We've been at the beach house for exactly one week and it's amazing how, already, I can breathe easier and think clearer. It's just so peaceful here.
This week I read The Paris Wife, a a beautifully devastating love story about Hemingway and his first wife Hadley. I was so captivated by it for a few days that I forgot about real life. Although there were moments I wanted to punch Hemingway in the nose, I could sympathize with every character which made it all the more tragic. Even though it gave me heavy boots, I adored it with every ounce of my being.
Now I'm reading Julia Child's My Life in Paris. Same time and place, 1920s Paris, but no heavy boots here -- it makes me feel light and melty and giddy about being in France. It makes me want to marvel over every bite of every meal and walk along the Seine and fall in love. Paul and Julia have got to be one of the sweetest couples of all time. Their joie de vivre is something to be admired.