no wait, and I didn’t feel lonely, just alone. What is the difference? Sadness. Me, I have joy. And hope.

I am here because the day I rode la Roue de Paris, I also ate a fantastic square of pizza from a stand at the foot of the wheel and I want another. It contains two of the naughtiest foods still permissible on my eat list: bread and cheese. Yum. I savour the mushroom slice as I stand and write with the Sun patting my head like a good girl, a smart girl, a happy girl. I eat the whole thing, I am full and ready for some art at my favourite gallery.

The exposition is called “Soulèvements,” or Uprisings. I loved it. It began with the elements, the environment and followed through gestures then words, then conflicts, and finally desires, qualified as indestructible. What a beautiful thought. So many short films. I watched them all, and one twice. I didn’t buy the program and I regret that. I may go back.

I walked through the Jardin des Tuileries. I sipped a noisette at Le Carrousel sur la rue de Rivoli. I was so happy, then the sadness came again. What is going on with me!?

Christina, remember the chaos, the hundreds of students, the noise, the frustration, the million things a minute, Christina, remember the rage. Life goes in cycles. Your memory is short, remind yourself of what was and, now, softly, what is. Enjoy this nothingness, this quiet, this peace, these lovely, long days of mostly silence, of breathing, inhaling, exhaling, absorbing, writing (your neglected, beloved blog!), all under the pretty parasol of Paris, my dear. You don’t have to see a soul, you don’t have to do a thing. Christina, acknowledge the fleeting sadness, the uncertainty you feel being here, embrace it, learn from it and grow. Be patient. Keep writing. You don’t have to see anyone, you don’t have to do a thing.

I am back at “Au va et vient.” I really do like this place. I have the velouté champignons with a glass of Côtes de Provence. Now I have ordered a second entrée, les cubes de thon. And a second glass of wine. It is early, but I feel a natural close to the day. I go home. There is an old film on TV, “Le vieil homme et l’enfant,” 1967. It is wonderful. I love old films. I sleep right through the night.

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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