Why the time doesn't change on the same date the world over I'll never understand but today leaves me feeling as disoriented and untrustworthy as it always does when we lose an hour. So no Happy Halloween here. No flickering Jack o'Lanterns or martinis downed while sporting an unwise Lady Gaga meat dress. Just rain whimpering through most of the day, mottling out the sun. Nothing better to do than keep the fire stoked and The World of Interiors handy.
This evening was the first with Ben's post-dinner stroll in the dark and the streets were appropriately empty. Everyone is elsewhere as Toussaint is the French Thanksgiving of family gatherings and I find myself missing mine. Remi and I spoke of my Dad's passing over lunch. It was the right thing to do. Tomorrow I will head to the cemetery with a friend as she pays her respects at her father's grave, bringing flowers, clearing away leaves.
For a bit of light amidst the shadows of this very serious holiday, I accepted Frederique's offer to take in the last day of the retrospective of the photographer Pierre Jahan's work at the Musée Reattu. Housed within the former Grand Priory of the Knights of Malta, the 17th century fortified structure was once the center of a network of such priories between Toulouse and Geneva. Gargoyles hover over every corner, a poignant contrast to the tender nudes shown within that Jahan took to illustrate a poem of Jean Cocteau's celebrating love, life. After all, best to appreciate on this All Soul's Day that we are still here.