My Buried Life

“Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all.”
                                                   ~~T. S. Eliot, “Portrait of a Lady”

Hiya folks.  How’s things?  I’m a little excited right about now.  Packing.  Big trip planned this weekend.  To Paris!  Yep, we’re pretty stoked.  This little break in the action has been planned for awhile–a chance to knock the dust of Sicily off our boots for a few days, do a little exploring, sightseeing, maybe even visit a cafe or two.

We visited Paris once before and it was a real nice time.  We stayed in a hotel adjacent to the Arc de’ Triomphe, which was beautiful in it’s own right, and also close to many of the best known sights.  There’s a kind of energy there that’s hard to describe.  Even during the winter, an effervescence hung in the air, and walking around the city was like touring a dreamscape.

We were lucky enough to stumble on a great restaurant or two, where the waiters were haughty and high-minded, but with a twinkle in their eye that told you it was all part of the show.  The view from the Eiffel Tower was amazing, and even with the cold wind blowing, it was almost like you could feel the heat of the city in the updrafts.

The Louvre is one of the Seven Wonders of The Modern World, IMHO.  You could wander there for days, go missing, lose oneself, and never cross back on your own path.  The art was amazing, and I still remember us sitting in a little cafe at the stop of a long marble staircase–Furnacegirl and I were not married yet–and thinking to myself: This is the stuff of legend.

I wasn’t really writing seriously back then, but I still felt inspired to jot notes in journal.  I even got to see in person a statue by Michelangelo–called The Bound Slave–that I had sketched from a picture years before.  It was one of those surreal experiences, and to walk up and put my fingers on the cool marble was a kind of revelation.  Here’s my primitive sketch.  Thanks for asking.  😀

It really is true what they say: a unique magic inhabits the streets of Paris.  There’s a reason why writers like Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Stein made it their second home.  Something hauntingly alive dwells in this place, and until you’ve been, it sounds too much like a fairy tale to be believed.  Who knows? Maybe on this visit, some of that writing magic will rub off on me.

Anyway, this time out, it’ll be a little more low key, more of a vacation and less of a tourist routine, relax, enjoy the sights–but that’s how we like it.  And I’ll bring back a few photos too, just for funzies.

A few quick admin notes before I sign off:

1) If you haven’t stopped by and checked out all the groovy posts for the Rule of Three Blogfest, get your butt over there!  Some really awesome writers turning out a ton of top-notch work.

2) If you stopped by to check out my story, see below, or click here.

3) I won’t probably have much of an online presence this weekend, back on Monday.  So you know the rules: You can have one cookies and milk before you go to bed, but lights out at ten o’clock, no excuses.  😀

Hope you have an amazing weekend, and stay groovy while you’re at it!

VINCENT: …You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

JULES: They don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?

VINCENT: No, they got the metric system there, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.

JULES: What’d they call it?

VINCENT: Royale with Cheese.

JULES: Royale with Cheese. What’d they call a Big Mac?

VINCENT: Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac.

JULES: What do they call a Whopper?

VINCENT: I dunno, I didn’t go into a Burger King.