Saturday 16 April 2016
My broken wrist is finally nearing normal these six months later, and the cats are very happily installed in our new home and garden. Work has been very busy, but this week I realized how much I miss writing. I don’t do much of it any more, apart from necessarily-short email missives, which are honestly a bit painful when you love the written word. Their brevity is important, fewer words mean fewer opportunities for misunderstandings, but that too calls up an absence.
Misunderstandings are part of what make us human. To misunderstand, or one could say, to understand differently, to interpret, is human. Of course it’s important to have shared understanding, yet it is also in the empty spaces of differing comprehensions that we learn about ourselves; learn about each other. To span these spaces we build conversational bridges, or urge ourselves to look up a definition, a reference. Or the opportunity goes by unnoticed, in the cases of incomprehensions so profound that one is convinced of one’s correctness.
My garden is growing happily in the dappled Parisian sun and regular spring rains. Shown above are surprise bulbs – as I moved in at mid-autumn, I had little idea what was hidden beneath the dirt. These bulbs started sprouting in January, so I originally thought they might be daffodils or hyacinths. Instead they look to be bluebells. I have also planted some English lavender and seeded quite a bit of annual and perennial flowers. All of them are sprouting, we’ll see how it looks in another month or two.