“To a gargoyle on the ramparts of Notre Dame as Esmeralda rides off with Gringoire, Quasimodo says."Why was I not made of stone like thee?”

― Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

Today Monday 15 April is sort of the first day where after at least a month of not writing blogs I decided I had enough peace of mind to remove this blogger’s block and write.  Alas! Notre Dame Cathedral is in flames and that has not only engulfed the 12th century church, but the news and my peace of mind.

In the age of the selfie, social media is awash with pictures of people standing in front of the cathedral. And a few artists/photographers/tourists have placed pictures of the famous gargoyles.

In this age of physical isolation there is I believe an urge to belong, to feel part of something. As a freelancer in Vancouver for many years I longed for the idea of the office party. Somehow such a thing would make me feel part of an institution. I went to as many meetings and end-of-the-month magazine parties for freelancers in this desire I had to feel I belonged to something and somewhere.

When some rock star (or actor) dies people, like ambulance chasers of yore are first to write something like, “I loved his music and it formed my upbringing.” I try not to succumb to this (understanding the ambulance chasers wanting to feel they belong by having "touched" in some way) but I do feel this yearning for stuff that has always been part of my life like Pontiacs, Kodak, TV sets with round corners, old friends and especially my family.

With Notre Dame burning one of the few stabilities (after all it is made of stone) in a world of instability, uncertainty and of questionable political and ethical morals such a monument is a beacon of stability. Its apparent loss will move all of us into mourning and the only apparent escape is to put a selfie by the church or to “publish” one of those terrible videos.

For me the church instantly brings to mind the 1939 William Dieterle film, The Hunchback of Notre Dame with Charles Laughton and Maureen O’Hara as Esmeralda.

The church itself is a hazy memory of being on it with my two daughters and wife around 1987 and my taking the inevitable photographs of the gargoyles.

Today's event makes me realize of experiences from my past that I will never be able to repeat in person. And even worse that I could not share that experience with my granddaughters. I remember when my grandmother told me she had gone to a performance of Aida in New York City in the late 20s that featured elephants. She told me of a production of Ben Hur that had moats with galleys. Her voice and her account are vivid in my memory. Should I want to re-tell this to my Rebecca and Lauren there would be something lost.