Title : Brussels, from Bordeaux. . . . Perspective of Distance
link : Brussels, from Bordeaux. . . . Perspective of Distance
Brussels, from Bordeaux. . . . Perspective of Distance
Thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful comments, here and on Instagram. I've answered as best I could, and I trust you'll understand why I haven't answered every comment individually.
I also received thoughtful emails from a few of you who are finding it difficult/impossible to comment on Blogger. I'm so sorry this continues to be a problem -- I have no idea how to address it, except to say that some readers have found that switching from mobile to PC makes a difference.
After a week in our borrowed flat here in Bordeaux, we're settling into a comfortable domestic rhythm and I'm gradually finding room to sort out why I wanted this long break from our regular pattern -- and as I sort out my expectations, I find a cascading effect of satisfaction and disappointment and adjustment -- even the odd "a-ha!" Not quite epiphany, but nigh on. . .
Would you be interested (or surprised?) to know that this sorting follows a a number of wee-hours mild-panic-or-dread sessions? Of the what-was-I-thinking? and However-will-we-get-through-two-months-away-together? variety. . . .
And that those sessions were matched by some daytime anxieties as afternoons turned into evenings and I hadn't done x number of things I thought I'd wanted to do that day. . .
Much of this nonsense, of course, emanates from my thinks-a-lot personality (I'm resisting that cliché "overthinking" because, hey, this is the amount of thinking I do, and at almost 66, I don't see why I need to apply such a dismissive, judgmental adjective to myself). But I'm speculating that some of it might also have to do with good old "Ages and Stages" -- as one of my mom friends from way back used to say of our kids' behaviour (and Gail Sheehy spoke of as Passages). Into my fourth year of retirement now, a major move accomplished, grandkids trickling their way toward adolescence, and the bottom half of my personal egg-timer rapidly filling with sand. . . .
Idiosyncratic musings of an admittedly fortunate retiree, playing House for a few weeks in a charming French city. I appreciate your indulgence, your patience. In return, please accept this offering of a few images? I took so many photographs. . . .
As well, I'm trying to catch up my journalling of our travels -- and somehow I've tangled myself up with a written journal, a sketch-collage-text scrapbook/journal, my mini sketchbook -- which I'm pleased to say is filling up quickly, and my watercolour sketchbook, to which I haven't yet added a single sketch.
I'm not sure how much I like this new approach I'm fiddling with, but I'm going to see it through, let myself make some messy mistakes, and perhaps I'll discover a few tricks I like along the way. So far, I've been playing with glue and scissors, sticking down all that paper ephemera that usually languishes in a box long after a trip -- receipts for meals, business cards for restaurants and favourite shops, hotel card envelopes (the Made in Louise one -- top left, below -- folds out to reveal a city map plus pictures and text describing the hotel amenities) -- and an envelope made from the box of the first Marvis toothpaste I've ever bought.
I've been hearing about Marvis toothpaste for years and when we popped into a pharmacy in Brussels to re-up our "dentifrice," the first thing that caught my eye was this brand's distinctive packaging -- in seven different colours/flavours. I've added text to the right of the toothpaste-box envelope with a little story about the sweet conversation I had "en français" with some charming and helpful locals when I commented on the difficulty of making a choice. . . .
I started these two pages by gluing down the paper ephemera, and then I added some descriptive text, but I wasn't happy with it until I added that little sketch. . . which led to slapping some more colour onto the page, since I had the paintbox open anyway. . . .
Here's a closer look at that wee sketch. . . .
And at its inspiration. . .
And it's almost time for Bed-and-a-Book here now -- right after I add today's #coupleselfie to my Instagram feed.
À la prochaine. . .
xo,
f
I also received thoughtful emails from a few of you who are finding it difficult/impossible to comment on Blogger. I'm so sorry this continues to be a problem -- I have no idea how to address it, except to say that some readers have found that switching from mobile to PC makes a difference.
 |
| Wall mural, Le Jeune Albert, by Yves Chaland -- if we'd had longer in Brussels, I would have followed the Bandes Dessinées mural tour. Next time. . . |
After a week in our borrowed flat here in Bordeaux, we're settling into a comfortable domestic rhythm and I'm gradually finding room to sort out why I wanted this long break from our regular pattern -- and as I sort out my expectations, I find a cascading effect of satisfaction and disappointment and adjustment -- even the odd "a-ha!" Not quite epiphany, but nigh on. . .
 |
| Bruxelles' Grand Place is Grand indeed, all gilt-glinting in the sunshine, but a bit too busy for us, even this early in the season. Everywhere, cameras clicking, so many selfie posers. A group of four young men (two Americans, one Indian, and one Thai, if I remember correctly) asked me to take their photo a few feet from where I took this one . . . |
Would you be interested (or surprised?) to know that this sorting follows a a number of wee-hours mild-panic-or-dread sessions? Of the what-was-I-thinking? and However-will-we-get-through-two-months-away-together? variety. . . .
 |
| A view onto the Grand Place from a quieter corner. . . . |
And that those sessions were matched by some daytime anxieties as afternoons turned into evenings and I hadn't done x number of things I thought I'd wanted to do that day. . .
 |
| Similar view, different focus. . . .I love all the textures. . . |
Much of this nonsense, of course, emanates from my thinks-a-lot personality (I'm resisting that cliché "overthinking" because, hey, this is the amount of thinking I do, and at almost 66, I don't see why I need to apply such a dismissive, judgmental adjective to myself). But I'm speculating that some of it might also have to do with good old "Ages and Stages" -- as one of my mom friends from way back used to say of our kids' behaviour (and Gail Sheehy spoke of as Passages). Into my fourth year of retirement now, a major move accomplished, grandkids trickling their way toward adolescence, and the bottom half of my personal egg-timer rapidly filling with sand. . . .
 |
| So often, I'm more interested in the small details than the big picture. . . especially when the small details show a beard-pulling! |
As well, I'm trying to catch up my journalling of our travels -- and somehow I've tangled myself up with a written journal, a sketch-collage-text scrapbook/journal, my mini sketchbook -- which I'm pleased to say is filling up quickly, and my watercolour sketchbook, to which I haven't yet added a single sketch.
I'm not sure how much I like this new approach I'm fiddling with, but I'm going to see it through, let myself make some messy mistakes, and perhaps I'll discover a few tricks I like along the way. So far, I've been playing with glue and scissors, sticking down all that paper ephemera that usually languishes in a box long after a trip -- receipts for meals, business cards for restaurants and favourite shops, hotel card envelopes (the Made in Louise one -- top left, below -- folds out to reveal a city map plus pictures and text describing the hotel amenities) -- and an envelope made from the box of the first Marvis toothpaste I've ever bought.
I started these two pages by gluing down the paper ephemera, and then I added some descriptive text, but I wasn't happy with it until I added that little sketch. . . which led to slapping some more colour onto the page, since I had the paintbox open anyway. . . .
Here's a closer look at that wee sketch. . . .
À la prochaine. . .
xo,
f
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