A visit to the Caillebotte exhibition yesterday didn't happen. The line stretched as far as the eye could see -- Monday was a holiday in France -- it looked like rain; we hadn't had lunch; we were hungry, Laduree where we had planned to have an omelet, was completely booked; and, the entire day started off badly because I was more than an hour late for our excursions because my car wouldn't start.
Let's call above paragraph "background" because, since Monday, I am viewing the universe in a completely different light. I haven't quite decided whether to call it an epiphany as yet, although it might be.
As I mentioned a few days ago, my friend Bob is in Paris, and I've been out and about playing with him. He explained, as I was near tears telling him about my car and that I would be verrrrrry late under the best of circumstances, that all such occurrences are merely twists on the universal plot of life -- or something like that. He believes in "the great novelist in the sky" who puts obstacles in our paths, plot twists, and yes, serendipitous moments to see how we handle the "material."
He refuses to use the word, "problem."
I must say, I like the notion. Applying it may be more complicated. I'm sort of locked into seeing all obstacles in my path as problems of greater or lesser importance.
|Courtney Love needs to re-think dresses with slit-down-to-there V's. Under any circumstances, she should consider undergarments with serious support. (I'm telling her this for her own good.)|
Since I've made feeble allusions to literature, let's call them "striking" shall we? I wonder what the women think when they look at themselves in these stark images.
I'm off to Paris. A demain.