I love going back to places I've already been. When I've stayed away for long enough, seeing the city again does something to me. It reminds me of everything I didn't notice before, everything I couldn't have picked up on. New places are filled with hundreds of details; it's only when I’m back can I start to appreciate them.
I went to Paris this week. I was there for 6 hours; my friend had a baby boy. The train station is right next to my old house. I've been there no less than 50 times. I stepped out and picked up on something so familiar and new. The street reeked of butter and garbage; how fitting, how Paree.
I picked up some flowers at a market on the way. Oui madame, the flower man kept saying as he ignored me. I forgot how polite they are in Paris, so rude. He handed me a bouquet three times bigger than his head as he gloated about how pretty his arrangement was. So pretty, but I couldn't take a bike to my friend's house anymore. Too many flowers.
I called a few Ubers and of course they canceled. They always cancel. For the second time in 5 years, I waved down a taxi. It was half the price of an Uber. Go figure. He drove down the streets I love with roses waving out the open window. For the first time, I also noticed all the bar and brasserie names were named after the street corner they were on. Brasserie du Métro, one read. Cafe Du Nord, read another. My marketing senses tingled; such simplicity yet so effective.
We arrived; the taxi stopped in the middle of the street. I had my laptop with me, my bag and the flowers. Annoyed Parisians honked; who cares? It was quiet at the circumcision, just a few friends and family. I was the only Jew there. For the first and likely last time in my life, I read the blessings out loud as the Mohel1 did his thing. I also filmed it; and then came close to fainting. Seeing the circumcision was reassuring, surprisingly. It sounds so horrible but it really wasn't. Doesn't matter though; I don't have those decisions to make now.
There was a writer at the party I spent time talking to. He had a frustrating ability to listen; to listen so well. I always ask questions but he took over that role for me. When I finally stopped talking, he told me about the darkest road trip in America. Working with a cartographer and a few supercomputers, he created a path with the least light pollution. He's going to drive it in a month or so. Maybe I'll go too.
I ran back to the train station and missed the next train. Everything was sold out online until later that night. Good thing I asked what I could do; I never knew that station managers can sell tickets too. We pulled out of the station 30 minutes later. I chatted with my writing group on Zoom, rehashing my day. My cell phone data went in and out but I didn't care. I was both here and there with them, on the train and in their minds at the same time. There's something mighty cool about the type of ease of life. Go anywhere, everywhere, whenever you want. And you can even (kinda) have your favorite people with you.
A Mohel is an individual trained to perform the ritual circumcision of infant boys in accordance with religious traditions.
I feel like I’m watching a movie when I read your writing -- a Day in the Life of Yehudis. So fun and free ❤️
The song “Paris” by Little Dragon plays in the background.
You have actually described the experience of reading your stories, it's like being with you all the time, but not, and there being no anxiety about that fact. "He drove down the streets I love with roses waving out the open window." These snippets from your senses feel so generous and open.