The amorous parade of chocolates

The strangest thing happened lately at the cafe. Gita brought a box of German chocolates as a Xmas treat. So far nothing anomalous. This time of year many such items end up at Gretchen’s: chocolates, oranges, trufles, dog treats and toys, glittering garlands that humans can wear so as to look like a Xmas tree. So needless to say that the chocolates didn’t last long, as the few priviledged gulped them down in the twinkling of an eye. Next thing I know of is Gita showing up looking for the chocolates, that apparently ended up here by mistake, her mum having sent her several boxes, and that one was a very special one meant for her. So Gita shows up, hoping to taste one of those, and pfiit! gone! It is amazing how fast those things disappear, so much that I wondered if they didn’t have a life of their own. Because those things literally fly into people’s mouths, but they choose their palate of election. Chocolates mate, they mate with the palate that desires them most. How do they choose their mate? They just listen and watch, and those that drool best are usually the most suitable mates. You got to understand the psychology of chocolates: they are programmed to melt into somebody’s palate, sooner or later, and if they don’t, they wilt, just like flowers, and eventually die. Have you ever seen an uneaten chocolate? It looses its color. However, when they are palatable enough, they do find their mate. I can tell you where some of those ended, and how. It is quite an amorous parade, like the one of birds. Now you’re in the cafe, and the first chocolate- and the first of a few ones- to start off did it when it heard Roberto’s call. You need to know that Roberto has a talent for ventriloquism and telepathy, which enabled him to execute his silent parade to the chocolates unnoticed by humans. The chocolate did see him drooling first, and silently started challenging him: “Ok, you say you want me, but what can you offer in exchange?” It’s then that the perfidious Roberto took a head start on all humans present on that day, with his silent dialogue with the chocolate, and moreover, he spoke to them in German, now that’s disloyal concurrence.
“- Oh, you cannot find a better palate than mine to melt on, I got a warm, cosy place for you there, with the most refined taste buds you can find miles around. Come and try it! I’ll make you dance and whirl under my tongue till you get warm enough to melt, and then both you and me will sink into the great Nirvana. Come on, don’t be afraid, come on!”
The bravest of the chocolates then started asking her fellows what they thought of this guy Roberto. Could she trust him? “Hey guys, check out this guy, he’s drooling, he can’t wait to have me, and he said he’ll make me dance!”
- I don’t know, those guys always boast, and then once inside if they’re no good you’re trapped, I’d think about it if I were you.
- Hey, check out his palate, he’s yawning, oh, I’ve never seen a palate that looked so nice and cosy indeed, I’m already melting! I don’t wanna wait, I’m in for the gig, yipee!”
And in goes the first chocolate. Because what Roberto the perfidious didn’t tell, of course, is that he was polygamous, so that chocolate was followed by several others, few of them being able to see the perfidy and greed behind the irresistible palate appeal.
Some humans didn’t present any interest for the chocolates though, like that Frenchie who declined trying them, thinking maybe later, and she wasn’t really drooling for them anyway, those Parisians, they’re snobbish and swear only by Swiss chocolate or Leonidas Belgium chocolates. So the remaining chocolates soon identified another potential mate, in Gretchen’s palate. That was, they knew it, a top choice too. They could feel the kinship between them and the Viking Gretchen, and they were actually fighting for the first place in her palate. So Gretchen did harbor a few of them.
Now the other mystery is why Gita was so anxious about retrieving at least part of those “very special” chocolates. All conjectures are allowed here. It occured to me maybe those chocolates were actually smuggling some diamonds. Ouch. Gretchen and Roberto, you’d better watch out, I have a vision of Gita seizing Gretchen’s sword, and opening your stomachs to retrieve the precious bounty.

Cosycafe

A wet day in the Pacific Northwest, another one, which should be highlighted with a severe wind storm supposed to hit the area tonight. That's today's event in La Conner. Bundle up for the storm. Buy candles. The cafe is a good place to be on a day like this one, warm and cosy, colorful neon lights on, all the fantastic creatures on the wall. People chatting comfortably sat in an armchair, others tap-tap-tapping their computer keyboards. Yesterday's table from the fundraising dinner is still there, and the crockpot. I like that word, crockpot. Crockpot, potluck. Sounds warm and nice, like community. The dogs have been busy for quite a while with huge bones to chew on. I like this being busy with my computer with plenty of people around, echoes of conversations, the noise of the coffe machine, while the rain outside drips, drip,drip.

Conversation with a canvas

Don't look at me like this. I know you're waiting for me to make something out of you. I just don't know what to do with you for the moment, so I'll let you sit here for a while, maybe several days, till I get to know . You already look good, really. But I want you to be more than good. I want you to be moving. I want you to be able to draw emotion from the hardest rock. Otherwise I might as well paint tulips or even worse, buy cheesy art from a chain store. Don't look at me so disaprovingly, of course I'll come back, I told you. I need to get away from you, that's how I usually come back with my muse on my shoulder, and currently she has flown away for a while, you see she needs a break too. So why don't you go to sleep for a while, and when you wake up, I'll be here, and my muse too. Well hopefully.

From inanimate to animate

I guess sitting for so long in front on my computer at the cafe drinking green tea is starting to have strange effects. Gretchen's walls have been covered with Art objects from China and Tibet for a couple of weeks, and a thought came to me, what if all those creatures depicted on those wood carved plates came to life... Goddesses, sacred animals, beetles, dragons and phoenixes, ritual dancers, peacoks, " wood ducks delighting in the lotus", a hundred year bridge, fishmongers, moonprayers, an ancient canal town,- La Conner ? - couples of butterflies courting each other, then we'd end up with the cafe turned into a magic realm, altogether a canal town, a swamp, and a jungle peopled with extraordinary creatures from now and then, from this world and beyond. I see a painting here, something not unlike Le Douanier Rousseau's work.
No, I'm not under the influence of any substance. That's what I see, after having green tea under the close scrutiny of the red neon dragon...

Babel's cafe...

is a meeting place for people from different planets . Those people come there from their respective planets to escape from their troubled worlds. Some of them get stranded there for quite a while, like refugees. The problem is they don't speak the same language. However they managed to find a common communication channel, through the Arts. I can see that from my vintage point at the corner of the cafe, I'm the dragon shaped red neon sign permanently awake, watching over these multiple entities coming there to connect. My creator put me there one day to be the guardian of this place. This place has no secret for me. Had my creator endowed me with speech abilities, I'd have many stories to tell, but I guess that was not his intention, so I'm doomed to be the silent witness of all these mini events, dramas, and great spirits encounters here. I don't know yet why it is so, and sometimes I get tired of staying still there, so I flicker a bit. But of course nobody understands why I do so. They don't understand my mute signs any better than they understand each other's languages. My new mistress is a genuine astral entity, and as such she has allowed all this to happen. She has allowed all the lost souls to connect here. Lately I think I understood there is some trouble going on here, I'm not sure she's gonna be able to keep me. That would be too bad, just when she had installed those heaters that make the place cosy for me at night, when the entities leave the place and the cafe becomes that quiet, dimly lit lighthouse. Sometimes, even late, one of the entities, a male, stays there alone, right in front of me, sitting in front of another light device, a rectangle shaped luminous thing, with a platform covered with strange keys that he types on, tap-tap,tap... I don't know what he's doing with that thing, probably sending messages to his home planet, or possibly regenerating himself, I noticed that thing seems to be fed with the same type of energy as I am. You can plug it or unplug it. They never unplug me, though, so I guess I'm receiving a special treatment or priviledge. However I wish I could show my mistress how thankful I am that she never unplugs me, I wish maybe I could transform myself into an animated dragon, and thus become an attraction that would draw more business here. I think I'm gonna write a letter to that Santa entity, like those guys do, and ask him Santa please, allow my mistress to keep me.

Gretchen's ransom, follow up

This is a follow-up to Gretchen's ransom story by Roberto, so please make sure you've read the first part on Roberto's blog first:
http://ablogeclectic.blogspot.com/
I woke up this morning in someone else's skin. This is the work of Gretchen's kidnappers. They tried to clone me too, but somewhat they goofed and I still have part of my former self left, which allows me to write this update on the critical situation. I know who they are. They haven't only replaced Gretchen with a clone, they also replaced Roberto with a fossilized entity stuck to a chair with a pair of lapdogs from beyond. I saw their agent, she came in a big white van, the very one that was used to abduct Gretchen, and brought the 2 little creatures in the shape of two inoffensive looking pups with an electronic spying device hidden in their collar. That's how they keep track of how much ransom money we have gathered here to retrieve Gretchen, and that's why they keep raising their demands. Now we'd better watch out, God knows how many of us have already been replaced by clones in town, I suspect they're planning to take over the whole town. Just consider how that agent of theirs ended up showing up here at the cafe to spy on us: The indications she was given to find the cafe : a place at the left of Fidel Castro. Now do you know of any building here in La Conner named Fidel Castro? Have you ever heard such a name? I tell you, what they've done is they have remapped and renamed all the places and streets in town with code names so we don't know what they're talking about. Their plan is obviously to seize all the town of La Conner eventually. That's why they're infiltrating it with clones. I am now working on trying to find the clue that would allow us to recognize them for sure, there must be one, so we can save the town, and have Gretchen and Roberto back.
Believe me, they're out there. We need to act before it's too late.

Skagifurious

There she comes,
Brown fury,
Bubbling and gurgling, gurgling,
Silt, and mud,
Logs, logs, and logs,
Turning everything upside down,
Gigantic food processor,
Latte colored mixture.

There she swells,
Shake factory,
Running wild, wild, wild,
Loud, loud, loud,
Thunderous neighbor,
Gigantic cradle
Thrown into the storm,
Balloting you up and down,
Back and forth,
Up and down,
Back and forth,
Bundle of laundry

You wonder when she’s gonna stop,
Struck in awe at the sight of such fury,
And then you surrender,
And you just watch, listen, and wait.
And you accept.
Then as a child after a genuine, deep sorrow,
Then the loud cries turn into sobs,
And when finally all grief has been shed,
She gradually calms down,
Calms down,
Calms down...
Thank you, magic Skagit, for having spared my floating cradle.

Beware of the magic power of words

It never occured to me till lately that words do have a life of their own. Now understand me, I'm not only talking here about the power of words, but of their having an intrinsic life of their own, and of their pernicious influence on you, the way they can work on you. I experienced that lately in the wee hours of the morning, finding myself wide awake with that word in my mind, and all the following:
Procrastination. My first encounter with the word dates back from my college years in France. What I do remember is my being unable to memorize the meaning of that word precisely, having to check it out each time I encountered it.
-Allo, Sigmund...- However my attention was drawn to the word as an object, as a chemical combination. What a terrible word.Think of it, there must be a diabolical element in the way the letters of the word are combined and arranged so as to attract attention: pro-cras-ti-na-tion. Forget about the meaning, look at it as a bare word, as it was then for me, utter it, chew it, -pro-cras-ti-na-tion- and you'll find as I then found, that it has something terrible in it, though I couldn't name what it was. My relationship with it got worse when I later discovered that the other reason why I had difficulty with it was that it related to something that was part of my behavior pattern. The demon was unleashed. Then I would remember the meaning, but the strange thing that happenned is that I avoided it whenever it appeared before me, like a child hesitating to open a closet door for fear of what he may find in that dark corner. Believe me, when you reach that point in your relationship with a word, you're in trouble. You can call your counsellor. -Allo Sigmund-. Which I haven't done, of course, not willing to open that closet. So whenever that word popped up in my head, I tried to get rid of it. I tried to smash it down, I tried to crush it with the tip of my shoe, as if it were a bug, I tried to turn my back to the door of the closet, leaning on it to make sure it wouldn't open. No way. That's how it ended up awakening me at 5 am, more present than ever, and that's how I ended up writing this. I don't know whether this is going to help me get rid of the beast, but I felt the urge to write about this experience. Beware of the magic power of words.

The Water People

I usually observe them from my perching position on our favorite tree over the river, the one we use as a restaurant. The other day we were having salmon there and she came out with a pair of eyes- those funny creatures are not gifted with a good sight as we are- and she stayed there for a while observing us. I tolerate this only because I know they don't have guns and they don't make noise. Funny little people, they live there, on the water, on curious floating nests. Three people, two dogs, and a kitty. A genuine Noah's ark, I tell you. I'm having a hard time, trying not to dive down on the kitty, looks like it could be a nice meal, but that damn creature is pretty smart at eluding me. Never got to catch her. Gave up. So I observe them, on my leisure time, and got a pretty good idea of their habits and lifestyle. I don't get it why they persist in living there on the water, while they could live with their peers in what those people call a house. Maybe those people think they are shorebirds or something like that. They eat outdoors like us, they spend a long time watching the river, and seem to enjoy it a lot. I once considered explaining to them they should go back where they belong, then I figured the frequent floods would take care of that. No way. They're still here, which is fine with me, it provides me with free entertainment. I watch them like humans watch a reality show on TV. Interesting.

Sophie and the social worker

My name is Sophie. Kind of strange for an old dog, but that's the one my mistress gave me. For I am getting old, just like her. When I happen to see myself in one of my mistress's mirrors, I scare myself. All I see is an odd looking big black dog with a tired -of -life look, wrinkles all over the face, actually the reason why I scare myself is that I look spooky, just like everything else here. How could it be otherwise? I guess my environment dyed on me. My mistress, who goes by the name Paulette, is an old French lady who is getting confused. She's been here for years, but now whatever she says is unintelligible for anybody but me: one word in French, one in English. One syllable in French, one in English. The social worker that comes to visit her doesn't get it and speaks to her as if she were retarded. A nice looking, polished, and disagreeably polite guy. He gets on my nerves, especially when he persistently asks Paulette if she wants to go to a retirement home. Bastard. Don't you get it? She doesn't want to hear about it, why do you keep asking her, you're the one who's retarded. I know what you're after, I heard it when you talked to her family before to leave, leaving your card "in case you changed your mind". She won't go, I tell you. I won't let you do that. Leave Paulette alone, here in the midst of her souvenirs, her statues, her odd lights, her authentic mummy sarcophagus, the masterpiece throning in a corner of the living-room, I told you it was spooky here. But that's home. Leave her alone.

Out of your comfort zone

Today Sunday was another gorgeous day here in the valley.I had a nap after lunch, then an artist friend visited me. We opened a bottle of home made wine on the dock, then I stayed home this afternoon to continue to work on my current project, a landscape painting. That is totally out of my comfort zone, at least for paint. I can do nice pastel landscapes, but never tried it with paint. So I started this thing and for the first 2 days when I looked at it I didn't like what I saw, and there was that little interior voice saying things like"what do you think you're doing? why don't you stick to what you do well?" So I had several tempations to just destroy the painting, since it was going nowhere. Because I'm also demanding, you see,I don't only want a nice landscape to look at, I don't want to paint a cheesy one. This afternoon I came back to it however, and tonight I discovered it was starting to look like something, that it was going somewhere. How painful, but wonderful hours I spent. This painting, if it does end up being nice, will have a special value for me, since it will have required much more effort pulling things from inside of me. I worked with my current favorite painting music"Le mystère des voix Bulgares", and that music alone lifts me up. Sometimes between that and the painful process of trying to create something from within, I'd feel like crying, the type of tears that come as a blessing. So I'd work for a while, then go in the garden, then come back. Till exhaustion, which I think is now. I need to let this thing sit and simmer for a while. How exciting to do something different!

Dog fight

"10.15am: Dog fight on 600 block south 4th St. Reporting party said aggressive dog attacked and injured his dog."

That's what they say, in the police report. "aggressive dog". Aggressive, me? The truth of the matter is, that bastard, my neighbor, has been peeing on my private property for months. I tried to talk to him, several times, told him he couldn't possibly keep on doing that, that it was an infringement on my privacy, that it was blatant misdeameanor, and lack of respect for me. Notwithstanding it drives my "master "crazy. And believe me, I'm in charge on this property, and I'm under pressure to keep my job as a watchdog. That's a function it took me months to assert and show my master I was capable of, quite an education I had to put him through to convince him I was the one for the job.
So my job was at stake here, you get it, so I talked to this guy my neighbor over and over, to no avail. I then issued several warnings to him, produced my best threatening growl,to make it clear I was not to allow anybody to do this on my grounds, that it was enough. Now this is not all. This arrogant loulou dog also committed the unforgivable when he started shamelessly courting my girlfriend right in front of my eyes. And you know what? she, treacherous little thing, was all beside herself and started giving him velvet looks, the velvet looks I thought were reserved for me, she was now giving them to him! You should have seen her, trotting on the sidewalk in front of his yard, swinging her hips like a showdog at a fashion show. Then of course he started dating her. She'd leave without saying where she was going, but I soon discovered where she was headed. They were seeing each other at the beach, how conventional and deja vu, this guy has no imagination. But of course it worked, those gals, that's all they want, romance.
So what do you say now, huh? What would you do in my situation? Wouldn't you go and knock the bastard out?

Busy bee

Stealing a few minutes at the end of a busy day, while listening to a gypsy music CD... Woke up before 6am for 2 phone conference call interpreting with France. Invoiced calls.Then finally started catching up with a few administrative tasks such as my WA state taxes. I did it! Cleaned my office and workshop. That took me a while...
Cleaned the leaves off our boats and on the dock.A lost battle in this season, you'd say, but a necessary one. Washed the RV. That thing looked really trashy and needed TLC... Prepared the files for our boats insurance... Raked the leaves in my garden. That took a while too...
Finally brought some munchies and a glass of white wine from the boat to the garden, since the weather was so mild it felt like summer. Sat in the garden and enjoyed it there. Saw some geese starting to arrive in the valley. It was good to see those companions back. While in the garden, I heard a bald eagle, though I couldn't spot him. Since the trees have lost some leaves, I can see more of the evening light through. I LOVE that.
Tomorrow is gonna be busy too: Waking up at 5 am for another conference call.Laundry. Food shopping. Keep catching up with my business administrative tasks, such as bidding on jobs.
And in the evening, open no mike at the cafe, I heard from Ed that we're supposed to have a meeting to try and define what we want it to be. Good idea. So no musical instruments, more talk. Good!

Sun-day

Today we had 4 blue jays on the bird feeder on the dock. Those guys are pretty talkative. Even Mr.B doesn't approach them.
The Sun part of it eventually showed up as we were back from the dog wash. The 2 mutts needed it badly. Eddie washed Mr.B and I took care of Gonzalo, a.k.a "Goat". So we washed them and gave them a haircut.. It was high time, otherwise they were ready to be placed on a public thoroughfare with a cardboard sign and a hat. They sure would have provided us with a substantial additional income, since people generally tend to care more for dogs than for humans...
So I cut-or tried to cut- Gonzalo's hair. The whiner whined and wriggled so much it ended up with a 2 gin & tonic haircut- without the gin and tonic, that's no fun-
Gonzalo is a neurotic dog, and as he's ageing he's getting worse. I told Eddie he should take him to a dog whisperer. No kidding. So next time I'll take Mr.B - our star untamed Westy- and I'll let Eddie deal with the rat that thinks he's a dog- for that's Gonzalo's problem-
Imagine, you're a rat and all your life you're trying to be a dog. That would drive anybody nuts. Moreover, Gonzalo is a frustrated homosexual, he's homo, I've seen him trying desperately to shag Mr.B. Besides, the poor creature has never had the opportunity to exercise his sex life, since he was operated. Castrated. That's another cruelty that should be abolished. Castrating cats and dogs. I mean, what right do we have, we so called superior humans, to inflict that to our pets? Tell me, guys, how would you like it if we decided- for your own good(?)-to castrate you? Think about it, I'm serious. The right to have a sex life should be written among the inalienable rights of our pets.
...............................
So when we came back the sun was out and we made potatoes and bacon on the BBQ on the dock.That's life.Then I had a nap on the Walela. I watched the golden light on the river and trees. Leaves are starting to turn golden or red on the opposite bank. I saw a couple of dead trees standing out, no leaves, white bark. Then I fell asleep. Dreamt, oh, dreamt.Dreamt awake, then dreamt in my sleep. Those dreams I won't tell about, they belong only to me.
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I woke up, had a coffee and a cigarette on the dock. Leila decided to make some "crêpes", so we went to the little market to get butter and milk. Had fun in the car listening to French songs. The light was awesome on Mann Road.
..................................
Big logs are starting to come by more often on the river. A couple of days ago a huge one got stuck under the end of the dock, the other extremity under Mick's little boat. We had to call Nath, it took the 3 of us to dislodge the monster. It's high time I took care of our boats insurance.
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I wanted to do things today, finish a painting, write. Ended up taking it easy. The nap was a very good idea. As I'm sitting on my bed, watching the river going backwards and writing, I think it's good I didn't do anything more, good to slow down. I need to "gather myself" anyway: I have paintings that need to simmer for a while, I have to let my thoughts drift for a while, and let go with the "what to do's", "how to do it's", and "I have to do's". Also allow feelings to slow down for a while, -that's the tough part- just let them be.
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Leila is now making the crêpes. Mmmmm... smells good of France.
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The sun has now set, and I'm writing on the dock while there is still enough light, with a glass of white wine. Leila's piling up the crêpes, flavored with rhum, and the 2 of us are having French music. The opposite shore and the river look like a Dutch painting, and it's slack tide. A slight breeze is fluffing the trees, I like the sound of it. Watching these little nature happenings does pacify me. The river is so flat now, a perfect mirror. "Let it be!" she tells me. "Let it be!"
Beware of the Skagit river. She's powerful. She called me from Paris. Then the first thing she did 3 years ago when I settled here was to show me her worst -the flood- as if to make sure I wanted to stay- I accepted. I don't care when it gurgles furiously, even then I like her. Sometimes when it reaches flood stage and gurgles, on the boat it feels like you're inside a washing machine. All night. I learned to listen to her, and to follow her schedule. Away from over stimulation, she reminds me of what is really important, and makes me more humble, and more thankful.
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Tomorrow is gonna be laundry day. No, away, parasite thought!
Today, now, the night is falling: colors are almost gone, everything turning into shadowy ghostly shapes.
...............................
The moon is out and coyotes are howling. Good night.

I like the way this day has worked on me.

Morning sights and thoughts

The first thing I saw this morning upon opening my eyes onto the day world was the river, an extremely low tide that is now a daily occurence, revealing all the underworld at the bottom of the river, the soft mud, the boat wrecks sitting at the bottom, the turquoise glacial water,the logs and tree trunks lying there, huge ghostly shapes standing to remind us of the last time the river got really wild, in 2003. Trees on the other side of the river, particularly that huge cedar, which I like more than the others because it's probably been there for ages. It must have seen quite a few things here on the river. Now you tell me that's what I see every day when I wake up, but no I don't get tired of it, because it's the same without ever being the same.Nature is like us humans, it has its changing moods. Upon opening my eyes, seeing those morning companions draws me a smile. I like to stay a while looking at them. This morning I had an instinctive reaction, I got up to pick up my camera, and went back to bed with it. I shot a few pictures. I didn't try to make nice shots, I just shot what I saw from my bed, from whatever angle I was in. Then I stepped out on the dock, walked to the very end of it and took a few shots of the morning fog. In black and white. Maybe that would show the essence of it, without the distraction caused by the colors.
I am more drawn to taking instinctive, unplanned shots lately, maybe because light and colors are getting more subtle, veiled, and trying to make it better than what it is would spoil it. I'm also myself in a very epidermic, receptive mood, and that changes the way you look at things, and also the way you react to them. I think less about what I'm doing, and it will probably be a good thing for creativity.
Good morning.

Slam in Paris, Slam at Gretchen's

I just read another article in Le Monde about the slam phenomenon (reading poetry aloud in bars or community buildings) in France, particularly in main towns such as Paris, Marseilles, Bordeaux, and in suburban areas.
We know that Slam originally appeared in Chicago in the 80's and became successful in NYC in the 90's, to start in Paris in the mid 90's.
What this article stresses first is the alchemy that takes place in slam sessions that makes people who'd never known each other or never talked to each other otherwise communicate and share, and the incredible variety of people that go to these sessions. All social classes, all profiles.
The other point is that slam is now so successful in France , especially after having been depleted of its competitive aspect,(so American) that it is now crossing the borders of the genres, and it's not uncommon to see slammers and musicians doing things together.- that reminds me of cafe culture's open no mike -
Moreover, many slammers have now ended up as renowned artists, or spread their activity to volunteer work in hospitals, for example. Some rappers also resource themselves in slam.
"What urgency pushes a growing audience to come to listen and express themselves there? -In a society that is more and more driven by disembodied means of communication and speed, people find there a means to have a real break and to share a real access to speech"says Fabien Marsaud, aka "Grand corps malade"(Big sick body, an alias he adopted after an accident that left him half paralyzed), a successful Parisian musician, singer, poet, and ambassador of the movement,originally from a suburban area,who also presides slam sessions. His great bass voice and his lyrics inspired many people to go attend slam sessions.
Local authorities in suburban areas are now hiring slammers to talk to youngsters in disadvantaged neighborhoods.
Well here in our little town America in the Pacific Northwest we have something like that going on at the cafe's open no mike, with the same magic alchemy going on. Thanks to Gretchen, who made this place what it is. We love you Gretchen. And thanks to "MC Roberto!", who presides the sessions. (I here provide a link to his blog, where he sometimes reports on our open no mikes)
For those who read French, here is a link to the article:
http://www.lemonde.fr/web/article/0,1-0@2-3246,36-818553@51-818728,0.html

Towards the creation of a fence along the Mexican border

I knew it was a bad idea to read the press in the evening. I just went through the French papers online, and read an article about the massive approval by the US senate of the construction of a fence more than 1000 kms long along the Mexican border "to fight illegal immigration". 80 votes against 19. And the construction of the fence is gonna cost 1.2 billion dollars. Alleluya. Taxpayers money. This is what they're doing with your money. That tells you you got 80 old farts at the senate who are:
1) senile enough to believe this measure is gonna curb illegal immigration.
2) maintaining in this country an atmosphere of fear of the new immigrants, who are, everybody knows that, a threat to this country...definitely they have a short memory, and they forgot who they are.
3) illegally preventing people from the right to free circulation.
And therefore, I tell you, we are in trouble. This should be more than enough for both people of Mexico and the US to take to the streets to claim their right to free circulation.
Tell me, what are these people fed of, that have elected (?) such an administration to lead them, Prozac? Quit the pink pill, and DO NOT VOTE, if it is to reach this result!
That was in the series "we're living in a wonderful world".

I5 North

The ride to Bellingham from Mount Vernon. One of my top local favorites. Once you pass Alger, this is one of the most beautiful scenic highways I know of. Chuckanut drive is another one,but it's more shady and woodsy, though it does have that incredible view on the bay. But this is the highway, and it is so breathtaking. I hadn't been there for a while and I enjoyed it all today. Fall colors are barely starting to show, still very subtle, and the pinacle is when you approcah Samish lake. What a debauchery of space and green. And these foggy athmospheric shrouds wrapping the mountains. Nothing compares to that in terms of the kind of exhilarating sensation it brings.

Friends

No, this is not a review of you know what. We just had some friends coming back from a European trip visiting us today, and that felt really good. I realized I had missed them. The weather was pretty decent, so we nibbled on the dock and had good home made wine brought by another friend of mine to go with it. Spent a few hours like that till it started getting chilly, then we all went inside the boat and went on, the nibbling turned into appetizers and we drank all the wine. Good Lord! or "thanks little Jesus" as we say in French. Life is good.
Earlier on I made a ride to Bellingham to take off my art work from the gallery and found out I sold a third piece there, one of my favorites. Pretty good for a first show ever. I'll be back there in December for a group show, and maybe another one in 2007.

Open letter to my daughter for her 18th Bday

On September 26th, 18 years ago, at 7pm French time, in a little hospital in Normandy, after 20 hours of labor -yes,20hours- that were supposed to be relatively easy -the midwife had told me that my pelvis area was as wide as a boulevard, and that therefore there shouldn't be any difficulty giving birth. A boulevard, my foot! I think the truth of the matter is that I did have a relatively large pelvis, due to my Mediterranean origins, but that the midwife, by so admiring my so called ideal anatomy for childbirth, in fact gave me "the bad eye"as we say in Tunisia, by not using the protective formula always to follow a compliment. Therefore, thanks to that bitch, when labor started, it seems that my pelvis had inexplicably shrinked! The baby was not in cause, she was a regular 3.1Kg little thing. However that child came when she was ready. -And she still does so when she has something scheduled-
Today she's gonna be eighteen.She's beautiful, clever, funny, and a talented photographer. She wanted a tattoo for her Bday- how original - it seems that everybody in this country, including over 40 mums and dads, have their body covered with those things. So she'll have her tattoo. But I felt like writing something for her today.
My daughter,
I can't believe it's 18 years, it feels like yesterday to me. No, that is so déjà vu.
-Sorry Honey, I haven't written love letters for a while. But I wanted to tell you, besides Happy Birthday, that you are the best thing that ever happenned to me. I hope it is the best thing that also happenned to you, I mean to be given birth. For that is what it is supposed to be, that we women have the so-called priviledge to do: Give life.The gift of life. Oh, no,now that sounds like one of those pro-life billboards .
-Sorry Honey, it's a long time I haven't written a love letter.
So yes I've tried my best to make you feel welcome in this world, protecting you, guiding you as I thought best for you, though for sure it has not always been perfect, but perfection is not of this world. Now I'm still doing so, though the nature of that guidance has somewhat changed, for I need to help you grow as an independant woman, because I'm aware that one day you'll have to, or you will want, to fly with your own wings. This can be difficult, you will experience that many times in your life, like all of us, but as I told you many times, my daughter, do not be afraid of living, for fear is your worst enemy. Fear holds people back and keeps them from doing what they want or dream of, turning them into embittered beings whose life is nothing but regrets and what if's. So learn how to protect yourself, but don't be afraid, my daughter, for this life, though paved with difficulties and challenges, is also a wonderful discovery. Be also patient, for sometimes one has to wait for things to be in place in this life. Haste can cause serious, long lasting inconvenients. So be curious, learn everything you can, and enjoy and cherish your loved ones, for life is too short - I know, this one is a re-warmed dish- but it is true. You have only one life, enjoy it, you have only one body and one mind, take care of them!
Because I love you so much Honey, I would like you to grow into a solid, independant, free woman. Financially independant.(the obsession of all parents). A free and critical spirit.(so as not to be screwed all the time by our politicians,your boss,and your lovers, and all the pusharounds, and the list is not exhaustive).Grounded (One can still hope!).Proud of who you are. Generous. Following your true call. Loving.
Happy Birthday Leila. I love you.

A kick in the butt...

...that's all I needed as I was again starting to slip into moodiness. Had an emergency call for interpreting at the hospital at the critical care unit. That kind of puts back everything in its place. Turned out it was somebody I knew. That brought back some memories of last year in Gallup right away (see 4 days & 4 nights in Gallup...post). Had to put that somewhere at the back of my brain, though, since I was needed there to interpret. Nothing more. I was glad to leave the hospital though, and also felt better because it was a day when I was helpful to someone.

Finding a quiet nook on Oyster run Sunday?

Between the games and the Oyster run, where can you find peace, or the possibility to do something else without the echoes of all that racket? Fled from home to escape the games, and now I'm at the cafe,where of course you can hear it too, kicking back, "peeling the papers" as we say in French. Making the best of it. It's hot again, a genuine summer day. The little town of La Conner is at its worst. No parking space, too many people, too many SUV's, too many Harleys. Those things are quite a sight, too bad they're so obnoxious. I could have gone back to the beach, but figured on a Sunday that would be crowded too, with noisy families and kids. Families dragging kids with ice creams. Bleurk. All these people that move only in packs. It always appeared strange to me how people like to be on top of each other-no pun intended-especially here where there is such a debauchery of space available.
This is one of those unproductive, in limbo days for me. Don't feel like doing anything. Ruminating,on the verge of grumpiness. I also believe these breaks are sometimes necessary, so I just let it be.

Yahoos season is in

That's it. Yesterday I could hear distant shooting, and I've seen the birds coming in formation for a couple of days now. This morning as I was having coffee I heard a flock of birds and saw them as I stepped out on the dock flying over the river. I'm always pleased to see them back, that cheers me up like the visit of an old friend. It is the "youth only season" starting today, that is junior yahoos -less than 16 years of age- go around here mentored by an adult to train their hunting skills. Which means you'd better stay out of the wildlife area, man, that's a scary thought! I remember my first season here and how strange it was for me to meet some of our neighbors with rifles and all the paraphernalia that goes with it. The funniest thing for me was to see those hunters' boats passing in front of us in the morning with all their camouflage, sometimes so sophisticated it made them look like they were heading for a re-enactment of Dien Bien Phu. I took snapshots and sent to my folks in France who got a kick out of it. I'm voluntarily staying on the anecdotical point of view on this one, because if I start on gun culture so early I'll elevate my blood pressure . No good.
To be on a more positive note, the morning light is full of promises today and it's gonna be warmer. That means I can weedwack my garden. Plenty of things to do here, which is what I need. Being busy outdoors.
I'll probably end the day with the opening at the cafe, if I'm in the mood for it. There are 3 artists this time, none of them I think I know.

Hiding places

This afternoon I was becoming moody so I went to Rosario beach, near Deception Pass . It was the only thing I could think of to try to shake it off. It's also one of my favorite hiding places, where I usually go on my own, whenever I need to be with myself, or if even my own company becomes a burden, just to be there and allow nature to do its work. It works as well as a therapy or a relaxation session, and it's free. No guru, just me, my demons and mother nature to pacify them. On my way to the beach I saw a dead racoon on the road, it was on its back, with its mouth wide open, obviously hit by a vehicle. That made me feel like crying. Once at Rosario I picked up my camera and on the beach I just sat on a log and watched and smelled. Iodine. One of my top favorite smells. Reminds me of Tunisia. I was bred by the sea. I used to spend my days, if not my evenings, at the beach. That does leave a print on you. I watched. The gentle,perfectly transparent ebb and flow over a bed of multicolored rocks and pebbles. A squirrel nibbling and playing on the log next to me. I can come anytime, it's never disappointing. It made me wish I could retreat in my crab shell like this till I'd be ready to socialize again. I may need to come back, bring my pastels and stay longer. I'm starting to think again, that I should do something to stop being a sponge, absorbing everything around me. I need to protect myself. That's a good one,but it's too late. What am I to do with this?

4 days and 4 nights in Gallup,NM, Indian hospital

How to write about this? It is dawn and I'm soon going to have to leave my friend and this time I know I'll never see her again it's amazing how destructive untold unhappiness can be she's as yellow as a quince her face all swollen her days and nights are only ordeal now, dealing with the pain but death is an unforgiving adversary I won't be able to give her her bath today nor to massage her feet since I have to leave early what am I gonna tell her when I leave what can you tell your best friend when you both know this to be the last encounter and you both know she's going somewhere she'll never come back from? my body and mind are heavy with the burden of seeing her suffering and of seeing all the suffering and the misery encapsulated in this hospital lots of it because of the agua caliente the white man had the satanic genious to offer these people now she's awakening and I have to tell her my friend I have to leave now please fight for your life I want to see you again how can I say such a stupid thing and for the first time ever I see tears rolling down her cheeks that is all she can do too weak to say anything goodbye my friend I love you and I leave the room and step out in the still half lit corridor with a torrent of tears I cannot hold back goodbye my friend Hagoo'ne.

What my eyes saw...

Yesterday the trees began their yearly fall dance, shaking their leaves off. It was good to sit outside and hear the wind in the cottonwoods again. The new season coming in seems to be paralleled with a new season in me as well.Even more so than the previous years. I think I really learnt to appreciate fall and winter time here in the Pacific Northwest. Who said the fall was sad? I think it's exciting. The air is not dormant any more, it is alive, constantly moving and changing. Today I awoke on a good solid rainshower on the river, that was so beautiful, and peaceful. The sun soon broke out again, for the rest of the day. I like the smell of new rain on the earth. Another thing that makes life worth living. This afternoon as I was giving a French lesson on the dock, the blue heron flew right in front of us, and settled on its usual log on the other side. No bird equals this guy for the beauty of its flight. Not even the eagle.

How you know you're alive...

...when in the course of a busy life, -for even here, living as close as can be to nature with the river right beneath my feet- even here days are only 24 hours and life is too short to accomplish and enjoy all of it. So when in the course of my quiet-busy life on the river I feel the boat rocking, or the rain on the roof at night - what a soothing sound- I know I'm alive and it feels good. I know I'm alive when I wake up and the first thing I see as I open my eyes is the river.I know I'm alive when I smell coffee. I also know I'm alive when those confusing things creep in, that people call feelings.

Praise to the little things...

...that made my day:
Having lunch at the Rexville, pick up a newspaper and head for the cafe, browse through the news and discuss them with people there. Sitting in the September sun with a good coffee and a cigarette, and people I like. Just taking in the just warm enough sun and the gentle breeze.On the way back, driving in the valley between La Conner and Fir Island. Stopping to take some shots of the athmospheric happenings. Being back in my workshop painting with natural light while listening to music. Stepping back after a while realizing I'm improving my skills. Having a break in the garden with a glass of wine and some munchies. Writing on this blog trying to improve my English.

The epileptic cat

Moustique. That's her name.How it happenned is all my fault. That was three years ago when I moved to this country. Moustique was a Parisian cat living in a trendy-artsy neighborhood of Paris, rue Oberkampf, near the Bastille, monument to the French revolution erected where the Bastille prison used to stand, and near the huge, solemn Père Lachaise cemetery, where many poets, writers, and other celebrities now rest more or less in peace. Some of them less than more, as Jim Morrisson, visited daily by hords of Japanese tourists and cadaveric looking, nostalgic youngsters.You find all sorts of offerings left by them on his grave: flowers, messages, bottles of alcohol, and even joints. I once took my Navajo friend there to visit his grave, during her visit to Paris, and she had me promise I'd never tell her father, since approaching the dead is a Navajo taboo. But let's go back to Moustique. So we were in Amsterdam Shiphol airport, on our way to catch our flight to the US, having one last real coffee,(no offense meant) when Moustique's cage started jumping around furiously, scaring the hell out of me, my daughter, and attracting to us suspicious looks from fellow travellers around.- It wasn't long before the authorities came to circumvent the suspicious baggage- What was the matter with that cat? rabies? no, she had all her shots done. So what? after a few minutes of this scary scene that could have been taken right out of a horror movie, "The Exorcat" or something similar, the beast -for that's what she had turned into- suddenly lay rigid in her cage, inconscious and foaming at her mouth.The airport vets quarantine the beast till they figure out if she can safely be sent to the US. Just in case it would reveal to be a WMD. That meant a couple of days spent visiting Amsterdam till things cleared out. We had an avant-goût of our future life on the Skagit river with the unavoidable boat ride among the canals.It turned out Moustique had had too much calming medication before the flight and was dehydrated, which had provoked an epileptic seizure. Rule number one, dixit the airport vet: Never, ever, give your pet anything to calm it before a flight. OK, doc, but when can we leave? -The wicked rascal of a beast was now perfectly fine, as sweet as ever - I could just almost hear her little voice "I don't wanna go to America's wild West" "they'll make us go to church!". That was the act of passive resistance of the French kitty against moving to Dubya country. Mind you, since then, she has perfectly adapted to her new life on the Skagit river, in spite of the crazy idea her mistress had to make her live on a boat. What? here? you want me, a cat, to live on the water? are you nuts? ça va pas, non?! And the cherry on the cake, is that she has to co-exist with two dogs, one of which spends his time waiting for her to sneak out to chase her.So Moustique had her second act of rebellion, she disappeared two winters in a row, surviving all the scoundrels of the dike, from raccoons and coyotes to eagles, to reappear in spring. Now she has found her ways, sneaking out of my daughter's boat late at night, when our dogs are asleep, and coming back on the dock at dawn, often with some valuable prizes such as mice or birds, that she delicately deposits on the porch of my daughter's boat, if not inside.Now that's love. Americans didn't make me go to church, but they sure taught her how to hunt. The only unhappy one is Mr.B, our Westy, who waits for his Dulcinea for hours in front of her boat, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The sounds he emits while waiting for her are heartbreaking. Mr.B is in love with Moustique, the problem is she doesn't want him. He drools at the mere sight of her, and the wicked kitty sometimes teases him, miaou, miaou! now that drives him nuts. Rule number two: don't try to marry a Parisian Kitty with a West Highland terrier.

Reconnecting...

... with the river. I've had guests from France for over a month now, and today my second friend Beki left. Here's her blog, where she made a thorough and lively account of her vacation here: http://aparisianlife.blogspot.com/2006_09_01_archive.html
But back on the river I enjoyed reconnecting with the river and with the nature on shore. As soon as I was on the gangway I took in the Skagit in all its splendor, more beautiful even than in full summer season, with that milky turquoise hue, so peaceful and refreshing. And a perfect blend of just enough heat and breeze to make you feel you're in heaven.No kidding. I am frustrated by my not having the accuracy of language to describe it the way I see it, and that's why I'm better at using paint, or photography.
It was a peaceful afternoon, not having to go anywhere,just drinking it all. The garden on shore needed tender love and care,which is the only thing I was up to today. How good it was to have the time to look at things! and smell them! I picked some cherry tomatoes, a zucchini, and some lemon cukes.
Then I made a grilled pepper salad, Tunisian recipe. I love the smell of bell peppers on the grill. One of those things that make life worth living.
Then enjoying that dinner in the garden, with a glass of wine, oh, boy!
You can feel thefall creeping in, sunset colors have changed, I had forgotten how subtle it can be: today the sky by Wiley road was green at dusk.

Personal profile.

I am a transplant. An accident of life (a good one) brought me from my two bedroom appartment in Paris,France, to a liveaboard life on the Skagit river. The river called me, and I answered the call. Three years have passed now, and it's still an ongoing experience. I've had several lives already, Ballet teacher,dancer,choreographer,language teacher, and I am now trying to make a living as a freelance translator, and also as an artist. I am born from an eclectic family of teachers, artists, journalists,from France and from Tunisia. Hence the multicultural education, and I suspect the propensity to explore and adapt to new environments. French and Arabic are my native languages, and English is now my work language as well as my main communication toolbox. I'm trying to put better tools in it by writing.