Comments (4) Tonight we’re heading to the Alps for Christmas. This year I’ll celebrate the birth of Jesus with my in-laws. We’ll spend our trips back and forth on night trains. I actually relish those journeys. There’s something spine-tingling about changing places in the twilight.
During my recent visit to Musée d’Orsay, I did it again. I danced. The beautiful reception hall invited me so convincingly. I took steps. And then some more. People stopped and watched. They must have liked what they saw since they paused. I did it foremost for myself. For the sake of love of movement. Love of feeling as if I’m flying. Like a fairy. Without constraints. But it was also very precious to share that fleeing instant with the other souls present and willing.
So many bodies, lives unknown all around me taking me hostage in their faceless embrace.
Yellow isn’t really my color of predilection. Having a pale skin, I’ve always strayed away from all forms of this chirpy hue. I’m so used to thinking that it would make me look utterly seasick. With certain apprehension I observe that yellow is popping up like juicy fall mushrooms. Many stars are wearing it in galas, and yellow tops and accessories keep abruptly sprouting. Spring/summer 2009 shows display it with flashing colors – huh huh – too. How will this rather challenging tint suit everyone?
I was invited by my all-time Paris friend Sarah to see a flamenco classic Carmen at the Chaillot Theater. It is situated on the Trocadero hill overlooking the Eiffel Tower. The night was magnificent. Dusk and jazzy tunes on the patio, after entering into the building, beautiful frescoes on the wall. And a surprise, the declaration of human rights, signed at the very edifice, stated a slate next to the artworks. The show was a treat – last night in Paris.
I’m dealing with some health bugs. Nothing too serious, just more of bothering and tiring. I realize how wonderful it is when our physical being is in accordance with our desire to live, love and experience. I’m determined to keep my head high. Easy to say, more difficult to do. Being courageous is the only way to go. It’s actually a mystery why I have the aches that I do. When something is based on subjective feelings, and shouldn’t be there, it can be challenging to bear. You wish it wouldn’t be there, and yet it so clearly is. Paris in her autumn vesture gives me a pat.
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