Dear Readers:
First this: Tomorrow, June 15th, I’ll offer an update on my most recent - quite harrowing - story about a baby found by the side of the road near where I live. This was published on June 2nd. I’ve received many thoughtful comments and queries, and hope to provide some additional details.
[I’ve had trouble linking to this essay but I hope readers can go through my archive to find it.]
And Now for Something Complete Different:
Last week — I went to France.
I present this as a somewhat improbable headline, because as people who know me well understand — even though I like to visit other places, I truly do not want to leave home. Especially in June, which — where I live — actually is Bustin’ Out All Over.
Begone hellacious winter! Helllllloooo bounteous spring. FINALLY.
[Caution: this clip from Carousel (1956) features an endless dance sequence that is SO BIZARRE that it should come with its own warning label. So consider yourself warned. I find it so strange that it almost turns the corner into epic greatness. ALMOST]
(And because I can’t seem to say — or even think — the phrase “I went to France” without adding “… because I have ants in my pants,” consider that now completely out of my system.)
This recent trip was my favorite way to travel — invited and accompanied by a seasoned traveller (my friend Jean), and without any personal responsibility for any particular outcome. Yay me!
In short, Jean asked: “Hey, do you want to come with me to visit my brother at his house in Normandy, and also, by the way, his apartment in Paris?”
Jean’s brother has lived in France for over 30 years, doing great and important work that has inspired me to dub him: “The Bra King of France.”
Honestly, dear reader — I actually balked at Jean’s generous invitation, until my husband looked at me like I needed to have my head examined.
“This is EXACTLY the sort of thing you should be doing, Amy,” is what he said.
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