A Lesson
Having a conversation with this artist/photographer in her 50s
who told me about her twelve years living in India where it doesn't
matter what a woman looks like because men see you as attractive
and sexy regardless of your age and physical appearance— not like
here in America where everything is youth and beauty as defined
by Hollywood and the fashion magazines. And when I asked her
why she came back she just said "It was time," that she had lived
a full life in India and hadn't a single regret. And even though she
was at least 60 pounds overweight and had a homely face, I saw her
as she saw herself, and wondered if I'd been missing the true picture,
for as long as I can remember...
Remembering Paris
On the Rue Mouffetard I'd always see this little old lady
selling lemons. Next to her was a small box of twenty
to thirty of them and she held one in each hand calling
out, "Cetrons! Cetrons!" And after I'd bought some bread,
cheese, and something to drink I'd often buy a lemon
from her and throw it away just before I returned to my
apartment so that she would have no chance of knowing,
and for years afterward I always felt sad when I thought
of her, wondering if she had any children, a husband,
or family that took care of her, and whenever I saw
lemons in a market I'd remember that I probably threw
away thirty to forty of them during the time I stayed in Paris,
which was one of the loneliest times of my life.
