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.