FYI

One other thing, while I have this moment of tranquillity, sitting on the balcony above Lyons in the chill wind: there's no doubt that travel is good for the soul; that it helps my work to view other lives and to see my own at a distance, not to mention being inspired by beauty, antiquity, art, and, yes, croissants (also art, in their way.) But there's a stress in travel that I don't write about here, those heart-stopping moments when I think something has gone wrong, the address is lost, the key won't work, it's the wrong train, how does this work? Where am I? And why?

And then there's my current status as a glorified couch surfer - I've been thinking that perhaps the time is coming when I need to find a way to pay for hotels or at least b and b's. My friends and their friends are wonderfully accomodating, but still, I'm in the way, planted in the middle of their lives - which means also that my own life is on hold, without autonomy or a place to be by myself, with my self. I couldn't afford to travel the hotel way and am grateful for every couch. But there's another kind of cost.

Plus missing my daughter, son, mother, house. Even found myself longing for my crabby cat yesterday, when I saw a CD in a store window: "Purring therapy, cats who heal us: 30 minutes of purring." Though my cat has never purred for longer than a minute and a half, I missed her deeply.

Just wanted you to know that under the rapturous chorale, there's a 61-year old woman who's

sometimes lonely or uncomfortable or even, occasionally, frightened. Only sometimes, mind you.

And now - out into Lyons, to discover something new.

PS A demonstration just passed by, way below, a bunch of kids with signs chanting in outrage about something, I couldn't make out what, with a police car at the head of the line and another at the end, accompanying them. If it's March, this must be France.