Bonne Année

Loukhi
Grumpy
Loukhi and Fatso

******

To all my readers, loved ones and strangers,

Happy Year 2007,

May your children be healthy

May you be open to change

May you live daringly

May you be alive every minute of this new year.

With endless love, from Brigitte

Nighttime

I can't sleep. I can't sleep. So I get up but I'm not dressed and it's cold. I start shivering. The house, dark and silent, surrounds me with well-known obstacles. A darker inkblot on Bondi's couch signals that Grumpy is curled up for the night. Somewhere in the living room, a miniature Darth Vader and a fat Skywalker have signed a temporary truce and lie peacefully in a heap of paws and whiskers. The Christmas tree stands up straight and proud in the darkness but nothing shimmers, twinkles, nor sparkles.

I sit on the couch, hugging my knees, trying to stay warm.

Somewhere in a little town of France, a rooster is calling out the first daylight. The baker's street is already fragrant. A man is rolling up the steel shutters of the Café de la Place, and it smells like fresh coffee and croissants.

Somewhere in Asia, an overcrowded city drenched in sunshine is bustling with activity.

Not sleeping isn't half bad. I wish I could stop thinking. The mind is stripped of all pretences and illusions at this hour. It is deadly sharp and clear. But it talks only of failures and shortcomings.

Outside, a thin snow is falling and has finally whitened my world.

Later on, I dream of a friendly Jeff Probst and a game of Survivor. Our boat leaves with the ladder still trailing in the water. "They don't know any better and they're not strong enough to lift it," I think. "I'll do it."

I Don't Get Me

All systems are go. Every last present has been wrapped. Most wishes have been sent. Christmas? Bring it on!

Now I'm going to lay down on this couch and address myself to all you counselors out there.
I love parties. I adore my family. Could someone explain to me why I have this overwhelming reluctance to join parties and family gatherings? At first, I’m all thrilled and enthusiastic. When it becomes imminent, suddenly, I don’t want to go anymore. “Something” happens in my head and I turn into an anti-social, elusive and rude being, breaking all the rules of love, friendship and politeness. There’s suddenly a little rebel that takes over inside and digs its heels and says: “I shall not go.” I don’t know how to fight it because I don’t understand it. And I don’t think it’s healthy for me to shy away from social gatherings! The strange thing is parties or gatherings where it’s mostly strangers (like in my boyfriends’ family or friends) don’t bother me! I do NOT get it.

So, of course, the Christmas extended family diner is already being warmly debated in my head. The lure of a peaceful evening ALONE, something I never get, is already very strong.

If anybody has any insight, please send me your bill. Well, send me your insight first, your bill second.

Eggnog and Bailey’s for everybody (or whatever floats your boat)!

I'll end with one of my favorite joke:

What should a wife do when her husband is running in zig-zag in the garden?

(answer tomorrow)

Euphoria

And I am....OFFFFFFFFF for six days!
Still not a flake of snow on the ground. Very odd looking.

Loukhi got officially baptised, à son corps défendant. Indeed, she fell in a full bath tub. If you've ever seen a six inches long black fur ball in full panic mode, that was it. Afterwards, she was nothing but a humid kitten for a while. Poor baby. Heh. Live and learn.

Did I mention my being off? As in, on holidays? Like, not working? Like nothing to do but drink, wrap, and unwrap presents? And eat outrageously until December 26, at which time proper nourishment and training kicks back in. And alcohol detox starts. Because let's face it, I'm an excessive type of person. Just like I love excessively and train, well, seriously. I drink, well, abundantly, when I give myself permission to. But I will hardly touch a drink between January and May, serious training time.

Yeah, I'm aiming for a minimum of eight hours of exercise per week. And I still feel like the wimpiest wimp, because my close friend is a triathlonian. Everything is relative, said the white-haired genious.
The new session, starting January 15, will hold a new challenge for me. After the spinning session following the workout session, here comes the three classes in a row (3 hours) workout. On Wednesdays only. I expect not to be able to finish, at first, and gradually work to finishing while still looking human, instead of something the cat brought in. I need new shoes, AGAIN, because at the rate I'm going, my shoes hardly last me six months.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and gloat because I'm off for six days...

Blasphemous Rumours

I don't want to start
Any blasphemerous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find him
Laughing


Depeche Mode

Yo! Ho!...and a bottle of rhum!

This morning, I had a dream I have chronically. I hear an airplane and I look up to see not one airplane but a sky full of them, different aircrafts flying in formation. We're going to war or we're being invaded, either way, the meaning is the same: imminent doom. I know I have to get to my loved ones quickly and they're usually all over the place. This morning my brother was with me, but my mother wasn't answering the phone in France and I couldn't find my son. The anguish and urgency are overwhelming. Then I wake up, frazzled.
Who needs movies when you can live this suspense and horror in the comfort of your own bed?

There's a man on the train...early forties, clean cut, rather good looking short man. Non-descript, really, because on my train, people dress well, smell good, read Dan Brown and talk about the office. There could be a banner on the train that says: "Well-to-do, suburban home owners and career white people only".
This man carries around a half-size bottle of brown rhum and takes one to three casual sips from it during the fourty minutes train commute. He does that on the 16h30 train. I have yet to find out if he does it on the morning train as well. His friends seem to consider it as normal as if it were a bottle of water and he himself is terribly casual, never furtive in his movements. He just pulls out his rhum, deep in conversation, takes a small sip and puts it back in his leather coat…I cannot explain how odd and out of place.
I take a minute to think about all it implies…and I shiver.

Fatso is coming around to Loukhi beautifully. Grumpy still has some way to go… Two more work days!!

Upcoming

The conference I was helping organize has been postponed 'till May if all goes well, 'till hell freezes over if it doesn't. For personal reasons, I very much regret this delay. January really suited me better. May is a long way off and many things could change in the meantime. But you just can't argue with executive decisions and I strongly believe that what is meant to be, will be.

The next two weeks will most likely be characterized by too much sugar and alcohol and not enough exercise. Mind you, I would much rather have planned a two-classes-a-day Christmas week but no, apparently instructors celebrate Christmas as well and classes are cancelled. So if I want to work out, it will be on my own, always a bit harder, especially when blood is becoming a visible minority in my circulation stream. Then again, a week of strength training would be excellent for me so all is not bleak.

There is the extended family party…sigh…I love my family dearly, I really do. But most haven't seen me in a year. I can hear it already: "You lost some weight!" I must be the only female on the planet who doesn't like to be told she lost some weight. I just don't like any mention of my weight, up or down. And my beloved family is always expecting me to have something new to tell and exciting stories about my work. I don't like to talk about my work. Bah, I'm only whining. The truth is, they love me very much and they are very curious about me, always half-expecting to see me produce a rabbit out of a hat… All I ever produced were dolphins so I'm not sure where that expectation comes from.

I don’t expect much in terms of social life, which usually results in increased blogging. We’ll see. Now back to my little black flea bag and the two large haughty ones.

Coffee in Hand

How bleak can it get? Nine in the morning and everything is so dark that we need electric light.
Loukhi slept with me and we both slept well. She has demonstrated a vigorous if tenuous purring capacity. Grumpy keeps on hugging the walls, silly goose. I drew Loukhi to play right on top of Fatso's extra-wide belly and he tolerated it with clearly mixed feelings.
The little miss also managed to plunge right off the top of the stairs to the basement below but she appeared unharmed. She's at the clueless stage.zzzzzxxxoosz
This was her on the keyboard.sdgggggggggg777

I skipped a party Friday night and dreamed, this morning, about everybody hating me and turning against me because of it. Obviously my conscience was bothering me.
Plans for a Saturday night diner with a friend fell through for the Xth time. I think where there's a will, there's a way, so obviously his will is lacking and I'm giving up.
Truth be told, I miss TLM and I curse myself for it. I wish my brother were around and we'd sit down and play games...
Yannick is still walking around like he died and went to Heaven, a smile plastered on his face from ear to ear, bursting with wonder and delight and following the little creature like a shadow.
I'm re-reading His Dark Material yet again (for lack of new good books) but I'm at the third and least interesting volume. Still, it will last me through the day.
On I go then, for a dark Sunday, sheltered in a welcoming house, with no obligations and no chores, a day MADE to read with purring cats around me, or pehaps nap with purring cats around me, or maybe later assemble a jigsaw puzzle with annoying cats around me. Can you see a trend here?

Where IS everybody by the way? This blog is so quiet. Y'all Christmas shopping?

Home

That's my living room. Don't you want to be there with me, with a glass of Bailey's, a child's laughter and cats running underfoot?

In Walks Louka

In spite of a short sunny moment, today turned out to be a dark, dull grey. Three o'clock looked and felt like five.
My mother has been hassling, there's no other word, hassling me to get an idea for what to buy me. I walked into our local mall today, and suddenly, I knew without a doubt.

"Do you know what I would REALLY like this Christmas?"” I asked.
"No, tell me!"
Love, affection, warmth, beauty, personality, laughter, happiness, wonder. I have named:
"A c.a.t." I said in English because my son was there.
Her face lit up. She was sold before I could say cat.
"“He would love it!"” she gushed. "He's been asking for one!"”
Then and there, a new member was added to the family.
Here she is:



















I'm giving myself 48 hours to name her. It will probably be Louka but I like Kahlo too, because the little lady looks like a strong, bright, independent young female.
Yannick keeps repeating: "It's the most beautiful day of my life!" After a while, he amended that to: "It's one of the most beautiful days of my life." But he's so excited he can hardly control himself. He's ecstatic. He's on cloud nine. He loves it.

She played fearlessly for about an hour and since then has been sleeping, exhausted. I'll try to get some pictures but a combination of low light and a black kitten are quite a challenge.

Then I had to introduce her to Fatso and Grumpy. Rather to my surprise, the unflappable Fatso reacted with curiosity but also hostility. I suspect the kitten's smell to be still unpleasant since she's been dewormed, and vaccinated and all that fun stuff. Grumpy seemed to recognise a smaller version of herself and didn't seem to mind as much but still acts uneasy. I'll have to watch like a hawk for the following days, to protect the little one from Fatso's claws and my son's loving smothering.

The Christmas tree is up. So is my collection of Santas. Here's a sample of it. A busy, fruitful day!



I told my mother I expected my present to be wrapped for Christmas but I think my Christmas present will rather work hard at unwrapping and destroying the presents instead. What fun ahead!

Facing Death

Today a message popped in my email. It was a message of thanks for flowers and money we sent, from someone who recently discovered she was losing a battle against cancer.

I've always been especially sensitive, or attuned, to two things: body language and the written word. Not for nothing do I like to write and read, not for nothing did I study translation. I find the choice of words, the message sent by a written note, (both consciously and unconsciously), very revealing.

This woman wrote (my translation): "I intend to fight this dreadful enemy till the end because you just can't let down the people you love." There were subtleties I can't convey. She actually said "it's just not done to let down the people you love". Her choice of words, in French, was like it would be bad taste to do that. Inappropriate. Uncouth. Not proper. Can't possibly.

I never saw fighting a disease as a courtesy to anybody. It surprised me a little. But I've never been in this situation. Yet.

And when the end comes, doing what will be the most comforting to your loved ones makes a lot of sense after all.

Notice how I try to keep an emotional distance by analyzing her words? A classic defense mechanism called intellectualization.

May God look after you D****, now and later.

In the News

Ok, at the general (absence of) request, but that never stopped me before, let me expand a little on yesterday's picture:

We are witnessing the president of Iran (who denies the Holocaust and wants to see Israel reduced to ashes) giving a warm handshake to an ultra-orthodox Jew. So heartwarming isn't it?

Don't you worry. The earth is still round. The actual context reassures us that crazies will be crazies: it took place during an Iranian conference questioning the Holocaust (well some Americans still question man landing on the moon…). The Jew belongs to an anti-Zionist branch (I didn't even know there were anti-Zionist Jews).

It is so true that we're all equal. A Muslim fanatic is just as dangerous as a Jew fanatic. I myself am thinking of becoming an anti-fanatics fanatic. An anti-extremists extremist. Just what the world needs.


Sometimes, although it's rare, you actually find something useful in the news. Following the death by hypothermia of a man in Oregon, a story, for those interested in survival, that raises a lot of "What would I have done and what should he have done?" questions, I found actually useful information. First, the rule of three:

You can survive for three hours without shelter
You can survive for three days without water
You can survive for three weeks without food

This gives a vital insight into priorities. The other is a list of items you should keep in your trunk when travelling by car in very cold places (hey, I do that all winter long):

To keep in the car at all times:
• Blanket
• Candles
• Matches
• Flashlight
• Fluorescent tape (even just one piece of orange tape can be spotted by a helicopter)
• Shovel
• Water
• Couple of candy bars (but not chocolate -- chocolate can dehydrate you and so can, say, salted nuts)
• Coffee can to hold the candle (and melted water)
• CD to use as a reflector in case you see a helicopter

But the most important thing you can do is to tell somebody where you are going and when you expect to get there. If nobody knows where you are going, nobody knows where to look for you. Just like a pilot would, you gotta file a flight plan.

Thanks to CNN for the information.
This was my monthly contribution to my brand new "To Survive Or Not" chronicle. I just made it up since I'm chronically interested in survival issues.

Source: Agence France Press

I vaguely feel there's something wrong with this picture, I can't quite put my finger on it...let's see...let me think...

The World According to L. Ron Hubbard

For the second and most likely the last time, I tried reading Dianetics, L. Ron Hubbard's bible for Scientology. My motivation was the same as when I read Mein Kampf: bring an open mind to try and understand a phenomenon.

Once again, it took about twenty pages before I had to put it down. I read from a few random places further in the book, just in case it improved. It doesn't. Even if Hubbard's style was not oddly disjointed and his language hermetic, his many assertions are just poposterous*. I don't see how anybody can buy that, it's just plain ludicrous to me. So I once again failed to understand how seemingly reasonably intelligent people can convert to the baseless inventions of a science-fiction writer.

This was my literature review of the week. I'm lacking good books that I haven't read four times already. Santa?

* Old joke from a previous post

A propos of nothing, I am glad to let you know that before the general outcry, the editor who proposed to publish OJ Simpson "If I did it " book backpedalled and cancelled the whole thing. And a good thing too!!!!!!!

The Girls

This morning, like a moment frozen in time, I witnessed a little girl dancing with her father. She's five, and tiny. Even standing on top of a step, she was way too small. She was looking up at him. She had a huge shy smile on because she was aware of other people watching her. She was looking up at him with a mixture of worship, absolute and complete trust, and such love...This little girl was unknowingly saying: "I love you, you're my hero" with her eyes. And I know that no one will ever look at this man with such faith and love as this little girl did, on December 9th 2006. I wish I could have captured it with my camera. I wish it wouldn’t wring my heart the way it does. But at the same time, I’ll never forget that moment.

I played with the girls this morning. My three beloved little ones. Being with them does the same thing to me as petting a purring cat. It fills my heart. It fluffs my heart. It makes it overflow. You don’t know who they are. They are my three beloved little girls. They don’t belong to me but I love them as if they did. I can’t explain it so I simply accept it. Why ask questions?

I am... not very well this weekend. Not very well.

Flowers for Algernon

My boss volunteered me on the organizing committee of the other seminar, as I mentioned before. I wasn't too sure why at first but it no longer matters because I realize I truly enjoy that type of work. I'll have to thank her.

There are two committees, one Anglophone and one Francophone, organizing a joint event and I see how privileged I am to be equally at ease in both languages and with both cultures because the language barrier is really a substantial one. I think I'm helping by being sort of the friendly link between the two groups. Otherwise, it could be quite awkward at times.

I think it will be yet another wonderful human dynamics observation laboratory for me. I'm fascinated by groups dynamics, if I didn't mention it often enough.

In this case, I'm often finding myself itching to step in and take the lead, something I tend to do spontaneously in a group when there's no other clear leader. But I must not, so my challenge will be to do it so subtly, when really needed, that no one realizes it yet it still gets us back to moving ahead (instead of backwards or in circles). I guess the divemaster in me dies hard.

How beautiful are the Christmas lights on homes everywhere? If I had a tripod for long exposures and my brother's patience, I'd go around and take pictures of the neighborhood. There are several huge Christmas trees about 25 feet high, in people's front yards, all lighted up. They're a sight to behold. The new trend, this year, is blue lights. It looks nice, but not very Christmassy, I find. (A new trend IS lights or ARE lights? And how do I spell Christmassy? Too late for them existential questions)

A new short session has started in spinning this week and the class was full tonight. I totally dislike full classes. Hopefully, they'll feel like death and drop out, héhé.

Some Kind of Wonderful

Let's talk about my favourite subject: me.

I have this opinion, shared by an incredible amount of people that I am just…well, wonderful. Now some people will think I am tongue in cheek when I say that, and I simply don't see how they can think that way, but that's another question altogether.

So when I stop and think adoringly about myself, there's one characteristic among my many wonderful qualities that never ceases to amaze even me: This capacity, gift, talent I have for always finding new mistakes to make. I mean, who knew I had this incredible creative potential in me? Who suspected that no matter how many I make, how old I get, I always find new ones to add to my repertoire? And the most beautiful part of it is: don't think I spend a lot of time and energy thinking them out! They come up effortlessly, spontaneously, from, I suppose, the same well of creativity that inspired Picasso.

Picasso, of course, merely painted. I…make mistakes. I commit errors. I put my foot in it. I go wrong. I err. I fuck up. And just when I think: "That's it, I've reached my summum, I cannot possibly find new or better ones” …I do.

So next time we meet, show a little respect knowing that before you stands someone who masters at least one domain. But don't bow or kiss my hand in public. I'm so modest that I'm always embarrassed by displays of the respect and admiration I deserve.

On another subject, a friend of mine told me the origin of the word f***. It's actually interesting enough to share with you. Some time back, when cops arrested whores or their clients, the arrest was written down "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge". So f*** is a rather crude word in our language, but how delightful is Unlawful Carnal Knowledge?

"Would you have Unlawful Carnal Knowledge with me?"
"Let's explore our Unlawful Carnal Knowledge?"
I should use it sometime just to see the reaction I get.

Some years ago today...

I received many Happy Birthday emails, several Happy Birthday kisses and even unexpected presents! (there's something so nice about unexpected presents) I had good company for lunch and boy did we utter a lot of nonsense…great fun.

So I had a super nice day, for one so old. It was better than my 30th, where I had a happy hour so happy that my head spun for twelve hours afterwards. What can I say, I was young and reckless. Now, I'm old and reckless.

I suppose I'm going to have to start lying and pretend I'm 32.

Thanks to all my Southern Chinese readers for their wishes. One of them wished me Happy Easter but I got the general drift. Ya can't help but wonder how they interpret what they read on my blog…

First snow

"Tis the season...and I'll tell you...a man in a big turtleneck...makes my knees weak. I cannot resist a man in a thick turtleneck pullover. It's the very essence of sexy.

What's playing: Agnus Dei de Samuel Barber. Heavenly.

Brigitte to Christmas decorations: “Check mate!”  Who needs men?


First snow here. Now as pretty as Vancouver, but everything is always better in Vancouver if you believe my brother.



Tomorrow, I'll reach another birthday. I DON'T feel like that. I feel about 34. From zero to ten, it felt like twenty years. From ten to twenty, it felt like fifteen. From twenty to thirty, it felt like ten years. From thirty to forty, it felt like about six years. At that rate, I should turn fifty in about five years! Rather scary how time accelerates.

It was for my twelveth birthday, I think, that my mother organized a surprise party. It was my first and my last but I've been dreaming of having another ever since. I should have organized one for my fourth decade.
Organize a surprise party for myself. There's a concept.

Ô Christmas lights

I spent about an hour an a half hanging the outside garlands and lights. This is one time when I really miss having a man in the house. You bring him a cup of hot coffee, put on your best smile and say sweetly: “Honey?...”

Since I didn’t have a designated victim, I did it myself. I don’t know if you ever read Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. There’s a scene in there where a man hangs a painting... Let’s say I made him look gifted.

Not the slightest nook or crevasse to hang the tiniest hook to fix the bloody contraption. I battled a windchill factor of about –15, with full winter gear. I stood on the one chair I have that isn’t stable. I fell from the one chair I have that isn’t stable. My fingers were too frozen to feel much  but I briefly wondered if one finger was broken. It’s not, only half a nail was lifted which is now turning a disturbing violet. I tried tie-wraps, plastic hooks, even metal ties... I leaned backwards precariously to wrap the lights around the garlands and then the beads around the lights. Then I battled the wind to fix the shining boughs. It was a really challenging enterprise and the darn wind was howling. When all was finally done, I was utterly cold, my fingers were frozen and I had had quite enough.

With the intense satisfaction of a job well done, I took a leasurly, relaxing bath. At least it was relaxing until I put my hands in the water. After that my fingers started to thaw and burned like liquid fire and I wasn't relaxed at all.

I emerged from my bath warm and clean, slipped into comfortable jammies and went to the window to contemplate my creation shimmering in the fading light. It was shimmering all right. The complete thing lied on the ground. After an hour and half of work, it took less then fifteen minutes to crash hopelessly on the front porch.

I looked at the tangled garlands, beads, lights, boughs all lying in a heap with frank disgust. I wondered why nobody ever decorated the ground, rather than heights. I decided hanging Christmas decorations was a stupid tradition, and a waste of electricity. I left it all there, exactly as it was. Visitors, if you come tonight, lift your feet at the entrance. There are a few things in the way.

It’s Decorations: I  Brigitte: 0 for now. The re-match is tomorrow, and tomorrow... is another day.

Biko

I so hate to have my actions dictated by fear that sometimes, I am reckless. There's often a very muddled line for me between acting out of fear or acting wisely and acting recklessly or acting stupidely. In other words, the minute I think fear is what's driving me to do X, I do a u-turn and rush into Y just so that I won't submit to my fear. The problem is, Y is NOT always wise or best.

I wrote a post this morning and my friend advised me to remove it. While the rebel in me is kicking and bucking, I decided his voice was probably Wisdom speaking so I listened and removed it. But it also makes me feel like I was just afraid to post it and that makes the hair curl on my arms.

Who ever said life was simple? Who ever said a blog was about freedom of speech?

What creates bonds

I never come back from travelling unchanged, even to a place as insignificant as Trois-Rivières. Last week proved remarkably insightful for me. The conference was a glorious success. Lesson number one: the leader of the conference actually gives the tone to the conference. A stressed out president conveys the stress to the organizing committee, the committee looks and acts stressed and the participants feel it too. This year, there was no stress flowing down from the top and the conference went smoothly, happily and joyfully. In my endless analysis of the styles and types of leadership, I learned a lot there. I suddenly realized that the stress of the preceding years was not indispensable, that the task could be just as successfully completed without the panic mode.

Lesson number two, which I will use if I’m ever again in a relationship: shared experience is what makes a relationship precious; the things you go through together, you experience together, especially if it is unusual, or hard, or emotional. A bond forms between humans under particular circumstances that is just stronger than any other. Hence the feeling that soldiers develop and that they forever search again in civil life afterwards. I think what will make a relationship strong and special is not the 101 ordinary mornings when you woke up together, it’s the time you braved you fears together and went skydiving, it’s the morning you got lost in the Hawaiian brush and walked for four hours before you found your way again, it’s when the dog died and you both cried so hard.
So what I learned this week is that for a couple to build strength, the unusual experiences must be shared. If they are lived apart, I believe the relationship will become that much weaker.
This would appear to contradict a prior finding of mine, that happy, healthy couples were the ones who were careful to maintain an individual life, with friends and hobbies not necessarily shared by the significant other. So I'll ponder about that and I'll get back to you. Then again, I'm not uncomfortable with two opposite theories being true at once. Welcome to quantum physics.

What else did I find out? A lot, but it will come out little by little. I rushed this one just because I had a panting public that was pressuring me (oh the slavery...)

While he flies

This is Sunday. A week is gone, which I thought would never come and feared would never end.

It was an eventful week and I've written a long post and still feel I have a lot more to write. But I'm strangely reluctant to post it.

What, if anything, has changed apart from me? Let me get my bearings back. Then I'll post again.

Wednesday night

Ouf! What a day! We really run on adrenaline, which means that when the times comes for the conferences whose speakers you hand-picked, you’re so wired, so hyper, and so exhausted that you’re simply incapable of sitting still or concentrating, so the conferences are wasted on you.

I know you’re all, like, holding your breath to know how the conference is going, like you care so much to find out… I know, I know. Huh uh.
Well, I’m too tired to try and make my blog interesting this week. It’s more of a diary where I record how it’s going. Hell, it’s 23:23…What do you expect?

I’ve not had time to train in two days, don’t plan on it until Saturday and I’m ingesting much more alcohol than usual. So what is next week called? Damage control.

For some reason, even though I’ve been on the organizing committee for the last 3 conferences/years, this is the first one where I simply seem to ENJOY myself.

For the first time, I’m not trying to accomplish anything other than be there, help make it a success. It might be my last year, because the internal politics always burn the volunteers quickly. Sadly. It could be my last year if I stay with my current boss. I don’t really care at this point. Organizing such an event is living in the moment. It is the first thing that takes my mind off of TLM and that’s nothing short of a welcome miracle.

Now if I can just…I’ll look into that when I get back.

Wednesday

Yaaaaawn. I'm not getting enough sleep yet on average, I'm getting about twice as much as the other members of the committee (meaning I'm skipping on a LOT of partying). I just don't deal well with sleep deprivation, that's when I start seeing pink elephants (even when they're a normal green).

At 13:00 today, 260 people are invading the hotel. The countdown has begun and I doubt if I'll have time again to blog before the end of the conference, Friday night, at which point I've no doubt I'll be a very sorry sight.

I observe myself as I observe others and I see that I'm always holding back a little, never quite joining the group, always keeping a little private space, a little independance. I'm missing some very interesting social interaction and conversations. I try to compensate by being reliable, working extra hard and once in a while, giving the clown in me free reins. Last night, I tried on and paraded each and every one of the costumes that were brought, to the delight of the group, including the hotel's bathrobe and spare bedcover. I think I will be forgiven for what could seem to be stand-offishness.

Hop…à l'attaque…

'till later

Monday

One day in. Lovely drive with X&Y in the CD. Nice room with a direct view onto the water. Worked hard in the “office” also called “bunker” which will be our HQ for the week. Worked hard but with the dynamics and atmosphere that characterize the our team…meaning I plugged in my Ipod while we worked, we’re all here to contribute and make it happen, we’re all considered responsible adults, we all want to have fun while working.

As often, I was the odd man out when I disappeared for three hours to put in a two hour workout…took two classes at the local gym. Sweated but didn’t really enjoy. I think tomorrow I’ll investigate the hotel gym which doesn’t seem bad.

In the meantime, my team had a few drinks, had diner and a few more drinks, and were headed to a place called the “Coconut Something”. Now I’m a fair drinker myself, but I wasn’t in the mood for a bar and exotic, smoking drinks…I wonder if my independence will mark me as the loner…I’ll risk it. I don’t want to play loner but at the same time…I’ll respect my priorities.

So these are the last minutes before hitting my king size bed. This is the typical time to miss the hugs of my son, the purr of my cats. This is fine for a week, because I know it’s only for five days. I wonder if those who travel A LOT ever get used to it, ever stop missing the vital parts of them that are the loved ones.
I’d have to ask SYWRD, who’s all over the map in the recent months. The man must get lonely as hell. Or perhaps men don’t. I’m not sure.

‘till tomorrow.

Ready

I gave in yesterday and acquired an Ipod, after my MP3 player started misbehaving badly. I now have eight times the space I had before, and I have to say, I-pod and Mac... they sure get along! Copying and uploading is a
walk in the park. So I'm like...like a man with a new toy (that says it all).

I've downloaded some Gypsy Kings and some Buena Vista Social Club that speak of pleasant hours ahead.

There's even a contraption that allows you to play your Ipod in your car...I'm gonna ask Santa for one...

The suitcase is packed. I have a laptop but I'll blog only if I'm in the mood for it. I love travelling by myself, always have, but I also know by experience that hotel rooms are sometimes the loneliest place on earth. And I'm still looking for the hotel that would provide the company of a cat for the duration of your stay. I hate sleeping by myself. I might have to resort to the company of men. Ahem.

I will try to fit in a few workouts or at least a few runs.

My son will miss me, my cats will be desperate, or as desperate as cats get, which means keep on eating and sleeping and once in a while, open one eye to see if "she"'s back.

I leave early in the morning.

If

No, this is not about Kipling.

All right, hear this: O.J. Simpson is about to tell how he would have committed the murders he was acquitted from, IF he had done it. Here's People's excerpt:

The two-part, "unrestricted" interview, to be conducted by book publisher Judith Regan and called O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened, will air Nov. 27 and Nov. 29, says FOX, the Associated Press reports.
On Nov. 30, Simpson's book, titled If I Did It, which Regan is publishing, goes on sale. Its text "hypothetically describes how the murders would have been committed," according to a press release.

I lived in the States at the time of his trial so I followed everything closely (I didn't have a choice, it was all that was broadcasted on the US's 87 TV channels for 9 months).

I won't even get into the guilt debate. I'm a white female so I'm part of the demographics who's convinced he's guilty as hell.

But what is this? I'm missing something here. Something huge. Let's see: the guy who was acquitted is now going to write a book about HOW he would have done it? Is that a veiled confession to unburden his conscience? Is it an attempt to just confuse cards no one is looking at anymore? Is it, more likely, a desperate longing to get back in the limelight at any cost? "If I did it, here's how it happened"?

I am amazed, speechless, stunned, bewildered. Just when you think the world cannot possibly become more absurd or ridiculous.

Well, I promise you this. Mr. Simpson might appear in my blog, but he'll never make a penny from me for being an abuser and a murderer. Nicole, rest in peace. I will not ever listen to him, tune to him, or read him. That's a promise.

***
On a more cheerful note: I did the usual two hour workout last night, including spinning with lots of intervals and resistance. About a liter of water was transfered by osmosis from my body to my clothes, but I followed the instructor throughout.

I was in bed before it struck me: I DID IT. The workout yesterday was good, intense and left me feeling energized…not wiped, dead, nauseated or chalky green. I had set my goal at the beginning of September to be able to survive spinning…Well I'm there! I can now handle my two hours just fine!

How amazing is that? Bridge, I'm so proud of you!  We all are, me myself and I.

Cattishness

I was going to send this to my friend Caro but then I thought other people might enjoy it as well. 

All About CATS

CAT (n): 1. Furry keyboard cover 2. Alarm clock

CAT (n): Lapwarmer with built-in buzzer.

After a hard day, it's nice to come home to a warm cat.

A cat's way of keeping law & order is Claw Enforcement.

A cat, the only self-cleaning appliance in the house.

A cat stretches from one end of my childhood to the other.

A cat is -always- on the wrong side of the door.

Door: Something a cat wants to be on the other side of.

CAT RULE #4: Reserve hairballs for shag carpets

Cat: I could've SWORN I heard the can opener!

Cats know leaping into the empty box helps their human pack.

Cats know mom's breasts are pillows that need fluffing.

Cats know the bed is a WWF wrestling ring.

Cats must activate "the paw" when there is food within snagging distance.

Cats must bite their human's feet when she is using the computer.

Cats must hold the pen in their mouth while their human is trying to write.

Cats must open all the presents before Christmas.

Cats must step on the key marked "Del".

Cats must sit on top of the kitchen cabinets playing 'vulture'.

Cats must supervise the human when s/he is working at the kitchen counter.

Cats: God's way of telling you your furniture is too nice

Civilization is defined by the presence of cats.

Computer and TV screens exist to backlight a cat's lovely tail.
       
Nice kittens give you time to clot between attacks.

The four cat food groups: Dry, Canned, Natural, Yours.

To start your cat collection, simply open a can of tuna.

Curiosity killed the cat, but for awhile I was a suspect. (Stephen Wright)

No amount of time can erase the memory of a good cat, and no amount of masking tape can ever totally remove his fur from your couch. (Leo Dworken)

Most beds sleep up to six cats. Ten cats without the owner. (Stephen Baker)

"Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a lot of ailments, but I never heard of one who suffered from insomnia." (Joseph Wood Crutch)

 "If your cat falls out of a tree, go indoors to laugh." (Patricia Hitchcock)

"A cat can maintain a position of curled up somnolence on your knee until you are nearly upright. To  the last minute she hopes your conscience will get the better of you and you will settle down  again." (Pam Brown)

Etiquette:
"When addressed, a gentleman cat does not move a muscle. He looks as if he hasn't heard."  (Mary Sarton)

And my favorites:

"Do not meddle in the affairs of cats, for they are subtle and will pee on your computer."   (Bruce Graham)

Cat aplomb: Whatever happens, look as if it were intended.

Cat Rule #3: When fat, arrange self in slim pose.

Cats know there are Martians hiding in the new drapes.

Cats must sleep in the middle of the bed. The corners are not as comfy.

Cats know how we feel. They don't care, but they know.

It's always darkest before you step on the cat.

Nada que decir

Things are going...fast.

This week is a four day week. I have to get everything ready for my absence next week, when I'll be staying in Trois-Rivières for a week long seminar. I'm on the organizing committee so I can expect to be running around all week. I've no idea whether I'll blog or not from there...

This Thursday, I have a first written exam for the position I've applied for. So the word for two days is: study!
On Friday, meeting to organize another huge staff event. The fun never ends. I've been working on the November seminar for one year. The next staff event is as big, as long, but will take place at the end of January… so a fraction of the time to prepare. Hee hah!

What else is new? I wrapped up my first Christmas present this weekend? I bought a belt 'cause all my jeans are threatening to abandon me while I wear them? I don't have my snow tires on yet? (Well my car doesn't…)

This wins the prize for the most boring and insignficant post in a long time. Thanks for voting. I'll leave you with a little science from Will, my son's best friend, teaching us about black widows:

(…) "Then the female eats the male and that's how they make babies."

Verbatim. Who knew?

After the storm

My cataclysmic anger of yesterday has finally faded after a two hour workout and a good night sleep. I didn't even tell you about it, I can't anyway.
This morning I had a tearful episode as I received confirmation that my co-worker is not expected to last past Christmas. It could come anytime.
Now I am ok, basically, but I have NO concentration. Zero. So be it.
Tonight I embark on a four day weekend. I'll see if I can break out of my sad mood. Without the help of several litres of wine :) Do I sound like an alcoholic yet? Anybody wants to join me?

Someone declared to me recently:
"There are four great pleasures in life: eating, making love, giving your all in intense physical exercise…and brushing your tongue against your teeth when you come out of the dentist's after a cleaning."
Whether I agree with the four or not, it is so nice to see someone who has firmly identified and established the four great pleasures in life (jouissance, en français). Nothing like having an opinion!

That's all for now folks.

La fête triste

"Bridge, you sound sadder and sadder these days", said Angel. "What's going on?"

So I stopped and thought. Am I so sad? Perhaps. There are several sources.

This girlfriend of mine (we never met but a friend nevertheless) lost her baby in her 28th week of pregnancy. This little girl not destined to live was called Gabrielle. I've no fortitude as far as babies are concerned. It makes me very sad.

This co-worker, whose cubicle is ten feet from mine, was taken to the hospital last week. She will not be back. She's dying. It freaks me out.

My friends are not there for me as much as I'd need them to be. It tugs at my heart.

So yes, there's plenty of sadness in my life right now. But I will not shun it, repress it, ignore it or deny it. I will neither push it away nor hold onto it. I will acknowledge it and wait for it to float away in its own good time. All emotions do, eventually.

The Falling Of The Veil

A couple of months ago, I embarked on a quest. I didn't have much hope to begin with. I quested and quested, bravely, stubbornly ( I know, I just created that verb). Once in a while I caught a glimpse of the Grail.

Today, the Grail was revealed to me clearly, and just as clearly, vanished. I am not the one meant to hold it. My question has been answered and thus my quest has come to an end.

It is not, of course, the outcome I was hoping for. Yet I am strangely at peace with it. I no longer have to look out for the Grail, to wonder if it will be mine, if it is meant for me. I no longer have to worry "will I be brave enough, will I be worthy, will I have what it takes?"
I know I will keep getting glimpses of the Grail. Will I come to terms with living a life parallel to it, or will it tear my heart every time to remember that I was not the chosen one?
I don't know.
Tonight, I'm taking off my armor, cleaning my sword, taking care of my horse. My quest has come to en end.
I'll keep everything in good order for the next one.

Lost and found

I had once again misplaced my sense of humor. Funny how chronic that is with me. I searched high and low for it until I eventually discovered it had been left in the back pocket of a pair of Levis'. Of course, the jeans went through the wash and with them, my sense of humor. When I pulled it out, it was a sorry looking thing: all crumpled and hanging at odd angles. I tried ironing it. I couldn't find the right heat so it now has two burn marks on the back side. Then I clipped it on my gold chain, along with my yin and yang pendant.

I'm thinking of having a beeping system installed on it for the next time I loose it. I mean, I find it in the most ludicrous places sometimes. Once, Fatso had swallowed it and I pulled it out by the last thread. Another time, it fell in the pan while I was cooking and it stank of fish for a week. People have sat on it which never improves its looks. It has a lifetime warranty but I have to work pretty hard to keep it from going sour and turning sarcastic.
Still, I've had it for so many years now, I'm sort of fond of it. Good thing I thought of looking in my jeans.

Sometimes

I know everybody asks a least once in their lifetime "why?" or "why me?"
Things happen and you can't make sense of them. Whether it is parents who can't conceive, a child that's gravely ill, a pregnancy that ends too soon… sometimes, eventually, you understand why it had to be that way. Most of the times, you never do.

I have a difficult child. I have the most difficult child I have ever met. I'm apparently destined to have only one, and that one is impossibly hard to deal with. He's been difficult since the age of one.
Friends and family see him only occasionally, and therefore are all very doubtful about his being difficult. You have to live with him to understand it, see it, and witness it. I know. My mother knows. Nobody else understands.

Sometimes I feel so helplessly furious about this. And sometimes I wonder: "WHY? Why did my child, the only child I'll ever have, have to be so unrewarding, so angry, so difficult?" I love children. I had always dreamed of motherhood. I had never thought it would mainly bring me frustration and disapointment. I know I'm harsh. Don't get me wrong, I'd jump in front of a train for my son without even thinking about it. But sometimes, I am just fed up. I ask "WHY?"

Because it wasn't in the cards for me. Because I was meant to be tested that way. Because I have something to learn. Because I have something to give him that no one else could.

I won't give up, dammit. I am smart, I love him. This is just another challenge. I will use my brains and my heart and my patience. Just like I can conjure magic, I will make motherhood a joy.

dabda

Denial: check!
Anger: check!
Bargaining: ongoing
Depression: about to hit
Acceptance: ...

Red

Jean-François Asselin once wrote and directed a short film where different people incarnated the multiple aspects of the hero's personality. I like the concept.

I'm trying to identify who is up in arms this morning. Since last night, nine o'clock, I am enraged. I seriously thought about punching the wall but I decided it would be too inconvenient.
I had a boyfriend who punched a wall once…made a hole and badly damaged his knuckles.
In my last year of high school, one of my classmates died in a motorcycle accident on the day he turned eighteen. When his best friend heard about it, he punched the brick wall of the school...and broke his hand. But I digress.

I think it's the Frankenstein in me who's angry. The clumsy, mute, yet sensitive brute. Stung by a bee, roaring in pain but unable to know what hurt him, he wrecks havoc in the laboratory, shattering glass and turning everything upside down.
You've got to love my images.

I'm working today. You can just imagine how much opportunity Frankenstein will have to express its rage. It's one of them days when you bite the heads off of the people closest to you, who least deserve it, just because they're there. I won't do it, I'm just SAYING it's that kind of day.

I'm pissed off. I'm outraged. I'm angry. I'm furious. I'm incensed. I'm fuming. I'm steaming. I'm wrathful. I'm livid and seething.
You've got to love my vocabulary as well.

The only company I want today is that of animals. Only they could soothe me. We wouldn't talk, we would just interact. Of course, I'm working. Not a pet in sight. I wonder if I could go find an ant to keep me company.

BEHOLD MY WRATH

A visit

Marseille. I was fourteen and visiting my father and his girlfriend. We were quietly talking in the microscopic kitchen one evening, when a thunderstorm broke out. In the South of France, thunderstorms tend to be short but violent affairs. Jojo, afraid of thunder, ran screaming to close all the wooden shutters. The rain was battering the building. My father and I looked at each other: “Let’s go watch!”

Ignoring Jojo’s vehement protests, we went outside and sat on the stone step of the small garden. We let the rain soak us through the bones and watched the fury of the elements and the lightening show around the Bonne Mère. We were strangely happy. We felt alive.


When we went back in we were as wet as if we had jumped into a pool. We took turns in the bathroom to strip completely, towel off and put on dry pyjamas. Then we made a pot of hot chocolate. Jojo was half angry, half laughing at our foolishness. My father and I were grinning like Chesshire cats.

Last night, the ghost of my father visited me and sat on my bed. He put a diaphanous hand to my face.
“Brigitte” he said, “you are my daughter. The magic I once conjured runs in your veins. It’s all around you. Seek it. Tame it. I’ll help you.”

He came because of my previous post that said to let go. I was wrong. I shall seek it and tame it.

Noël

When I was a little girl, Christmas was magical. Really, truly, sparkles and all... Magical! There was magic to all our celebrations but Christmas was the very best. I cannot adequately express it.
When I reached my teens, to my despair, the magic started to fade. Like water flowing through my fingers, I could see it disappear and was powerless to hold onto it.

Now, in spite of all my conscious efforts, Christmas has become an ambiguous time. Here and there, I catch little drops of the old magic, whimsical, elusive, short-lived…the lights on a Christmas tree, the wrapping on a present, a Christmas choir, sparkling snow…
But it's also a time of stress. Financial stress, because of the presents. Schedule stress, because of the shopping. Social stress, because of the annual gatherings, where you have one evening to catch up on a year of news. Psychological stress, because the magic never comes back and in the end, you always feel disappointed and let down.
I’m so sad that I now rather fear Christmas instead of being all joyful expectation. Every year, I think about that, and I'm ready to do whatever it takes to bring the magic back. I'm not one who's bothered by social conventions. I could stop shopping, stop making presents (except to Yann), stop going to Christmas get-togethers. I am ready to do anything but I never found a measure that would work.

I think I've finally realized why. There was one person who created that magic. I don't know how he did it, I wish I could reproduce it for my own son, but I can't. My father brought the magic to the celebration. He could create a moment unique and memorable just like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. The day we no longer celebrated with him is the day the magic went away, for all events: birthdays, Easter, Christmas.

Now he's dead. It's October and I once again face the prospect of Christmas. I once again think: "This year MUST be different. This year, I will not be stressed about it, only happy. I will not think money, time and obligations. This year, I will be childlike, I'll find the magic." But the magic is dust, lifted and dispersed by a breeze in a tiny cemetery surrounded by pine trees. Let it go, Bridge. Let it go.

A very weird experience

That day I went to give blood. It was the first time in three years that my iron level was high enough for them to accept me! They usually turn me away with a "thanks but no thanks".

That night I had my usual workouts, boot camp followed by spinning. About 30 minutes into spinning, I took a sip of water then somehow missed the bottle holder on the bike. The bottle fell to the floor. I stopped pedaling, got off the bike and picked it up. The rest is black. When I opened my eyes next, there seemed to be a huge crowd around me. I was lying down. My instructor's face was the only one I recognized. It seemed a mile away but a second later reappeared to my left, very close. Apparently, I spoke a little, apparently my pulse was over 200 for a while, with goose-bumps and muscular tremors. (The guy spinning behind me turned out to be a doctor, how convenient is that?). In fact I instantly had a doctor, a nurse and a cop looking after me, all in my spinning class! After a little while, the doc pronounced my pulse to be ok and I was allowed to sit up. In my hands, I had the instructor's towel and no idea how it had gotten there. Then I stood up, wildly embarrassed at being the center of the whole room's attention.

I have a very painful bump on my right temple and a cut and a black bruise where my mouth hit the side of a bike. It looks a bit like a half-mustache. I look very sexy with a half-mustache maybe I should grow one.

After scaring everyone, I will be the butt of affectionate teasing for a good while in that class.

Lesson of the day: It is not recommended to work out hard on days you give blood :)

The Chain

To be transparent or not /To be alone in a crowd /The deep blue of the Mediterranean /The fragrance of the mimosas /An orange for Christmas /The wind that blows through loss /The empty bottles by the bedside /The apartment so hollow /A small golden plaque /An Emptiness that fills everything /Forever searching but never quite there /To every picture a piece missing / Flying high but where to land? /Don’t look through me, let your eyes stop /You don't know the truth /Breathlessly running in the wheel /Kiss me before I die /I could love you /The loss of security /The loss of trust /Blood the only link, and only when it sips out /And crashes in crimson beads /I hurt therefore I am?

The sun always shines on TV

This morning, the sun rose behind the mountain turning the sky orange and I had a flashback to one morning in Eilat, Israel, where the sun rising behind the Jordanian range had turned the whole sky blood red. I still have those slides somewhere. Beautiful stuff.

The World Vision Christmas Catalogue reminds us that "Pigs make plump and perfect presents". I had never thought of that. I suppose saying "Plump pigs can be turned into delicious bacon" would be hurting the sensibilities of the benefactors, but I think that's the general idea.

When you're put on the spot, and questioned, and watched, and doubted, it can prove to be pretty destabilizing. The support I get from my friends these days is incredibly precious. They have my back, they support me, they're on my side and I am SO grateful for that.


Please don't send me a "plump and perfect present" for Christmas. They're hell to package adequately and they’re very noisy under the Christmas tree.

One airplane

I watched United 93 yesterday. I had mixed feelings about watching it. I’m in a video store looking to pick-up entertainment. If I take that, does it reduce it to entertainment? But I read that it was a sober piece, shot in an almost documentary style. I knew it would be hard to watch. In the end, I think being willing to relive horrible moments as I watch is my tribute to the people who died. It’s not closing my eyes, shying away, ignoring the disturbing reality.

It is indeed an excellent piece. It caught the ambiance of a flight so well, the routine, the boredom. It reminded me that you NEVER know when your life can change or end. It struck me how all the people about to die had only one thing to say: “I love you” “Tell them I love them”. Just like the text message the teenage girl sent her parents before being killed, recently. It is worth considering. Whatever love is, it appears to be the only crucial thing to us when we’re about to leave.
The last shot is the ground jumping up at the camera and then the screen goes black for what felt like several minutes. For these people, the fear, the pain, the panic, the heartbreak was over. Life was over.

I did watch it as a documentary. I think what kills so many people in catastrophes is that we are not prepared mentally for our world turning upside down. Short of doing catastrophes drills, seeing what really happens in case of highjacks, of hurricanes, of floods may be the best exposure we can have in order not to be totally helpless should it ever happen to us.

It was hard to watch but perhaps it is owed to the victims of United 93.

On my way to the gym...

...on a very grey day...

History of a nickname

Papou: French for Papuan: a member of any of the native peoples of New Guinea and adjacent areas of Melanesia


When I was pregnant, I looked at pictures of embryos. Small bodies, big heads, big black eyes... So I nicknamed my baby "The Alien", which absolutely horrified my girlfriends. Héhé. Well, there was "something" growing in me, that would eventually come out in a pool of blood...I think it was a very appropriate nickname.
When he was born, I was still living in the States. The nickname changed to "the papoose" because there was hardly a time when I was not carrying him.
Then we moved back to Quebec, in a French speaking environment. The papoose became the Papou. He was a little guy, very strange, which screamed a lot, moved very fast, and came with no instructions whatsoever. I often felt as lost with him as I would have with a short painted aboriginal, speaking an odd language, with different traditions and a bone in his nose. Hence the nickname "Papou". It stuck somehow. Even though my son's name is Yannick, I still, most of the time, call him "Pap"...and he answers it :)


Photo: Vince

I write therefore I am

Why would someone put there self (your desires, wants, flaws and accomplishments on the web for the worlds review?)

Such was the question asked by my ex-husband. Indeed why? What I hear in this question is implicit criticism of... a lack of reserve? a tasteless display of things that should remain private? a lack of common sense or decency perhaps?
It reminds me of what a friend had told me once about a female acquaintance that was totally open in what she was saying, so open that it bothered him and made him want to ask: "Ok, would you like to take your clothes off now?"
Unsolicited confidences, excessive openness may be as disturbing as unwelcome nudity. It can make one feel drawn into an intimacy one has no desire for.
Once in a while, I wonder if I cross the line of "Would you like to take your clothes off now?"
I am certainly no exhibitionist. Every piece of personal feeling I communicate on this blog takes a conscious effort, a deliberate will to be transparent. Those efforts tend towards a personal goal that concerns only me (see I don't tell EVERYTHING!).

Here's what my brother had to say:

(…) But one thing is for sure, for people who are more secretive (or less inclined to expose their private life), your posts must sometimes be quite shocking. You do talk about most personal feelings with a "desinvolture" that's probably hard to understand for some (…)

I think it’s mostly men that are nonplussed by how open I am on the blog. We women are more used to intimacy and sharing our emotions, it doesn’t shock us as much. But men! Big, strong silent, type! Men don’t cry. Men hardly acknowledge feelings.
I suppose men don’t talk about their latest crush in the locker room…:)

In the end, what I think is: if you have to ask why... then don’t worry about it!

Thanksgiving

Congratulations to SYWRD for finishing the Royal Victoria Marathon once again, within 2 minutes of his time last year!
The man has recently been given professional responsibilities the scope of which, if they were on my shoulders, would immediately earn me a straight jacket. So not only does he have strong shoulders, but his legs and cardio-respiratory system seem in pretty good shape also. Good show SYWRD! I hope you'll have steak and beer tonight!

Here in B***, the weather is astonishing. A gorgeous sun shines through the foliage, with a romantic fog in the early morning. I really ought to take pictures. If Vince were here, he'd have a field day.

To be perfectly honest, I am rather moping. I am not proud of moping on such a beautiful weekend. It's TLM's fault. Short of spending time with him, absolutely NOTHING is tempting me. How pathetic am I? Abjectly if you ask me.

The Papou and I nevertheless went on a wild pumpkin hunt. It was a treacherous and dangerous expedition.



Risking our lives, we slaughtered two, then we carved them. Such is the harsh law of Nature.

Little darling...

...It'll be a long, cold, lonely winter.

Well, to my utmost surprise, the spinning situation has improved drastically. The main factor for the improvement is that I discovered the bike I used was faulty and when the tension was supposed to be down to zero, it actually remained at a 2 or 3 level. I didn't realize that until I tried another and then I discovered what a real tension zero is. Aaaaaaaaah. All the difference in the world. I think the risk of losing my lunch is now a thing of the past. Not only that but somewhere endurance must be kicking in because I swear, I finished my spinning session last night, after a boot camp class, with almost some energy to spare. Considering my recent state after spinning, it's nothing short of a miracle.

My claims to wimphood were therefore a little premature. But try having a best friend training for a TRIATHLON, you'll see how quickly you're reduced to wimphood.

I'm on the verge of, no, not of a nervous breakdown, but a long weekend. And I have zero plans! Nothing whatsoever. So anything and everything that will happen will be on the spur of the moment.
Here comes the sun…and I say…It's all right.

Divecat

I've nothing to say today so I'll just put an advertisement I found randomly that cracks me up.

Suffer the children

I cannot really write about this because it upsets me too deeply. I know the world is a big place where horrible things happen. Still when I heard, in Beslan, that they shot the children in the back while they were running away, my paradigms were shaken and remain crippled to this day.

Here's to five blameless, helpless little girls who died yesterday in what was supposed to be a peaceful community in Pennsylvania.

Folks, be horrible, be angry, be disturbed, be sick, be evil, be in pain, but don't you get it?

DON'T. KILL. THE. CHILDREN.

Pastafarians

It was a dark, rainy and windy Sunday. My mother made a large dish of pasta and we all dug in. I ate in my office, fork in the right hand, and book in the left. When I brought my empty plate back to the sink, nose still glued to my book, the kitchen was very quiet. Under the low kitchen light, my mother and my son were sitting eating pasta, nose glued to their own book. Three generations silently eating while lost in a book…perfectly content. I burst out laughing and said: "What a family!"
Can you tell we don't have very formal meals, in my home?

Not much on the radar this week. SYWRD is running a marathon in Victoria at the end of the week. I wonder if there is a correlation between being in shape and having a sense of humor. Vince, if you're around, say hi for me. He's easy to spot; he's a man, with dark hair. Seriously though, my best wishes to him. His ambition is to finish with both brains and shoes. I think the shoes shouldn't be a problem.

On my map, very little. I saw TLM walk in, Saturday, freshly showered, wearing jeans and a loose striped shirt. The kind of vision that makes your knees weak. It'll take me two days to recover. A male friend of mine was telling me, last week: "Ah, Bridge, but we men are so weak before the flesh…" Oh and do you think we women are not?

Cuando llega la luna

I didn't anticipate it. My brother wrote about it recently and I just agreed with him. Yup, music is powerful. Yup, music causes time travel. He put it on his blog but it doesn't play on my work PC so I was still unmoved.

Then this morning, I played it. It starts with the haunting music from "Les rivières pourpres" and then it plays: the soundtrack from the old movie "Le rapace".

And it carried me back. Back to a sunny white appartment with dark furniture. Back to a time that seems so distant it could have been another life. Back to a time so poignant that I closed my eyes and everything was turned upside down within me. I open my eyes and what I see doesn't seem quite real.

Yes, Vince, we came from the same aquarium.

Those who want to listen, go to Vince's link, on the right and hit "Play" on the music line.

I must not ever listen to this drunk.

The art of Brigitte's maintenance

I will once again have to quote a character previously mentionned: SYWRD.
The directors have to fill out a very official document each year which states what they will work on, and priorities, bla bla bla.
One space goes for: career plans. This is what SYWRD wrote:

My career plans include outliving all the (high hierarchy - censored by Brigitte) who are much much older than I am, thereby facilitating rapid promotion.

Ok, so you guessed it, this won't actually be on the final version sent to the Boss. Still, it delights me.

------

I don't think I ever mentionned that my aunt is Marie Versailles, the painter. My home is filled with her paintings, to the point where I no longer have wall space for new ones. Below is the one she painted for my wedding, so this is Mike and I. It still hangs in my bedroom, even though Mike doesn't. Ha ha.



Below is another of her wedding paintings which I really like.


All in all, that is to say that paintings just soothe my soul. The other day, after the meeting with my boss which y'all heard about, I went down to get some lunch and passed in front of the art gallery that is on the way. The minute my eyes fell on one of the very large painting that hangs in the window, the swelling went out of my brain, everything got back to its proper proportions, and this momentary situation at work didn't matter over the grand scheme of things. Paintings ground me. They're one of the great pleasures of life. If I were rich, I'd spend a fortune on art…I'd run out of wall space again.

Have a fantastic weekend everybody!

What they'll grow up with

Last Saturday, I had a painting party in my basement. The artists were aged 5 to 9, four girls and three boys. We had canvases, brushes, paint and we were doing "Art". It was, as always, fascinating to see the personalities in action. The boys gathered together as if in self-defence and 30 minutes later, were done and playing with dragons! The girls took over 3 hours to finish, with a break for much appreciated lemonade, pie and ice-cream, and many breaks to torture Fatso with excessive love and enthusiasm. (The poor thing was clearly wondering was on earth was going on and what did these people want?)

Much of the girls' creations involved flowers, butterflies, suns and sticks with long hair that were proudly declared to be... me. Little Gabriel, 9 year-old, a classmate of the Papou, painted something else however.

He made a rather clean and clear painting of two tall black towers, a lower building, an a plane hitting the first tower.

It really stunned me, yet I can't find the words to say why.

Current conditions

Within, the sky is an ominous dark grey and the wind is blowing hard. Surface is choppy and underwater visibility is down to ten feet.

Elsewhere, beautiful and haunting photographs of Kabul from award winning Tomas Munita here.

Sans titre

Photo courtesy of Miss Lulu.

The colour of certainty

I was looking forward to my workout last night, thinking it would be good to sweat out the stress and anger. The first hour went well, as always, even though during excruciating squats I swear I could hear the muscle fibers tearing one by one. Then came my Nemesis...the spinning. I followed the instructor for the first 25 to 30 minutes, then stopped following and just kept vaguely moving. With about three minutes to go in the 50 minutes session, things suddenly deteriorated at the speed of light. In slow motion I thought "Oh shit", I got off my bike, headed for the lockers, thank god for having a towel in my hands, and barely, barely made it to the washroom. The last time I was this violently sick was nine years ago, when the first contractions announced that Yannick was on his way out.
Vince, Jeno, anybody who's used to training hard, help!
Since my motto was "Dont throw up. Don't pass out." am I going to pass out next? With my feet firmly strapped to the pedals, that could spell disaster.
Then I went home to a sleepless night.

The colour of certainty...how evocative a phrase isn't it? If certainty existed, what colour would it be?

Walkabout

Some days I long to walk away. It is a fantasy I’ve had for years. To put on good shoes and walk. As far as my legs can take me. With no goal or purpose other than just move on. Night comes and I sleep somewhere. The next morning, I start walking again. Without any itinerary other than a general direction.

Unfortunately, because I'm a woman, safety would be a huge issue. I want to walk away, to go walkabout, but I've no desire to experience violence or sordid things. It's not the risk and danger I'm seeking. It's just the feeling of walking to nowhere, with no time limit, leaving all my earthly possessions behind, carrying nothing but a small backpack with a blanket and a bottle of water; stripping myself down, in a way, to my simplest expression.
I always picture leaving without a word to anyone. Without preparation. I'd suffer from the cold, lack of comfort, lack of daily shower, hunger perhaps. I haven't yet solved the issue of food. But I wouldn't be walking into the wilderness. I'd remain close to civilisation yet I wouldn't be part of it.

I would want to be alone. I'd never look at a map because I'd be passing cities and towns without caring where I am or where I'm going. I’d look at the nice houses on my way, the flowery gardens, at all those settled lives. In the beginning, my legs would be horribly sore but they'd get harder and harder. I would keenly feel the lack of everything I've always taken for granted: a shower for myself, a washing machine for my clothes, Tylenol when something hurts, everybody within the reach of a telephone, music, the company of cats, the company of men, a soft warm bed, the safety of walls, an identity defined by my job, income and house, a place in society. It wouldn't be forever. I'd go back to it all.

I wonder if the loneliness would become unbearable. I wonder if I would find a piece of myself that I simply can't access now, in this crazy, artificial life I'm living.

The day I gave birth, I condemned myself to never doing it. I have a family, a job, a mortgage, responsibilities, commitments.

But the longing remains. To one day, just walk away.

Untitled

Woah. Mondays are not getting any easier. My soul is brooding for the second week in a row .

And for the second Monday in a row, I learned of another best friend having a baby. It was expected news last Monday but totally unexpected this Monday. This man I absolutely adore will be a father for the third time. There are several men I know, whose relationships and families I particularly admire, that have the magical number of three kids.
I wonder if there will come a time when I can hear about a pregnancy without a flash of fierce envy and desperate longing.

I'm feeling so ALONE today...

"And I'm standing outside of this wonderland
Looking so bereaved and so bereft…"
Dire Straits

My feeling exactly. Phoque it. With a little luck, just like last week, things will look up on Tuesday. Here's one for my fellow sky-divers:

A day in a life of zombiebusters

My son has asked three little friends over to play. Somewhat to my surprise, they all behave very well and I can hear no fighting or arguing.

At three, I call them outside for a snack. We gather around the table and I pass out juice and cup cakes. In my most severe voice, I say:
"Mind you all, do not eat the paper. No paper is to be eaten!"
My son, who's well used to my sense of humor, giggles. The others look at me, wondering why I forbid them to do something they never had the slightest intention of doing. Except Will.
"Hey, the paper is the best part!" he says.
He got me. It's my turn to be speechless.

"So," says Will through a mouthful of cake, "can I see the carcass of the dead cat?"
With a shock, I realize he's talking about my beloved Bondi.
"Absolutely not. It's buried over there" I answer dryly.
"But is it really there or is it burned somewhere else?" insists Will.
"No, it's really there."
"So why can't I see it?"
"Because it's buried, Will! Just like when you go to a cemetery, you don't see corpses all over the place because they're buried!"
"Oh" says Will, clearly disappointed. The he brightens again.
"When they find a bone, they check out the DNA and bang! It tells them what kind of dinosaur it was!"
They all agree that bang! It tells you what kind it was.
"You know, each one of you also has DNA..." I say.
"Yes," confirms Will promptly, "in my hair."
He seems so convinced that for half a second, my eyes wander up to his hair looking for a lump of DNA.
"...In your hair and in all your tissues" I continue. "And each DNA is absolutely unique to each individual."
"Except twins" says Hugo.
"Even for twins."
"Well," says Gabriel as if that settled it, "my cousins...They were born six months ago...I think they're one year old now...They always dress the same."
I try to keep a straight face thinking of the one year-old twins born six months ago.
"Guys, let's go to my secret shelter!" calls my son.
They depart, heavily armed. The secret shelter turns out to be the empty pool. I suppose secrecy is in the eye of the beholder. For a while, they happily slaughter zombies. Until my son shouts victoriously:
"All the zombies are dead!"
"Well don't throw them away" I say calmly. "They should be recycled."
"Recycled?" asks my son in a doubtful tone.
"Yeah man. All zombies are recyclable nowadays!"
"Yeah!" shouts my son. "They're recyclable because they're living dead people!"
He runs over to inform his men. I gather the glasses and get ready to head back in. I hear Gabriel protest:
"Mine is not recyclable!"
But my son put his foot down firmly:
"They all are."
"Yeah" agrees Will "'cause they're dead carcasses."

Candid Part II

I have withdrawn yesterday's post, entitled "Candid". Some of you have read it, some of you have not.

I got quite a few emails about it, all from women. Some were sympathetic. For others, it's obvious that I touched a raw wound.

What surprised me is that all seemed to consider it was a matter of time before I put my hands on TLM. Have y'all miss the crucial line where I said he was not interested? I'm flattered that you seem to think I can turn a not-interested man into an interested one but frankly that's some magic I've never been able to achieve.

Anyway, it was an experience seeing the flaming emotions I provoked. However, I think it's hard enough to handle emotionally on my side without having to deal with other people's emotions about it, which is why, in the end, I removed it.

For those who missed it, TLM is the uninterested, unavailable, Man In My Thoughts. Alanis Morissette says it perfectly:

" It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic... don't you think "

I guess next time I'll stay on safer, less controversial and passionate topics. I'm thinking religion perhaps.

Later folks. And thanks for the supportive messages I got.

Just spin it

So I went to my first spinning session last night. Spinning is wonderful because it completely takes your mind off of everything. Personally, I have only two thoughts throughout: “Don’t throw up. Don‘t pass out.” Any brain activity beyond that is put on hold as consuming too much energy.

Of course, you could point out to me that doing a one hour workout just before my spinning sessions may not be the best idea. I would even agree with you. However my past boyfriends, my friends and my teachers strangely all agree on one thing: I’m stubborn (a kind word for pig-headed). So I WILL keep on taking a class prior to spinning. If I drop, I drop. My goal for December is walking out of it, instead of dragging myself on all fours (I always get a lot of attention when I go down the gym stairs on all fours, I’m not sure why).

With all this, my karate classes are lagging behind. I think I really need to spend less time at work to have more time for my physical activities (yes, that one too). My boss and my bank account disagree though, and who am I to argue with my boss and my bank account?

All that we fall for

Woke up to Coldplay’s « Don’t Panic », my brother’s fault.

Then on the train, my MP3 blared “Sway”, by the Pussycat Dolls. I challenge anyone to remain blue hearing that song in the early morning.

Last night I went running forty minutes, at a good pace. Cardio was beautiful, a little tightness in the knees and shoulders towards the end reminded me why it was a good idea to switch to lower impact exercise.

All in all, I feel better this morning. Much better.

“Like the lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more…”

There have been reports in Australia of stingray killings, presumably as “revenge” for Steve Irwin’s death. It is SO heartwarming…

…to see that where human stupidity is concerned, you can ALWAYS rely on it. Death, taxes and human stupidity. I live in such a safe, predictable world!

Tonight is my first spinning class. I have vowed to show up with a biking helmet and wear it for a while, you know, just to gauge the reactions. It ought to be highly entertaining... Later folks!

Monday Blues

I’m struggling a little today. It happens, don’t it? Just like bad grammar.

In the good news department, I’ve learned of a friend’s first pregnancy. Since I won't have any more of my own, since I'll always regret it, I am always VERY excited about other people's babies. My friend is gorgeous, I expect a baby every bit as cute as Suri. She’s already bordering the maniacal regarding her pregnancy… endless teasing in perspective.

There’s a shrimp in the making as Miss C. would say! There’s a brand new human being on its way.  There’s a sweet baby I will hold next spring. Very cool.

Other than that, I’m rather moping. Who / what will get me out of my funk? Who’ll make me smile again?