Remember me gushing about
Les Jacobins a few posts ago (okay, I just read the post I wrote about it, and I did not do this place justice. It is BEAUTIFUL. Probably my favorite Catholic Church related place I've seen)? Well, last Friday night, Noemi and I went to a concert in a chapel that opens to the cloister there and oh my gosh. It was incredible. There was a string quartet, Quatuor Modigliani, and a pianist, Philippe Cassard, who played a bunch of Mendelssohn and Schumann. The quartet played first, then the pianist, then intermission, then they played together for the last half. Wow, wow, wow. The acoustics in that little chapel were unbelievable. The concert lasted over 2 hours, but it seemed like five minutes. It just flew by.
The pianist reminded me of my dad, and if I closed my eyes it was like I was sitting at home at the kitchen table listening to him play. So I cried.
For all of the time spent here in Europe when life hasn't been so fun and for all of the moments I've wanted to go home.
Sitting in southern France crying in a monastery listening to Mendelssohn, wishing I was in the brown desert in the United States.
And I realized how silly that was and how lucky I am and for the rest of the concert I felt content to let the music wash over me and heal my little broken heart.
