Saturday, September 30, 2006

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.

Friday, September 29, 2006

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!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

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.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

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.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Sans titre



Photo courtesy of Miss Lulu.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

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?

Monday, September 18, 2006

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:

Sunday, September 17, 2006

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."

Saturday, September 16, 2006

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.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

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?

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

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, September 11, 2006

Monday Blues

Im struggling a little today. It happens, dont it? Just like bad grammar.

In the good news department, Ive learned of a friends 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. Shes already bordering the maniacal regarding her pregnancy endless teasing in perspective.

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

Other than that, Im rather moping. Who / what will get me out of my funk? Wholl make me smile again?



Saturday, September 09, 2006

Family time

The Papou celebrating his 9th birthday (a few days early). The glasses are coming along nicely. His denim shirt looks like pyjamas, a not so very wise choice from his mom.



Thursday, September 07, 2006

Ironminds

Jeno has signed up for an ironman in Lake Placid. Until we talked about it this morning over coffee, I had not realized, truly pictured, what was implied. Were talking over 12 hours of physical effort. 4 km swim, 180 km bike, 42 km run. It boggles my mind. I salute the crazies who sign up for, train for and accomplish something like that. I admire you. I think youre crazy but I admire you.


A Cat Tale - for cat lovers

We were walking on the wild path near our house, Mike and I. This was Kiln, Mississippi; Mike is my ex-husband. Everybody, this is Mike, Mike, this is everybody.

“Look at that beautiful white cat!” said Mike, who was well used to my love for felines. I looked and indeed, half-hidden in some brush, was a gorgeous all white cat, with fairly long hair but not an Angora head, and startling blue eyes.

“Say there, stay there, you’ll scare him off!” I urged Mike. I moved forward veeeeery slowly, with utmost precaution, and called very softly to the kitty. I was convinced he would run away. Not only did he not run away, but without hesitation, when I called, he jumped right out on the road and came to meet me in the friendliest manner. Mike burst out laughing at all my precautions to approach a perfectly tame cat.

So I petted the little creature and made a proper fuss over it. I even picked it up and held it for a while. By his size, I say he was in his teens, in cat years. Then, well, it was time to walk back home, so I reluctantly put him down. Mike and I turned around and started walking, and once again without the slightest hesitation, the cat fell to walking behind us. I turned around frequently, puzzled and delighted, and he was there. He followed us all the way to the house.

Clearly, something had to be done. Here was a cat who wanted me. However, I already had not one, not two, but three cats at home, plus the Dog of my Life, Rosie the yellow Lab. Still I decided to take this new one under my wing because I was imagining him lost, hungry and badly in need of shelter. My cats didn’t go out. No way was I bringing fleas and other creatures within the house. I sat on my porch and I laid my conditions to the newcomer:
“I’ll let you in, but there’s a mandatory bath.”

Now let me speak to cat lovers: how many cats do you know that would have said OK? Even better: how many perfectly strange cats would have said OK? ‘Cause remember, we had first met about 15 minutes earlier.

Well, he said OK.

So I took him to the bathtub, fully convinced I was going to have the usual cat show on my hands: all claws out, eyes rolling, fur flying, and cat voice screaming: “MY GOD! She means to drown me! HEEEEEELP, someone, anyone, HEEEELP!” At least that’s what my cats give me at bath time.

I had a strange feeling about this cat. This cat was no ordinary cat. This was the most special cat I ever met in my life. Fifteen minutes after meeting me for the first time ever, this cat let me give him a bath with perfect compliance and cooperation! Better yet: he let my dry him off with the hair dryer! Relaxed. Rather pleased with the warm air. Do I need to draw you a picture of what my cats would have done had I even TRIED to point a hair dryer in their direction?

I was absolutely baffled and seduced. I put him on my bed where he laid purring peacefully. Koba jumped on and had a dubious look and sniff at him and was he worried? No sirree, not him. He looked at her with very friendly and open manners and didn’t stir by an inch. Soon, all my three cats were aware there was a Stranger in the house and really weren’t too sure how they felt about that, but he seemed to consider it all perfectly normal.

Next I introduced him to Rosie. A little cat, a strange new dog: would he finally betray some fear? Rosie raised her ears and smelled him with curiosity. He raised his back and… rubbed against her! Unbelievable.

That afternoon, we had an errand to do. I didn’t want to leave the newcomer at home all alone at the mercy of the old timers, so I decided…to take him with me. You know the picture of my cats and the hair dryer? Use the same picture for my cats and car rides. But not this white wonder. I sat in the passenger seat and put him on my knees. Next thing you know, he laid on his back along my thighs and went to sleep. Sleep, not nervous, jittery wake, sound sleep. We were gone for about 45 minutes; he never budged from my knees.

I should have kept him. When you meet a cat this special, you keep him. But I was obsessed with how three cats were really the limit. So I moved heaven and earth to find somebody who would adopt him. I find someone who said yes maybe so I promised to bring him to her. He was so beautiful, that white cat with blue eyes, that I knew no one could resist him once they saw him.

That morning I took him to work with me (to somebody’s home office). This time I was driving, but he once again stretched out on my knees, right under the steering wheel and slept with an air of: “Gee, I’ve done this a thousand times before!”
There was no need for cages, or boxes or anything like that with him. He spent part of the morning on my knees while I worked on the computer, than wandered off to explore a bit. Suddenly, Ann, my boss, and I heard horrible sounds coming from the kitchen, urgent, desperate meows of a cat that’s nothing short of dying. We ran to the kitchen, me fearing what I would see…and we fell about laughing helplessly.

He had been walking on the counter where there were glue mouse traps. He had gotten all four paws stuck on one, then had helplessly fallen from the counter to the floor, and now laid in a messed up heap, all paws stuck and half his fur along with it. He was very scaredpoor dear, and though still giggling, I quickly got a hold of him and reassured him. Getting his paws to come off was not so bad. But there was no way the long, beautiful white fur was parting with that glued cardboard. Out came the scissors. I had to give him the most dreadful and uneven haircut a cat’s ever had. He looked totally funky once I was done with him but he had regained much of his composure.

In spite of his funky haircut, the girl agreed to take him. I went back once to her place to visit him. She had called him Casper, which I thought was horrible. And when I saw him again, the magic seemed to have gone out of him and he behaved entirely like a normal cat. Sort of standoffish, not very interested in me. That was the last I ever saw of him.

I’ll never forget him. I should have kept him. He had magic.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Lines and barriers

I’ve often had conversations with people about the limits that should be drawn between the workplace and private life. Most people at the Company draw a very definite and careful line between work life and private life, something that had me confused. I had never worked at a place where that was necessary. On the contrary, for the longest time, my social circle and some of my dearest friends often came from my workplace. It seemed very normal to me.

At the Company, I met a sort of corporate culture that put a big barrier between the two. It had me puzzled. I tried to understand the need for it, the reasons behind it. And on a corporate level, I do understand. Well, I deliberately refuse to abide by that rule and as a result, out of my seven “best” friends, FOUR of them are from the Company. Ironically, they all apply that rule themselves and I’m sort of the exception for them, the rare colleague who’s become a real friend.

There is logic behind my rebellious attitude. We spend so much of our life at work that I cannot fathom keeping this huge part of my life in an anaesthetized vacuum of feelings and sympathies and being only fully myself outside of work. I WANT to enjoy work, to have fun, to like what I do. Is there a better way to achieve that but to have very dear people along for the ride? True, I cannot choose my co-workers. But do I want to have ties, and to relate deeply only with people I only see at night and during the weekend?

I don’t need to be told of the pitfalls of mixing the personal with the professional. I’m neither stupid nor naïve. Most of the time.

But I’ll tell you this: I had a day-long email dialogue today with one of the four, I had a wonderful lunch with the second and had a good laugh on the phone with the third and thus, I finish my day with a very full heart instead of feeling used, tired, irritated and frustrated, which seems to be the general mood on the train.

To your health, my friends!

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Email to L

Hi L,

Wait until you’ve had one of them really long, hard, hectic and frustrating day

…and pay a visit to this very earnest site. The “Directions for use” are especially enlightening. I warmly recommend it and hope it brings your smile back.

www.stopabductions.com/

Brigitte
(à propos of nothing)

So long, mate

Yes, I too am saddened by the death of Steve Irwin. The man played with dangerous animals all the time and was killed by a peaceful stingray. Tell me there is no such thing as fate…
I mean try and find statistics on death by stingrays…must be about equal to death by moray eels…RARE, unusual, unlucky, atypical.
The Sydney Morning Herald has compared the public impact of his death to that of Princess Diana (well, for the Australian population obviously), and I see a parallel too in the sense that I felt the same sense of wonder. There are some people you simply don’t associate with death and drama. I remember thinking: “Diana?? Dead??” and yesterday, I thought “Steve Irwin?? Dead??”
He was not without controversy but I am sorry for his death.

I wonder if it’s going to affect Stingray City. Hell I don’t even know if Stingray City survived Jeanne…Sadly out of touch, I am.

Photo: Stephen Frink

Monday, September 04, 2006

Applied Surgery

I am due for an operation; an ablation of a cancerous feeling. I had a similar one grow towards the end of Spring but it was thankfully benign and resorbed itself quickly. This one will not be so obliging.
It is a painful operation, with no existing anaesthesia, but it aims to prevent much worse damage and pain at a later date.

Slice the skin open, deep enough to reach the underlying feeling. Sponge the blood until it no longer fills the cavity and you can see what you’re doing. Get a grip on the offending feeling and pull gently, in order to be able to cut it as close to the bone as possible. The cut is a sharp and quick movement. It’s painful. Be brave. It will cause a hemorrhage. Have some sterile and absorbent material ready and put some pressure on the wound until the blood flow ebbs. Now, this type of operation has a 50/50 chance of infection so you cannot close the wound. You must leave it open and let it heal gradually from within. The healing process is unpredictable and can take days or weeks. During healing, the wound will hurt, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. It will bleed, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Depression is common during and after the operation, with feelings of sadness and lethargy.

Throughout this ordeal, keep two things in mind:
Imagine, if it is painful now, the damage it would have grown to do later on.
The healing varies in time, but is 100% garantied or your money back. It WILL heal. Just be patient.

Now wish me luck.

Oh and by the way, can I let the five year-old Brigitte say something?
“I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK TOMORROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”