Wednesday, September 18
Had my last lunch at Shakespeare and Co. Read outside for a while, but the breeze was intense today, and the temperature has finally dropped. So, I picked myself up and snuggled in, in a back corner chair of the bookstore..
It felt somewhat ominous today, when I arrived for lunch, all the windows and doors of the cafe and the book store were closed: A first, in my month here, normally inside and outside are one, windows and doors calling life in. Coziness was now settling in, and as Shakespeare closed out the wind, perhaps it knew, that I too was closing a door.
A usual day in this corner of the world was filled to the brim with people lingering and milling about along side honey bees meandering in and out of this dreamy crowd, sipping at our juices, water and coffee. Anyone who gets Shakespeare’s vibe, does not shoo these bees away. They observe and give them space.
I wandered upstairs, wrote my note for the mirror of notes that hangs just behind the top of the stairs. Books lovers around the world leave notes of love, dreams and thanks. Left a little morsel of me, nestled among all the other scribbled notes written on torn pieces of paper and metro stubs. Hundreds of notes commune here, sharing a similar pulse.
Lingering in the upstairs front room, Aggie was curled up in the esteemed brown leather chair, attentive, unlike her usual slumbering pose. I know as resident poet, eyes open or closed she is listening, soaking us up, just like the walls. If these walls could write, it would be an international best seller. Instead they hold our thoughts sacred. Every page turned, every foot step I take, my eyes swell with tears. I am saying goodbye.
Revisiting the nooks and crannies; it’s my first evening here, a young man’s French voice wafts through the house as his fingers dance on a piano. He lures me upstairs. I find a small room tucked away behind books shelves, pictures, mirrors and more rooms. It is filled with more books, a piano and people nestled around Aggie. You can see why my desire to keep coming back this little home, that wasn’t mine, was so lovely.
As I wander, I remember, I recently learned of the word, Flaneur. French poet, Baudelaire writes about the wanderings of a fictious man, based on a real person, Monsieur C.G. He describes his wanderer as a “passionate spectator”! I was so excited to discover my French title, I am a Flanuese, a female wanderer, a passionate spectator of life!
My personal label for some time has been “the observer”, actually since I was a small child. I just didn’t know what I was doing, it wasn’t until my later years, I could see how I watched and absorbed like the walls and the cats of Shakespeare.
As the youngest of 5, with a 13 year span between oldest and me, I had the luxury of watching everyones moves – it was like observing a chess game, the pieces were my family. Every move had its rewards and consequences. I never put it on paper but I was tallying things up on a mental list, pros and cons, dos and don’ts. It was very helpful, only to the degree a list like that can be helpful. I had my own list of issues and I too was a chess piece.
Friday a day on two Trains to Rome!
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