Back. Dressed properly for once, made a small effort, even bought a pair of trendy black shoes for 6 euros on the market, painful still but decent. Dinned, danced, drank with all of my "past". Managed to go to a "House" night on a boat with max, BATOFAR ,got invited to the wedding of my oldest friend in June, visited all of my friends kids, including Noemie, my favourite, a little monster of 4, thirsty for knowledge, asking endless questions, why is the pond dark? what is mud? where does it come from? and for last attended two shows. Theater is what I miss the most since I left Paris for good.
The first was by Luchini, a french actor I admire for his capacity to articulate texts and his witty humor. He read texts from Rimbaud, verlaine, Rolland Barthes, La Fontaine, Valery with such passion and played with it. A magical moment, where the crowd spent 2 hours involved in this act, even talking, laughing or concentrating on understanding the true meaning behind the words. Anecdotes of his own adventures punctuated the show with breathers, for us to relax. His culture and wit is so intense, he dazzles you.
The second was with Boujenah Les nouveaux magnifiques, A jew from Tunis, "Pied-noir" like my mother. he wrote les magnifiques 20 years ago and I have the memory , me 9 years old sitting in the orange and green kitchen listening on the radio to his show while eating lunch with my mother. His accent is the same then my grand-parents and he brought in this past I have never been part of, only by heart, , an ethnie with no country, only their stories to pass onto their children. It was delicious to laugh with him, see him lose track of his jokes because he got involved with the crowd too much, calling us names, yet still getting a social viewpoint of our modern society and integration across. I was 9 years old again, a broad smile on my face.
Then the last day visited my favourite second hand bookstores in Saint Michel quarters and bought for 60 euros worth, 28 books, mixtures of old fiction classics from the early 20th century like francoise Mallet-Jorris, a study on theaters, the go player, Alice Steinbach, varied environmental rumblings, short countryside and chinese stories to inspire me, A study on Francophonie and Francophones, A lecture from a journalist on katmandu cultural traits and the rest is a blurr but all in French.
Now that I am back, guests are also here, french family, and the house cat is landing on tuesday...I dream of long stretches of barren minutes, feet sinking in sand, toes wringling, skin skimpily clad under the sun, a wave battering my leg, licking me with it's wet tongue while I " nonchalamment" sink into a sweet "torpeur"...e-mails stay unopened, I might be more than a month late answering anyone...I barely touch a computer. I take care of the guests, my guests.
There is not enough hours in the day to accomplish what I have and wish to do...so I wait for the coming tides, foggy mornings, damp and wet where the sun will not shine as bright, the grass will leave a sour smell and with a nice cup of green tea and fresh juices I will at last answer you dear friends...
In the meantime HAPPY EASTER...to U all
Drove to the local butcher to buy a barbarie duck and fresh eggs, then went to the movie to watch "La vie en rose" in Groningen. French film retracing the life of Edith Piaf, La mome, by Olivier Dahan. La Mome needs to be seen to be believed, for it unexpectedly floors all other musical biopics