A pheasant for Christmas

No, no, I don't mean as the main course of the Christmas dinner! I meant as a decoration for the Christmas tree. This picture was taken last year at my parents' place and it is of one of the birds decorations we have in the Christmas tree there. We have a whole lot: partridges, robins, blue jays, among other birds. And pheasants. Like this one. I think it is a pheasant anyway, I might be wrong. If there are amateur ornithologist among you, or even specialists, please do not hesitate to correct me. I thought about blogging about it because, until in relatively recent years, I had never seen a live pheasant. Now I notice them on my commute, by the train station. In the wild, no less. But for years, the only ones I had seen were in the branches of our Christmas tree.

Les décorations de Noël quétaines

Bon, bien, il faut bien l'admettre: le Temps des Fêtes en est aussi un de mauvais goût. Pas toujours, pas tout le temps, néanmoins c'est le temps du clinquant, des sapins roses, des cantiques repris par des artistes sans talent, voire sans voix, des arrangements poches et bien entendu des décorations cheaps et horribles. Enfin bref, Noël c'est souvent quétaine, surtout dans ses décorations. On n'y échappe pas: même l'arbre familial à Chicoutimi, pourtant superbement décoré et tout ce qu'il y a de plus magnifique et d'exemplaire comme arbre, a quelques trucs laids ici et là. Notamment des espèces de fenêtres/vitraux en plastique, hérités je crois de ma grand-mère. Ceux-là, on les cache dans un coin peu visible. et puis il y a ce truc-là, que vous voyez sur la photo de gauche. Il venait d'un centre de table (ma mère achète toujours un nouveau centre de table aux Fêtes, on recycle les décorations pour le sapin le Noël d'après). Mon petit frère l'a surnommé 'le Père Noël heureux d'avoir une barre dans le c..."Parce qu'en effet, il tient à cause d'une barre bien ancrée dans le postérieur, laquelle sert d'ailleurs à l'attacher à l'arbre, et parce qu'il a les joues rosies de bonheur et a l'air de sourire sous sa barbe. En fait, de le voir tendre les bras comme ça, il faut bien admettre qu'il semble enthousiaste. Ne soyons pas crus, mais il a l'air un peu de ça. Et c'est peut-être la décoration la plus quétaine à être dans l'arbre de Noël familial, mais rien qu'à cause du mauvais goût, affiché et involontaire, on la garde.

Nothing Lasts Forever

As I mentioned on this post, tis the season to be reading, so I this post is plugging a book for your Christmas reads. If you have plenty of time to give to it during the holidays, I suggest you spend one day to read it through, in one sitting or almost. The novel is Nothing Lasts Forever by Roderick Thorp. I do not have the luxury of time, so I am "only" nearly halfway through it. I am making it last, so to speak, hopefully until Christmas day. In short, the story is about a private investigator, Joe Leland, stuck in a corporate building on Christmas eve as terrorists took over the place.

If it sounds very much like the plot of Die Hard, it is because it IS the plot of Die Hard. Or rather, Die Hard took the plot of the novel and adapted it to well, an 80s action flick (as you probably knew as it says it right on the front cover at your right). It gave birth to a very successful (if often dumb) movie franchise and a whole action movie sub-genre with countless clones. I always enjoyed Die Hard, I loved the premise, but I never found the movie as brilliant as people seems to believe it is. Too much of a conservative libertarian fantasy for my taste. Joe Leland very different from his movie equivalent: he is a bitter, divorced and widower, a father and grandfather, so he is no longer in his prime. He is also a sobered alcoholic, haunted by many, many demons. It is not his family he is visiting, but his estranged daughter. The movie was a fantasy, the novel is a gritty, violent, uncompromising piece of crime fiction. I mentioned before that there is a darker side to Christmas. Well, if you do enjoy this dark side, do read Nothing Lasts Forever.

Le temps des pâtés à la viande

Mon petit frère PJ a fait des pâtés à la viande. Vous trouverez la recette sur son blogue, ici. C'est de loin son billet le plus populaire. Il me vient parfois, relativement souvent, une rage de pâtés à la viande, la dernière en date homologuée sur ce blogue était en avril. Lors de mon dernier passage au Québec, les réserves de ma famille étaient à sec, alors je n'en ai pas mangé. Bon, je ne suis pas mort de faim, mais ça veut dire que je n'en ai pas mangé depuis Noël dernier. Je vais peut-être finir par me discipliner et en faire moi-même. Parce que c'est vraiment idéal pour les Fêtes. En Angleterre, ce qui accompagne le souper de Noël (et pas du réveillon parce qu'ils ne fêtent pas le réveillon), ce sont des saucisses enrobées dans le bacon (ce qu'ils appellent pigs in blankets). C'est plutôt bien, mais l'expatrié que je suis préfèrerais des pâtés à la viande. Alors ce serait bien que j'importe ce pâté, ou cette variété québécoise du pork pie, en sol britannique. Et si je n'en fais (toujours) pas cette année, j'invite mon lectorat à utiliser la recette sur le blogue de mon petit frère.

Find the turtle doves

I am longing for snow, so I calm my longing by looking at pictures my father sent me of my very wintery home town of Chicoutimi. Here is one I particularly love, of the family's snowy garden. Can you find and count the turtle doves? The garden is full of birds all year round, various species of birds, but in the last few years there are many and mostly turtle doves. My father loves them and gets protective of them. They are particularly fitting during winter, and I guess even more so during Christmastime, because of this song. Here they camouflage fairly well in the snow, but you can still see them.

Les affres du samedi

Parfois, le samedi prend des airs de calvaire, ou à tout le moins de purgatoire. Lorsque je me suis réveillé ce matin il y avait un concert de marteaux qui venait de je ne sais pas où. Ce n'était pas particulièrement bruyant, mais le matin quand on se réveille, ce n'est pas harmonieux comme le chant des oiseaux. J'ai pu voir par la suite qu'il y a des rénovateurs qui travaillent sur le toit du garage du bloc. Et aujourd'hui, je dois faire mon magasinage pour les Fêtes, faire le ménage ici et enfin bref, ce sera un samedi occupé jusqu'à ce soir.

Reindeer!

Today is Saint Nick's Day, which I was reminded of by a German colleague. It is widely celebrated in many parts of Europe. For me, it is this legend/song and the day was this awful movie my brother PJ offered me one Christmas. But since I already blogged about it in French tonight, I thought I would blog about the modern Santa Claus, or rather the reindeer that carry Santa around the world. I took this picture at the Christmas fayre yesterday. They often have reindeer in such fayres. I have seen reindeer in captivity like this fairly often, and at least once... on the table. It was during a family holiday in Sweden, our hosts, the family of the foreign exchange student who had lived with ours for a year (our Swedish sister as my bros and I call her) had prepared this very unique roast. Delicious, I have to confess. Of course, I had reindeer meat, which we call caribou in Québec, on other occasions, but it was in a tourtière, so I did not distinctly remember the taste until I had this experience in Sweden. I associated the animal a lot with this country, maybe as much as I associate it with Santa Claus. And I have to say, seeing them so close yesterday made me feel guilty about eating their meat.

La légende de Saint Nicolas

"Ils étaient trois petits enfants
Qui s'en allaient glaner aux champs."

Nous sommes la Saint-Nicolas, la fête du Saint qui nous a donné le Père Noël. On oublie souvent qu'il y avait à l'origine du personnage jovial un autre qui, sans être sinistre lui-même, vivait dans un monde beaucoup plus sombre et beaucoup plus cruel. Il était le héros de bien des histoires terrifiantes, vous pouvez en lire certaines ici. Mais préférée est celle qui a inspiré cette chanson, sur laquelle j'ai développé une obsession. J'ai déjà blogué sur celle-ci. Je souligne la fête en téléchargeant une version de la chanson. On oublie souvent que Noël a un côté sinistre. Je souligne ça aussi, avec cette légende.

Mulled wine

Tonight, there was a Christmas fayre in town, one of those outdoors markets that sell lots of charity things and plenty of food and drink, including mulled wine. An elderly man at one of the stands offered me a cup, I politely refused explaining: "I had plenty yesterday and woke up with a nasty headache." He replied, undeterred: "You may have had a worse wake up without it." This made me laugh, and I decided to make it our new great unknown line, the first of December and of Advent. A perfect one for this Christmas-related post and to its seasonal topic.

So yes, mulled wine. Yesterday, I drank this glass of mulled wine, in the company of Odin's owners. It was as an apéritif before one of the best restaurant dinners (suppers really as it was late) I had in ages, but I digress. I will blog about the food another time. Now, the wine. It was absolutely to die for, the best mulled wine I had in life. It was just warm enough, just spicy enough, with a nice tang to it, powerful in a soft way. Perfect for the cold winter night we had yesterday. I came to mulled as of late, one year in my twenties my parents and I made some to make Christmas a bit British, I think we used the recipe on Wikipedia. It had been good, but not like that one. I do drink it from time to time, but not very often as I am more of a beer drinker and I have had good ones, enjoyable ones, but it didn't strike me until last night on how good it can be. So I think it will become a Christmas tradition for me. My liver may suffer for it, but so what?

Le temps des beignes

Petit billet de l'Avent pour ceux qui ont une dent sucrée. Alors que Noël s'en vient, je me sens de plus en plus envie de manger des desserts familiaux. Je ne sais pas si c'est le cas dans les autres familles québécoises, mais Noël, ou à tout le moins l'hiver, est le temps de manger des beignes faits maison. Je l'ai notamment mentionné l'année dernière. Lorsque ma famille en fait, elle en fait en quantité industrielle, voir la photo à votre gauche. Mais ils sont faciles à manger, un soir d'hiver froid, après s'être gelés dehors. Je ne crois pas que j'aie l'équipement, encore moins l'espace, pour en faire ici. C'est dommage.

Liana Macellari Burgess, In Memoriam

A friend of mine reminded me today on Facebook that Liana Macellari Burgess died this day, 3rd of December 2007. She was of course the second wife and the widow of Anthony Burgess. My favourite writer. You can read her obituary in The Guardian here. I had the privilege to meet her during a symposium on her husband a few months before her death, when I was living in Liverpool. An amazing and important moment of my life. I blogged about it here. I cannot add more to it than I already did then. I will only add that I thought a lot about her today and about this meeting, when she spoke to me in French and I tried to speak as much as I could in Italian. And that I can witness that she was a great lady.

La cuvée Ciné-cadeau 2013?

Je cherchais Ciné-cadeau sur Google. J'ai vu que la page web n'avait pas été renouvelée depuis l'année dernière. Sur la programmation des Fêtes 2013-2014 de Télé-Québec, on retrouve un document PDF comme grille-horaire, asses rébarbatif. Y a-t-il un site pour Ciné-cadeau cette année? Suis-je allé voir trop tôt? J'ai comme un peu de misère à m'y retrouver dans le document PDF... enfin je veux dire, l'horaire. Cela dit, une fois que je m'y fais... Je me rends compte que je ne suis plus un enfant: il y a des titres qui je le remarquent reviennent depuis quelques années déjà et je ne les connais pas. Enfin je ne les ai jamais vus. Enfin bref, que pensez-vous de la cuvée Ciné-cadeau cette année?

A good deed for Advent

As we are the second day of Advent, I thought my readership might like to read a Christmas story. So here is a little true life Christmastime story, so it is totally original and exclusive to this blog, that happened to me two days ago, just before Advent. It is a good deed I did, which made me quite happy. Not only Christians are good for goodness's sake, if I can say so myself, Godless men can be too. A little foreword before I start telling it: I do buy Advent calendar sometimes. Not every year, it is not a tradition I follow religiously (ha, ha, ha), but I do enjoy one small chocolate a day. In school, we had those paper advent calendar with a moralistic story on every day, instead of chocolate. It always ended with a Nativity Scene on the 24. In a way, this is my own, secular feel-good story. But it is not really moralistic.

So this year, I had in mind to buy one. Last year I had a very old-fashioned one from Marks & Spencer, with a Nativity Scene on it. This year, I had in mind to buy it from the local sweet shop. There was a beautiful one, with a lush old-fashioned image on the cover, very Victorian, with a jolly Santa Claus delivering the presents in a luxurious salon. There was a huge Christmas tree too. The cover was so beautiful, one would be reluctant to break it by opening holes on it. There was one left when I arrived at the sweet shop, a few minutes before closing time. I took it, was about to pay for it, when a girl of about eight and her mother walked in the shop and eagerly went where the calendars were. I suddenly heard a big cry: "Oh no, it is GONE!". I then saw the girl looking at the empty space on the shelf where the calendar had been. Her mother was telling her gently that there were others with a different image (but let's face it, the others looked pretty lame) and that she should have bought it earlier... And then of course I turned around and said: "I am the one who took it, but here it is, take it." The girl took it, looked at it a long while, as if she was not sure it was real, her mum had to tell her to thank me before she said a word. So that was my good deed of the day and my first Christmas good deed of the season. And I don't have an Advent calendar this year, but cannot care less.

Le sorbier enneigé

Voici une autre photo envoyée par mon père, du sorbier sous la neige. Je la publie pour plusieurs raisons. Parce que je m'ennuie de la neige d'abord (air connu) et je commence à espérer qu'il en tombe ici. À défaut d'en avoir de la vraie, je vais donner à Vraie Fiction une apparence hivernale. Je la publie aussi parce que j'associe souvent le sorbier à l'automne. Alors je trouvais ça intéressant de le montrer sous un jour plus hivernal.

The Medieval Christmas

Today is the first day of Advent, so this is the official countdown to Christmas. Which means a seasonal change in my readings habits. Tis the season to be reading, and so on. I have recently found in Waterstone's The Medieval Christmas by a certain Sophie Jackson. I don't know how well researched it is, I am not sure if I will find anything I don't know already and the front cover is somewhat nauseating, but all the same, it is on my current Christmas read and I know I will enjoy it. Like this book on Christmas traditions I bought for mum years ago, and ended up reading myself. I have other books too, which I will blog about later this month. Regarding The Medieval Christmas, I know I will love it because I associate Christmas with medieval times, but also Pagan-influenced traditions and imagery. And also because it is one of those books that will calm my melancholia of missing Dungeons & Dragons (because I associate the holiday to the game, see this post, among others, that explains why). In any cases, it should be an easy, pleasant, seasonal read.

L'Avent

Je blogue tardivement aujourd'hui, mais je tenais tout de même à souligner que c'est le premier jour de l'Avent. Dans le calendrier liturgique, ça veut dire la période de temps avant Noël. Dans le calendrier moins liturgique, on est tout de même plus ou moins dans le Temps des Fêtes. Afin de le souligner, je télécharge ici une photo de l'hiver chicoutimien, avec les premières décorations apparues sur le terrain familial. Et je commence aussi la saison, pour ainsi dire, avec un vieux cantique assez peu connu hors du monde francophone. Mais je ne crois pas avoir besoin de préciser lequel, je pense. Je vois laisse deviner pourquoi celui-ci en particulier pour le début de l'Avent.

A Eulogy for Odin

I don't know when exactly there will be funeral for Odin, but I know it will be fairly soon, and I have decided to write a eulogy for him. A eulogy for my feline friend, the cat that I loved so much. I am still shaken by his death and I was not sure if I should write it now, but I think I need to find some closure to finally stop grieving and I also strongly believe he needs a proper homage. So people might say he was just a cat, but I never ever thought there was such a cat that was "just" a cat. Cats are unique, cats are superior creatures, cats are wonderful and Odin was the most feline cat I have ever met.

So where do I start? I first met him when I was coming home with a bag full of fish and chips and I already and quickly bonded with him. There was his rough demeanor, the blind left eye, his numerous scars and fight marks, but also a natural way Odin had to attract compassion and love. He was a moggy street cat through and through, always coming out of his bush full of twigs, which he wore with feline elegance. In spite of his bad eye, he proved himself to be a capable hunter. I still remember that day when he went off his bush with a mouse in his mouth, the ironic look he gave me with his eyes, his expression, that seemed to say: "No need to be scared you wuss, I already killed it. I can have it all if you don't like it."  And after the kill and his feast, he was ever the sweet, loving cat needing attention.

Odin could be a bit of a joker, he certainly knew, in any cases, that humans were suckers and that he could manipulate them to do his bidding. I rarely refused him anything, and when I did it was never for long. But he was not just any cat. He came to this place because he wanted exclusivity. His owners said he was their favorite cat, but Odin wanted exclusivity. Exclusivity of love, attention, care. He was not faithful himself, but expected faithfulness from the primates that served him. There was something aristocratic about him, no wonder I gave him the name Odin. Of course he had many names, but Odin fitted him the most: he was a wanderer, someone who in spite of his rough external appearance never lost his feline grace and elegance. And his looks had improved too: lots of TLC, proper feeding (and more!) made him gain weight and made his fur silkier. Always silent, except when he was asking for something, then he could meow relentlessly until you had given in. A curious cat, eager to explore the world. Too eager maybe, that ended up being his undoing, in a night too dark for his own good, him who was at night a silent, moving, silky shadow. Always the wanderer. But also eager to lie next to you and do nothing else than nap at your side and receive strokes and cuddles, or kisses even, all the time looking at you with satisfied eyes. He was a feline who wanted time with hominids on his own terms. He was cremated this week. With his ashes, a bit of his fur, came a word, a sort of poema bit nauseating for the unbeliever I am, who mentioned a rainbow bridge when loved pets end up, until you join them. It reminded me of Bifrost. However nauseating, the poem was somewhat fitting. But in any case, godly or not, Odin was a wonderful cat.

Chauds les glaçons

J'emprunte le titre de ce billet de la traduction initiale du titre du roman de Fleming Diamonds Are Forever. Le titre original est meilleur, mais j'aimais bien celui de la traduction et je voulais depuis un bout de temps l'utiliser comme titre d'un billet de blogue. Mon père m'a envoté une photo du solarium prise aujourd'hui. Je voulais avoir une dernière photo pour illustrer novembre et l'hiver qui est arrivé, du moins dans certaines parties du monde. Je vais bientôt publier un autre billet en anglais, avec une autre photo, mais c'est celle-ci que je voulais mettre pour résumer le mois. Je sais que je fais beaucoup dans la photo hivernale ces temps-ci, mais j'essaie de me convaincre que c'est l'hiver.

Saint Andrew's Day

The Google Doodle reminded me: today not only the last day of November, it is Saint Andrew's Day, among other things it is Scotland's national day. I have some Scottish blood from my mother's side and I always had a particular fondness with the Scottish people, so I wanted to mention it on Vraie Fiction. Happy Saint Andrew's Day everyone and to my Scottish readers especially, if there are any.

L'angoisse du magasinage des Fêtes

Bon, c'est le début de l'Avent demain et je dois faire un constat accablant: je n'ai pas encore trouvé un seul cadeau pour Noël. Comme je vais fêter en Angleterre cette année, je veux envoyer mes cadeaux par la poste, c'est en général rapide. Encore faut-il que j'en aie à envoyer. C'est toujours plus difficile lorsqu'on doit voyager ou qu'on doit envoyer les cadeaux: ils ne doivent pas être trop lourds, trop volumineux, ni fragiles... Comme tous les cadeaux, ils doivent plaire et être autant que possible originaux. Et je me demande si c'est encore possible de faire des cadeaux qui ont toutes ces vertus. Suis-je seul à angoisser?