I startled Lucette

just now. I was standing in my doorway smoking because I am not allowed to smoke inside. Correction. I cannot stand inside smoking because Rob finds it offensive and I cannot bear offending someone with my foul habit. Leslie used to say that I am a considerate smoker. Lucette was walking by, lost in thought, munching a carrot, and suddenly saw my shadow and jumped.

Je suis desolee, I say.

Pas grave, she says. Tu est toute noire (meaning I am dressed in black.)

I was standing there thinking of poetry. Tonight Susan and David and Bedding are coming to dinner and each person must bring a poem to read. I love these evenings. And I was thinking of all the moments that I don't write about in my blog. The moments that are lovely and might interest another or others. I think I'm embarrassed because I am so tight-lipped at the moment and want to give more of myself and yet feel that I have little to give.

Earlier, I stood ironing napkins. I know that it's sort of a waste of time but I like ironing small squares, easy and fast, and I like their neatness and yet this liking neatness feels old-fashioned and anal. I have more important things to do. Like what, that mean voice inside my head snickers. Like working at writing, I sigh. Of all the things I do, I think I am best at writing and it's the thing I avoid more than any other. You find your self-respect in your work, Leonard Cohen whispers. Yeah, yeah, I reply. I'm out to ambush my life.

And I just can't alight but tonight I must read poetry and I reached for a book that David gave Rob for his birthday last year, "An Anthology of Canadian Poetry." Rob asks that I find him a poem too because he is busy in the kitchen. Double pleasure.

I shall read (to keep with my image)

Sex Next Door (by Julie Bruck, born 8 years after me)

It’s rare, slow as a creaking of oars,

and she is so frail and short of breath

on the street, the stairs – tiny, Lilliputian,

one wonders how they do it.

So, wakened by the shiftings of their bed nudging

our shared wall as a boat rubs its pilings,

I want it to continue, before her awful

hollow coughing fit begins. And when

they have to stop (always) until it passes, let

us praise that resumed rhythm, no more than a twitch

really, of our common floorboards. And how

he’s waited for her before pushing off

in their rusted vessel, bailing when they have to,

but moving out anyway, across the black water.

I have chosen several for Rob and I must hurry up and read to him and let him decide what he likes best.

For those who know Bedding

On November 8th, Bedding's daughter Ivana (who lives in Chile) celebrated her 37th birthday giving birth to Clara. In just over a week, we will drive Bedding to the airport so that she can fly round the world to meet her new granddaughter.

***

For those who know me

Where has time gone? This morning I drove Brendan to the train station. He is off on another adventure, crossing the French border into Italy. He will stay in Genoa for a few days and if it's not to his liking, he'll try living in Milan.

Gill is in Rome, leaving tomorrow for Sienna. So two of our children are in Italy and Rob and I are alone for ten days until Gill returns, though she will write and do her research here and then head up to Paris again.

Rob has settled into French country living more easily than I have. In fact, I am still not settled. I observe my restlessness and shake my head at myself but still can't move beyond it. I did rework a story for a literary contest and am happy that I managed to get it in an hour and a half before deadline. Though I am not completely satisfied with the final version, I am not displeased with it. (Brendan sent me a sweet thought last night: "If you set your goals ridiculously high and it’s a failure, you will fail above everyone else’s success."— James Cameron)

I have also been playing with design programs on my computer, attempting to divert more and more from templates. There is so much to learn but I like the play and believe that I have a good eye.

I'm still not in the mood to reveal more of myself on this site. Perhaps it's because I am confused and tired (woke up at 5:30 am to take Bren to station) but hopefully soon I will be more at peace with myself and the words will flow.

Loving Mackenzie

(Click on picture and song)

A birthday song for you.

The Pleasure of Living in Europe

We left Tuesday morning and returned Friday and because I am the worst car passenger in the world, I sat in the backseat and worked on a story for a contest deadline (I'm sure my writing friends will be pleased.) Just a few finishing touches and I shall send it via my computer. Finally I am working.

On the Road

Monday, Helen, Rob and I drove to Toulouse for dinner and a Sonny Rollins concert where, coming onto the stage, the old jazz musician (79) walked jerkily as if he could crumble at any minute and bent over as if the saxophone around his neck weighed too much for his frail frame. But when he began to play oh la la, he never missed a beat, every note was crystal clear and Rob, who loves jazz, who bought the tickets as a birthday gift to himself, was carried away.

The next morning we drove to Andorra - a glorified ski resort with affinities to Whistler. The only thing this tax haven offered me, I am embarrassed to say, is really cheap cigarettes. (1/3 of the price I usually pay.) We stayed for lunch and then left for Barcelona arriving around six in the evening.

Again oh la la. What a beautiful city, a rich one, large avenues lined with huge windows of fashion, and many restaurants and tapas bars. Our hotel exceeded our expectations (found through expedia.ca). We have adjoining rooms and Helen's has a small balcony where we sat and enjoyed the evening warmth before heading out for tapas.

Today, we will search for Gaudi structures from whom "gaudy" defined as "flashiness, garishness, tasteless showiness" is derived. I love his work, think it wonderful a city would allow an artistic architect to create his most outlandish crazy dreams (some might call them nightmares.)

My House Runneth Over

Kate with Brian 7 and Mary 3 arrived Friday and Helen arrived Sunday. Our house doesn't have enough beds so Kate and her children are sleeping in two lower rooms in Susan's house.

Bren is still working ridiculous hours and so moved up to the attic room to be as far away from the noise as possible (though now he tells me that in this space without a door, he can hear everything from the bottom floor up so he's using headphones. )

The evenings are especially celebratory when the wine is uncorked and everyone but me lends a hand in preparing dinner. I do the cleanup in the morning.

***

Two days have passed since I began this post without finishing it. I have unanswered emails... I'm thinking of Stella Bowen, an Australian artist who saw that her art was fueled by interaction with others.

And then there are Rilke's words for his dead friend, another painter Paula Modersohn-Becker:

"For somewhere there is an ancient enmity between our daily life and the great work. Help me, in saying it, to understand it."

Kate and Helen are especially dear to my heart and our days and evenings have been full of conversation, some tears. We are all sorting ourselves out and inadvertently helping each other to see more clearly (or that is the way I feel.)

Kate and her two children left yesterday. Helen will be here another week. I am going to try to fill my new journal with my overflowing thoughts and then come back here hopefully with a clearer idea of what I need to do.

This leaving home has been quite an adventure - not the one we expected. We thought we would feel free, unencumbered from debt but often we feel the opposite. We don't know what to do although our financial people are telling us to invest...

Marlene suggested that I write an article about living our dream. We have had so many people tell us that they admire us, that we are living his or her dream. I/we need more time.

They say it's your birthday too

A song for you and me

They say it's your birthday

Well Happy Birthday to you

dear Rob

you are one of a kind & I love you so

you are still a mystery to me at 63

I watch you going on 6 hour hikes with your daughter, practicing cycling around the village, renting a bicycle and riding around Toulouse, going for hikes around Albi. In the meanwhile, you are fine tuning a novel, experimenting with a keyboard though you think you might take up a guitar, playing with penny stocks and whipping up a sweet or savory quiche in a moment’s notice. You know how to enjoy yourself. You are wonderful and I admire you.

I have so much to learn from you.

I wish you buckets of happiness and gold this coming year.

Many hugs and kisses, Yve

I love these pictures of you. I love who you are. Have a wonderful day, dear Rob.