A new painting!

I was looking for a painting of the town of Rockport, Massachusetts, where we vacation almost every year. Instead, I found a watercolor by I.M. Colburn, an American artist. It was painted in 1947 and is called: “Rockport, MA: Reflections” And I love it. And I bought it. And it’s going to hang in my green and pink bedroom. And I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have found it.

Go sit somewhere else...

...this seat has triple occupancy.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Don't look for them in the morning: they're at the cafeteria.

Cat Days

... and whiskers on kittens

So I am still on vacation. And although the magic and fairy dust of when I've got the house to myself are no longer there, my days still go smoothly enough. My loved ones are so glad to be back they've stopped bickering so at least there are no conflicts for now.
I've ordered dozens of things online and I love the feeling of waiting to see what the mail will bring me each day.
"Brown paper packages, tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things!"

Good times

Here is a photo of July 8. The quality is terrible, and you can't see it's pouring down rain. But it captures a moment of sheer exhilaration. May they be more frequent in my life.

Wake-up

Alas, alas... I was supposed to have another 4 days of blessed loneliness. The 2 people I live with (yeah, my loved ones) are by the sea. But they are fighting, by the sea. So they have decided to come home. No doubt to fight home, instead. There goes my peace, shattered. There goes the serenity, the absence of tension and conflict, the intense happiness of the recent days. I was counting on those 4 more days. I'm bitterly disappointed. I will take the inevitable. But for now, allow me to be just bitterly disappointed.

The tomato-eating Cat

There was this tomato on the counter, just minding its own business. Along came Elune. She licked the tomato, and then... started eating it!
Have you ever seen a cat start eating a tomato, not cut in biteable pieces but whole? What kind of weirdo do I have??


As you can see, I was so mesmerized I never thought of shooing her off. Thus was the tomato violated.


Then it was rush hour.

Enjoy the Silence

Les gens heureux n'ont pas d'histoire... my days are flowing seamlessly. Tomorrow I leave for 4 blessed days by the sea, in Rockport, Massachussetts, like every other year. My shot of ocean, taken not intravenously but through my eyes, and ears, and nose and skin...

Here at home, I cannot convey the peace. I am completely alone human-wise, no calls, hardly an email. I have no schedule and all the time in the world to do the few things I have to do each day. I cook a lot and don't mind it because it becomes an activity in itself and not something bothersome to get out of the way. I talk to the cats. They talk back. There is no noise, no stress, no voice raised, no demand, no mess. The house is clean, pretty and serene. I am free as a kite, I answer to no one, I feel no pressure. Words fail me.

Home

These are some of my Carl Larsson prints, in case they are too small to see.

At Home with Brigitte

My family left for a 2-week vacation and I find myself blessedly alone, mistress of the house.

First thing I do is clean and decorate. I need to live in a beautiful environment.



This is a "before" picture. After, the cats raided the vase, toppling it, drenching the floor and stealing away with a flower. I came, I saw, I conquered and put things right again. To get even, Elune threw my yet-untouched Tim Hortons coffee on the floor, drenching it a second time. I called her all kinds of sweet names.
I also did a laundry, careful to add plenty of softener because these days, for some reason, I could shave with what comes out of the wash. Of course, I did forget the actual detergent but I consider that a detail. Heh.

I went flea market hunting and here are my finds:

A lovely old fashion tureen (complete with cover and spoon - not shown)

Two delightful cups and saucers. Their size is just between a cup and a bowl, which I love for hot chocolate and such...

What is that paw? The only visible piece of Chinook...

No Ordinary Day at the Office

July 8th 2011 was the morning of the historical launch of the last shuttle mission ever, STS-135. My friend A. joined me to watch it on a big screen. After a nerve-wracking countdown stop at T-minus 31 seconds, Atlantis took off flawlessly. It was an exhilarating moment: the last launch of the shuttle era.

At noon, I got an email from my friend J.: “Picking you up at 1:00. We’re going to SkyVenture.” Oh? Oooooook. We’d been planning on going for 2 years but never found the time. Today was it! Rush home to change and prepare. SkyVenture is a wind tunnel that reproduces free fall conditions. In other words, you get to fly. Cool!!!!
It was my first time ever in a wind tunnel and I had a blast. If it wasn’t so expensive, I’d really enjoy doing that regularly. What the instructors can do when let loose in the tunnel is simply breathtaking. Gravity no longer exists. You have to see it.

As if this was not enough emotions for one day, J. and I then headed to nothing less than the U2 show at the especially set-up open-sky stadium on Montreal’s hyppodrome’s site. Eighty thousand people converged to the spot. It was a hot summer evening and I thought that should it rain a bit, it would be rather pleasant. Eighty thousand people in an cheerful and partying mode... it was a thrilling experience.

Photo: J. Hébert

I will skip on J. suddenly realising his memory card did not fit his brand new camera and our mad dash to find another memory card in time. One is never bored with J. We succeeded and the show was fantastic. Feeling the aluminum bleechers pulsing and waving under our feet like the deck of a boat on a rocky sea, 50 feet in the air, was also an experience. Several people had to leave because of that, either afraid or feeling sea sick.

Photo: J. Hébert

On the last note of the last encore, it started to rain lightly. What incredible timing! Then it rained harder. Within two minutes, the skies opened up and eighty thousand people suddenly found themselves scrambling under a torrential rain as heavy as India’s worst monsoon. We got soaked down to the bones in a matter of minutes, and the rain was cold and an icy wind swept over the site. Suddenly, people were freezing, teeth chattering, their skimpy summer outfits clinging miserably to their bodies, offering no protection whatsoever.

It was a surreal end to an extraordinary show. It was funny, it was crazy, it was freezing, and it never let down. Holding on tight to each other, J. and I walked back the mile to the car, our faces, hair and clothes completely drenched. “Watch out! There’s a puddle! Don’t get wet!” we would joke while walking ankle deep in the water on the street.

This, my friends, was my day, on July 8th, 2011.

Dead Woman Walking

Yesterday at the grocery store, I passed a dark-haired girl in her early 20's. She was slowly pushing a big, nearly empty grocery cart. In a slow voice, she was asking the young teenage boy accompanying her: “Which bread do you prefer?”

She was wearing a t-shirt and her stick-like arms displayed the unmistakable fuzz of advanced anorexia. Her thighs were approximately the size of a muscular man’s biceps, and as tiny as her jeans were, the complete absence of buttocks made them hang awkwardly. She was by far the most emaciated person I have ever seen with my own eyes.

What was she doing there, pretending to casually be buying food? She should have been on a hospital bed, being fed intravenously and closely supervised by a psychiatrist.

For some reason, her pretence at normalcy got to me. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to point to her cart and ask: “Who do you think you are fooling?” I wanted to tell her: “Do you really think you are fat right now? because you are a walking skeleton.” I wanted to tell her: “Eat. Just EAT or you will DIE.”

At her weight and degree of cachexia, vital organs, including the heart, can fail at any time with no warning. She’s a dead woman walking.

I know nothing of her story. Will she live? Will she die? I will never know either.

And if I sound harsh, it's the anger of helplessness.

Peace to You

Another weekend ended, and it was eventful, not in my quiet life but on the world scene. The massacre in Norway defies imagination. I find it hard to grasp that one man can kill 85 people, not blowing them up at once, but one by one, finishing off the wounded. Eighty-five people. I once had a dream, years ago, of myself lying down on the ground, and the bad guy just above me, pointing his gun. I remember the panic and utter despair in my mind, the knowledge of doom: “Nothing to do, nowhere to run, I am a second away from death, this is IT”. The dream was so clear and desperate I never forgot it. And now all I’m thinking is that it has just been experienced by dozens of people, just before their death, only they’re no longer there to tell us of the horror.

I read Hollywood gossip magazines, I brazenly admit it. It takes my mind off of things in a wonderful, harmless way. Three days ago, I read the latest weekly issue of Star/Systeme, a magazine from Quebec. It had an article titled: "Amy Winehouse Flirts With Death". The last sentence read: “If she doesn’t get a handle on things, doctors give her 3 months to live, which is very little considering she is only 27...” These magazines are always sensationalist. I read this THREE days ago. Then I turn on my computer and read “Amy Winehouse is dead”.

This my prayer, for the grief to abate at Morning Bray Farm, for the victims of Norway’s Timothy McVeigh and their loved ones, for a lost soul who checked out. Peace to you, alive or dead. Amen

Once in a while...

... you meet someone. It may be brief, but a bond is forged. Balto was not in my life for a long time. He was there for 10 days only. But he was probably the sweetest puppy I have yet met. I mean sweet as in quiet, obedient, calm, endearing, completely trusting. He was a darling and he exited my life just as suddenly as he came into it. He was adopted by what I believe will be a loving family. Goodbye sweet Balto, have a good, long, happy life.



This is not a dead cat. This is Chinook being hot.

A Midsummer Evening

Hot you say? Yes. I think 44 degrees Celsius qualify as hot. Disgusted, the cats are spread out on the floor, as floppy as they can be. The pool is so nice and warm that it actually barely refreshes the swimmer. The fans are working full time, full speed, full power, to little effect. But it still is a lovely summer evening... The only thing I could wish for would be fragrant roses. And a popsicle.

To cool off, here's a photograph from Jonah Gautier. Water, like sparkling diamonds...

In Summer Time

It was Marie’s post about a fog horn… so evocative a sound... that made me want to start writing again.

It is the height of the summer. There’s a certain feeling of... freedom in the air. Yesterday, I had lunch on a yacht club restaurant’s terrasse. The wind was wonderful. Although very thin, the layer of sand under my feet reminisced of other times, other places. It was hard to believe I was in Montreal. For a short while, it carried me away, back to where the sea breeze always blows, so many yacht clubs, so many restaurants lined with sand... Bob Marley was unforgivably missing. I ate the cherry from my glass of a mediocre sangria.



“I used to know a Honduran parrot, I said suddenly, that just LOVED those maraschino cherries.”
My table cracked up. Because of my past experiences, I often have these really out of nowhere, off the wall anecdotes. My table cheerfully admitted nobody else had a Honduran parrot among their acquaintances. Heh.
But it’s true. His name was Paco. He loved cherries, and when in a really good mood, he’d keep repeating, in an creepy, ghostlike voice: “Goo awaaaayyyyyyyy”.

Today, we are forewarned of a tremendous heat wave. I shall be in my air conditioned office, then in my air conditioned gym, then in my pool. So I’m not too worried. And if we’re lucky, we’ll get some of these violent summer thunderstorms I love so.

I’ve still to tell you about the dog. About July 8th. Many things have been happening. It will come.

Loving Art

I love paintings...

Introducing an eight-year old, Autumn De Forest (and what a romantic name):




Reading about her, at first I was reluctant to call her a "prodigy". Then I looked at her artwork.
Here are three of my favorites, painted at age 7:


'Garden'


'Dusk'


'Serenade'


Let's say I no longer argue about the use of 'prodigy'. May you have a long and intensely creative life, Autumn, for the world is more joyous for your creations.

You can see the rest of her art here.

Curiosity Soaked The Cat

Chinook, quickly nicknamed « Chouchou », loves the bathroom sink. He’s in there excitedly every morning as I prep for work, and I often let a tiny stream of water flow out for his entertainment. He plays “trying to catch the water”. When his ears are good and soaked, he leaves the sink and sits right beside, and I can wash my face. His nose is about seven inches from mine and he looks on with tremendous interest.
I can actually hear him think:
“My human takes her turn playing in the water. That’s fair. Let’s study HER method...”
Let's note that his interest in water has already lead him to slip in a full bath tub not once but twice (and he didn't like it ONE bit!). A very curious kitten, this scallawag.

Not much sun...

but the Lothlorien is all around us...

Clarification

You don't need a parachute to go skydiving. You only need a parachute if you want to go skydiving twice.

Fall

Fall has cometh. Dark skies, intermittent rain. The leaves are turning and I should not go anywhere without my camera, because every once in a while, on an anonymous corner, a tree will stand out in an explosion of gold or red, so bright, so perfect that it seemed to have been planted by elves overnight.

Every morning, before I get up, I get a ten-minute cuddling session from Chinook. He shows up in full purr when my alarm clock rings, so I press snooze and we settled down for some serious petting, kissing, purring, curled up in my neck like the little baby he still is. It starts a day well.

My feelings got hurt recently, and as usual when that happens, I’m longing for affection from the rest of my circle. Virtual hugs are welcome. I wouldn’t even mind a burro kiss or two.

By the way, I found a cure for insomnia. Recently I would wake up around 4 or 5 am and be unable to go back to sleep. So I decided to take advantage of that and go running at those early hours, to start the day well. I laid out my clothes and prepared my Ipod.

I’ve been sleeping like a baby ever since! LOL!

(Photo credits unknown)

Douce France, cher pays de mon enfance...

I was in training yesterday. It was a one-day class called: “International Etiquette”. It included lunch in an uppity restaurant as part of the training.

We basically learned the minimum of good manners, with attention to North-American etiquette versus European. We learned how to eat with an Ambassador and not commit some gross blunder.
Having grown in Europe, where good manners are very important, and with parents for whom they were mandatory, I can’t say that I learn a lot of NEW things, but it was a solid review of stuff I had not seen, nor really practiced, in a long time.

The reason I was taking this training, in case you wonder, is because we often receive VIPs, at work, Canadian but occasionally Russian, Japanese, Chinese, American or European... Mastering good manners helps feeling confident with completely different cultures.

The teacher was a dumpy and unglamorous French-Canadian older woman, much to my surprise. But she had traveled a lot and she knew her stuff. She stated, matter-of-factly, that in France, and elsewhere in Europe, you WILL be scrutinized, evaluated, judged and catalogued on the sole basis of your manners.

I was the first time I heard somebody stating the essential reason I will not live in France again.

The French are so uppity about manners and good breeding. Yet put them in the streets, or in a crowd. Do you think they will good-naturedly and orderly line-up while waiting for something, like North American do? No, they will press and push in chaos, each man for himself to try and get first.
Will they be courteous and mindful of others in places like airplanes? No, they will tend to be rude and selfish and totally self-centered.
Will they avoid littering, out of respect for others? Just go to France...

So I am sorry but good manners extend beyond a dining table and a way to shake hands. And the French don’t have it. So I will not live in a society where I will be judged, and harshly so, on these superficial criteria instead of on what really matters, the person I really am.

And this, folks, is why I although I miss France like crazy sometimes, I will not go back to live there. And am I passing a judgement on the French? You bet! And does it matter? Not one iota, thankfully!

A Real Man

A real man is a woman's best friend. He will
never stand her up and never let her down.
He will reassure her when she feels insecure
and comfort her after a bad day.

He will inspire her to do things she never
thought she could do; to live without fear
and forget regret. He will enable her to
express her deepest emotions and give in to
her most intimate desires. He will make sure
she always feels as though she's the most
beautiful woman in the room and will enable
her to be the most confident, sexy,
seductive, and invincible.

No wait... sorry... I'm thinking of wine.

It's wine that does all that.......Never mind.

And we could be heroes, just for one day...

Today was a very exciting day. Today we received the visit, at the office, of two men I'm more in awe of, and star-struck about than I would be of Brad Pitt and Bono visiting. Everybody is in awe of them so a lot of people wanted to grab a word, especially the ladies because these two are absolute eye candy. They are treated like EIP as in EXTREMELY Important Personalities. Yet they remain completely simple and down to earth and approachable. And that's not the least of the things I admire about them. They're in their thirties, they have physical courage, impossibly bright minds and a scope of skills and experiences that defy the imagination. They impress THE HELL out of me.

Because I will not reveal where I work on this blog, I cannot reveal their identities. I could probably put up a picture of them and nobody would know who they are. Only people in that specific field do. But of the hundreds of people at the office, and even though they are shepherded and marched and timed to the minute, I did get a chance to shake their hands and say a few words, and they remembered me from last year, when I had met them for the first time.

So I'm floating on a cloud.

I'm usually never star-struck by anybody, even celebrities. I don't do hero worship. In fact, that's how I met them in the first place. While everybody was treating them like sacred china, I just went and talked to them as to the normal people that they are.

But they sure made my day.

Blue

What's on my fridge

- Art by Karl Larsson, because I love his work.
- A hand written note from my brother last time he was here for Christmas, telling me there's turkey in the fridge.
- A postcard from Marie, picture of Cape Town, in my country-in-law.
- Pretty magnets.
- Pictures of my departed cats, so it feels they're still around with us.

- And of course, an old painting I like from my son.

Monsieur Chinook, caught in the act of killing the bed...

The Truth About the French

Read a good one yesterday...

Why do French people eat snails?

Because they don't like fast-food.

Back To School!

Today, for the first time in his academic life, my son will step into a classroom that’s geared up for HIS needs, with teatchers who are specialized in his way to see the world. How huge is that? HUGE.
My son has fiercely hated school from the first time he ever stepped into a classroom. Will he still hate it as much in specialized education? Time will tell. I’m very eager to see what kind of a difference it will make.

In the meantime:
I dreamed of blood.
My friend Linda is seeing turtles.
My friend J will wear a top hat today.
The suffocating heatwave is on ‘till Saturday.
Today is September 1st.
On every square inch of floor in my house, there’s a cat stretched out complaining: ”Boy, it’s hot!” Even Chinook The Terrible is slowing down on ambush attacks. It is simply too hot to fight.

Have a good one everybody!

Thought of the day

"To err is human, to purr is feline." Robert Byrne

Maaaa, he's done it again!

Wow. When I take a picture of Rockport's Front Beach, it looks like this:



When my brother takes a picture of Rockport's Front Beach, it looks like this:


(See it bigger by clicking on it). Copyright Vincent Mounier 2010

And this, my dears, is the difference between an amateur and a Photographer.

My family

This is my family. How do we know it's my family? Easy. Four people have a book in their hands.

In my family, we read. And when we're not reading, we take pictures of each other taking pictures.




Lots of books. Lots of pictures.

Then we blog about it.