I am a daffodil

"to be or not to be"

Reader: (this is my Jane Eyre moment)

Over the past three weeks, I have had so much to write about but every morning, I read the headlines out of the US and, much like many others on Substack, it takes me most of the day to shake off the feeling of dread. Unless I’m writing fiction, writing brings me closer to whatever is going on inside my head and heart. I end up staring out the window in front of my desk, gazing at the Parisian rooftops, both grateful I live in France yet very aware that what happens in the US will affect us all.

I have also learned that I have to have a second carpal tunnel surgery on March 31. This time on my right wrist. This will dampen my writing 95% and I still am rubbish at dictating to my computer.

I have a deadline. I have to submit three chapters of my next book by sometime in June which means a lot of work. I have been viscious in axing many of the things I do on a volunteer basis and hoping that what is on my calendar now is the most neccessary appointments with myself and the things that keep my heart and soul healthy and growing. Not easy in this strange time of being alive.

Between now and September, I will only be writing sporadically. I’m suspending the paid subscriptions and everything will be free. Meanwhile, here are the things I’ve been thinking about, experiencing, and responding to:

THE BRUTALIST: I saw this movie last week. I rarely go to a cinema these days for no reason that I can explain. My friend, Elsie, said “It’s vacation here in France and I’d love to go a movie. Which one?” I didn’t even know what the word Brutalist referred to and fearing that it would be violent yet knowing it was nominated for every award possible, I thought this was my chance to see it and not go alone!!! Another friend had seen it the night before, loved it, and said the almost four hours flew by. I suggested going to it. We went to a 4pm showing.

I thought the movie was stunning. Visually, it was a treat and not to be seen on a small screen. Adrien Brody plays what he does best—a long suffering Jew. His face was made for that role. My friend was right. The time flew by. The intermission is a welcome respite for those of us who need to stand up or go to the Toilettes during a movie. And the themes of the movie, whether you like it or not, make you think. Fascism vs Capitalism. Little educated guy vs power-hungry uneducated rich guy. Brutalism itself: which is the name of the school of architecture that came out of the Bauhaus movement in Germany. Immigration in North America: how immigrants get used and thrown away. Psychological violence vs physical violence.

I left the cinema wanting to read everything I could about the movie, about the writer and director. There was a similarity to reading a one thousand page book that has a profundity on every page. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next day, I had lunch with three friends and recommended they see it. All three looked at me in surprise. “Everyone I know who saw it, hated it,” they said. How could that be possible? More to think about. I came to my own conclusion that we are all overloaded and overwhelmed. During WWII, musicals became the rage as did Film Noir. Escapist movies that took the viewer away from the realities of their lives. The Brutalist pushed issues in the viewer’s face. Many of us don’t want our movies to do that right now. When I’m at home, I want to watch All Creatures Great and Small, Father Brown, reruns of Miss Marple, old classic movies. Every part of me feels so sensitive that my tolerance for violence and too much suspense is nil. Yet, I loved The Brutalist. Go figure.

CLOCKS: REMINDER to all readers around the world: On March 9th, somewhere in the dead of night or early morning, the US will move clocks forward one hour. Here in Europe, we don’t have the luxury of late days until March 30. That is three weeks of mayhem if you don’t plan ahead. What is usually six hours difference between New York and Paris becomes five hours. If I have a scheduled phone call every Monday morning at 9am ET and the call originates in Michigan, I need to call at 2pm in Paris instead of 3pm. If a friend in California calls me each week on a Tuesday at 5pm in Paris, she would call me at 9am PT instead of 8am.

The best thing to do is use your smart phone and look up the world clock and the times. I have missed many meetings because I couldn’t, on the spur of the moment, think correctly if I was to call one hour before or one hour after the normally scheduled time.

daffodils - Parc de Bagatelle 2022

PARC DE BAGATELLE: As long time readers know, I love to write about my favorite park at least once a year. The Parc de Bagatelle is situated in the upper north west corner of Bois de Boulogne. It is now a 50 minute walk for me instead of the 35 minute walk when I lived two stops higher on the metro #9. I strolled there two weeks ago to investigate the daffodils fields. These fields flower like a Wordsworth poem every February and March. It is a stunning sight if you hit it at the right time. Two weeks ago was not the right time. Maybe it is the cold of this winter, the amount of rain, the lack of sun—although none of those things is particularly unParisian—there wasn’t a bloom to be seen. Scraggly stems about three to five inches high were pushing their way up from the ground. The tulips, which usually follow daffodil season in mid March to mid April and love cold ground, the colder the better, were sprouting right on time. You can imagine the disappointment when rounding a corner and expecting to see YELLOW. Yellow everywhere. This time, just green shoots.

Today, I’m returning and taking some friends with me. The sun has been out a lot in the past two weeks and I’m crossing my fingers, hoping, hoping, hoping, to show them the glory of daffodil season at the Parc de Bagatelle. Truthfully, nothing can dampen the joy I feel when I’m there. Seeing the cats who gather very close to the majority of daffodil fields, the many peacocks who strut the grounds, barking and honking and showing off their gorgeous plumage, the lovely mallards who stroll around near the lakes they frequent, and the anticipation of tulip season, iris season, peony season, and the formal rose garden that has a yearly competition for the best rose in Paris for the year. If the daffodils are at a minimum, I will have to draw on every oral skill I have to paint a portrait of this parc that the City of Paris maintains so beautifully.

Until the next time,

A bientôt,

Sara