I started reading Proust's book for several reasons. (And given up on it for many more.)
Firstly, one should be properly educated in the literature of one's mother tongue. (Literature is wonderful, but I don't mind being slightly more cultured in English than in French.)
Secondly, one of my favorite books, Dinky Rouge Sang, is based on it. (Once I got past the good part in Proust, I lost interest because I was running the other book through my head and enjoyed it a hundred times more now that I know where it came from and how remarkably it played off it. Proust may be a dense read, but that passage will go down in my favorites.)
Thirdly, I will very soon be remembering things past.
Girl In The Snow is coming to visit.
I am excited, terrified, elated, apprehensive, reminiscing.
We haven't seen each other in years, but it seems like only yesterday we painted that silk scarf together. Only yesterday, we built blanket forts and spilled eucalyptus oil. Only yesterday we curled up to read comics. Only yesterday we built robots out of cereal boxes. Only yesterday we built out invisible castle in the courtyard. Only yesterday we wrote poems for our mothers and scouted the flea market for bargains. Only yesterday we smuggled fish under banana peels and bread in our pockets. Only yesterday we hid behind the green bench to sneak a bite of snack during recess. Only yesterday we met and fell in love.
She said she found an album of pictures of The Class Trip and will be bringing it for us to peruse and reminisce over.
I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to show her my world, how I've changed but stayed the same. I can't wait to see how she has grown and remained herself.
I'm terrified, just because, but I really know that it won't matter at all.
I'll mix the past with the present, and introduce her to my friends and drive her around and show her my Texas, but every time I'll look at her, I know I'll be seeing the little girl in the snow, holding her father's hand, and I'll fall in love all over again.
Firstly, one should be properly educated in the literature of one's mother tongue. (Literature is wonderful, but I don't mind being slightly more cultured in English than in French.)
Secondly, one of my favorite books, Dinky Rouge Sang, is based on it. (Once I got past the good part in Proust, I lost interest because I was running the other book through my head and enjoyed it a hundred times more now that I know where it came from and how remarkably it played off it. Proust may be a dense read, but that passage will go down in my favorites.)
Thirdly, I will very soon be remembering things past.
Girl In The Snow is coming to visit.
I am excited, terrified, elated, apprehensive, reminiscing.
We haven't seen each other in years, but it seems like only yesterday we painted that silk scarf together. Only yesterday, we built blanket forts and spilled eucalyptus oil. Only yesterday we curled up to read comics. Only yesterday we built robots out of cereal boxes. Only yesterday we built out invisible castle in the courtyard. Only yesterday we wrote poems for our mothers and scouted the flea market for bargains. Only yesterday we smuggled fish under banana peels and bread in our pockets. Only yesterday we hid behind the green bench to sneak a bite of snack during recess. Only yesterday we met and fell in love.
She said she found an album of pictures of The Class Trip and will be bringing it for us to peruse and reminisce over.
I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to show her my world, how I've changed but stayed the same. I can't wait to see how she has grown and remained herself.
I'm terrified, just because, but I really know that it won't matter at all.
I'll mix the past with the present, and introduce her to my friends and drive her around and show her my Texas, but every time I'll look at her, I know I'll be seeing the little girl in the snow, holding her father's hand, and I'll fall in love all over again.
2 comments:
I think Girl in the Snow is your soulmate. And I bet that's even rarer than people realise.
Well, Archduchesse, how things tie up. I think that The Day I met Her and The Life That Followed must have been one of the first postings of yours I read. You never cease to amaze me.
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