we celebrated an american thanksgiving in paris last week. during canadian thanksgiving, i felt homesick for orange zest cranberry sauce, my mother's map-reading skills, the south shore of nova scotia, the majestic coloured maples, curled-up kittens, & my little kiddy cousins.
this time around, for a vicarious holiday, i was able to eat the pumpkin pie without the repercussions of nostalgia. even if i were homesick, i have nothing to be homesick for: my childhood house has a "for sale" sign spiking the front lawn, & my grandmother's pram from devonshire i used to push the cat about in has been sold, too.
on saturday i missed ballet because of the metro strike, & walked around the musee des sculptures de plein air, & then up to pere lachaise cemetary. at oscar wilde's kiss-covered gravestone, an old man with long curls silently sidled up to me & said quickly "come on baby, light my fire," before walking away as though nothing had happened. here, the leaves are slowly catching up to turn the colours of home. if they saw the way i behaved the other night, their blush might quicken.
this time around, for a vicarious holiday, i was able to eat the pumpkin pie without the repercussions of nostalgia. even if i were homesick, i have nothing to be homesick for: my childhood house has a "for sale" sign spiking the front lawn, & my grandmother's pram from devonshire i used to push the cat about in has been sold, too.
on saturday i missed ballet because of the metro strike, & walked around the musee des sculptures de plein air, & then up to pere lachaise cemetary. at oscar wilde's kiss-covered gravestone, an old man with long curls silently sidled up to me & said quickly "come on baby, light my fire," before walking away as though nothing had happened. here, the leaves are slowly catching up to turn the colours of home. if they saw the way i behaved the other night, their blush might quicken.
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