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.