lundi, janvier 12, 2009

Evening in Venice

It was one of those evenings that seems to progress, if that is the correct word, in fits and starts. Sometimes we rushed forward, sometimes we stalled. The DQ and I determined to finish the episode of "Brideshead Revisted." But by the time we really got into it, Mr C wanted to go to sleep. When I got back to the series, they were in Venice. As I watched the boatmen and the seaside and the palaces, the gentlemen walking arms thrown around each other's shoulders, I wondered what my 13 year old was thinking. At her age, I took in all of the (admittedly staged) sights and sounds of 1920's Europe like a morning glory opening its petals to the summer sun. Listening to Jeremy Iron's wonderfully upper class accent isolating each word of Waugh's novel and making it elegantly vibrant, half aware of his lovely face...she yawned. Yawned.

That is closer to sacrilege than anything Sebastian, Charles and Julia did. But somehow we navigated Venice, and returned to London in the rain.

I wonder what my daughter will remember. And for me? I will try to expose her to culture outside of her experience, while reminding myself that she doesn't need to love Jeremy Irons to be my daughter. But it don't hurt.

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