.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}

Sundries
...a sweatshop of moxie

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Reims

Have you ever gotten a shock of surprise, when reading a particular passage in a book?

It so happens that the current book I am reading, the late Sir Steven Runciman's The Traveller's Alphabet (sadly out of print), was not the book which gave me this start of recognition.

But when he got to the bit about his trip to Roumania, I suddenly remembered this remarkable lady's book of later memoirs, and that very reaction which they produced about a location, at one point, which I had been meaning to tell you about for a long time.

First, let me transcribe the exact passage so you can get into the right mood.

During the famous Versailles Conference, where she played such a dazzling role for her adopted homeland, she was lionised socially, and literally invited everywhere.

One day, in the middle of the treaty-making, she just decided to play tourist, and did what many of us would do -- went to visit one of those enormously grand cathedrals, of which France has an embarrassment of riches.

Namely, Notre-Dame de Reims.

"A moving sight, indeed, that mighty cathedral rising like a ghost of unimaginable beauty from a grey mass of formless ruins.

Because of its many wounds, its lines and angels had become blurred, softened as seen through a veil; its glassless windows paint a tracery of lace against the sky, and, like so many decapitated martyrs, its statues seem frozen with pain.

Yet there the great building stands invincible, having defied the modern means of destruction and with them the spirit of hate. A vision of another age, of a stronger faith, ascending above the surrounding chaos, more sacred than ever because of its mutiliation, more supremely stately because all around it has been laid low, and today the sky is its only vault.

Such it appeared to me that early spring day, when we stood, mute, gazing up at its perfect majesty. Somehow one became speechless or spoke only in whispers."

Ladies and gentlemen, in my short lifetime, I have read hundreds, thousands of books, but never have I read a paragraph which so impressed me for its perfect descriptive powers.

This lady, vainglorious, slightly absurd, and magnificent, had the power to see something as it was, and yet to describe it flawlessly so that at the end, you felt as if you yourself had drunk of that imperial cup in Moscow, had viewed that ravine in Malta, and had quadrilled with Winston Churchill until your clingy dress brought down two partners on the dancefloor with you, by mere conjuring of her pen.

In short, that woman was one hell of a writer.

--

We arrived in Luxembourg's tiny airport, my father, mother and I, via the Bahamas on Icelandic Airways that December morning, ready to make a run to the car rental counter, but first had to pass through the custom's window.

Despite the three of us being "European", it was my newly American citizen mother's passport that the lady behind the guiché fawned over, practically falling over herself to welcome an US citizen to her little land -- an attitude which has forever stayed with me, because it was repeated a dozen times that following month on the continent.

When my dad and I presented our passports next (I was a dependent in his passport, as was the custom in those days), she took a look at that blue UK booklet of travel, and wordlessly, stamped it and bade us no farewell.

Arriving at the car rental office...no counter as thought, but actually a little wooden office located outside the airport...the lady there took one look at us three, and starting speaking in rapid-fire Letzebuergisch, though none of us were Luxembourgers.

Not sure what this baptism of linguistic fire was about, but her surly demeanour was not improved even when we tried German and French, as a courtesy, before my dad opened his mouth and finally said, "Do you speak English?".

The paperwork was still to be done, despite long-standing reservations Telexed from the States (remember Telexes?).

There were International Driver's Licences to produce, on old-fashioned paper with stamps and black-and-white photos, long since gone today.

And again, those passports, since you can't do anything in Europe without documentation up the wazoo, something Americans and British both should be happy their cultures are by nature, against.

Finally, we had our keys to the Opel Kadett in dad's hands, since of course, he drives.

He may have paid for my mother's medical education because as he said, "I don't want to live the next 50 years beside a stupid woman", he may have encouraged me to stay away from the kitchen, and paid for riding lessons when other girls were learning how to do laundry and sweeping up, but he was still macho enough to always insist on being the driver in any car he was in.

He drove.

It was December, and of course, there was snow all over the ground.

Being British, he is a trusting sort, who still never checks what a person behind a counter gives him, because he always assumes the bag will contain exactly what he paid for (to his chagrin, when he arrives with two Big Macs, instead of the Fish sandwich I requested).

He turned on the windshield wipers on the Kadett, and...nothing. He got out of the car, jiggled them, and...nothing.

We were on our way to Paris, with no windshield wipers working, and with snow threatening to bear down on our party of 3.

He turned on the headlights...nothing. This can't be happening!

(My mother immediately blamed the surly Luxembourger woman who obviously "had it in for us", which is a common assumption between most women about each other, by the way)

With no windshield wipers, and no headlights, and a starving child, we rushed from Luxembourg to Metz, then on our way to Nancy when it started to snow.

With mittened hand, my intrepid father cleared the snow from the windshield, as he tried to speed ever faster in the direction of Paris, convinced he could make it before it got really dark.

(Fortunately that American nightmare of coppers pollulating the highways just when you least need them, doesn't really apply on the continent. We were safe from tickets defended in awkward French, as long as we stayed on the highway)

Daylight now was a mass of dark greys, and menacing inky blues.

Whether by design or complete and utter misdirection, we turned into the nearest big town, since we obviously were not going to get to Paris by nightfall.

We three of us, cold, hungry, and lost, were in Reims.

With a child's concept of time and space, the ride might have taken 8 hours or 80 minutes, for all I knew.

And looking at a map today, I have no idea how dad took that exit that led us to Reims, since clearly Nancy is well below it.

Mother was asleep in the front seat, but I was very awake now, having decided that if she were sleeping, I would be on duty as co-pilot for my father, still doing the mitten jig every minute.

The thing with family car trips is that they are not tour guide jaunts, who get announcements in 5 languages like, "Turning your heads, you will now see Reims approaching to your left", whereupon docile tourists in coaches do as they are bid, and suitably enlightened, they open their green Michelin guides to the Reims section.

No.

Dad and I simply, and with expert economy of speech, looked at the passing signs and wondered where we were.

Théâtre this, Republique that, and Musée the other.

A million towns in France are exactly the same, but undaunted, dad kept driving, no doubt on the lookout for a nice, but not too costly hotel to kip down his tribe.

That's when it happened.

Imagine me, a child in warm earmuffs, and a little cute beige Christian Dior coat, leaning over my father's shoulders as he drives, suddenly turning in slow motion (why are unforgettable memories always in slow motion, as if in a dream?) and seeing a long foggy avenue to my right.

In that exact moment, in fact, as dreams tend to be, with perfect timing, the fog lifts slightly and to my right is an enormous edifice, in more shades of grey that I have ever seen in my whole life then, and even now.

Reims Cathedral loomed to the right of our car and thus stunned my father and I into submission, as it had for over 1600 years to families the world over, come to pay their respects.

I prod mother awake.

Years later, she said the sight that she beheld as she opened her eyes was like in a gothic nightmare, all jutting spires, and overly imposing saints staring at her, no, through her very being.





Wow, I am so happy my memory is one of shared awe, not fleeting, devilish terror as hers.

And now I must confess that I love Reims. And I'm very scared of it at the same time.

What was it that Queen Marie said?

"...that mighty cathedral rising like a ghost of unimaginable beauty from a grey mass of formless ruins".

I was seeing it a good 70 years after she had, and yet that description SIMPLY cannot be improved upon.

With fog spiralling around us in the massive square in front of the cathedral, my father held my little gloved hands, approaching to pause to look at the august doors, and their weirdly carvings.

I was a stoic little kid, and would never confess to fright or discomfort, but he must've sensed me quaver through our joined hands as I looked up and up and up to the reliefs of saints in Christian agony.

He hurried me along, and there before us, stood the most enormous cavity of a nave you have ever seen in your life.

When, years later, I read that armies had lodged themselves in that self-same cathedral, including possibly (disreputably) a German ancestor of mine, or two, I understood.

Yes, a child has a memory of bigness that is by its very nature, exaggerated. Anyone who has ever tried to visit their grade school as an adult, will know exactly that feeling, "...was my desk really that small?".

But Reims cathedral defies magnitude.

First, though I've since seen photographs of its interior which shocked me for its brightness, the Reims I knew was as dark as sin, and nearly as welcoming.

I cannot remember the layout exactly, but never will I forget the dazzling statue at the centre of Saint Joan, yes, that Saint Joan, who is not buried there having had her ashes thrown into the Seine, but who we British had selfishly put to death.

But Saint Joan HAD been inside Reims, as she witnessed the fruit of her battles in the coronation of that duplicitous king, Charles VII.

In fact, Reims cathedral for centuries fulfilled the same function Westminster Abbey did in England -- not only the last resting place of the august Elizabeth I, and a slew of other kings, but also the place of their crowning before God.

I have been to both, and I have to say, Reims is the place where even a king can feel humbled (or indeed, a queen), not the dear old spinsterish Abbey.

I am not sure if all parents do this, or it was just mine, or even, if it was the knowledge that we were "just" in a church, for all its jumped up grandiosity, but my parents let me wander all alone for a good 15 minutes.

Tombs passed me by, as I inched my way around the littered chairs in the middle of nave -- which then, as now, I found a little awkwardly-placed.





I saw him.

He must've been middle-aged, but to me he was old. A man wearing a black overcoat, holding a candle in his hand, praying with his lips moving, but in French, so that the sound was like a gushing stream in soft flow.

"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce.
Le Seigneur est avec vous...

(Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grâce...beautiful, just beautiful)

I stood there, transfixed, for seemingly hours.

But even so, I was careful not to be seen by him, conscious that I was intruding into a very private moment, one that fascinated me, because I had never seen my own father in such a position.

Children's ultimate yardstick being all things parental, of course.

And just like that, my parents reappeared. In their eyes I saw my marvel mirrored back at me, so I knew that, veterans of many cathedrals themselves, this was a special one nonetheless.

I turned back, as we left, having yet to learn the lesson of Lot's wife. One last look, one last frisson.

Reims...

Even its very name suffuses me with a chill of majesty that I believe we mortals were bade by God to know as the word "awe".

We went inside our car, and drove now in the darkness, carefully, with hand on the horn.

The streets were empty (and I've been told by many Frenchmen, that Reims at night, is nearly dead), so whatever blessing we had been given inside the cathedral, followed us on our way to our lodging.

Neither my parents nor I recall the name of the ENORMOUS hotel we ultimately found to lay our weary heads, but I do remember one thing about it.

My dad mentioned what a wonderful cathedral her city had, and the concierge lady, who sported a manly blond haircut -- a French Gertrude Stein -- took about 10 minutes to teach him the right pronunciation of said city, with such a gutteral accent, emphasising that nasally sound, that even a German would be proud of.

REIMS!

"Reims"

NON! REIMS!

"Reims?"

REIMS! REIMS!! REIMS!!!

As long as I live, I will never forget Reims' farewell impression on my childish eyes, my tall father towering over this tiny corpulent Frenchwoman, as she schooled him (tired, dishevelled, in need of bed not elocution lessons) as to the correct pronunciation of her town, Reims.

If only Audioblogger were still around. Wouldn't we have fun listening to me saying REIMS! over and over again, just like that lady concierge did over 20 years ago.

And no, I don't ever want to return to Reims again, despite my love for it. Some places do not need a repeat visit. Let them haunt your reveries until all your hairs be white, until you die.

Adieu, Reims.

Labels: , , ,

21 Comments:

  • Lovely, Victoria. Absolutely lovely.

    By Blogger Pete, at Sat Apr 14, 06:49:00 am GMT-4  

  • I love the idea of the travellogues of Sundries past and present...This was moving in a very personal way, and was quite touching, piecing together these images of your parents both then and now! Thanks for sharing...

    By Blogger Ron, at Sat Apr 14, 08:50:00 am GMT-4  

  • Beautiful post Victoria! Or, like we Cubans like to say, te la comiste!

    By Blogger Jose Aguirre, at Sat Apr 14, 08:52:00 am GMT-4  

  • Your writting today ranks up there with what you quoted.


    I completely get the whole idea of "BIGNESS" as it relates to European Cathedrals. I was jsut in Milan, Italy, for work...great boondoggle (10 hours work 4 days in Italy).

    Well on Sunday I walked Milan. Stating with the Church that is supposed to hold The Last Supper, never did find it, and the priest in his white Fansiscan like robe rushed me out with SCREAMS of "CHIOUSO," "CLOSED."

    From there over to another Church next to the Science and Tech Museum, dedicated to Leonardo da Vinci. Both interesting, still dealing with US sized churches. The funniest thing was that this church had coin operated lighting to bring up the lights over the art work. Gotta love the way we Catholics always pass the plate....

    Leonardo dropped a rung or two on my ladder of hero worship, since I learned that he was a conteporary of Columbus, rather than Galileo. 300-400 years of difference reduce my level of awe over his remarkable work. By the 1400's the planet had pretty much accepted heliocentrism, etc.

    Then more walking, driving and parking in Europe are mutually exclusive, the parking spaces are tight for Anchovies......

    Finally I got to the "piazza centro" central square of Milan, a VAST space, with the Duomo (Cathedral) at one end. Well since I hadn't been to Mass yet, I decided I head over to this monstrous building and see if there were any Masses left. At the door I was acosted by the Cabenaieri, open your bag and so forth.

    There was going to be one in about 45 minutes, and there was one actually going on at that time. But what shocked me was the SIZE of the insied of the place, sure it was LARGE outside, but my first thought was "Wow this is like the TARDIS, it's bigger inside than out!"

    Since my American big thing expericence relates to sports venues, I will describe the sized using those terms. You could drop 6 NHL sized rinks in this place, 3 across and 2 deep and not reach the altar.

    The Mass was enjoyable, even if my lack of Italian skills reduced my appreciation of it some. I was able to know where in the "Order of Mass" I was.

    It's funny my linguistic skills are terrible, but I can seem to almost follow my ancestral tongues (Italian and Portugese) a little. I am completely lost when it comes to Spanish......weird eh?

    By Blogger conv442, at Sat Apr 14, 09:19:00 am GMT-4  

  • Nicely done, Vicks! Very, very nicely done!

    By Blogger benning, at Sat Apr 14, 12:42:00 pm GMT-4  

  • Was the heater in the car at least working?

    The U.S. doesn't really have any grand, old buildings like that... though I'll bet Disney will just add a copy to one of their theme parks in 2015. They'll make it into a "Quasimodo" ride.

    By Blogger Alcibiades, at Sat Apr 14, 05:17:00 pm GMT-4  

  • Love the post, Victoria. Are you sure you don't want to become a professional writer?

    conv442:

    Leonardo dropped a rung or two on my ladder of hero worship, since I learned that he was a conteporary of Columbus, rather than Galileo. 300-400 years of difference reduce my level of awe over his remarkable work. By the 1400's the planet had pretty much accepted heliocentrism, etc

    (?!?) Galileo was a hundred years after Columbus, and while most educated people realized that the earth was round by the time of Columbus, they still believed that the sun revolved around it.

    Da Vinci was indeed a contemporary of Columbus, but you should perhaps check your dates for Galileo.

    And most impressive to me is that he was over 400 years before Sikorsky, but only couldn't build a helicopter because he didn't have a powerful enough engine. But the structural design was remakably similar to what Sikorsky eventually developed. Plus, unlike today's engineers, he also found time in the middle of all that to paint the Mona Lisa and other works of art. The closest American equivalent I can think of would be Thomas Jefferson (though while Jefferson was an excellent musician, he didn't have the artistic talent of Da Vinci.) In today's world of specialization the concept of the renaissance man has become obsolete, and it is a crying shame, IMO.

    By Blogger Eli Blake, at Sat Apr 14, 09:25:00 pm GMT-4  

  • Lovely, Victoria. Absolutely lovely.

    Thanks, Pete. I loved writing it. :)

    And now that you jog my memory, I am going to add "nostalgia" to the tags!

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 12:58:00 am GMT-4  

  • I love the idea of the travellogues of Sundries past and present...This was moving in a very personal way, and was quite touching, piecing together these images of your parents both then and now! Thanks for sharing...

    Yes! They are rather like travellogues of the past, sadly, without any photographs that are my own.

    But my memories are vivid enough to paint the picture for you, perhaps.

    You know, Ron, the book I mentioned by the late and very notable Byzantium historian, Sir Steven Runciman, has a wonderful theme.

    He takes a letter of the alphabet and talks about a city which begins with that letter.

    Not just the city, but in his case, because he knew and met all the notable people of his age, he is able to infuse it as a true memoir should be -- glittering with names and faces we all recognise.

    Now, I have been fortunate to meet many famous people, but not in the same fashion or in the same amount of intimacy he had.

    This Reims post was going to be an ATTEMPT to duplicate Sir Steven's and Queen Marie's memoirs, but I can only muster a child's memory about it.

    I do plan to do one about Egypt and Bombay, though, so we'll see. :)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:06:00 am GMT-4  

  • Beautiful post Victoria! Or, like we Cubans like to say, te la comiste!

    Gracias, Jose!

    It would be great to know if you or any other Sundries commenter had been in Reims, so we can exchange memories. :)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:07:00 am GMT-4  

  • Your writting today ranks up there with what you quoted.

    Thank you, conv442! That's wonderful of you to say. :)

    I completely get the whole idea of "BIGNESS" as it relates to European Cathedrals.

    Yes.

    You know, we humans must have an internal mechanism that NEEDS to have grandiosity around us.

    Maybe it comes from the mountains which overwhelm the imagination in scope, but it's more universal than that, for all people have it.

    Bigness is one way of both honouring the god spirit that ancient man so clearly needed, and yet, to also compete with it.

    I was jsut in Milan, Italy, for work...great boondoggle (10 hours work 4 days in Italy).

    Oh boy!

    Well on Sunday I walked Milan. Stating with the Church that is supposed to hold The Last Supper, never did find it, and the priest in his white Fansiscan like robe rushed me out with SCREAMS of "CHIOUSO," "CLOSED."

    Hmm, it's not far from Scala, but still, I suppose when you're walking you can get disorientated.

    From there over to another Church next to the Science and Tech Museum, dedicated to Leonardo da Vinci.

    Oh! I've never been to that.

    Both interesting, still dealing with US sized churches. The funniest thing was that this church had coin operated lighting to bring up the lights over the art work. Gotta love the way we Catholics always pass the plate....

    Love it. After plenary indulgences, I am not surprised by anything our Church does. ;)

    Leonardo dropped a rung or two on my ladder of hero worship, since I learned that he was a conteporary of Columbus, rather than Galileo. 300-400 years of difference reduce my level of awe over his remarkable work. By the 1400's the planet had pretty much accepted heliocentrism, etc.

    Hmm, see Eli's reply for a similar one of mine...

    Then more walking, driving and parking in Europe are mutually exclusive, the parking spaces are tight for Anchovies......

    Oh yes. There's a reason the Fiat 600 came from Italy. ;)

    Finally I got to the "piazza centro" central square of Milan, a VAST space, with the Duomo (Cathedral) at one end. Well since I hadn't been to Mass yet, I decided I head over to this monstrous building and see if there were any Masses left. At the door I was acosted by the Cabenaieri, open your bag and so forth.

    Oh interesting, I didn't get that in my time there.

    In America, one might get wanded, but at least you get to enjoy the dazzlingly evil unis of the Carabinieri.

    There was going to be one in about 45 minutes, and there was one actually going on at that time. But what shocked me was the SIZE of the insied of the place, sure it was LARGE outside, but my first thought was "Wow this is like the TARDIS, it's bigger inside than out!"

    LOL! Another Doctor Who fan.

    Since my American big thing expericence relates to sports venues, I will describe the sized using those terms. You could drop 6 NHL sized rinks in this place, 3 across and 2 deep and not reach the altar.

    Right. :)

    And there's nothing wrong with connoting something which makes sense in your culture.

    I only say this because after 9/11, I heard many Europeans make fun of Americans (yes...), because we kept saying, "It looked like a film".

    The inference being that Americans have only Hollywood as their mythology-making machine, whereas they had the Greeks and the Romans (read, better, superior).

    The Mass was enjoyable, even if my lack of Italian skills reduced my appreciation of it some. I was able to know where in the "Order of Mass" I was.

    Yes. Like me in St. Peter & Paul in the Spanish Mass. :)

    It's funny my linguistic skills are terrible, but I can seem to almost follow my ancestral tongues (Italian and Portugese) a little. I am completely lost when it comes to Spanish......weird eh?

    Not too much.

    Something about Italian and Portuguese must call to you deep inside.

    That's normal, but oh so wonderful too.

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:21:00 am GMT-4  

  • Nicely done, Vicks! Very, very nicely done!

    Thanks, my dear Benning! Coming from a legit writer, than means a lot. ;)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:22:00 am GMT-4  

  • Was the heater in the car at least working?

    HMM. I WANT to say no, but I think yes. :)

    After all, it is just the heat of the engine turned inside out, right?

    I can't imagine that not working.

    The U.S. doesn't really have any grand, old buildings like that... though I'll bet Disney will just add a copy to one of their theme parks in 2015. They'll make it into a "Quasimodo" ride.

    LOL!

    Right.

    Let me say that there are some LOVELY buildings in the US, some of gigantic scale, and import.

    The Library of Congress blew me away.

    And I love the skyscrapers of NY, who, the first time I saw them as an adult, reminded me of Reims cathedral, actually.

    Dark, grey, menacing, but something about them draws you to them, nonetheless.

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:25:00 am GMT-4  

  • Love the post, Victoria.

    Thanks, Eli! :)

    Are you sure you don't want to become a professional writer?

    Well, if by that you mean, write a novel -- I don't do fiction very well.

    If by that you mean, write an book of history, perhaps that.

    But I consider my more serious blogging efforts as a form of professionalism.

    That's what I tell my folks anyway. ;)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:27:00 am GMT-4  

  • In today's world of specialization the concept of the renaissance man has become obsolete, and it is a crying shame, IMO.

    Forgot--

    That's very true, and I agree 100% with that sentiment of missing renaissance men, who could do it all.

    (My father plays the violin, and loves Wagner, but he has very limited knowledge of literature and history, beyond his schooling. He is a man of science, only, no matter how much of a genius I personally think he is)

    But I also think that modernity and specialisation, sadly, go hand-in-hand.

    I once read that Linear B was cracked (or helped to crack) by a man who was a simple engineer in his professional life.

    That simply would not be the case today, since someone without archeological degrees and bona fides surely wouldn't even attempt it.

    Perhaps only in the field of law, do you have lawyers stake out and attempt other material WHILST being taken seriously in them.

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Sun Apr 15, 01:31:00 am GMT-4  

  • OK Eli, my bad on the timing of the 2 men. Let me change my comment, never mind, Kopernicus was same era too.........

    Vicky,
    Hmm, it's not far from Scala, but still, I suppose when you're walking you can get disorientated.

    Not so much disoriented as by the time I got there I figured Scala would be closed for the day. And actually, from the low quality tourist maps I was working from I thing the Opera House was closer to the Doumo than the Last Supper.

    By Blogger conv442, at Sun Apr 15, 11:29:00 am GMT-4  

  • Thanks for a wonderful post, it's great to finally see the story down in words!

    By Blogger Renato, at Sun Apr 15, 02:05:00 pm GMT-4  

  • Miss V,

    Wonderful!

    Move this one straight to "Best of Sundries" This has to be if not the best, it certainly ranks up there.

    By Anonymous BrotherDarryl, at Mon Apr 16, 01:17:00 am GMT-4  

  • OK Eli, my bad on the timing of the 2 men. Let me change my comment, never mind, Kopernicus was same era too.........

    As an aside, I would've happily lived near Copernicus, Galileo or Da Vinci, because that time was simply fascinatingly oozing with talent and IDEAS.

    We have ideas today, but do we have talent?

    Vicky,
    Hmm, it's not far from Scala, but still, I suppose when you're walking you can get disorientated.


    Oh for sure. :)

    Even I get lost in London sometimes, and I know it well.

    Not so much disoriented as by the time I got there I figured Scala would be closed for the day. And actually, from the low quality tourist maps I was working from I thing the Opera House was closer to the Doumo than the Last Supper.

    As an aside, don't like the Duomo in Milan. *g*

    Too ornate, in a fussy Eastern way.

    (I am so not an orientalist...)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Mon Apr 16, 02:33:00 am GMT-4  

  • Thanks for a wonderful post, it's great to finally see the story down in words!

    Heh, yeah.

    Renato is my listening post oftentimes, for posts on Sundries, guys. I've told that story many times before to my friends, but he got the full REIMS!! earful.

    Poor guy. ;)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Mon Apr 16, 02:35:00 am GMT-4  

  • Wonderful!

    Move this one straight to "Best of Sundries" This has to be if not the best, it certainly ranks up there.


    Thank you so much, my Brother Darryl!

    I confess, I did like the way my reminiscence came out, and I was going to fast track this to The Best Of, but now you've nominated it, and I feel less guilty about it. Grazie! ;)

    Cheers,
    Victoria

    By Blogger vbspurs, at Mon Apr 16, 02:36:00 am GMT-4  

Post a Comment

Who linked Here:

Create a Link

<< Home


 




Advertise on blogs
British Expat Blog Directory.