Having a lemon tree I can’t help but think about France, and there are a few American things (I have to use my imagination) that can put me at a sidewalk café, mid-afternoon, for a pause and some people-watching. One of them is citron pressé.
Today is my blog’s sixth birthday. I started this blog as a way to document my travels but it evolved into something else. It also happens to be a gray day. With global warming, summers have become so constant and long and tedious, that I love these days. They remind me of Berlin and my life there.
Writer Linda LaRoche; When I lived in Europe, a part of me felt right at home, although I hated snow; the lack of the suns rays affected my mood. Although the German mentality was harsh for my sensibilities, I found them similar to the French to be a friend for life. That’s my m.o.
Friendly, I thought; I liked her and admired her black strappy shoes. Turns out she married a Spaniard and thus began to dance and began her love of all things Español.
I’m always thrown for a loop when someone I admire has passed away. It makes me think of how short our lives are. Today I heard about Roger Ebert and recall the many times I watched him flag his hands in the air and took heed to his either thumbs up or thumbs down that became his moniker. Last night another blow— and another light extinguished—Oscar-winning screenwriter and award-winning novelist Ruth Prawer Jhabvala died.
When I moved to Europe I had romantic ideas of love waiting to be discovered amidst the land of poets, classical musicians and thinkers of Germany. On wild streak, I had an Italian love-affair. Every afternoon I romped and indulged.