Hello from Paris!
Today’s the first day of August, and I’m exhausted from the year, so I thought I’d make like a Parisian and close up shop until September, turning off subscriptions so Substack doesn’t charge you, even if I’ll probably still send along the occasional new chapter of B-Ville so you can keep the thread.
Today’s also my naturalization interview. I hope it works out. It reminds me of getting married. And how even if Ana and I had been together for a couple of decades when we finally got hitched, it still made an emotional difference.
I hadn’t expected to be so moved, so relieved. We mostly did it so visas would be easier and the next time I needed a minor surgical procedure I wouldn’t have to fill out a dozen forms saying that I wanted Ana to be considered my next of kin, or risk my homophobic mother taking charge at my bedside, while Ana wouldn’t even be allowed on the ward.
But then, there we were at New York’s City Hall standing in front of Angel López who beamed as he started reading out the wedding vows, and I couldn’t help myself, practically shouted with joy as I affirmed, “Yes, yes I DO take this person to be my spouse.”
At any rate, thoughts of one change lead to another. And lately, I’ve been remembering how when I turned a burned-out, miserable 40, I promised myself I’d do one new thing a month, and I did, until we exchanged our New York apartment for a Parisian one, where everything I did every day was new and strange and often scary, and there was no need to go out of my way for novelty.
Post-Covid, post-A Word of Our Own, it seems like a good time to renew the vow. Take on new challenges, and maybe even have a little fun. So far, in July alone, I’ve signed up for classes on how to start your own business—mostly so I can meet other humans. And just a few weeks ago, when I discovered that the Paris library loans musical instruments, I actually checked out a banjo. Yes it’s true. And I’ve been following online courses, learning to play, the classic, Boil that Cabbage Down.
Stay tuned. This is the year anything could happen.
Lost This Week: Sinead O’Connor
What a musician. What a human. She meant a lot to me, and for a few years was the soundtrack of my life.
In World Cup News
Women’s football bigotry and default male heat.
when people can’t identify if it’s men or women playing, they tend to rate female players as high as male players. It’s only when they know it’s women playing that suddenly they come over all Anchorman about it.
That’s it for this time,
Gruntedly yours,
xoxo K