“You know, it’s not like I want to be famous or anything…”
I suppose the truth is that it’s always nice to be recognised in some way. A friend of mine is currently pregnant with her second child, and her first has – perhaps quite naturally – grown quite clingy and attention-seeking. As kids it’s normal, and then maybe some of us develop a shyness when we’re older. And then maybe some of us get over it, and then want to be famous again. Like, really famous. I read some blogs of more well-known people and they don’t have what I see as the “wannabe famous” complex I see in some of the more up and coming blogs, where people are actually trying hard to be. It’s refreshing, and I like how the more famous blogs are so famous that their writers no longer try so hard to impress, that it becomes actually worthwhile to read their stuff. I appreciate good photos and their thoughts about things, not just the perfunctory “Look at my new shoes!” without further comment.
I don’t want to be really famous, although I do admit, being more “famous” or at least more “recognised in the community” gives me that special feeling that makes you feel kind of loved, but not really. It’s that great feeling of satisfaction of being noticed.
On Saturday past, I walked to the Alliance Française, the French school in West End. They were having their annual Christmas markets, which I love. There’s always the usual culprits, like the Savon de Marseille (soap from Marseille) in different hues and French delicacies like foie gras and pate. I was thrilled this year to find Bugne, which Wikipedia describes as “Angel wings are a traditional sweet crisp pastry made out of dough that has been shaped into thin twisted ribbons, deep-fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar.” My goodness, these things are amazing. They were only a dollar each! (or maybe that is expensive? I’ve got no idea, I hardly buy French food).
Anyway, so Anne, the communications and events manager of the Alliance, walked past me in a reindeer band and says, “Hello Rachel.” To which I give one of my heartwarming smiles and reply, “Hello Anne.” Well I cannot tell you how thrilled I was that she remembered my name. I nearly squealed, but of course, I didn’t want her to think that this particular Magazine writer is a little crazy, which is true.
I picked up the bookmark in the photo above at the markets there. I figure I need to make myself more excited for reading next year and I’m trying to get the emotions going with a $2 bookmark.
It’s time to take my soup off the stove.