So I've been a bit blog-shy for the past couple of weeks. Sometimes I'm too busy, other times, despite the words arranging themselves in my brain, I don't actually do anything about them, so they either vanish or fester, or in the best case scenario, come to slow maturity like a good cru bourgeois.
I wish.
Some ideas are too intimate for the blogosphere. Or too over-arching and in need of some supportive architecture, flying buttresses of thought. Damned if I have the time to build up those buttresses when I'm reinforcing core muscles and abs with my dear slave-driver of a Pilates teacher. But I make time for my Pilates once a week in exchange for English lessons, and we each feel we have a great deal. There's time for group gym once a week and semi-private gym training once a week, luxuries I accepted when I realized after fifteen years of self-flagellation (not good exercise) I would never do upper body work unless someone made me do it. Thank you Virginie, thank you Nick. And then there's always the rewarding plat du jour after Pilates, during which I really do teach English, and then the fine cafeteria where I must eat copiously to build up strength for afternoon workouts after Shakespeare class...........There's time for the two choirs and classical voice lessons with a terrific teacher. There's time to attend John's jazz concerts, visit with friends, help out friends, transport friends, go to MetOpera broadcasts, travel to Paris (last week) to help out family, which turned into a medley of long daily hospital visits with a well-loved relative, and tourism, using my new iphone GPS to navigate on foot, and iphone metro map to navigate the Metro. Time to read the press in French and English, time for John to read me Underworld by Don deLillo (wow), time to feed nine cats and clean the kittens' litter, do housework & other paperwork obligations I won't bore you with.
I mismanage writing time. I have blogs blogging in my head, so it's time to get serious about Time for Blogging and Other Writing Projects.
Meanwhile we leave before dawn tomorrow for four days in Spain with dear friends. So much for serious. But I am, I really am. Serious.
I wish.
Some ideas are too intimate for the blogosphere. Or too over-arching and in need of some supportive architecture, flying buttresses of thought. Damned if I have the time to build up those buttresses when I'm reinforcing core muscles and abs with my dear slave-driver of a Pilates teacher. But I make time for my Pilates once a week in exchange for English lessons, and we each feel we have a great deal. There's time for group gym once a week and semi-private gym training once a week, luxuries I accepted when I realized after fifteen years of self-flagellation (not good exercise) I would never do upper body work unless someone made me do it. Thank you Virginie, thank you Nick. And then there's always the rewarding plat du jour after Pilates, during which I really do teach English, and then the fine cafeteria where I must eat copiously to build up strength for afternoon workouts after Shakespeare class...........There's time for the two choirs and classical voice lessons with a terrific teacher. There's time to attend John's jazz concerts, visit with friends, help out friends, transport friends, go to MetOpera broadcasts, travel to Paris (last week) to help out family, which turned into a medley of long daily hospital visits with a well-loved relative, and tourism, using my new iphone GPS to navigate on foot, and iphone metro map to navigate the Metro. Time to read the press in French and English, time for John to read me Underworld by Don deLillo (wow), time to feed nine cats and clean the kittens' litter, do housework & other paperwork obligations I won't bore you with.
I mismanage writing time. I have blogs blogging in my head, so it's time to get serious about Time for Blogging and Other Writing Projects.
Meanwhile we leave before dawn tomorrow for four days in Spain with dear friends. So much for serious. But I am, I really am. Serious.
