Happy Birthday


jeudi, le 25 février 2010

Today was My Mother’s 92nd birthday.

A toast to you, the most remarkable, amazing woman whom I admire so incredibly much and whom I adore.

Thank you for your love, your caring and above all, your ability to accept things you may not approve of or be able to make any sense of.

(Some music musings: My Mother’s all time favourite song: La vie en rose. ‘And I wish for you that the rest of your life be spent in a world where roses bloom and the angels sing from above for you, every day.’)

(The story in the photograph: To celebrate My Mother’s 90th birthday, I took her, L’homme, and myself off to the city I adored. At a beautiful venue overlooking the sea, we had a wonderful dinner party with family and friends.)

Sitting in Fridges


mercredi, le 24 février 2010

And there I was, sitting in the fridge, minding my own business. I’m not going to bother to tell the joke, it hardly is a joke, but I did adopt the line.

So there I was, the new year rolling over me like a tank over a poppy field and the best I could do was to maybe, and only just maybe, drag myself from the comfort of my bed to the comfort of my couch, book in hand and The Princess in tow.

I didn’t have the energy, the inclination nor the desire to start pulling myself towards myself as I’d promised myself I’d do in the new year. And I was doing even less about trying to dig us out of the messy financial hole we were left in. But I justified it all with my non-belief in new year’s resolutions.

I avoided The Princess’ questioning eyes, turned a page and promised her that the next day things would be better. ‘Things have a way of getting worse before they get worse,’ I reminded her, with a wry smile and wiping a tear, L’homme used to say.

Just over a month ago the phone rang. That in itself wasn’t really odd. The bank was phoning me daily to enquire about my plans to get my accounts in order. I evaded their questions as deftly as I did The Princess’ inquisitive eyes. This was, however, a call from My Employer. I cringed. I have been hearing that whooshing sound of deadlines somewhere in the distance, but I’ve been treating them with the same disdain as the bank’s calls and The Princess’ stares.

The meeting went the way meetings with employers go: good in a bad kind of a way. They’d been thinking, now that The Shop was no longer a part of my life, didn’t I want to spend more of my time playing with them?

I vaguely said I’d consider it. I didn’t want to seem desperate. I frantically made sums in my head. ’How much can I charge for how much of my time?’ And then the snag came. In the way that there always is a snag in a meeting with employers. I’d have to work from the office. I dug my highest heels in. Firmly. It just wasn’t possible. I couldn’t leave The Princess home alone. I badly disguised the real reason with excuses of the 21st century and remote connections and electronic communication and mumbled something about being available for the odd meeting at the office, but an eight-to-five day was just not on the cards.

The rest of the lunch discussion was about everything but work. We parted agreeing to think about our respective needs.

Back home I showed The Princess the bullet hole in my foot. I told her that I thought I may just have shot myself. But I told her I took a bullet for both of us. For my sanity and for hers.

A week or so later another call came. They’ve considered my needs. They’re desperate. The account is in such mess, I could work from Outer Mongolia if I wanted to, if I could just please find a way to work on the account. I wanted to know whether the South of France would do, but I said it sounded reasonable to me. I’d get back to them the next day.

I put the phone done and shrieked with delight. I hugged The Princess and for the first time in many, many months allowed my body to soak up the relief as it washed over me. I braced myself for the meeting over remuneration. My Employer is known to squeeze blood from a stone. I’m useless at negotiating financial reward. I’d made some sums and arrived at an amount that I would consider generous, but before I put my demand cards on the table, they announced that they would be paying me 30% more than what I had calculated. It took every ounce of restraint to smile sweetly and nod in agreement. I was sure that it was obvious how my bum was settling in the butter.

Since then the heat under the frying pan has gradually been turned up and my bum is beginning to sizzle in the butter. But I sit in the comfort of my own home, with The Princess on her Ottoman right next to me and I’m meeting deadlines, ridiculous and less so, with a deep gratitude to My Employer who, unbeknownst to them, has given me the best life line I could’ve wished for.

Not only can I feed the money hungry wolves, but it is amazing how an avalanche of deadlines can focus a wondering mind. Tonight the bank texted me to tell me that I have been richly rewarded for my sterling efforts. Tomorrow night we’re having some friends over for dinner. The Princess, The Felines and I need to celebrate that we’ll survive, for the next few months, at least!

(Some music musings: I love Paris is my current reminder to meet this week’s deadlines. On Monday I can start planning my trip in May to the most beautiful city in all the world! )

(The story in the photograph: Despite time having joined the endless list of scarce commodities in my household, I have managed to keep an odd eye or two on the Winter Olympics. I can barely believe it is four years since L’homme and I enthusiastically watched Curling in the early hours of the mornings at a time when I thought my soul’s mate was here to stay forever. Just based on their outfits, the Norwegians deserve Gold this year.)

Tonight I was asked


mardi, le 02 février 2010

How did it came about that you live in a city you so easily declare you don’t care for much?

Easy, said I.

On a Friday night, with lightning dancing on the sea that lapped the shores of the city I adored, we sat cross-legged on the balcony of my apartment. I told, the yet again unemployed L’homme, that the long-suffering company I work for, has offered me a substantial increase to move to a city I didn’t care for much. I voiced my my reservations. I knew the city they wanted me to move to. I had lived there before, I didn’t like it then. I couldn’t imagine that I would now.

Without skipping a beat, blinking an eye, or even taking a sip of wine, L’homme wrapped me in his convincing arms: ‘I’m your Ruth. For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’

I melted in the euphoric embrace of L’homme’s lie. I was comforted by the warm kisses of his deceit. I was swept away by my innocent belief. In that single moment I burnt all that was dear to me on the altar of us.

For us I phoned the removal company. For us I moved. For I was committed to us. But before the removal company arrived in the city we now called home, L'homme became Ruth to the bars, Ruth to the wine. He was where he wanted to be. He no longer needed to lodge where I lodged.

Tonight I walked to my car in the pouring rain. I defiantly raised my face to the lightning dancing in the sky. I allowed the warm kisses of the raindrops to play on my cheeks. I allowed them to disguise my maloncholy. I allowed them to give me strength.

Back home I wonder whether L’homme still has a Lamb to care for and a job to go to. Should I care? I think not. C’est la vie.

(Some music musings: I’ve never denied my devotion to his music, but I recently acknowledged my infatuation with the man who closes some of his concerts with wither thou goest.)

(The story in the photograph: I stole the photograph. I admit it. But it was that exact lightning playing on that exact sea, that night I thought that all was as it was meant to be.)

Thousand kisses deep


lundi, le 01 février 2010

Thousand kisses deep
~Leonard Cohen

You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat
You’d have to live alone to know
How good that feels how sweet
My mirror twin my next of kin
I’d know you in my sleep
And who but I would take you in
A thousand kisses deep?

I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
I’m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet
Who loved you with her frozen love
Her second-hand physique
With all she is and all she was
A thousand kisses deep

I know you had to lie to me
I know you had to cheat
To pose all hot and high behind
The veils of sheer deceit
Our perfect porn aristocrat
So elegant and cheap
I’m old but I’m still into that
A thousand kisses deep

And I’m still working with the wine
Still dancing cheek to cheek
The band is playing Auld Lang Syne
The heart will not retreat
I ran with Diz and Danté
I never had their sweep
But once or twice they let me play
A thousand kisses deep

The autumn slipped across your skin
Got something in my eye
A light that doesn’t need to live
And doesn’t need to die
A riddle in the book of love
Obscure and obsolete
Till witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep

I’m good at love I’m good at hate
It’s in between I freeze
Been working out but it’s too late
It’s been too late for years
But you look fine you really do
The pride of Boogie Street
Somebody must have died for you
A thousand kisses deep

I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
I’m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet
But you don’t need to hear me now
And every word I speak
It counts against me anyhow
A thousand kisses deep

The ponies run the girls are young
The odds are there to beat
You win a while and then it’s done
Your little winning streak
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat
You live your life as if it’s real
A thousand kisses deep

I’m turning tricks; I’m getting fixed
I’m back on Boogie Street
You lose your grip and then you slip
Into the Masterpiece
And maybe I had miles to drive
And promises to keep
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep

Confined to sex we pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me
I made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep

I’m turning tricks I’m getting fixed
I’m back on Boogie Street
I guess they won’t exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep
And sometimes when the night is slow
The wretched and the meek
We gather up our hearts and go
A Thousand Kisses Deep

And fragrant is the thought of you
The file on you complete
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep

~Leonard Cohen : Live in London


I have fallen in love with this concert. With it’s heartache, it’s pain, it’s joy, it’s delight, it’s sheer, sheer genius. With sincerest apologies to Mr Cohen, I’ve made some gender changes to his poem.

(The story in the photograph: It has been raining so much of late that everything creeping, crawling, flying or simply able to move, has moved indoors. This moth was sitting on my window, staring at the grey outside.)