Like the flowers need the rain...

Movies don't agree with me these days. I've just watched "Enchanted" because I had read good reviews and thought it would be funny. I won't be able to eat sugar for about two weeks it was so sweet. Sirupy sweet. Nauseatingly sweet. I am NOT in the mood for fairy tales. My bad. The only sweet thing I can handle right now is the sight of my cat sleeping.

Put a picture here of my cat sleeping.

Blogger won't let me. I'll do it later.


There is tension and disagreement in my home. They are unavoidable in life. Will they bring not only winds of change but storms of changes? It's too early to tell. But for the first time since I moved in this house, and loved it passionately, I face the possibility of leaving it. Nothing is constant but change.

Whatever.

Will your lights be out tonight between 8 and 9 PM? Mine will. How often can you show solidarity with the whole planet?
(solidarity to? solidarity with?...????)

I went on Amazon yesterday and splurged on four Dickens. That will get my mind off of things for a while.

Caught!

So with this new toy of mine, here I am minding my own business and suddenly, paf! It takes a picture of me.
It has a camera! It can even film me!
HAL? Is that you HAL?

My New Toy

Being comfortable with my masculine side, I sometimes thoroughly enjoy a new toy.
Look at that! The size, the lines, the design.
<<<<<<<<<<< happy sigh >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Striving For Perfection

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better."
~ Samuel Beckett

Oh my cats! My babies!

Horrible dream this morning. I finally get back home after an absence of a month and a half and I'm terrified of the state I'm gonna find my cats in, as they have been locked there the whole time. All the cats I ever had were there plus a great many others. The sight is horrific. While Circé, Koba and a few others great me feebly, bone skinny, others are already dead or dying, there are cat parts all over the place from those who died or were eaten. Here an eyeball, there a head. My emotional state is beyond description. I find many molded edible things that they haven't touched. I tear up a bag of food and worry that I won't have enough for all, whereas the survivors need to eat right away if they're to last another day. Oh the pity, the angst, the guilt, the sorrow, the horror!

After that I wake up and go have an ordinary day at the office.

Weather Report

Y'all have seen what the snow looked like before Christmas around here. I saw a big snowplow in a shopping center shooting up snow onto a snow wall three stories high. Quite a sight. Then it snowed again and we went from raising our arms in dismay to dropping them in resignation.

But things change quickly here. Yesterday January 10, at the heart of winter, all that snow was gone after a mere week of rain and temperatures in the 10 Celcius. Melted. You could see the brown grass in lawns. Sidewalks were perfectly clean and dry. More astonishing yet, the Richelieu River is completely thawed. Entirely. Not even floating ice. The whole region looked to be about Mid-March. At the heart of winter.

This morning, when I woke up, the world was white again. How plants and wild animals can adapt to such erratic conditions, I've no idea. It's all so strange.

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?