It’s Saturday morning in La Celle-Sous-Chantermerle. The sun is shining brightly. I have been to the market with our hostess while Rod is out bicycling with the men.
I am tap, tapping on my iPhone, getting proficient, doing almost everything I can do on a laptop. I’m not attempting to insert any photos,just enjoying the beauty of words in black and white.
I am reading Anne Lamott who says good writing is about telling the truth. We all want to know and understand ourselves but the process is about as easy and pleasurable as washing a cat.
I always tell/write the truth – as much as I am aware of it. Sometimes I have to tap very hard to get it out. Other times the truth comes tumbling out from my finger tips. Life is like that.
What is my truth this morning? My body is still rebelling but slowly coming around. I’m slowly learning to take time and just be. There really is no need to react and respond to any stimuli like an amoebae.
It is now evening. We have just returned from Provis, a world heritage medieval town from the 11th, 12th and 13th Century. I have to tell you I know very little of France and have not heard of it before. I cannot tell you my impressions. I have to let things sit and settle. I will have to do some research when I get home. More importantly I need some French language lessons.
The truth now is my thoughts are disjointed and I’m rambling like Lewis Carroll. It had worked for him so I’m going to carry on thus. Not everything needs to make sense. Sometimes there’s a lot of wisdom in nonsense. It sounds good anyways.