Monday, July 30, 2007

Stretching out time

That damn civilized notion, Time. Well this is the heart of the summer, and time almost doesn't exist anymore. Number one, as I'm off my main job for the summer, no schedule but my own, I'm having a hard time figuring out what day of the month we are, if not what day of the week. And it feels good. Does it matter? No. It's 7pm, which I know only because I glanced at the bottom right hand corner of my laptop, since I don't wear a watch during my summer break, and it still feels like 4pm, siesta time. Sitting out in the garden here, enjoying how green it has become, thanks to the healthy alternance of rain and sun we've had in late spring and early summer, I'm listening to the breeze in the trees, the birds, the wind chime, the occasional cries of neighbor's kids playing in the distance, and I delight in watching the playful effects of sunlight and shade on everything. So days are endless, you can actually accomplish a lot at your own pace, and nights are short, very short, but so beautiful. A couple of nights ago I was awakened at 2 am by a pack of coyotes howling like crazy, which lasted for about half an hour, and then it took me till dawn to get back to sleep. But it didn't matter. No schedule, remember? Yesterday night, in spite of the accumulated tiredness, I went to sleep pretty late, since from my bed around midnight I saw the moon rise over the trees, surrounded with a halo of clouds, and it was so soothing to watch these clouds change shape as they moved along, and listen to the summer breeze and the water on the river. And I thought once more of how fortunate I was, how many people can watch this from their bed? Living in an environment like this one can make up for anything, and cure just about anything. And thus help you get along and go forward. I'm so glad I left Paris!

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Nenni, nenni...

... Nenni, nenni, Allah, Allah, jaake'noom... I had a very busy father. A journalist, political activist, and an artist, but he never failed in being there for me. No matter how tired he was, or how late it was, when he came home, he'd come by my bed and lullaby me to sleep. Always the same song, passed along by my grandmother Mahbouba, bless her soul, and he'd sing that song indefinitely,while gently patting my back at the same pace as my heart beat, till I fell asleep... He never failed to do so, no matter what. I had my mum during the day, but in the evening, he would lullaby me to sleep, even in my early teenage. No wonder no man can compare to him, "Allo,Sigmund?!"

Heat memories

The current heat brought back to me some memories from Tunisia. Tunisian nights. Staying up late, because of the heat, going to bed only when it starts cooling down a bit, all windows open, with a mosquito screen, and the heat was so intense and wet that you could barely stand the sheet on your skin. Then in the dark, to forget the heat as well as to lullaby each other, my cousins and me would tell each other stories, we'd tell stories, real or imagined, till we finally, one after the other, fell asleep. That was open no mike, or Slam, before it was fashionable.

And The River runs through it...

... The Skagit of course. Started my day by it, ended it by it. Another very hot day, I decided to attack boat scrubbing. We have two houseboats, so that can take quite a while to do both. I started today scrubbing and washing the Lady K, the wooden boat. I started with that one because it's the one that requires more work. But today was the day. Around 10 I started, and spent several hours on it. Once I'm on it, I LOVE boat scrubbing. You got to have the right weather for that. Since the heat was early, I saw no better way to cool off than fooling around with the deck brush and the water hose. Oh, the infinite pleasure of brushing off all that slime! I had forgotten how cute that boat is, when it's clean. Every now and then I'd hose myself to cool off, and I'd wet my hat to keep my head cool. What is it that humans like so much to play with water? As far as I'm concerned, it dates back from my childhood and teenage years in Tunisia, where the heat was so intense in summer, that back from the beach where I spent most of my day, I'd have a cool shower and that was a taste of pure paradise, the coooool shower in that concrete floored bathroom, with the window opened on to the sea. In my dad's family we're all "bent el'bhar", sons/daughters of the sea. I had an uncle there, uncle Mohsen, peace to his soul, who at the age of 80 still swam several miles in the Mediterranean daily, and we'd sometimes accompany him. He'd do it every day and if for some reason he couldn't, he felt bad, if not sick. That was his food: the sea. At 80, he had a very lean, but muscular, body, and he was as tanned as an old piece of leather. He'd go for his long, slow swim, summer and winter, no matter what the weather was like. My dad, even though he'd lived in France for so many years, was also a very good swimmer, even in his old age. He also had that very slow, beautiful swim.
Now I have one problem here: the Skagit river is SO cold, impossible to swim in it. Last year I did dip in it for a few seconds, and could not safely stay in, unless I wanted to end up on the frozen food shelves of the local market. VERY frustrating. When I went gunkholing I experienced that frustration too, the water was so nice, but too cold to swim in.
So I was content today to dip my legs in the river-briefly- and hose myself like a child would.
Then I went on shore to water the garden, and played with the hose again. Oh, the tonic splash of cold water on the legs! Then when time came to sit and read with an aperitif, it was still too hot, so I came back down the gangway to the dock, where it was shady and cooler, though still hot. Again today I sat, this time on the cool dock by the river, with my book, and would stop every now and then to listen to the endless concert of the birds. This time of year the Skagit is like the Amazon: Lots of green, thick green screening, and hundreds of birds all singing different songs. The river has taken its turquoise summer hue, and after all the steady snowmelt, it is now a slow, quiet flow. This is an enclave, a hidden Paradise, and I never forget it. No neighbors (a part fom our landlord, on shore). No intrusions: You got to know there is a marina here, and you'd still have to find it. No neighbors but the trees, birds, beavers, seals, river rats, and other critters. This is my Walden Pond.

Epicurian evening

Three days in a row I have finally found my summer pace. The climate has helped a lot: we're having a long dry spell, an unprecedented heat, the kind that forces you to slow down. So I found the right pace, one thing at a time, including time for myself and by myself. After spending much time in the garden yesterday in spite of the heat, carefully and slowly tending it, I decided to stop to enjoy it. So I set myself on my bench under the arbor with some French dry goat cheese I found at the coop, some crackers, pickles, and a cool glass of white wine. I delected in that treat, mouthful by mouthful, rinsing the cheese every now and then with wine, then I slowly rolled myself a cigarette of my favorite tobacco, and looked at the garden, still wet, as I had to water it several times. Looked at the work accomplished, and pondered about the one remaining to be done, not in a frantic, overwrought way, but as a constructive, creative, anticipative pleasure. Butterflies, hummingbirds, and bugs of all kinds were at a feast. Everything was suspended, as if time had stopped, indefinitely prolonging siesta time. I picked up a book and lied down onthe bench to read,with cushions in my back. People say the good times always pass too fast, it's not always true. That evening, as most these days, -it's that time of the year-, are endless. Time is not an obsession any more. You just live the moment, and you're glad it's infinite.

Friday, July 06, 2007

What do you dream of?

It's strange how your environment can tremendously influence your dreams. I was trying to remember what I used to dream about back in Paris, and I can't remember most of them precisely, but they were definitely tainted with urban life and anxieties. And I had nightmares. I still have 1 or 2 of those anxiety dreams coming every now and then, like the back to school (almost) nightmare - I say almost nightmare, because I loved high school and it was a happy time for me: I loved philosophy, history, French, and language classes, and hated maths. And if I skipped a few classes, (which valued me this observation of my favorite philosophy teacher on my grade report: "Annabelle is very spiritual when she graces us with one of her rare mundane visits". Absolutely true: I loved her classes, and if I did skip a few classes, it's because I had important business to attend to, such as preparing a demonstration, attending a meeting, or just being at the cafe accross the street with my friends, playing flipper or babyfoot... As to the math classes, curiously enough I didn't skip them, as they were dedicated to two important activities for me: playing morpion with my neighbor, or, most of the time, reading the daily newspapers, (Liberation, Le Monde, or Le Monde Libertaire, an anarchist paper) which my maths teacher pretended not to see, since I finally had him admit I was a lost cause. He tried hard, one day, as he was handing me back a test for which I was graded something like 1.5 over 20, he asked why I didn't even try to cheat like normal people do. I told him I was not interested. So, in this dream I am back to school, and I do exactly the same mistakes that I did in twelfth grade: I skip some classes, but in the dream I skip so many classes that for some of those I don't even dare to go back. It's almost the end of the schoolyear and there is that history class I have skipped all year and I want to go back but realize it's too late. (why the history class? I never skipped history class in my day life) Very disagreeable. But doesn't qualify either for a nightmare.
Now here on the river, I can say the anxiety dreams I have are mostly related to the floods of the river: I dream that the boat sinks, that I see a tsunami arriving faster than I can run, I dream that one of the dogs has fallen in the river (this one also happens in reality), but all of these don't really qualify for me as a nightmare either. I also dream a lot about the wildlife. I dream about seals, wolves, and bears a lot. Seals is comprehensible, since they are in our backyard. Wolves and bears are more surprising: I know we're in bear country, but not right here in the valley, huh? So I don't know why these creatures visit me often. Allo, Sigmund! I also have dreams that I call "initiatic" because of their high symbolical value and their beauty.
However to come back to the point I noticed I almost never have any nightmare since I moved here on the boat. Not anything terryfying I mean. Not the type that wakes you up yelling. Very strange dreams, but almost all are connected to the nature surrounding us.
What do you dream of?

Gunkholing...


...My latest favorite English word. "cabotage" in French. Here I admit it sounds much more exotic and mysterious in English. The word in itself is a mouthful: Gunkhoooling.
That is, cruising in shallow water and spending the nights in coves. I recently had the opportunity to go for an overnight trip with a fellow liveaboard friend of ours on his boat to Hope island. Always a wonderful experience to view your world from the water, which provides a different perspective. In Paris, it is the "bateaux mouches" (Fly boats) cruises on the Seine river. Where I live on the Skagit river I like to take the little motor boat to Skagit bay and see the wildlife there. This time I got to see La Conner from the Channel, and all that is behind it on the way out to the bay: Shelter Bay, I didn't know it extended so far, and it is well named, as I saw the indeed sheltered bay for the first time, then a rundown Robinson cabin, then a tugboat working on logjams, then the loooow tide at the mouth of the channel, and the birds, the birds, the birds, and the wake, the wake, the wake! and then out to Hope island. The hike on shore reconnected me with the best of the Northwest's wild, as usually I couldn't help collecting a few stones, small pieces of drift wood, and such treasures. The pinnacle of the trip however was to sleep on the roof of the boat, in the open air. It was a long time I hadn't done this, and that was a so peaceful night. The moon on top and everything. I woke up several times during the night and admired the reflection of the moon on the quiet waters, felt the slight breeze on my face, smelled the iodine, felt the movements of the boat, and went back to sleep more peacefully than ever, listening to the water moving, and as I was falling back asleep, I could hear a lullaby: Gunkholing, gunkhooling, gunkhoooling, gunk.......holing....gunk....holing.....holing....gunk.......holing.....