The fairy-godmother of multiple chances has bestowed on me a third phase of life (the first two being childhood and a long legal career) where I can be preoccupied with travel and writing. Since 2016, I have been traveling to my favorite spots in North America and hunkering down in Paris for a couple months a year to take writing classes, network with fellow writers and venture on side trips across Europe. I write fiction, nonfiction and flash-fiction. Most of my subject matter has little to do with where I travel, but everything to do with the person I become as I experience new places, new people and new cultures. Renée Ozburn
Small silver souvenirs trigger memories of sites sighted by the Seine.
Flying to France again is still a fantasy. But a flanuer through fall’s fanfare of colors provides consolation for continued Covid-caused confinements.
My wordplay can vary from whimsical to weighty. Paris fuels my whimsy. Other experiences expand my exposition on more serious matters. My Creative Nonfiction Literary Award winning essay, “A Redbone’s Reality,” will be in the printed edition of the Los Angeles Review scheduled for release in 2021 (a Corona delay.) Until then, it is available online at losangelesreview.org under “Awards” & “Nonfiction.”
In Paris, presentation and palatability are often perfect.
The planes are still grounded, so I’m pounding the pavement. More serene Spring scenes seen during jaunts out jogging.
In these strange times where an invisible virus has the world on lockdown, since I can’t catch a plane, I thought I’d try and catch a bit of Spring.
Parting Shots … I will miss EVERYTHING —especially my friends, the streets, Willi’s — my restaurant and watering hole of choice these days, cozy cinemas, my neighborhood haunts, inexhaustible surprises (e.g. the Shoe exhibit at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs) and the energy everywhere. Bien sûr, having gym, library, grocery and department store cards feeds my fantasy that coming back is just the turn of a calendar page away.
Holidays Across the Pond … Thanksgiving is not a holiday in Paris — which is surprising because they regularly close down to honor saints no one, including Parisians, has ever heard of. On Thanksgiving Day I went with friends to a candlelit classical concert at the Institut Océanographique de Paris where we listened to a string quartet play pieces in the ambiance prevalent when most of the works premiered a few centuries ago. Then my friend Jocelyne, who owns my favorite jewelry store in Paris, threw a little holiday party in her store. She designs and creates the small treasures she sells, and we help each other with our French and English. I met her family and girlfriends and learned a little about the mystique of French women. Many American expats celebrate Thanksgiving on the weekend, and my girlfriend Joan puts on the ultimate traditional spread for an international group of friends and loved one. I walked past many Metro stops on my way home to ameliorate my food coma and enjoy the extra holiday illumination enhancing the City of Light.