In which Our Hero, carried along…
At 10:17am, my mother awoke. I had been awake since 7am: bought bread from the bakery, roasted duck in the oven. She awoke in part due to my ideal duck timing: the duck roasts for 30 minutes; she awoke 27 minutes in, the smell wafting under her door like that pie in the old cartoon.
The fast train leaves Étampes for Paris at 11:26. Awakening at 10:17, you’d think we make it. I proposed this option without much commitment. We decided we’d eat duck, wait, and see.
Then, two hours passed.
We ate duck. We discussed the differing baguettes. We laughed about the train coming and then passing, us not on it.
We failed to catch that train, then the next train. We grabbed the one after.
If the point is the together, why matter which train? 52 minutes vs 34: the extra 18 is <le shrug>.
Then, on the platform, we happened upon clowns. Two friends I’d been hoping to see, but the planning is hard. We rode together, riffing, laughing, le jeu.
There’s a funny thing about living in the moment. You’re never disappointed or wanting. You may have desires, but you don’t want for anything. Perfectly satisfied and engaged. It’s the tension of wanting what you don’t have that makes the dissatisfaction of not having it. (I meditated today. I should meditate daily. It keeps me more momentized. It dims my mental chatter.)
8 hours later, after walking around the Latin Quarter and Notre Dame, my mother and I headed home early. The fast train was delayed, so the trip took an hour. How nice it is to sit on a train station platform, hearing about your mother’s old friendships. Not something you’d think to do, but exceedingly nice when it happens.
Julian Wise 