Lost in Paris

 I finished reading Dancing With Degas , Kathryn Wagner, the first of last week.   It was my favorite kind of book.  A book, when reading,  I can't wait to turn the page; when finished I find myself lost.

It was the kind of book, when finished, that sends me rushing out to the bookstore or the library to find the next wonderful read, knowing I won't enjoy my next selection quite as much.

I loved Dancing With Degas for the same reason I loved the movie "Midnight in Paris".  With each turn of the page I knew I would find someone familiar.   When watching "Midnight...."  I felt like it was I meeting up with the likes of Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and Stein.  When the main character traveled even further back, I knew the moment they would meet up with Toulous Lautrec.

I unexpectedly found Renoir and Degas sitting at the same table.

While reading Dancing With Degas I followed Alexandrie's preparation and entrance into the Paris Opera Ballet, I walked the back streets of Paris and visited with Cezanne, Monet, Manet, and, of course, Degas along with other artist of the time.  Although fiction, I felt I was an active participant in intimate conversations between some of the great names in the artist community of the time.

Upon finishing I returned my book to the library and began browsing the stacks for my next great escape.  I knew, after depositing the book into the return slot, I should have turned around and walked away.  Instead, I returned home with three books in my bag.  I opened each one; read a couple of pages.  I stacked them, moved them from room to room and carried one or two of them to bed.   I returned them  to the library two days later without really ever beginning even one.

I received an email from someone who suggested I might enjoy Claude and Camille.  She continued to say she would be interested to know what I thought.

I am hopeless!

By the end of the day the book was mine.

If you need me, you may find me strolling across Monet's Japanese bridge at Giverny.

I am once again lost in Paris...at least for a few stolen minutes a day.

images are  my photos    

with the exception of the book cover 

via Goodreads

The Help

Everyone knows I do not  almost never go to see a movie adapted from a book I have really enjoyed.

I picked up The Help sometime in early 2009.  I am not for sure what caught my attention.  I may have picked it up to read on a trip.  It may have been the birds on the jacket.  Sometimes I will pick a book much like I choose a bottle of wine, by the artwork.  My thought... if they put money into what you see on the outside, they probably have something worth trying on the inside.  I loved the book.  Being a southern girl, I knew the stories told within the pages of The Help  held the unexaggerated truth and I quickly recognized each character, even though I belonged to the generation of the children.  I loved the book (and vowed to never eat another piece of chocolate pie);  I wanted people to read it and understand what they were really reading.    I gave it as gifts.  I suggested it to friends.  It wasn't until months later the book began to earn a little chatter.  By late autumn it was suddenly the book to read.

When I heard a movie was being made, I groaned.   My only comment was, "They will ruin it".

Today I went to see the movie.  I laughed, I cried and, if it would not have embarrassed my husband,  I would have stood up and cheered, even though I knew what was going to happen before it happened.  While things were left out and there were small things I had forgotten, they did well.   If you are going to just do one, read the book, but I am so glad I broke my hard and fast rule.

Oh, and NO, I am not going to see "Sarah's Key"!  I will not!  I will not!  I will not!