What I'd Be

without you. Racing over here to see "who"? Not yet. On a summer (it still is) play-list, blaring out of a teensy speaker is God Only Knows. Trust me, it's very cool in a mix. Julie swoons every time that song, Bus Stop or Try & Catch the Wind play. She's such a flower child-cat. At the same time, she enjoys the remastered Exile on Main Street. She's super cool in a friendly way & I wish I were more like her.

No, the subject is - what would I be without having flown many years ago, 16 September, at age 17* to Strasbourg, France. (via Luxembourg. Alone, baby, alone.) It's not that I regret our fast communication & info tech. It would have made a huge difference in my life some years later in the Middle East--for the better, possibly saved some lives. I don't pine for the good old days; they weren't always so good upon further examination. Anyway, as nervous as I was, I had to make the decisions on my own. That made me more confident, or at least damn nervier, than most 17-18 year old people today. Listen, I was never going to have much support no matter where I went or lived. (Material support? None. So before I receive more messages of "you had money, you grew up with..." No I did not. (This part is To Be Continued.)

I knew there weren't too many chances in life. If you think that's pessimistic, I would say it's realistic. You get a chance, you damn well better take it. Sometimes you can create an opportunity--but it's not all you, a lot depends on fate (or whatever you want to call it), other people, world events. (BTW, I'm not a fan of taking advantage of another person & calling that an opportunity.) That's why I went to Strasbourg & not to Paris.

Honestly, this whole enterprise is beyond ridiculous without a camera. These because the girl has a tripod & she's dressed in a manner similar to 1970s non-awfulness. (It wasn't all bad.) I wore hats & still do, but I don't think I had one this floppy. The rest are for-real Strasbourg photographs. The second one, it's the real place & it's a pigeonnier, close to the Rhine where I used to walk (approaching it through the other shot, which is a wheat field surrounded by the Strasbourg forest).

I have to break this up into parts. And then fix them. Bear with me. There are lots of great links here & on Julie's blog, Giulia Geranium. The Clever Pup is pondering Paris & has some current, good information on hotels. She researches this stuff to a fare-thee-well...so take advantage of it. Also, Liberty of London Girl's London Fashion Week Survival Kit giveaway is on until Thursday, 23 September. I still don't know if it's only for UK visitors, so enter anyway. It's fun to read the posts in between hideous world news bulletins. For those worried about Tea Party Poopers & assorted lunatics (if not, wow, wake up), The Political Carnival is my favorite place to check in. I rely on Laffy & Paddy to keep my spirits up, too. They are stylish, tweeting troublemakers.

(*soon to be 18 but I still love that I turned 18 in France. I'm hopeless about it, just let me have that, OK? Merci.)

All the Way to the End

"Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, where no one can go any further. The further one goes, the more private, the more personal, the more singular an experience becomes, and the thing one is making is, finally, the necessary, irrepressible, and, as nearly as possible, definitive utterance of this singularity." --Rainer Maria Rilke

I'm running out of steam for the week, but I've been thinking about Ted Hughes' theory that all art originates from a wound in the artist. He does a better job of 'esplaining it. But Rilke certainly will do.

I heard from a friend today in Prague (he's been living with his wife Vera in an apartment in Prague Castle that Václav Havel arranged for them. It didn't even faze me - of course, you're living in the Castle. I'd already heard but didn't want to spoil his moment.) He is a novelist & filmmaker & friend of perv Milan Kundera. When The Unbearable Lightness of Being was released as book (& then as film later), I asked Arnošt. Well? "Exactly, exactly how it was. That bastard, he did it!" Then he picked me up & whirled me around the room.

It was/is a tight circle of friends/frenemies & a highly competitive bunch, of course: writers, painters, photographers, filmmakers, journos, etc. They supported the "wrong" person in 1968 & were invited to leave. Kundera's success spurred them all on (including director Miloš Forman). I hope someone writes a book about this gang of devils. (There are more.)

Arnošt & Vera lent me 'the borrowed flat' in Jerusalem for many weekends. They sat with me in the - I am not kidding - Elizabeth Taylor Cafeteria...or maybe it was the Frank Sinatra cafeteria (there were two) & tried to make me laugh. One time I got in a car with them. Only once. I was in the back seat with an old friend who then lived in Israel. He started to laugh hysterically...maybe it was the idea of the two of us tootling around the city with our friend--who should never drive (do you hear me, A?) anywhere. Ever. I accessed my "if I go, I go" attitude used to good effect in Greek & Italian taxis. Anyway, those wild & crazy Czechs, they lent me the flat for which I'll be eternally grateful. Now I want to stay at Prague Castle.

Here's to brave people - who, amazingly, miraculously laugh (with a large side of irony). And take it all the way to the end.

[two stills from Unbearable Lightness of Being, still photographer-genius Phil Bray; the "real" iconic photograph via filmwell(dot)org]

Les bois

I had to put something else up. Too tired to find a poem (much less write one or write an essay/post) on solipsism (not the philosophical theory...the selfish bit). It's been a horrible time in our Silver Spring neighborhood (the Discovery Channel hostage situation).

Odour of Chrysanthemums

The short story title popped into my muddled mind a few hours ago. Snipping herbs & flowers, snapping off a few small vegetables (where I'm house/cat sitting), I sensed a change. Of course, it is late summer & it will be too hot for some time yet. I usually welcome the nearly imperceptible shift, the flip of the switch, to a new season. Not today, though, for all sorts of complicated reasons.

But what-ho? (Too much Jeeves & Wooster this summer. I'll be saying 'pip pip' soon.). A new mini-crisis on the literal horizon to divert me. (That's a good thing.) The entertaining birds in the back garden have cleverly timed the emptying of their feeders for this very moment--oh thanks les oiseaux. Now I'll be awake all night if I can't fill them before I collapse from fatigue (which I am about to do). Oh woe.

Strasbourg-of-the-past is what this twaddle above is about. Some of it anyway. Can you see why I drone on about the-rest-of-France & I-love-Alsace, just from that photograph? I hope so. Paris is grand, yes, but it is not the whole country.

[Strasbourg by thexmunichxromance via deviantArt & for good measure, another flower lady via style(dot)com archives]

Week's End - What a Dream I Had

...that tulle-clad, I rushed across the street & fixed the power grid myself. This is also to acknowledge a lovely man-child (at the time) who made this his song for me (& sang it) when he walked me around the chilly forests of Alsace, often late at night. Also rambles on the grounds of a château, close to the Rhine. Yes, we even heard the Cathedral bells, though not the Lorelei. It's the anniversary of a very difficult day & so I thank him. (Yes, too sentimental. Oh well.) Update: better quality video, here.

Continuing unexplained power outages. No one is telling us/answering our questions.

The Jersualem Windows - Marc Chagall

I was fortunate to see the twelve windows from the perspective of a visitor & then, not so fortunate, as a patient. I've seen all of his stained glass work (I think). Here's a link to the hospital's site & to a rare book site. Here's a link to a post last year on a blog, Echostains & it has very nice images, as well.

Perched precariously on a dining room chair, stretching a blue open-weave summer blanket over the very large nekkid bedroom window, I listened to the Writer's Almanac very early today. Ah, it's Chagall's birthday. The light streams through the loose weave, casting a welcome chill & I thought, that's rather Chagall-ish. (Well, one must reach at times, you know.)

The Unruly America(i)ne

Lovely photographs from Sidi Bou Said, Hammamet, Nabeul, & other Tunisian towns. Birdcages & iron beds & neroli. That was the plan. But my blood pressure must be spiking because there's a new crack in the ceiling above my desk & I'm running late. For Mediterranean loveliness, visit calm Canadian Diane's Things We Love 2. Barcelona is the starter on the menu; sounds good to me, The Unruly America(i)ne. I feel like a Nervous Lemon. Ahem.

Two classic shots of Sidi Bou Said; the window, [looking for the wiki link]; the street, here. Off to Nabeul & Hammamet tomorrow, I guess.

Week's End - Mirage/Mirare

Some additional The English Patient stills (by brilliant Phil Bray). I've used them to help with some research/writing prompts & as I'm metaphorically stuck in the desert/Middle East (& Italy), they continue to resonate. The shots in the Cairo apartment were not done there but I could swear they were shot in the Garden City quarter. Those maniacal production artists.

By the way, I recently read the late (so sad) Anthony Minghella's award-winning screenplay & it is well worth buying for any would-be adapters, fans of the film & novel. You'll find that many things you think are in the novel are not - they're in the screenplay; since it didn't bother Michael Ondaatje, it sure doesn't bother me. I am sorry there aren't more stills available of the Hana/Kip story thread; I have some in folders, but that can wait. I'm beyond indulging myself here. [many images from www.availableimages.com/movies/1996/english-patient-the/pictures; other credits, from here. But everything really comes down to Phil Bray.]

Have a great weekend.

Summer Sandals

These are nearly identical to beloved sandals I had for about 18 years. Up & down countless steps & hills, deserts & cities, seashores & villages. Pulling out of a Metro station two days ago, I saw a woman wearing-- my sandals! (Or close.) Where, where? Did you get them? OK, I thought-yelled it. I do not believe they exist in this world--now--for less than $500 dollars. I don't remember where I bought them (a dust storm was kicking up), but they were in a half-smashed cardboard box. I searched for a left & then a right, paid, & left wearing them, running from that storm. So many people asked me about those sandals. They served me well. Until one day, a cobbler said Not even I, Signorina, can mend these. You must say good-bye. I know it is hard. Much history, yes? Only enough to break your heart. The kind that breaks your heart. [photograph by Nina Leen, LIFE Archives]

Week's End - Streets of Jerusalem

Some of the best (& most surreal, disturbing, intriguing) walks were here. You want material? For writing, for thinking? It's here. Tramping up & down hills, through villages (where I should not have been), everywhere. My scanner is broken* (of course, it is)...& so just this evocative Streets of Jerusalem photograph by Julian Kaseler via we heart it] That's a little girl walking down an inexplicably (to me) empty street. But it happens, that bit of quiet there, yes, sometimes. I wonder where she is now. OK, that's enough from me because I just found a pix of Leonard Cohen in concert in Israel. Oh, too tempting, too tired. It'll be fun just to think of it. Have a peaceful weekend. And feel fortunate for it....(that goes for me, too, yes).

[*Though most of my photographs were destroyed there, I have friends who have wonderful ones & I'm sure they'll lend them to me if I would just ask. So I will. Tomorrow, said Scarlett]

Monday update: resting for today at least. Hope to be back tomorrow. I see many tempting posts just on this site...Cheers all.

The Nereid of the Seashore

That would be AKTAIE in ancient Greek. This is where I'd like to be this morning. Alas, I will be out in 90+ degree heat attending to other, non-marine, matters. [image from liquid sunny day/deviantART via we heart it]

Friday Update: I'll be back with some pix before midnight. Have received emails asking about Julie. The asthma is pretty bad; the meds are worse; the cost for everything is..well, I'm gonna have to write a disgusting (true) memoir about my family or something. You know, sell out to make money for the bills. I'm serious. J. now hates me & is fighting the medications. She was uncharacteristically freaked out by the trip there & back. Usually, she's like a dog, eager to take a ride, especially with her pal Maria Caterina who took us there (no taxi necessary, it turns out thank goodness). Thanks to MCat for putting up with huge drama yesterday.

L'eau de Rose/Rosewater

I use a lot of rosewater (in food & otherwise). The last photograph of the Jordanian desert will illustrate why rosewater became essential to my well-being when living there. (OK, not in the desert but working on a dig, it's much the same thing.) It's an affordable tonic.

[photographs from lovely sfgirlbybay; your life, it seems extravagant/tumblr; dizrthymia/tumblr; all via we heart it; Jordanian desert from The Real Israel blog on Wordpress.]

Week's End - Ode to Rome

John Keats died in Rome on 23 February 1821. I may not post next week but could not let the occasion pass without comment. As reported previously, I have embarrassed at least one relative in the Keats-Shelley House & at the Protestant cemetery. I feel less an idiot upon reading that no less a personage than Oscar Wilde prostrated himself for 25 minutes at the grave. (I'm making my way--at last--through Andrew Motion's biography of Keats.)

Giampaolo Macorig's beautiful photograph would have been Keats's view as he walked on the Pincio those last few months. The image of his signature is from the Keats-Shelley House & the organization's website is looking quite spiffy these days; do take a virtual visit. It's very much a destination for writers (& others) living in & visiting Rome. The story of the acquisition of the house is one of cooperation among Anglophones in Rome. (For once. Ahem.)

And finally, here is a sweet article I just saw in the Observer by a reporter who went to Rome with his girlfriend--in search of Romance (& Keats). It has a much happier ending than that of John & Fanny.

Update: Thursday, 25 Feb. (Read in whiny voice.) If we don't lose power (again!), I'll be back next week. Maybe Saturday.

Week's End - Bird in Jerusalem

From the landscape of endless argument* The neck ribbon diverts one's attention from those talons. Someone needs a manicure. Forgive the pedestrian nature of titles, no words. Perhaps I've used this photograph in another post here. Seem to have wrenched something (not just my brain). Ouch.

Cheers from snowy DC. I wonder what everyone is up to...I shall visit after watching Georgetown v. Duke. (Yes, I watch college basketball.)

*I'm quoting myself (!) & I can't find magazine to scan. Yes, this is called self-sabotage, though it hardly seems important. Today.

Update on Tuesday, 2 February - hibernating but will post suitable photograph when I have energy to find it. Meanwhile, happy groundhog day.

A Pity, We Were Such a Good Invention*

"We even flew a little."* Yehuda Amichai

Still not up & about much but I'm tiring of the cute lamb. Sorry little lamb. Trying to ignore all the pundits who are pre-judging the SOTUS tonight. Plus bizarro tea-baggers are acting up nearby. Ugh. Should have put up something about birds of prey. (Though the poem, which is not linked here due to copyright, is not about birds. You know what poets are like. So irritating.)

Please vote for Liberty London Girl in the Tenth Annual Weblog Awards. She's the only one I nominated who made the finals. I nominated many blogs on my list/links in the side-bar & am mightily peeved that Being Ruby (Australia), The Clever Pup, & automatism (both Canadian) did not make final nominations. Fume. Must seize power, somehow, for next year. [Update: also neglected, Cycle Chic from Copenhagen.]

These photographs are from The Real Israel on Blogger. It was discontinued some years ago with little to no explanation; there's another blog of the same title on Wordpress, but I don't see a connection yet. The photographer's name eludes but I am working to find it; there are several photographs of interest (to me). I'm not linking because I don't want (some) of the commenters to come over here. Anything to do with Israel/Palestine brings out, um, passion. And also, might I add, people attribute views to me which are not mine--at all. I'm no apologist for one side or the other. That's putting it mildly.

Ciao

[birds in Ramat Gan preserve, Israel]

Welcome to England, he said...

..you better bring your own sun...

Update: forget it. Even the small YouTube format is too large & it's annoying me already. If you want to see it, go here.

Ages ago I connected these photographs with the song &...other things--instantly. That's all I'm saying about going to & leaving England here. [This YouTube version of Tori Amos on Craig Ferguson's show has a somewhat darker, heavier sound than the album's; I like both, but that's why I include it & not the one from her website.] And yes, I can now watch videos & the like. I can see how someone might still be in their pj's & braids & goofy glasses late of a Saturday afternoon (uh, early evening) when they have the ability to download an iTune in 20 seconds vs. an hour (I kid you not). Must watch that.

The computer is no longer dial-up (well, the laptop isn't, working on the desktop) nor on the edge-of-a-nervous breakdown...so I have to think up another excuse for this mess & lack of header photo or image & ridiculous subtitle.

[Photographs are by generous Nick Bartoletti who is in Seattle, not England. From his Clise Mansion shoot. The gown is featured in The Fuse-Blower post/ reminiscence if it looks familiar.]