“Paris est tout petit pour ceux qui s’aiment comme nous d’un aussi grand amour”
Like the Countess Aurelia, yesterday I sent myself a letter to remind myself of today’s tasks. And there they were waiting for me, after barely finishing my coffee.
Should I begin with cleaning the windows? Or sharpening the knives? Or should I take the overflowing box of glass bottles and jars downstairs to be recycled?
Of course there were much more enjoyable things on my list:
“In the afternoon, watch part two of ‘Les Enfants du Paradis,’” …to discover (again) if the mime Baptiste will finally reunite with beautiful Garance. The wonderful dialogs by Jacques Prévert, the screen magic of Arletty, Jean-Louis Barrault and Pierre Brasseur leave me in awe of every scene in Marcel Carné’s 1945 black-and-white masterpiece.
Now the large windows facing the street have been Windex-ed and the stepladder has been put away, sort of. But the knives will simply have to wait to be sharpened. How will I ever explain it to them delicately? Sometimes, when we’re alone in the kitchen, they already find my remarks can be cutting.
Perhaps I’ll try using the excuse of having defiantly stepped out earlier to explore my neighborhood during this period of confinement, where the City of Light is practically under a complete shutdown. I’ll tell them about my evasion tomorrow, without mincing words!