DO LIFE. NOT CHEESE the vegan website said…
Mother’s Day picnic
Back from the market
Late summer lunch
Yesterday, I had a shitty day. There is no other way to qualify it.
It seemed there were too many choices to make, too many impossible options to select. I felt engulfed.
Then the evening came and I started a new book. I’ve borrowed two from the library and had finished the first one the previous night. I usually don’t borrow novels. Just sewing books, travel guides, anything to do with art, Japan, cooking, DVDs… but not novels. When I read fiction, I don’t treat books well. It’s rough love between me and the pages. The more I like a book, the more I will fold pages, and bend the cover. So preferably, I read books I own.
It’s a fairly recent thing for me. I used to love only movies and tv series. Visual stories. And suddenly, at 40+, I started sharing my love for fiction between films and books, discovering the pleasure to befriend characters who will make me sad when we part, when our relationship reaches the last page.
I’m still a slow reader, slightly disabled by many years of not focusing on thousands of lines where sentences can’t be missed. Maybe I suffered from reading ADD? Is that a thing?
Anyway, yesterday I started Maggie O’Farrell’s I am, I am, I am a memoir where the author relates seventeen encounters with death, visceral snapshots from her life at different ages, described with a candid feminine voice. I read the two first ones. Then switched off the lights because it was bedtime. And obviously my mind wandered, slightly affected by these first souvenirs of hers…
This morning, I started my day, determined not to feel the same detestable emotions I had to endure the day before. I plan to have a bath. Go and buy a postcard for Janet. Maybe shoot a good photo for Sarah’s feel-good Facebook group. I also checked WordPress and read a comment by the lovely Jules about vegan cheese.
If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I’m a foodie, a slightly cliché kind of a boho French woman! For me, life is all about wine and cheese picnics. My religion is worshipping a beautiful plate of artisan products. I envisage my own death, seating on the bank of the Seine (the Right Bank obviously!), on a summer evening, watching the Bateaux Mouches glowing as they pass by, listening to some kind of a band playing in the background on the other side, tipsy with a half-empty glass of Médoc in my hand, looking at the display next to me, an almost perfect instagram flat lay, with an organic saucisson, some kind of sourdough bread, and a variety of well-chosen cheese.
I am, I am I am a cheese lover.
And now, I’ll run myself a bath. But it’s too early for a piece of raw-milk camembert…