One of the books I picked up at Shakespeare & Company some weeks back during my Literary Afternoon in Paris was Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth. This is the second of Wharton's novels I've read, the first being The Age of Innocencewhich I devoured a few months ago during the holidays.
I'm particularly drawn to Wharton for she was, as I am, an American expat who chose Paris as her adopted home.
I’ve long had a love/hate relationship with Sundays. Mine are normally laid back and spent with family and friends. Unfortunately, by Sunday evening, I realize just how short weekends truly are. Most of my family lives 30 miles north of Bay City. A typical Sunday spent north means lunch with one Grandma and then an extended visit with the other. If I’m lucky my parents are actually home and I make the effort to try and see them as well. As I work full-time, Saturday is usually my only fully day exclusively to myself – if I decide to go visit family on Sundays.
The sad thing is that it never fails: Every Sunday it is the same dilemma, do I go visit family or not? Once I go, I never regret it. Let’s be realistic, I won’t have my grandmothers forever. I love spending time with both of them and truly enjoy their company. I also know that they appreciate the time I spend with them.
Here’s the problem. When I don’t go, I get an additional day to do exactly what I want to do. All is well until later in the day when the guilt sets in. I know I shouldn’t, but I do feel guilty if I don’t visit every weekend. I know just how much my grandmothers appreciate it. While my parents, who live nearby, try to visit often too, they are frequently out of town. Most of my aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. either live quite a distance away or simply don’t visit very often. I am grateful for the relationships I have with my grandmothers, I just wish there was an easier answer.
If you're a fan of listening to live music and doing who knows what in a city that makes you choose your own adventures, then there's a good chance you're a fan of SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST. After we endured a 46-hour trek from Toronto to Austin via train last Spring, the minute we landed into the home of the Longhorns and the somewhat unauthorized birthplace of independent sound, our hearts sank into our chests, and the neverending roller coaster of new music began.