katnyss's blog: "The Way Back"

I have a clear vision of us sitting around an intimate cafe table on the left bank in Paris, in a time long passed yet it transcends cleary into our lives today. We have chats and meaningful conversations with Ms. Stein, the grand dame of the expats, at her home on 27 rue de fleurus. In comany are several of her mentors, the lost boys of a generation of bohemian and intellectual thinkers of the day. She freshly off the QED and her companions, Hemingway, Elliot, DosPassos and Fitzgerald, yes I am far reaching, are engaged in lively and often times heated discussions of the day. The impending war, the political climate and the exploits of the new arrivals. You know of my feelings towards the city of lights, perhaps it is because of my mother and only that. Yet it all seems so carefree, especially to be surrounded by those who understand you and you can also relate to them in this one area of your life, the area that desires you the most. To be yourself and the rest of the world be damned.

You know I get these random thoughts at incovenient times of the day or night, mostly in the middle of the night a brilliant idea, far reaching again, comes into my head and it's so fleeting that I fumble quickly with my bedside lamp, finding pen and paper and before my doppleganger can snatch it away I scrawl through blurry eyes my ideas. Hoping that by the light of the morning I can decipher my scratchings. This is my ritual and if I don't do this I will be cursing myself later for I will never remember it exactly the same way, ever!

I found this note stashed away in a book from the other day, the telly was on but  I was not really watching it, and My Fair Lady was playing. Now I am not much for musicals, I like them okay except for the part where they start to sing, then I go into a coma or pray for fast forwarding. This was the one version with Audrey Hepburn, whom I fell in love with watching her movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. She is charming in it and the perfect mix of gamine and a subtle hint of flirtatiousness. Of course you know the play is from Shaw's Pygmalia, where Pyg falls in love with his ivory statue, the perfect woman, beautiful and pure in heart. Kissing her once stoney lips one evening he finds them warm and yielding under his, which he then continued to feel her up and found the rest of her too had become flesh and blood and they lived happily every after. Galatea! I yell! I know that she will always be just a girl made from ivory.