Going forward. From Now On.

9:20 am. get up. do it

I picked up my chai cup and the book and went to my desk. Already wrote my Morning Pages, read a tad, went to physical therapy for my neck and shoulder, cleaned all and organized some kitchen cabinets, sat down for my 2nd chai of the morning (a rarity) to read a book. And it engrossed me in a strange and unexpected way.

i purchased the book months ago

Might have been last year. It is a big hardcover book; the cover got my attention, I opened it, liked it, bought it. But it’s been moving all over the house since. We got simple, new chairs and disposed of one big leather couch, so I’ve been moving things around. That book with it. Here. No, there. Put it away. Need something over there. Book out. Finally, last night, with little light because I did not expect to read much, I perused it. Thought ‘a little over the top.’ It begins with Autumn — Automne. Not in the mood, I flipped. Winter — Hiver. Kept flipping. Page 97:

WHAT IS HAPPINESS?

How could I not read that, right? Became engrossed and read quite a bit. I was tired and knew I had to be out of the house early for PT, and I wanted to read and write in the morning before going. Plus, have my chai.

So, barely thirty minutes ago, I picked up the book so I would not go do something while having a rare second cup of morning chai — wanted to relax before taking on the rest of the day. So I decided to flip backwards to find when and why the author decided to move to France, 

how it happened

Reading, I realized I was not yet at the beginning of her story. Flipped back more. Ok, found it.  LEAVING NEW YORK. Then, super-interested (used that word a bit this morning while writing—word of the day? the week? month? things to come?) flipped back, ‘expecting’ nothing. And found the PREFACE. A book has never enticed me this much this way. It’d take too long to explain how and why I read, so trust me, this was out of the ordinary.

(you’re welcome)
 
  • Then I immediately thought: “Should write about this experience, how I—” when something pulled me out of the new chair (in the old reading spot). I picked up my chai and said: “Get up, do it. Write it. Reading is one of the posts you need to write anyway.” And, very slowly (so not me!), I walked from chair to door, down the stairs, to my desk. As if walking fast would keep me from going where I wanted to go.

    The title? I thought you’d never ask:
AN AMERICAN IN

PROVENCE

ART, LIFE and PHOTOGRAPHY

Jamie Beck

To be creative, I have to create. To create, sometimes (often, mainly?), I have to move. And move I did. The last sentences in my notebook this morning:

“It is right in front of me, beside me, around me, in me. Emanating from me??? I can almost see it, touch it. I love it❣️ And I almost did not write because of time — which doesn’t exist. HA. ‘Funny’ and powerful, no?”

perhaps, maybe, there’ll be more than paris to the spring trip