We PAUSE at the end of the street. No guidebooks had mentioned that we would have to go along this somewhat SEAMY street just behind the Gare St. Lazare. I mean, we were staying just above a XXX movie theater and “Miss Corsica” did live in our building. But still, this street was a little more edgy (at least for this part of Paris). We shrugged, walked a little faster, lest the group of men staring at a window would turn and stare at us. I told myself to relax, they were unlikely to STEAL my purse or anything. Besides, when have I ever let a little anxious SWEAT and uneasiness stand between me and a highly recommended cheese shop??

Georg’ann

Each time my daughter enters the HOUSE, she never fails to say something to the effect of “I love this house, its perfect”. In this appreciation my own devotion to it is reaffirmed. A small old house we moved into on her 16th birthday, it’s not even her true childhood home, the pace where we lived with her father.
Another mother and daughter lived here before us. I think houses have and hold energies. Our previous house, though it was a beautiful house, never felt like a home. It had a bad vibe despite our loving presence. We felt it was haunted and later learned someone had committed suicide in the garage. We still SPEAK of the garden sheers that flew across that space one afternoon.
But I digress from the more pressing matters of this day and the needs of the house. The bathroom ceiling is beginning to peel as a result of the constant STEAM. It will require a certain amount of honest SWEAT to repair. These are the sorts of mindless tasks that actually become mindful. Memories come, I become pensive in my wonderings about love, family, work, metaphor. The mundane maintenance becomes spiritual reflection.

Heather