Clarification

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

Fall

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

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

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

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

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

(Photo credits unknown)

Douce France, cher pays de mon enfance...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Real Man

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I'm floating on a cloud.

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

But they sure made my day.

Blue

What's on my fridge

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

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

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

The Truth About the French

Read a good one yesterday...

Why do French people eat snails?

Because they don't like fast-food.

Back To School!

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

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

Have a good one everybody!