~aventures du louchette flâneurse: 1er~

November 17th, 2009

After a three week trip to the states that was wonderful, harrowing, exhausting, heart-cracking-exploding-tickling-fuzzing, I have landed in Paris for a six and a half week stay, 46 days. Yes, I am counting–not just of excitement (!)–but because I am here to finish a solid draft of one writing project (or come as close as I am able), and begin research and structure for another. Half the time will be spent with visitors, the other half solo, tossing grant applications in the mail for the first time in two years, oh la la la la, and fine-tuning that great American novel set in Burma, 1933.

Thus rather than my usual (albeit sparse lately) text-laden blog, I would like instead to offer a picture a day from my walks: a mark of time, a frivolous practice while here. Photo-ing is like dancing, you don’t ponder, you do. A fine way to play.

So. Today we arrived on the sleepless red-eye, I kissed my man goodbye and tried not to think of the four weeks until I’d see him again (possible only in my fugue state), then on to the 11th, Rue Jean Pierre Timbaud. Keys sussed out, bathing and laundry too, larder stocked: baguette, cheese, cafe, champagne, cassis. Deep, unavoidable early evening nap. The first time I came here in ‘98, I fell asleep hunched over a map on the couch of my host. This time I got horizontal at least.

Our first: doll hospital discovered while seeking provisions, Strand Bookshop bag over my shoulder.