The art of bottling sunshine

I fully realize that French wine with English writing on it is a marketing gimmick and good wine doesn't need a gimmick (just a pretty label). But I am afraid that I bought this bottle of rose (for myself) because I liked what it said: Art de vivre -- The art of bottling sunshine from the Roussillon region in the South of France.
And on the cork no less.

I have long called myself a "life artist" -- ever since I stopped drawing after college. I was good, but I just never produced anything without the structure of school, and eventually I decided to stop beating myself up for being who I am and start telling people who asked that, instead of drawing, I live my life like a work of art. OK, sure, that sounds ridiculously hippy-dippy and pretentious, but let those feelings go for a minute. What it means, of course, is that every step I take and every item or action I include should be carefully considered, composed, coordinated with the overall scheme. At any given time, I might work on a variety compositions: the lost soul, the doting friend, the professional, the party girl, the woman with a beautiful home, and even the artist. I am not saying that any of them are masterpieces, but I consider them as I make each decision, and try to give then their due respect.

But bottling sunshine... you know how there are some people who brighten a room, or get a party going well, or a conversation? You know how there are some people you just want to talk to forever and some people you can't think of anything to say to? It has nothing to do with what you have in common or what you might have shared -- it's chemistry, but it's also identity. Some people can talk to anyone. Some of my friends believe I am one of them. I am most certainly not. See what I mean?

Do people change? Elizabeth says they don't, and I am inclined to believe her in the long-term. But what about hourly, daily, as we breath in and breath out? Of course we do. The social and physical soup which we flavor and which flavors us changes. Since I stopped drinking coffee (which I highly recommend doing), I am no longer an extremely moody person, but I believe I am talking here about something more than moodiness.

That makes me want to talk about how we feel relative to how we care for ourselves. My mother never seems to feel very good and is always tired, and I firmly believe that that has more to do with the fact that she's dehydrated than anything else. I once went to a doctor and said "I get headaches; should I drink more water?" He said "I don't know about that. Do you want pain killers?" (What's wrong with this world?!) My friend Rachel said to me recently "Have you changed your diet?" I still don't know why. A guy once broke up with me because he had been drinking decaf for about 4 days while I was there ("I just feel really headachy and low-energy now that you're here") -- neither one of use realized this until later (not that I am sorry now, but at the time it was kind of annoying). So, my "social and physical soup" is more than metaphorical -- it's physical. It's just not actual soup that you eat for lunch.

Wow! I really did not see all that coming at all -- it would be hubris for me to liken that wine marketing and me to Proust and his madeline, but maybe I am a nice matchbox car to it.

Speaking of sunshine, the weather appears to be sunnier today, and I woke up on my own at 8. I had strange unpleasant dreams and woke up twice in the night. Yesterday I spent most of the day on my presentation, but I also took a walk to Chateau de Vincenne. I walked around the castle in the fading Sunday afternoon light. Since the streets here are neither straight nor gridded, I nearly got lost returning until I looked around and found myself exactly one block from the apartment. (which makes me want to talk about attitude, but it will have to wait for another blog. Did I tell you my pen literally exploded on me on the airplane? More on that and mini-earth quakes releasing the pressure and how we think about the world we live in another time.)