Jour d'une vie où l'aube se lève...

Comme un enfant aux yeux de lumière
Qui voit passer au loin les oiseaux
Comme l'oiseau bleu survolant la terre
Vois comme le monde, le monde est beau

Beau le bateau, dansant sur les vagues
Ivre de vie, d'amour et de vent
Belle la chanson naissante des vagues
Abandonnée au sable blanc

Blanc l'innocent, le sang du poète
Qui en chantant, invente l'amour
Pour que la vie s'habille de fête
Et que la nuit se change en jour

Jour d'une vie où l'aube se lève
Pour réveiller la ville aux yeux lourds
Où les matins effeuillent les rêves
Pour nous donner un monde d'amour

L'amour c'est toi, l'amour c'est moi
L'oiseau c'est toi, l'enfant c'est moi

Moi qui ne suis qu'une fille de l'ombre
Qui voit briller l'étoile du soir
Toi mon étoile qui tisse ma ronde
Viens allumer mon soleil noir

Noire la misère, les hommes et la guerre
Qui croient tenir les rênes du temps
Pays d'amour n'a pas de frontière
Pour ceux qui ont un cœur d'enfant

Comme un enfant aux yeux de lumière
Qui voit passer au loin les oiseaux
Comme l'oiseau bleu survolant la terre
Nous trouverons ce monde d'amour
L'amour c'est toi, l'enfant c'est moi
L'oiseau c'est toi, l'enfant c'est moi

After The Storm

Lots of snow.

Looooots of snow.

Did I mention a little snow? The trench to go out the door goes up to my hips.


Rare, recent, candid picture of the Papou who's otherwise at the wonderful stage of making horrible faces any time he sees a camera pointed his way.


"What do you mean 'dignity'?" asks Luritja.

Sunday Snow Storm

Luritja is conserving energy.


When photographed, first look composed.



We're in the middle of a snowstorm. There's something very cosy about a snowstorm when you're warm and safe inside.

I got Yannick's two main Christmas presents on Ebay. It was on Nov. 11 and 13. I received notice of shipment yesterday, Dec. 15.

This means the presents won't be there on time for Christmas morning.

All I got were vague and lousy excuses. The M*** F*** of a seller (subsequentely refered to as MFS) offered a partial refund on the price of shipping, which has yet to materialize so I don't really believe it. And when confronted by email with the fact that I would have no presents for my boy under the tree, he suddenly went MIA.

I am so spitting mad at MFS that I could do him bodily harm. Rage, when without an outlet, is corrosive. Powerlessness only makes it worse. I am so angry it feels like molted iron.

On His Door

" No trespassing to all cookie eaters except me"

Restless

Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back - but nothing seems
to please

I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact

O Tannenbaum

In my house, we believe in tiny, understated Christmas decorations.


Nothing huge.


Like this small Christmas tree...

My Other Birthday Bouquet

And oh, sooooo fragrant it is...

A. R. F. N. F.

My birthday bouquet.

Renovations

My mother's quarters and stairs used to be covered in an ugly beige carpet.



Our wonderful handyman changed that for oak. Much nicer.

Daily Cats

Luritja keeps watch over the potatoes.
(Yes, my cats are finally coming out of the closet and their real names shall be used from now on.)



Male bonding.
(As intelectual as male bonding usually is.)



Luritja tries to deal with his hectic life.




Circe pouts.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm going to post a few that are far from technical or artistic feats, but that are snapshots of my life, and revealing as such.



This, one would think, is an ordinary bathroom. WRONG! This is the spatious, gorgeous bathroom that has replaced the little dark hole that was there before, with an sinister unfinished ceiling, a square shower so tiny I couldn't even wash my hair and about a square foot of space to change. So this, in my eyes, beats the most luxurious, vast and expensive bathroom there can be.




Painted a sober and serene desert shade called Shiatsu, it's a pleasure to step in every time.

Une belle et grande... famille

When a black cat tells you it's time to update your blog... you just shut up and do it.

Yesterday, I learned of an interesting fact during an otherwise boring training session.
In Quebec, the current percentage of households composed of a father, a mother and two children (born of those two parents), in other words the traditional family model in Western societies is:

7 %


Do you see how meaningful that is? It means we continue to operate on a model of family and society that simply no longer reflects the reality, that has in fact become the exception! All the values, the traditions, the instruction, the economic factors should be reviewed to adapt to the new reality. I should stop feeling like a failure for not providing my son with the traditional model, I'm the norm!!! (Ok, I say this tongue in cheek)
But on a socio-economic level, and many others, I find that a very significant statictic.

A Midwinter Morning Dream

Aliens Among Us!

The cat is finally out of the bag! Aliens, all of'em!

Integrity

Food for thoughts:

Integrity: doing the right things for the right reasons


Personal comment: Woah! What a powerful notion.

Laconically

On my way back from work...






And they wonder why I won't live in Montreal...





Regina, SK




Mr and Mrs Smith




Estorbo's Canadian competition.
Which is which? No clue!

Untitled

Photo credits unknown

Day 3

Yesterday was not so good but today I relaxed and had fun. They have this WONDERFUL thing called mandalas: they're abstract designs that you can color in, photocopies left available on each table. That's right, they don't mind if you color while they talk, because it has been proven that while people are coloring they're paying attention.

Let me tell you I'm going to town on that one. I bought myself my own box of crayons, and I'm being VERY productive, handing in several completed mandalas per day. It makes all the difference for me.

Other than that, I have remarkably little to report… class, hotel, class, hotel.

Still, tomorrow is Friday, and Fridays are ALWAYS fun because we know we have two days off looming.
I miss my workouts terribly. I went running for 45 minutes the day before yesterday and I'm all sore today!!! Sore from running? What is this? Am I not in shape? It's disgusting I tell you.

J asked me about curling in SK. Here was my answer:

All right so Curling is the official sport of Saskatchewan.

To celebrate their sport, every hotel has a miniature rink for clients in addition to a gym.
In the big league, the rinks in SK are twice the standard length of other rinks because the country is so flat, the slide just keeps going, and going, and going…

Glad I taught you something today. Even happier that it's perfect nonsense.

Regina I

Marie thinks I feel crappy. Another friend thinks I sound hem...tense.
Just because I curse out loud a few times? You guys are so uptight.

Well, I'm feeling "crappy and tense" in Regina, as we speak.
In truth, all problems take on a certain perspective when considered in the middle of hundreds of miles of nothing. It gives a brand new twist to the saying "middle of nowhere".

Today I will meet all kinds of enormously friendly people. I start with a headache. Lol. I'm gonna go up to my room, take an Advil and practice my smile and my patience. Even with people who have so obviously never travelled in their lives that this Regina entirely organized trip is making them completely flustered, lost and helpless. (A breakfast voucher? when did they give me that? at the airport? what ID? what credit card imprint?)

Remind me to tell you about the hotel's Spa when I get a minute.

So what's the mood so far? how does "corrosif" sound? Swyrd, translation?

In The Corner Losing My Illusions

This original post was two pages long. How's that for editing?

For so long, I believed: "Everything is possible." It's time to face it: THERE ARE THINGS YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GET, NO MATTER HOW DESPERATLY YOU WANT THEM, NO MATTER HOW BASIC YOU THINK THEY ARE, AND NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU THINK YOU DESERVED THEM.

It goes against every popular trend: Everything is possible! Create the life you want! Think positive to bring good things in your life! Believe you can have anything and you will!

To hell with **positive** thinkers. Fuck off, The Secret. Hope is just too damaging in the long run. I’ll still have good moments before I die.

Bora Bora Be Damned

If you're like most people, you've always dreamed of taking a trip to Regina, Saskatchewan.

What do you mean, NO? Ok, then you're just weird.

I, on the other hand, have been offered the chance of a lifetime, not one, but TWO weeks in popular, glamorous, much sought-after Regina, Saskatchewan. I'll admit that it was hard to contain my excitement at first. I couldn't stop bragging about it to anybody and everybody.
"Yes, I'll have a large coffee with two milk. Gee I wonder if they have such good coffee in Regina, Saskatchewan where, incidentally I'm going soon."
"The gas is not too expensive this week. When I'm in Regina Saskatchewan, next week, I'll compare prices with here."
And so on and so forth.

There were four hotels advertised for the trip and when I read that one of them allowed pets, I asked no less than four friends of mine to come along for the trip. I mean the definition of pet is somewhat personal right?

They all turned me down but in the end it's just as well because I learned that I had been assigned to the lowest, cheapest of the four hotels, which doesn't allow pets anyway. I'm not going to let that ruin it for me. I'm bringing a rubber ducky.

I leave next Monday.

Nightbiking Deserves a Quiet Night

Friday night, I couldn't sleep. I got up, got dressed and sneaked out to go for an impromptu bike ride. I enjoyed the speed, the freedom, the freezing wind.
This is the moment The Squirrel chose to try to throw himself in my front wheel.
He's fine. He's under suicide watch at H.M. hospital.
The bike is fine if a little muddy.
I took the brunt of the fall. Nothing bad, but the most extensive scrape I've had for years. Bare arm on pavement and then gravel. Amusing.

I'm in a foul mood. A combination of hurt, frustration and hopelessness. Nothing to do but to wait for it to go away. Perhaps I could punch a customer or two today, I'd feel so much better.

Back From The Limbs

It is time for me to pick the pen back up (that's a figure of speech) and to resume my wanderings on the personal space I call my blog. I've probably lost all my regular readers, and they will be mourned. I'm confident I've also lost the only unwelcome one and I feel very good about that.

Things have changed somewhat during my absence. I am now settled in a comfortable routine at the new office. Not a working day goes by during which I don't savour the proximity to my house.

I bought a bike in the Fall sales, the first one I own in fourteen years!!! Bikes have changed quite a bit in that time, but you still have to push the pedals to go forward. J showed up last week with a brand new bike bottle and lights for the front and back, for night biking. For me. How sweet is that?
So weather permitting, I go to the gym on my bike, following the river. Most extremely enjoyable. On the ride back, at night, I've had some very, very beautiful sights of a glass-like river with the reflection of the mountain. Very peaceful and zen.

Since J and I have an ongoing spook match (score is 2-2), the other night I went and parked on a quiet street by the river. I wrapped myself in a black cloak so as to be invisible in the bushes if I didn't move. Then I waited for J to pass by me on his bike. But while waiting, I sat in the grass, watching the water dance by, caressed by a warm wind, in the shelter of obscurity and I had a moment of pure happiness.

I’ve had some work done on my house. Nothing very exciting except turning a tiny, dark wardrobe of a bathroom (Vince knows it well) into something more decent and practical. It’s coming along very nicely and I’ll post a picture when the transformation is complete.

All else is the same; my son: noisy, Fatso: well, fat; Grumpy: well grumpy, and Loukhi: a smart cookie.

Hey WELCOME BACK Brig, you’ve been missed!

Here's a picture of what bath time should be like, according to cats (no these aren't mine)
A


and not B

In The News

Nouvelle-Ecosse

Victime d'un putsch, la reine s'enfuit avec 40 000 abeilles.

Such was the title of a small article in today's paper. I loved it.
Apparently, bees sometimes have putsches, when worker bees consider they are not getting enough Royal Jelly. They secretely bred another queen and the original one fled with her partisans. Neighbors are asked to look for the fleeing regime, which apparently does not look like a bunch of flying insects but rather like a small brown bear…

Delightful inn'it?
How did Shakespeare put it? "There are more things in heaven and earth…"

Potter Spoilers

First things first. My dear friend Jeno, after a year of intense, dedicated training, finished the Lake Placid Ironman in 10 hours and 42 minutes of grueling effort. To put this in perspective, the winner did it 9 hours and 16 minutes. I am awed, I am proud, I am extatic, I am as happy as if I had done it myself. To me, it’s about pushing your own limits, tolerating your own pain, willing an exhausted body beyond what it can give. I admire physical courage like nothing else and I truly, truly, salute the ones who master it. While I’m in a gushing mode, let me salute Jeno in particular, of whom I’m a real fan, because he’s smart as a whip, funny and self-deprecating, modest and unassuming, loyal and steady, friendly and helpful and trustworthy, a gem of a person. And if he reads this, which I hope he will, he will smile in a way that creaks his eyes and shake his head modestly.

On the same weekend, another...friend of mine...I’ll call him that whether he agrees or not, was doing the Sylvan Lake 1/2 Ironman. Because it’s a lesser event, I suppose, the results are not yet online as I type this. I don’t know what his goal time was, and I don’t really care. Whatever he did, whether he’s happy with himself or not, he most likely accomplished what Jeno did as well, in terms of mind over matter. I salute you SWYRD, and I hope you are celebrating. You two rock.

So how did I spend that sunny and bright weekend, while others pushed themselves to a puking point?
I read the final Harry Potter, of course. The rest of this post is only for those who have read it as well, or don’t mind complete and absolute spoilers. You’ve been warned.

I must say I am happy. Utterly and decidedly happy. Rowling, may she be blessed to the seventh generation, chose a happy ending. After reading her very dark streak (to me, the Goblet of Fire remains her darkest book) I had NO idea whether Harry would live or die. Her last book gave me a little hope, because, I am proud to say, I guessed with certainty that Snape was no traitor and that Dumbledore had begged him to kill him, not otherwise. It was the one firm bet I made over the last book and I brilliantly won my bet.
Still, all this talk about Harry possibly dying, about main characters like Ron or Hermione possibly dying... I didn’t put it past her, because J.K. has that darkness in her. She knows despair and hopelessness, for only one who has experienced it can write about it so well.
In the end, she chose her little readers, and I can’t thank god –or her- enough for it. She created a character that millions of kids identified with. When that character underwent physical torture, in the Goblet, I was very afraid. I thought a line had been drawn from the hope and innocence of children, to the real, harsh, merciless world of aduts. A line that the father, in “La Vita è Bella”, died to avoid crossing. I feared for all the kids around the world, who had been drawned into Harry’s magical world, I feared they would be confronted to face what war, pain, death and the horror of reality really mean. And don’t get me wrong, children all over the world are faced with it as I type, to the eternal shame or mankind and ourselves.
And Rowling had a right, as the creator of something as formidable as the Lord Of The Rings, to be the absolute master of the ending But in the end, the creator of magic chose magic. In the end, she spared milllions of kids further grief and disillusion. Even though she never spared characters we had come to care for, she chose to end with the Good winning over the Bad, with a happy ending that allows us to close the last of Harry Potter’s books with the happy swelling in our hearts that the first ones had brought on.
For the first time, I, the queen of dramatic, hopeless stories, grasped... realized how important it is that children should be spared. That children should keep on believing. That happy endings, for the joy they create, are truly invaluable.
It was in the vulnerability in my son’s eyes, when he asked me to tell him whether Harry died or not. He’s condamned to wait three months for the French version. I didn’t answer right away and as I looked in his eyes, I saw two people: the child he is, who wants to believe, and the man he will become, bracing himself for the worst news. I swear the two were alternating in his eyes. That’s why I blessed Rowling, to be able to tell him: “Harry doesn’t die”, and for a couple of months or a couple of years longer, to let him keep his faith in Life.

How did I ever lose it? How do I get it back?

Thank You

I have been transferred to an office that is a 17 minutes drive from my home. Straight highway, no traffic. I get in my car around 7 am, totally on cruise control, meaning still sound asleep. I somehow wake up 17 minutes later and stop at the local Tim Horton for coffee, breakfast and newspaper. The air is crisp, the sky endless.
I leave the office at 4h15 pm. I use the 17 minutes drive to leave the clientele behind, unwind and shift my mind gear back into…leisurely summertime.
4h32 pm: I open my front door. The long evening is all mine. I have time to see my son, to eat supper before working out, to dip in the pool and pet the cats. I feel like a millionaire.
Hats off to the few members of management who finally heeded my plea and chose my happiness and quality of life over sacred operational needs. That's smart management because as a happy and grateful employee, I'll probably be a hell of a lot more productive.
What a beautiful gift for the summer.

In My Head

I don't know what thought process led me to that path, but there it was: I realized recently that I was clinging to things. I was cultivating attachment, in the Buddhist sense of the term, with a vague notion that if I hung on hard enough, I'd have some sort of control over loss, or any other outcome.

I realized my hands were clenched so hard around certain things that it would take a pair of pliers to pry my fingers open. And that, my friends, is not good. That is not the way.

So I've started a mental exercise of letting go. I visualize my hands held in front of me, palms up, fingers wide open, and I visualize whatever I'm clinging to in the middle of my palms, free to trickle through my fingers or be swept away by a gust of wind. And it's not easy not to clench my fists.
I want to learn and practice to let go of the outcome. Do my best according to my aspirations then let go of things I cannot control.
TLM: let him go (that's the hardest)
Where I work: let it go
Will my cats get sick and die? Let go.
My house: Let go.

Every thing, every thought, and every person that creates fear or longing in me I want to let go of. Not to reject, but just to give up clinging.

Is that going to turn me into a mere spectator of my own life? If I'm detached from everything, do I stop living in action?

Don't know.

Public Announcement

This blog is currently on strike…or perhaps on vacation... In any case, it's not happening. Nobody home.

This blog was brought to you courtesy of Black Cats Look Better in the Shades, maker of stylish sunglasses for cats of all races and colors.

If and when the writer can be located again, succinct news shall be posted.

Are your cat's pupils down to tiny dots in the sunshine? Black Cats Look Better in the Shades has the solution! Write or call for free information.

Daily Colors

The people sitting across from me come from all over the world: the Philippines, Morocco, France, Ukraine, Bulgaria, Mali, the Ivory Coast, Mexico, Argentina, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Romania, Rwanda…
Some are shy and reserved some friendly and at ease. Their skin comes in every possible shade. The children stare at me unblinkingly, and then whisper mysteriously in the parents' ears, in a language that means nothing to me.
I glance discreetly at the book that this young, unshaven man with the stern glasses is reading: Umberto Ecco.
Once in a while, I get a rosy-cheeked, blond hair, blue-eyed baby blowing happy bubbles, that bears a familiar French-Canadian name. She's the exception; most names are exotic and unfamiliar.

Boys will be boys, and the guys have a code to signal the presence of a "chick". A "chick" is young or not so young and has that immaterial je-ne-sais-quoi that is instantly recognizable to the male sex. (The immaterial je-ne-sais-quoi quite often being a very generous and very real frontal endowment, of course.) If I get the "chick", I'm suddenly surrounded by widely grinning colleagues who "just happen" to have something to do at my desk. The chicks are no fools and usually enjoy the attention.
Strictly in the name of fairness and equality, I demanded a code that will signal when a "good-looking guy" comes in. But in truth, it won't happen often. The guys that come in may be interesting, intelligent or have fascinating life stories…or not. But one thing they ain't is good looking.

There is not much outlet for my sense of humor. Circumstances are just not favorable, so I'm uncharacteristically serious. I miss the laughter and irreverence that usually punctuate my life.

A Hateful of Hollow

I must write a public apology to family and friends. I'm not always good at keeping in touch, and the blog was one way I was making up for it. But recently, I've been lousy both at keeping in touch AND at writing the blog. If you're among my friends and wonder why I'm so silent, take comfort in knowing that it's not just with you. I don't write, I don't call, I don't email. I hardly keep up the reading with my favorite blogs. I'm pretty much as disconnected as can be.

I know by experience that that's not the healthiest way to be. No man is an island. I need fulfilling interaction with fellow human beings to be happy and balanced. That's the theory. In practice, I feel too empty to interact much. I feel I have nothing to say these days. Just nothing. So I don't say anything. I shut up and stick to myself. I'm all right y'all, I'm just…empty.

Namaste

Need New Challenge, Will Babysit

So Jeno is a training machine. That's fine. He's also certifiable (he brags about it... but then he's such a show-off).
I really don't feel the need or the urge to compete with him, either in training or in insanity. There are, after all, limits to my potential, limits which I humbly acknowledge.
However, I do thrive on challenges. And even though things like marathons or, god forbids, triathlons are not the type of challenges that stimulate me, I do need to find some new challenge, some measurable goal to add to my training. It needs to be meaningful, challenging and verifiable. I'm just not sure what it could be…

- complete split on both sides?
- 25 full push-ups?
- run up the Pain de Sucre non-stop?
- lift and hold Fatso for more than 18 seconds?
- 1 length of my 10m pool underwater?

I don't know…I'm undecided. I'm perplexed. I'm hesitant. I'm unsure. I'm pondering. I'm looking for inspiration.

Talking about inspiration, at work, mothers come in with wayyyyyy too many babies. I become quite useless, totally enthralled in the little ones, ignoring their boring parents, literally dying to kidnap and run away with each little bundle. I. LOVE. BABIES. I'm sure my co-workers will adapt.

Un Dimanche à la Campagne

A beautiful Mother's Day. The sun was shining but the wind cool, perfect temperature. My mother, my son and I had lunch in the garden. Green salad, a French cheese called Bourseault, fresh bread, red Cabernet Sauvignon and a few presents in flowery wrapping. The three cats laid out in the sun around us, Loukhi in her harness...
My mother and I reconnecting, re-establishing once again the bond that will never be severed. My brother present through book and cards... My son, loud, excited, affectionate, doing his own things... My son and I, doing the dishes together...
A beautiful Sunday.
Happy Mother's Day to my friends, Sophie and your gang, Michèle and your brand new wonder, Connie dearest, all of you who have once held your baby in your arms and found out your life would never be the same...

Et... vraiment... .....Voilà.

After a week of training, I passed my exam with 95%. At least; because the one question I had "wrong" has to be verified by the instructors and might turn out to be good after all. Am I bragging? Not really. I'm saying at least I didn't waste my time this week. I worked hard and I justified the trust my supervisors put in me when they sent me for training. God, that's beautiful. Could I borrow a kleenex?

I found out a snake. And what a snake! It's good. It's always best to know which are the harmless grass snakes and which are the dangerous vipers. You can then protect yourself. I've given that person the benefit of the doubt long enough. Now I know.

I had laughter and teasing and fun with TLM yesterday. Now is the weekend. A whole evening of leisure stretches before me. The weather is warm and all the windows are open, billowing the curtains. The cats, stunned by the sudden heat, are laying stretched out all over the place, preferably underfoot. Three cats: every time you turn around, you're stepping on one.

The garden is in full bloom. The Loud One is playing on the other computer..oups did I say Loud One? I meant Loved One of course.

Serenity is such that I am ashamed at being SO UNFAIRLY, UNJUSTLY, UNDERSERVEDLY lucky. No, my life is not always easy, by any means. But I am so safe, so well-fed, so secure, so loved, so darned privileged.

Tomorrow, I'll change my mind and have a breakdown :)

Yes, I DO speak Chinese

A hardly knows me.
B knows me and doesn't like me. B may or may not have been privy to some information about me, information that should not have been given without a context, and B might or might not have passed it on to A, and might or might not have put a negative twist to it.
I don't know how much B's been told. I don't know what, if anything B told A about me. I don't even know whether they ever discussed me.
But I know this:
I don't trust B. And there are not a lot of people about whom I will say this.

How do you like the plot so far? lol

God knows I'm no angel. God knows I am so flawed I could be a poster child for imperfection. But I'll tell the brilliant people out there (and the brilliant people know who they are, they can't help it):
Don't you believe anything said about me, good or bad, unless you can double check it for yourself. There's plenty of material for rumors about me. I know some of them, I can guess some others. All I ask is: form your own opinion from your own findings. Make up your own mind. Keep your own counsel.

Now does that sound like a paranoïed post OR WHAT? I seldom seek to justify myself. But this has been on my mind for a long time. I have a blog: today is the day I voice it.

Then I'll go back to the voice of reason, which somehow always sounds like Sam:
"If they hear something bad about you and believe it without bothering to double check... F*** them. They're not worth you worrying over them."

Dear Sam, happy birthday, you're wonderful.

What's up

Long time no write. I'm in a pretty demanding work training all week, demanding in concentration and by being shut up in a room with no air circulation.

I thought Jeno would blog more than ever but I see he's also slowing down quite a bit. I therefore deduce that prolific blogging is directly proportional to the time spent in front of a computer.

I am not driven to write much these days. Partly because I spend less time in front of a screen. Partly because ..."censored"....can't write that.

I foresee the TLM business possibly coming to a drastic turn or dead-end in the event circumstances go from my seeing him four times a week to not ever. The possibility struck me yesterday, is out of my control, and sent me reeling. I'm now aware it could come to pass. If and when it does, the blow will be incredibly hard. I will either survive or go to pieces. Wish me to survive.

My pool will get a new lining with exotic fish, and therefore become operational, on June fourth. Considering it's already sweltering, I have a feeling we're going to long for it before that!

The strange winter killed two of my rosebushes and a number of other bushes. But all my little bitty growing trees made it and are covered in tender green leaves. What a lovely time of year.

Talk to you soon.

In The City

As someone pointed out to me before, pedestrians in Montreal are extremely rude. They don't know the crowded city pedestrian trick of yielding a shoulder when passing by someone. They walk on, at their own pace and in their own path, oblivious to the world around them. Being the very polite person that I am, I am normally the one yielding constantly. Not anymore. With the new job, I have a total of three minutes to spare to catch my train, a buffer zone I'm very uncomfortable with. So on my way back, during the rush hour in the endless corridors of the subway and the train station, I walk fast and with a purpose. For once, it is useful to be 5'10" and built like a wardrobe. My body language says, in no uncertain terms: "Get out of my way or we will collide!" and amazingly, male and female suddenly yield before me. It's still not out of civility, it's out of fear of impact. I don't care. I've been the lone civil one long enough. Get out of my f*** way.

I've heard some of my superiors are "looking into" finding a place closer to home for me to work. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, gnashing my teeth and binding my time. I won't get into the details but you wouldn't believe the impact of the new job on my daily schedule. Bad call on my part, even though the job itself is far from unpleasant.

I haven't found any kindred souls yet in the new office, although everybody is extremely friendly. We're too busy to socialize much anyway.

Not much else to report on.

Start Making Sense

I wondered what impact my new job would have on my blog. So far, it's pretty drastic. It basically shut me up! Perhaps this signals a slowing down of my blog for a while. One thing I will not let it become is an obligation, a "have-to-do". I blog for my own personal enjoyment, because I always loved writing. But the minute it no longer fulfills something in me, it will be out the Windows (get it?).

I've been stressed, I've been busy, I've been sick. Let's hope and pretend I'm better now.

Some emails I've sent have remained unanswered. It's interesting to see how angry that makes me. What a waste of energy, the anger I mean. Shrug it off, Bridge, shrug it off.

Mr H stopped by to check out the renovations needed in my house. Mr H is a seventy year-old sweetheart, father of a friend, handyman extraordinaire. I don't think there's anything he couldn't tackle in a house. In spite of his age, he's sharp and very energetic, with a full head of hair, twinkling blue eyes behind his glasses, and an infectious grin. To my delight, he quickly abandoned the French formal "vous", to address me with the friendly "tu". I could see that some of the work simply didn't interest him at all while other projects got his creative juices flowing. He's at a time of life when you do things you enjoy and no longer bother with things you don't. I strongly approve. So he had a good look, and told me he'd be in touch and all of a sudden, I feel like I now have an ally to face my renovations. Then again, I've always had a weakness for fatherly fathers.

I'm getting quotes for changing the windows and once I have an idea of the complete, petrifying total, I'll tackle the Bank. I'm practicing in the garden with my reluctant son. I stand him in front of me, than I scream HOHAAH and rush towards him at full speed. He lets out terrified giggles and crumbles to the ground, in total anticipation, before I even lay one finger on him. I'm hoping it will work on my bank manager as well.

I've been eating horribly and I intend to start paying attention again this week. Training has been sporadic, impaired by sickness. Now that I'm feeling better, back to a healthy way of living: healthy food, grinding training and unlimited sex. Oops!

Sunny Cloudless Sky

The gorgeous weekend was a godsend. My pressure and stress went way down, I did zero exercise, I got some vitamin D, and I slept.

We fitted Loukhi with a small harness and tied her to a long leash so she can come out in the garden with us. Without the harness, she'd be over the fence at the first sighting of a squirrel. Grumpy doesn't have claws so she can't climb, and Fatso is too fat and knows it, so they're free to roam within the fence. Loukhi seems to think that with the harness, the only acceptable way to move is belly-to-the-ground, which is a very funny way to walk. That's fine; let her think she's handicapped, it will help keep her within our limits. Once in a while, a squirrel just laughs at her and she forgets everything and springs after it at full speed. You can picture what happens at the end of the leash. Poor thing!

I looked around my house and realized it is becoming desperately in need of maintenance, renovation, and tender loving care. I need to change all the windows, to do some work on the kitchen and the bathrooms. This means money. Lots of it. Well, it just happens that I have an extra 63.50$ sitting in my bank account that I didn't know what to do with. I wonder if it will be enough. Sigh.

Work was 100% improvement over last week. I might get used to it after all. Isn't that wonderful news? I wore SANDALS today. Man oh man, nice weather incoming. It does wonders for the spirit.

I took a five days hiatus from training, to shock my system out of its complacent mode. We'll see if it works.

So Far

It's been a hectic week, a week of having my mind crammed with info, of figuring out a longer commute, of trying to adapt to different offices, coworkers, tasks… I've been panicked, I've been discouraged, I've been exhausted and I've been optimistic, in potpourri fashion.
I've been parachuted in someone else's office, in her personal belongings and files, so I can't really settle down. I feel like a squatter.
I don't speak about the nature of my job on this blog, so to give me a little latitude as far as stories to tell, I'll just say this: in my new job, my clientele is the general public. Our office is in a very multi-ethnic part of Montreal which couldn't be farther from where I live, an all white well-to-do families and retirees’ community.

I am literally fascinated by the people I come in contact with. They're all colors of the rainbow, they have panoply of accents, they come from so many countries and so many cultures… I have this longing to find out about each one's history: where were they born, how did they end up here, what is their way of life? Needless to say, I'll never know. I see bearded old men who barely speak English and try to imagine their lives, sixty years ago. Who knows what their childhood looked like? Who knows where it took place? I see shabbily dressed black women, with little expression on their faces, which mistakenly lead us to think they're not sharp. Then you discover, through the hesitant language, a mind just as quick as your own.

So I foresee endless material for observing a class of population I have otherwise very little contact with, and I expect it to be very enlightening.

Otherwise, however, my quality of life has taken a drop. In a day where I have to put in full work hours, eating, training, seeing my son, showering and such, my commuting schedule has increased by one hour per day, which is enormous. It brings my commute to a total of three hours per day, ridiculous. I'll do it, until I find a way out, but it will be in my priorities to somehow decrease that. I am no longer autonomous in my work, I have a shorter lunch period, I am not allowed to have a cup of tea or coffee by my side, I have less time to see my son before I go back out to the gym, I can no longer work longer hours to take a Friday off once in a while. All this, to me, is clearly a drop in my quality of life. Now if I implement a change, it's with the ultimate goal of improving my quality of life, not making it worse! So I will give myself a couple of months, to settle down into my new routine, then I'll reassess.

New Job

No time to post. Plenty to write. Stay tuned.

In haste
Brig

Friday a Thirteen

Friday the thirteen was my last day in my old office. I packed the last of my personal belongings, removing every touch that made the space mine. My boss very kindly took me out to lunch. I sent a bunch of email goodbyes, apologizing for not going to each cubicule one after the other. I'm not good with goodbyes, as I've mentionned before.
After lunch, my boss presented me with a certificate of recognition for five years spent with the Company. I'm such a babe in the woods. Then, she generously dismissed me, granting me the afternoon off to my surprise and delight.

I went to D's. We chatted in front of a delicious maple whisky he made me discover. We talked of the meaning of life, we talked of the values and beliefs that sustain us, we talked of cheating and forgiveness. My best friends are the ones I have the BEST conversations with. Then we walked over to pick his daughter from school. She's a sweet six years old with a smile to die for. Eventually I had to go, yet I felt we had only begin to tackle the subjects we were on. It was a lovely afternoon.

Monday, I start something new. In fact, I start with training. Not my usual physical stuff...Training as in learning. How much, for how long, I've no idea. I go in open. I can never get enough of learning anyway. What will be will be. A page has been turned.

Now, in spite of the cold, humid, grey and disgusting weather, I really need to kick myself in the butt and go lift some iron.

I don't know what impact my new circumstances will have on my blog. That, like my future schedule, tasks, physical environment, colleagues, remains to be discovered.

Welcome!

I want to welcome a little girl called Tess Gabrielle to the world, daughter of a dear friend.

Child, I have only one pearl of wisdom for you:
DON'T PANIC

Happy life little one!

Feeling Like Garfield On a Monday

Raaaahhhhh…I vaguely remember, in a prior life, words sounding like "training" and "blitz". I achieved a blitz all right. I've eaten enough in four days to sustain me without eating again for about two weeks. I had NO idea I could eat that much. I feel five months pregnant, my head hurts, my throat is dry. I'm hung over in every possible way…clearly, a wonderful Easter weekend.

As for the training part… a puny 2.5 hours over four days. I probably broke my own laziness record. The weather was so miserably cold and humid, running outside was out of the question.
Saturday, my Structor had his Polar on but not the strap, whereas I had both, so he would come and stand beside me to check MY heart rate on HIS watch. Not much cheating possible there! With anybody else, I'd probably actually mind: "Hey, my heartbeat is private!" How to be intimate without even touching.

So, this week I'm going to concentrate on losing the thirty-six pounds I put on this weekend. This reminds me, à propos of nothing, that the exposition «Body Worlds» is coming to Montreal. It is not for the faint hearted. I don't like the ghoulish side of it but I am so interested by physiology that I might go. It must be both truly fascinating yet depressingly macabre.

Draining

I never hesitate to apply on jobs, probably my adventurous side, and afterwards I'm always reminded of how grueling it actually is: the preparation, the cramming of info, the stress, the interview...
I had such an interview yesterday. From the body language of the interviewers, of which I'm an extremely alert observer, I don't think I'll get it. I was probably good but not dazzling. Since there were many applicants for a sole position, I don't think my performance will be the BEST of the bunch.

In spite of yourself, it's always slightly depressing, that process of trying to give your very best...and your very best often being judged "not good enough" or "good but there's better".

I have a competitive nature and it will not stop me from applying again but it IS depressing. Amen.

Nothing an intense hour of spinning couldn't cure. For the first time, I was actually able to wring water out of the front of my shirt at the end... Even though my heart disagrees, I still find the sprints much harder to sustain than hills.

Easter weekend. Temperature sucks but I'd like to get in a little blitz of overtraining.

Below, a picture of the infamous quartet called the Easter Gang. While the little ones created a diversion, the tall one robbed innocent victims. That picture put them behind bars for good. Crime doesn't pay.

Found It!

I misplace my sense of humour and all my readers do is keep a terrified silence?!? I hate to say it but y'all is a bunch of toothless giraffes!
It's harsh, but it's true.
Anyway, I found it back. Loukhi had sent it rolling under the fridge.

Yesterday, a man I was very fond of left my immediate work environment to be posted somewhere else. I hate good-byes. Tomorrow, Jenö leaves for a hellish long time to go play with baby bottles. And I myself start my new job, in a totally new environment, on Monday April 16. So there are lots of good-byes scheduled. Many dear friends, whom I saw several times a week through work, will no longer be around save for special occasions we'll have to schedule on weekends. I don't doubt for a minute my capacity to create new bonds but I hate good-byes.

Nice hour long run last Sunday, under gorgeous sunshine, and easily kept at recovery pace by my wonderful HR monitor. As J predicted, I will get addicted to that thing!
On Saturday, painted with my three favorite little girls, after lunch with their father… a super nice day. They're the dearest, cuddliest things.
Today, lunch with a long time friend I haven't seen in ages. Can't wait. Tonight, three hours of sweating. With my sense of humour back, life can still be good!

Bordélique

Misplaced: a sense of humor, dark, size XL. Please write to Bridge, at toofreakingfarawayfromthegoddamnocean.
Reward.

Be Still My Beating Heart

Before Vince goes into depression, I must make an amendment to my recent Rest Heart Rate entry. When I did check it, I lied down in bed for ten minutes, in the evening, I relaxed as much as possible and pouf, my HR hovered around 44-46 for a good twenty minutes.
The funny thing is that since then, I have not been able to catch my HR going lower than 55-56. It looks like my "real" RHR is usually around 59ish. I've no idea what conditions it takes for my heart to feel powerful enough to relax into a 44 rate, but apparently, it's the exception rather than the norm. Feel better Vince?

I worked out three hours last night (forgetting to start my watch for the second hour so I'm missing those stats). The first thing that strikes me with all this monitoring is that the Perceived Exhaustion Rate, on which I was relying heavily before, is completely unrelated to my actual heart rate. That tends to tell me that the Perceived Exhaustion Rate ain't worth much as far as accuracy. In some exercises that are not that hard, my heart goes through the roof, and on some exercises when I feel like death, my heart is cruising along calmly. So it appears that this tool will actually be very useful to me to verify the actual intensity and to motivate me to work at higher percentages.

Other than that I'm grumpy, lonely and frustrated, today, on a personal level. One of them days when you're looking for friends and they all happen to be busy. It only reinforces the frustration, but the true source comes from inside of course. Argh.

Quote of The Day

This is the kind of sound, inescapable logic I like.



Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, you'll be a mile from them, and you'll have their shoes.

- Jack Handey

Bla Bla

It's rather amusing. I have not one, not two, but three potential job openings. Actually one is firm, two are still potential. It's all happening at once.

One job is farther, unknown, but with good advancement potential. One job is close to my home, known, no raise, but in an environment I've been aiming to join for a long time. The third one offers a salary increase and is for a boss I know and like. I'm nearly tearing my hair out trying to make the best, wisest choice with the data I have and the one I don't. It is NOT easy. Regardless of my choice, I'll be taking a chance. It's just the type of chance that will differ. Man oh man.

I have the deplorable habit of choosing the work environment and people and the tasks themselves over salary increase or advancement possibilities. I guess I'd rather be happy now than rich later. The downside is that I remain poor now. Ahem.

Do you ever wonder why you're alive and Daniel Pearl isn't? No? Ok. I do. No connection with the first paragraphs whatsoever. Just a thought that goes through my head sometimes.

I proudly showed my new heart rate monitor to my ‘Structor last night. He looked dubious:
“Well… First, you have to have a heart,” he said. And after I answered something ludicrous to a question he asked, he stared at my hair:
“Is that a wig?” he wondered earnestly. Irreverence, it seems, is contagious and I'm glad I finally passed it on!
I’m the first one to tell blonde jokes because I’m quite secure with my IQ but there are always some who manage to be offended. Fi donc!

One year and four days ago, I started this blog, unsure of how it would turn out, unsure of my motives, tentatively. One year and four days later, it’s still going strong, somewhat to my surprise. I’m still enjoying it which is the sole reason it is still up and going. For this second year, here’s my resolution: EDITING, Brig, EDITING. Write shorter, more to the point, more powerfully. Cut the blab bla out. You know? Like today’s bla bla.
- But I enjoy the bla bla!
- If you’re gonna write, Brig, you must aim to write WELL. Take what you want to write and then edit, to cut it about by half.
- (meekly) Yes m’am.
- Good girl.

End of my internal dialogue.

New Toy

Yesterday was Election Day in Quebec. Good, now that I've covered that, on to more interesting news.

I've a new toy, courtesy of Big Brother. I am well in touch with my masculine side so I like beautiful women and toys, albeit not AS MUCH as men do.

My new toy is a heart rate monitor. I went running thirty minutes last night just to play with it a little. I discovered how difficult it is to raise my heart rate above 90%, even running fast against an extremely strong, icy wind. I also discovered that my rest HR is 44! I thought I was around 60! I must be doing something right.

Now I have to familiarize myself with its use during workouts, and the various HR zones. Jenö wanted me to use the triathletes’ zones, going from 1 to 5 and using the Lactate Tolerance HR but luckily for me, these zones are not part of my monitor's program. I will therefore stick with percentages of my theoretical max HR… I promise I will try very hard not to start to sound like him:
Ran 5 km in 23 at Z4a on the TM but I was really pushing my BMW at MHR, Z2 felt good. HUH?????????

You get the drift. So tonight is first two serious hours using it, including spinning… cool…I should have fun for a while...

Hanging

What does one do when one is waiting? I feel suspended in mid-air, powerless to accelerate or decelerate the turn of the wheel. I've already left the fuselage in my mind. I've only a sketchy idea of where I'm going to land and I don't know when it will happen. In the meantime, I'm suspended in a vacuum, in the weightlessness of space. Gravity will resume only when time and destination become clear. Ok, then, this is an exercise. An exercise in floating aimlessly, an exercise in being able to endure the lack of control, lack of direction, lack of power. Things are falling into place outside of my jurisdiction. Until they are revealed to me, I'm floating. So be it. No point in pacing back and forth in the cage of my mind.

Not surprisingly, I feel restless. I’m stuck in an office while all I long for is exhausting myself physically. I feel out of patience with everything, especially the intrinsic absurdities of the Company.

I question, my dear Angel, the point of this blog, where I can say so little about the things that really matter to me.

I question my choices, as outlined by my eternal brother.

To hell with it, let’s eat :)

Feeling Good

First outside run of 2007 under a bright, if not yet very warm, sunshine. I went out intending to stretch my legs for a short thirty minutes but it was so nice outside, it felt so good to run that I ended up doing an hour. I ran towards the mountain in order to add a bit of hills and still felt good enough at the end to finish with a 30 seconds sprint. The sorest part of me were the shoulders actually. Hello tension!

Aaaaaah. Spring is just a-knocking at the door. Loukhi (who's doing fine, Caroline, full shape!) is about to discover the joys of the Great Outside...within the limits of my backyard. The cats are shedding enough hair to fill all the pillows of the house. Brushing time! The two big ones love it, we'll see if the pocket-size takes to it.

Other than that, don't have much to report. Pleasant diner with a girlfriend last night, wine, laughter and heavenly trout.

Back to work tomorrow, with changes expected to be announced presently. Life might be many things, in the upcoming weeks, but boring will probably not be one of them.

I'll keep you informed. Welcome to another Spring everybody!

The Gift

"Imagine," said the woman, "that the Bank offers you 86 400 dollars every morning to spend as you see fit. It's a gift, not a loan. You cannot accumulate it, any amount that is unspent by the end of the day is taken away. But the next morning, you start off the day with a brand new 86 400 dollars. It goes on like this every day, however, it is understood that the Bank can close your account at any time, without any notice."

Take a moment to think: how would you spend the money? Would you feel rich every morning?

"Life," continues the woman, "offers you a gift of 86 400 seconds every morning. How you spend them is up to you. What you waste can never be recovered. But every morning, you start off the day with a brand new 86 400 seconds to spend on living. However Life can and might close your account at any time, without any notice. Isn't one second of life worth more than a dollar?"

The idea is not mine. It comes straight out of Bernard Lévy's "Et si c'était vrai?" Ideally I would have posted the two pages themselves but I'd be breaking 1001 copyrights laws so I'm writing it in my words.

The concept made me stop and think. (First, of course, of the fun I'd have with 86 000 dollars to spend every day. I can confirm, I'd have a lot of fun!) But then, it made me think about the gift of time. A brand new slate every morning with endless possibilities. I thought of the time I waste, of the time I sleep to escape living, of the time I take for granted.

I thought about people who never get to live, about people who die suddenly, about people who receive notice that their account will be closed soon.

I thought long and hard.

Happy Friday

It's been a busy week. Doing what, I'm not sure, but it felt busy. Packing at the office. Working out. I'm not happy with my workout. I've been averaging 7-9 hours a week, but I believe my body has settled with that amount and is no longer improving. To kick-start it again I have a feeling I'm going to have to increase the hours again. Increasing intensity is not really an option because in classes I don't have much leeway and in spinning I'm already at my max intensity.
I suppose I could go into maintenance mode but why settle for maintenance mode now? Onwards and upwards!

I passed an English exam with a score of 54 out of 55. That was most extremely satisfying. Doesn't mean me write good but at least me felt good.

Now that I've qualified as Pool Person, and therefore will probably receive an assignment soon, I've never had so many possibilities for other assignments. When it rains, it pours, and I have to make a choice between all these options, a fairly blind choice. Man oh man.

On the home front, the pocket-sized cat has already tripled her size since she's arrived. She's now fully in her teenage years. I'm expecting her to start going out late at night, listening to loud music and rebelling against me very soon. She still can't stand to be picked up. I swear next time I'm getting a rag doll cat.

As for Fatso… for all of his size and macho attitude, he's such a baby. Imagine that (I've seen him do it): He goes to my trunk in my bedroom, gets up on two paws, gets a mouthful of one of my sweatshirts and pulls. The sweater seldom goes down by itself. Once the sweater is on the floor, Fatso takes a good mouthful and starts kneading it, purring loudly. He's in Fatso heaven. Go figure. Which is why, about three times a day, I find my neatly folded (or carelessly thrown) sweaters on the floor, threaded upon, sucked upon, and looking for all things like something the cat brought in. On est pas aidé!

On the weekend menu: workout (eh), friends, drinks, sleep. That’s a start!
Later folks!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch- Changes

How can you be getting older when you still feel like a teenager? TLM called me on my cell today and for the following hour I walked around with this huge, ecstatic and idiotic grin plastered on my face. A sad case, I am.

Yet the weekend had been difficult. A health scare for my mother. A grim reminder that she will not be eternal. The impact and consequences of her disappearance, for Yannick and myself, would be tremendous if it should happen soon. I dread it more than anything.

It was a stark weekend with words like Emergency room, observation, tests, cancer screening. When I saw my boss this morning, she asked me: "So, what happened Thursday?" And I looked at her blankly and last Thursday had been pushed so far away in my mind that I had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. I even forgot to tell her about becoming a Pool Person until she asked me about it.

We don't have any results yet, so, one day at a time.

At work, we're moving Friday into another building and today, I was enormously productive. I packed boxes, I went through all my files and half of my ex-bosse's and boy, did I throw away some paper. Boxes of it. It's very liberating to throw away. I like it. I'm pretty good at it. You wouldn't think so if you saw my house but really, when I do a blitz, I do one heck of a blitz.

Turn and face the strain
Ch-Ch-Changes

Laugh

Some days...are better left untold.
Diss iz one of dem.

In Sickness And In Health

Last night, my son went for a sleep over at his best friend's. It is shameful how I enjoyed the calm, peace and quiet of the house, the feeling of freedom.
However, I pushed my reflection further and I realized that for all the time, worry and responsibility that my son represents, he plays the role of a guardian angel for me, because he is mon garde-fou. Having to take care of him means I must take care of myself, something I might otherwise approach differently.

In the meantime, my heart is sick. I tucked it in bed, shoved a thermometer down the aorta, and tied a woollen scarf around the ventricles. But it has to follow me around, so I wrapped it in bulky gauze and tied it on a sling around my neck to go to work. It's like the Fisher King, bleeding from a wound that won't heal. It's draining to be sad. Physiology is very strange, your heart hurts and it's actually a pain in the butt. Perhaps the heart is not located where we always thought it was.

Well, I still have to go to work and it still has to go on beating. To each their job. The wound has been there for ten months now, I'm about to throw a birthday party for it. That should help: candles, confetti, pointed hats, the whole nine yard.

Do you think I'm teetering on the edge of the absurd recently? You're right! I've been coherent far too long. There are limits any self-respecting free spirit must abide by.

Pool People

The results of the competition are in and yours truly has qualified on a pool. We're not talking swimming here. We're not even talking about a wet pool. I probably would have done much better in a wet pool.

The consequences of my being in that pool, even if I remain dry, could lead to significant changes in my daily work. Pool People will be chosen, randomly or not so randomly, to fill positions in several locations. The positions might be crawl, butterfly or back. Just kidding.

It is therefore a distinct possibility that within two months, my daily grind might lead me to another hunting ground. Am I proud, thrilled and elated? Absolutely not. Perhaps it will come later. I have yet to announce at large that I am now a PP (Pool Person). Swimsuit optional.

The most significant changes that come to mind, as a Pool Person:

- I'll have to take the subway following my train ride. I HATE the subway.
- I'll loose physical proximity to 3 best friends. Then again, Jenö will be taking off to take care of miniature Jenös, and the others are looking for change also. Only change is constant.
- my daily chores will be drastically different. I'll deal with the public. I bet that will give me material for this blog.
- I'll no longer have a window into SYWRD's mind, emails, and sense of humour. That's a small but nonetheless significant loss.

On the up side of Pool People

- I'll get to meet new people and make new friends.
- I will experience something totally different.

There are other positive aspects but I try to keep my job vague on here, so I won't go into them.

So that's it. No lanes, but some slower swimmers. No chlorine but a draft of humanity. The ever changing, ever shifting shape and face of reality. Bathing caps are not allowed.

Years Ago

After supper, we packed our gear on the trucks to go have a little fun: a short night dive. The lake was very dark, barely lighted by a half-moon. There's absolutely nothing to see in a lake on a dark night. But we were an adventurous bunch, who liked to do different things. It was our form of entertainment. There were four of us, three dive-masters and me. I teamed up with my friend Daniel.

We suited up quietly, by the silent, empty lake. We entered the water. Everything was black except for what stood in the narrow beams of our flashlights. I could feel the cold of the water against my dry suit. The sound of our breathing seemed more ominous than in the day time. The darkness and the absence of visual references were such that it was easy to become disoriented and lose track of which way was up and which way was down. We swam down to about thirty-five feet and without needing to consult each other, for we teamed up often, Dan and I settled on our knees on the bottom…and turned our lights off.

Thirty-five feet of cold water pressing down on our heads…all the moonlight allows me to see is the vague, monstrous black shape of Dan beside me…the characteristic sound of underwater breathing: suck-in, bubbles… the cold…absolute darkness all around…

"How many people have had this experience, “ I wondered with a thrill, "this off-the-wall, pointless experience of sitting underwater, at 9 pm, in a lake, in the dark? How far is it from anything we're familiar with? Who knows where I am at this very minute?"

It's the same thrill I had when I went skydiving and I was hanging by my hands outside of the plane onto the transversal shaft of the wing, the rest of my body flapping in the wind, milliseconds before letting go…

It's all about experience. I really enjoy doing things that are out of the ordinary. Which is obviously why I'm sitting here, in front of a computer…AHEM…

Good times...

To M...

"You play so cool, and calm, and in charge," my husband used to say, "but inside you have this big, softie heart."

Well, my big, softie heart is sad tonight. I received an email from a friend announcing his mother's passing away. And behind the formal words, I could feel such pain... My friend is well surrounded and supported, he has a wife and a daughter. Yet, there's something about a man in pain, a man crying, that brings out something in me... It's something beyond motherly instincts and beyond tenderness, it's the eternal cliché. Le repos du guerrier. Lay your head on my breast, and let me stroke away all your pains and sorrows...
Perhaps it is what we women are really born for...

Peace to you, M, and in my heart, I'm holding you like your mother used to, when you were still a little boy...

Haunted

Twenty-four hours after the storm and there is hardly any snow left on the roads, the driveways or the roofs. The snow banks are still so high, however, that you must make your stops half-way through the intersections in order to see anything incoming.

Last night, I'm rather embarrassed to say, I woke my son with my screams again...THREE times. At least it no longer spooks him. I'm going to have to do something with my mind to make sure that stops. Nightmares are all very well when contained but I can't have the whole household up in arms every time.

When Yann got up at seven, I felt him lifting my covers slightly. I opened my eyes: he was slipping one of his stuffed teddies beside me. "It will help you with the nightmares," he whispered. How sweet is that? I pressed the white teddy bear against me and went back to sleep.

Good class this morning, fun, enjoyable. Rather wiped the rest of the day.

R.A.S.

Hope the ghosts leave me alone tonight.

Don't Stop the Snowing Carnival

I was so excited today when I was sent home early because of the snow storm. I felt like a little kid.

HOURS of shoveling snow later, this is what I look like:


The snow banks on each side of my driveway are now taller than I am. That's 5'10". Next time the snowplough comes through on the street, kindly shoveling half a ton of snow in our entrance, I've no idea where we're going to put it.

So Jenö is doing an Ironman? Pffft! So what? I JUST CLEARED MY WHOLE DRIVEWAY..............................FOUR TIMES !!

So I'm going to the gym, for a STRETCHING class. Afterwards, I'm going to find out if they have a sauna, something I've never bothered checking before.

It's still snowing but I'm throwing the shovel. (Get it?)

Fit, She Brags

Last night, after the luxury of four days of rest, Miss Fitness, your servant, went for her usual Tuesday night: one hour aerobics followed by one hour spinning. The first class can be demanding but it's not exactly hard. I can usually breeze through it with my eyes closed and thinking about my income tax. Although I do try not to think about my income tax when I work out, because it sorts of defeats the purpose doesn't it? Where was I?

Ok, last night. About 30-35 minutes into the first not-very-hard class, after that long rest, my body suddenly groans: "That's it, no more, I'm spent, I'm done!"

"WHAT? You've got to be kidding me!" I say, with great presence of mind.
"Raaaaaahhhhh…" moans the body.
I can feel it: no more breath, no more energy, I'm running on below empty, as suddenly as hitting a wall.

Well, shit. I go and have a drink, to put a little fluid and sugar in me, wondering if and how I'm going to be able to finish the class. Around me, everybody is happily dancing along. Stupefaction and pride kick in, (ah, pride!) and I clench my teeth and mentally draw the curtains. That means I focus on "keep going", stare at the floor and no longer make eye contact or smile or appear alive, which earns me several puzzled looks from the instructor who can't understand what's going on with me. Well I can't either.

I finish the class, thankful for the abs and cool down. I walk upstairs to the spinning room and I stand there by my bike: my legs are shaking helplessly for about ten minutes. Thankfully, I have a fifteen minutes pause between the two classes. I hold my own in spinning, exhausted yes, but not feeling that wall slamming into me again. My white shirt is by then so completely soaked that it is absolutely sheer. Interesting.

So there you have it. Of course, I'm trying to find out what happened but there are so many variables that it's very difficult to pinpoint. You'll just understand why, next time someone talks about my being in shape, I might start laughing.

Vince, jog on the mountain huh?
Jëno…just…don't.

To Be or Not To Be

That's just like me, I don't write for ever, then you can't shut me up.

I don't know anybody who has ever seen Peter Weir's Gallipoli. The film is somewhat unremarkable except for the last ten minutes, which are unforgettable. And the last shot is heartwrenching. A masterly piece of film. A propos of nothing.

Talking of masterpieces, I'm reading T.E. Lawrence's "Seven Pillars of Wisdom" but it does very little for me so far.

I learned today that I was no longer considered for the role of Master of Ceremony for the conference I'm helping organize. That I was not, in fact, really expected to attend at all. Don't get me wrong, this wouldn't be the result of a demotion but the result of my qualifying on a competition.

Never have I been less enthusiastic about qualifying on a competition which is perhaps why my interlocutor got such a blank look. Perhaps was I a little melancholy at being disposed of so promptly.

But that's ok, nothing is permanent except change. Change is good. Change is the opportunity you make it to be. If change is indeed in my immediate future, I might as well have fun with it.

So I took a deep breath and I started laughing softly at how long and hard I had thought before accepting the position of MC...only to have the offer rescinded two weeks later. Heh.

L'eucalyptus

Once upon a time, there was a little town drenched with sunshine. The trees grew tall and luxurious, fragrant flowers were in abundance. Every morning, at dawn, a rooster sang in a garden across the street. The town was bordered by the bluest sea in the world and high mountains lined the horizon on clear days.

The little girl went to a small all-girl primary school. She loved it passionately, because it took her away from the chaos of home. This was her world only, and in her world, she was a gifted student, the teacher’s pet, never lacked friends, learned with inextinguishable eagerness.

When she was eight or nine years old, her best friend was called MC. They were friends for less than a year, before circumstances separated them. Then the little girl went to high school, changed country, changed continent, became a big girl, and still kept drifting all over the place. The memory of MC, of her small school, of the small town drenched in sunshine became so distant it felt like another lifetime. She didn't think this past would ever manifest itself again other than in her mind and her dreams.

When this man called me last week, I thought it was a call from the past. I was mistaken; it was nothing but a rehearsal.
Thursday night came my true call from the past. With no warning whatsoever, MC called me from France. I don't know how she tracked me down. We had never kept in touch. How stunned I was can perhaps only be understood by my brother.

"This is another lifetime calling. Another world. Another dimension: the past."

We talked for about fifteen minutes. She hinted at very dark things in her life and I didn't pry: there would be time for it yet.

I had been someone very special in her life, back then, and she had never forgotten me. In a few simple words, she told me what I represented for her, why I had such an impact, and I was touched and moved but still dumbstruck.

We ended on promises of snail mail, for she doesn't have an email, to catch up with basically what is almost all our lives. I haven't started my letter yet. I'm still struggling to update my Weltanschauung.

Don't Fear The Reaper

When my bad dream turned into a nightmare, I started yelling, at the top of my voice, pausing only to get a new lungful of air.

Back when I was married, my screams sometimes translated into actual whimpers that would wake the hubby, who would in turn mercifully wake me. One inconvenience of being single is that I have no one to wake me.

The terror increased and I let out a shriek so desperate that I actually woke up. I blinked in the darkness, wondering if I had screamed out loud. A door opened and closed and a dark shape peered hesitantly into my room.

"Hey, what's up?" I said, my heart still beating wildly, covered in sweat. My son ran to my bed and slipped beside me.
"I just wanted to see why you were singing," he said. I thought that was an odd choice of word.
"Was I singing?"
"Yes." Well, I wasn't in the mood to tell him it was not singing but actually screaming in terror.
"Was I loud?"
"Yes, very loud. You stopped and started again and stopped and started again." He laughed nervously. "I was starting to believe that you were being murdered."

The truth is he was spooked; my "singing" probably didn't sound like fun at all.
He settled tightly against my back.

"Don't you know you were singing?" he asked.
"No. I was dreaming."
A beat.
"What were you dreaming about?"
"It was a nightmare," I said and we both left it at that.

We lied there for about an hour. For once I didn't mind his squirming because his body pressed against mine, his quiet breathing which I felt through his pyjama were the best antidote to the terror I had felt. Eventually, the cats started jumping on his feet, which he didn't like and I whispered to him to go back to his bed, which he did. Within minutes, we were both sound asleep.

I do wish I had someone to wake me up.