Fridays. So full of calm stillness. I'm sitting here, a little whiskey in my Coke*, breeze through the open windows, dog dozing off on the sofa beside me (when he's not chasing bees, that is). Old vinyls playing in the background - Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Marlene Dietrich, and now Edith Piaf - framing my perfect evening.
I'm sure my mind nostalgically idealizes them, but I remember these perfect Friday moments. Back from the army, allowing myself to fall asleep on the sofa in the living room, the sound of my mother cracking sunflower seeds and turning the pages of the weekend papers. From summers in Finland I remember distant lawn mowers and the smell of freshly cut grass and the lazy post sauna lethargy. From childhood and early teenage I remember faint music from neighbouring buildings. Classical music flowing through all the rooms of my grandparents' house.
I know all these memories are not necessarily Fridays, but they all share that Friday feeling of worthy rest, of slow going indulgence.
(Press play before you start reading the next paragraph)
Piaf reminds me of just such a perfect moment last year in Brussels. The weekend evening was so hot and inviting we just had to go out. We took the metro to an area we usually visited on Saturday mornings for the second hand market and the antique shops. We picked a small cafe and sat inside next to the huge open windows, as the tables outside were all taken. We were on our second drinks I think, when we noticed a woman had been singing outside. The whole of that little cafe, with its three inside tables and four outside, all went quiet to listen to this girl singing La vie en Rose. It was so romantic-movie-like, almost too perfect.
Happy Friday, people!
*Yeah, I know it sounds farty, but what can I say - I forgot to buy beer. And anyway, it sort of fits my current mood..
בבלוג זה
בכל הבלוגים
