Windchimes

blip, then follow the dotted outline

Among my early attempts at poetry, the tries at love poems make me cringe the most. Cliches tempt too strongly, and words like "passion, embrace, rapture, soul, etc" and their various forms slip in. Those words were "banned" in the creative writing class I took last summer. Sap runs and I end up with a sticky mess. The first prompt for the current Slam scared me a little because of that, but I've written and posted now. Everyone seems to be mostly avoiding those sap traps. At least I've found various levels of entertainingly written poems there, so far, and now that I've posted, I've been trying to r & r.

My brain still feels mushy from tinkering with that poem into the wee hours last night, and I have trouble reviewing more than a few poems at a time, but my goal is to get to them all before Monday. I often feel at a loss as far as reviewing in a helpful, positive manner. So here I am, journaling again, or trying.

Speaking of love poems, my absolute favorite modern one is "Tying the Knot" by John Poch. There used to be a copy of it on the net, but if it's still there, I can't find it. I'm not the world's best searcher, either. I don't feel comfortable typing it in here, but it's in his collection entitled "Poems", well worth buying, in my opinion.

To continue scrapbooking...
I should get my film developped. It's never been high on our financial priority list (that's a figurative list, I'm way too unorganized to write an actual one). We should get a digital camera, but the one Cliff wants will subtract a chunka change from some account somewhere. Soon, soon, I will take a bagfull of undeveloped film and get back more pictures than I can sort through.

Meantime, I keep trying to document my summer long holiday, before it's completely gone. Classes start on the 22nd of this month.

I left off in North Carolina, and I think I've exhausted that topic, or am exhausted with it. So on to my other summer voyage...France. I could go into a long explanation of why I take forever to write in English anything about my trips to France, how I spend a week or two moping and missing it when I get home, how I try to hold on to thinking in the language. Best I just start writing about the actual trip and stay.

I flew to Boston first, where I had a connecting flight to Paris. Bad weather in Boston almost postponed my arrival at CDG. Bad weather in Washington D.C. made my return to Atlanta an overnight waking bad dream, but I'll get to that later. For now, I'll just state, for this record, my intention to avoid connecting flights at all costs in the future. Thank goodness I got to Paris at the expected time. At least I didn't lose any of my time in France.

It was too short as it was, since I only stayed two weeks. I usually mostly lose the first day there to jet lag recovery, but I met a very special friend in Paris this time. Only two and a half days with that friend, so didn't want to sleep too much. I took a little nap, then we went to dinner and took the Metro to the St. Michel station. Notre Dame in one direction, the Latin Quarter in another. I'd gone in to Notre Dame while visiting Paris two years ago, even attended a mass there. First Catholic service I'd ever attended in my life. I just wanted to see it from outside again, this time.

Then we headed to Rue de la Huchette. I wanted to see which Ionesco plays were playing at La Petite Huchette and when. Wanted to catch "La Cantatrice Chauve" (The Bald Soprano) this time, but never could work it out. When I finally went to buy the tickets with another friend, that night's showing had sold out. I love that play. One of these days, I'm going to see it done there.

On the way to the little theatre, we saw a mime performing in the street. I was walking pretty purposefully to the theatre, so didn't see the mime sneak up behind me. Didn't hear him, either. I jumped and squealed, delighting the gathering crowd, when he poked the back of my shoulder. Tried to regather my composure and regain a bit of dignity by then shaking his hand and saying "bon soir".

Anyway, we looked at the theatre schedule, then went across the street to eat at one of those little shops with a huge chunk of meat spinning on a vertical spit in the window. They stuff flatbread with that meat and some veggies and a wonderfully tasty white sauce, along with french fries. It makes for an inexpensive, delicious meal, even considering the cost of a soft drink. Then, you're not hungry when the rest of the restaranteurs in the quarter try to pull you bodily into their eateries.

Okay, Norton is taking over my computer now, so...

later...



J.H. Larrew
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