"And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun"
Time, Pink Floyd
I have decided to blog on Pink Floyd inspired by my brother's comment on this post. I was thinking about the quote he put there and it got stuck in my head. The Dark Side of the Moon is the first Pink Floyd album I listened to back to back and it is still my favourite one.
I put Time on the blog when Richard Wright died. As it says on the Wikipedia entry, the song is a Memento mori (something I sometimes blog about) and I am in a mood to think about such things because July is almost gone and I have barely seen it. August is starting tomorrow and August often gives me melancholia (as mentioned here). But is started earlier this year, in this July month that was so busy and which I could barely feel because I got so busy. The last few days, I have been listening to The Dark Side of the Moon over and over again and this song in particular, looking at the sunset, wondering where the year has gone. I find the last lyrics particularly poignant:
"Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to nought
Or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desparation is the English way
The time is gone
The song is over
Thought I'd something more to say "
I don't hang on in quiet desperation because that is not quite me (I guess I am not English), but I do think if I do all the things I want to do in a year, or even a day. Funny how a song one listened countless times still find new meaning when one reaches a certain maturity. I was a teenager and just loved the music and barely understood the lyrics. I mean, I understood English enough to know what they meant, but not quite what it was about. So I know I put the song here before, but I will put it here again nevertheless, to share my mood. There might be a hint of cruelty in this, but take it as a catharsis.
Saturday 31 July 2010
"Ils" sont de retour
Appris sur le blogue de Patrick Lagacé: Julie Couillard a un blogue/site elle aussi. J'imagine que c'était inévitable, mais franchement elle aurait pu se retenir un peu. Après tout, aà part avoir couché avec des crapules, qu'est-ce qu'elle a fait pour être célèbre? Et son ex, l'idiot du village beauceron devenu député, qui en a un aussi, encore une fois on ne peut pas l'éviter, mais je ne peux pas m'empêcher d'être découragé. Pas que je crois que je blogue de façon particulièrement profonde, mais Ah oui, Bernier a écrit un texte imprégné de mauvaise foi et de démagogie en réplique à André Pratte sur l'élimination du recensement. Parce que c'est écrit et que ça a vraisemblablement été révisé par un autre que lui, le texte de Bernier est n'est pas rempli de plénoasmes et les bafouillements, mais ça ne l'empêche pas d'utiliser tous les sophismes du livre: argument à la popularité, homme de paille, démagogie, etc. Je parlerais de malhonnêteté intellectuelle, mais pour ça il lui faudrait un intellect.
Labels:
controverse,
controversy,
Julie Couillard,
Maxime Bernier,
Patrick Lagacé,
scandal,
scandale
Friday 30 July 2010
Italy on my mind (again)
It happens from time to time, I get a longing for a specific place. Maybe it is because my brothers are away travelling and I envy them even though I was on holidays recently and will be again relatively soon. Anyway, from time to time I want to see Italy again and now is one of those times. Maybe it because I am reading The Talented Mr Ripley, which is mainly set there. And I have a confession to make: so far I prefer the movie to Patricia Highsmith's novel.
I haven't been for ten years and I feel like I saw too little of the country. And I want to improve my Italian. I know too little and want to become trilingual before I die. Of course, I would not be as useful to my wife in Italy as I am in French speaking countries, but the little I know could help us get by and I can learn more there than here.
I haven't been for ten years and I feel like I saw too little of the country. And I want to improve my Italian. I know too little and want to become trilingual before I die. Of course, I would not be as useful to my wife in Italy as I am in French speaking countries, but the little I know could help us get by and I can learn more there than here.
Labels:
books,
Italian,
Italie,
italien,
Italy,
livre,
livres,
Patricia Highsmith,
The Talented Mr Ripley
À mon frère et ma belle-soeur visitant Vancouver
Je crois que je peux le dire ici: ma famille voyage ces temps-ci. Après le cadet qui est présentement à Paris, mon autre petit frère et sa femme vont se retrouver à Vancouver (ou Vancuuuuuuuver). Je leur souhaite bon voyage. Je profite également de l'occasion pour faire une confession: j'ai préféré Vancouver à Paris.
Great unknown line number 8
It seems that this themed series is slowly building into a little online list of aphorisms of honourable size since I first started it. Who knows, maybe I could make my own dictionary of aphorisms with my name on it. Anyway, this line is the one I always give when somebody asks me if I dance:
-Never when I'm sober.
Which is both accurate and funny.
-Never when I'm sober.
Which is both accurate and funny.
Labels:
aphorism,
Aphorisme,
beer,
bière,
grandes répliques inconnues,
great unknown lines
À mon frère visitant Paris
Mon plus jeune frère est en vacances à Paris. Je ne sais pas s'il me lit présentement, il doit se foutre de ce blogue comme de sa première chemise, mais je tenais à le souligner, un peu parce que la France est maintenant l'une de nos plus importantes destinations de voyages. Je suis curieux de connaître les impressions qu'il aura eues de Paris, parce que c'est une ville qui m'a toujours laissé un peu tiède.
Wednesday 28 July 2010
A castle by the door
During our last trip in the Lake District, we barely saw the town of Penrith. We were practically passing by, waiting for the bus to Keswick and we did not see much of, but the little we saw was really worth it. Indeed, we saw its castle the moment we step out of the train station (which was partially constructed with stones from said castle). That was quite an impressive first contact with Cumbria and it made me regret a moment that we were just passing by. It changed when I saw the other towns and villages we visited and I quickly forgot about Penrith. However, since we had an hour or two to kill until we got the bus to Keswick, we decided to have a look at the castle. This is where I took those pictures.
I am a medievalist by education, so a medieval castle, wherever it is and in whichever state it is, always gets me excited like a child. And I am not specialised in medieval architecture, but nobody can stay indifferent towards these buildings. I used to see Windsor Castle from the outside every day, but that was different. There is something about old, ruined, uninhabited castles, those that have been hurt but have never moved with time like this one. They are deserted but for the odd tourist and local visitor, yet they are full of character and so atmospheric. From its history one can imagine all sorts of stories. It is a shame that ghosts most likely don't exist, because castles like this deserve to be haunted.
I envy the citizens of Penrith, especially the children who can grow up so close to such a place, and can go around and play. They literally have a castle by the door. I said that I love castles because I am a medievalist. It is not quite true. I was from an early age fascinated by medieval time and by ghost stories. One of my babysitters, a real Mary Poppins (I mentioned her before), used to sing me the this song about a haunted medieval castle, one of the many things she did that gave me an appetite for fairy tales and ghost stories, and of course medieval time. I can remember me asking her "Claire, what's a medieval castle?" and her showing me in a dictionary a picture. My brothers and I used to play a haunted castle game based on this song especially when summer was not quite warm or sunny enough to feel like summer, like it is these days here. Well, I have pictures of a medieval castle here now, they can tell me if it looks as good as they imagined it.
I am a medievalist by education, so a medieval castle, wherever it is and in whichever state it is, always gets me excited like a child. And I am not specialised in medieval architecture, but nobody can stay indifferent towards these buildings. I used to see Windsor Castle from the outside every day, but that was different. There is something about old, ruined, uninhabited castles, those that have been hurt but have never moved with time like this one. They are deserted but for the odd tourist and local visitor, yet they are full of character and so atmospheric. From its history one can imagine all sorts of stories. It is a shame that ghosts most likely don't exist, because castles like this deserve to be haunted.
I envy the citizens of Penrith, especially the children who can grow up so close to such a place, and can go around and play. They literally have a castle by the door. I said that I love castles because I am a medievalist. It is not quite true. I was from an early age fascinated by medieval time and by ghost stories. One of my babysitters, a real Mary Poppins (I mentioned her before), used to sing me the this song about a haunted medieval castle, one of the many things she did that gave me an appetite for fairy tales and ghost stories, and of course medieval time. I can remember me asking her "Claire, what's a medieval castle?" and her showing me in a dictionary a picture. My brothers and I used to play a haunted castle game based on this song especially when summer was not quite warm or sunny enough to feel like summer, like it is these days here. Well, I have pictures of a medieval castle here now, they can tell me if it looks as good as they imagined it.
Labels:
castle,
château,
childhood,
enfance,
fantômes,
ghost,
Lake District,
Middle Ages,
Moyen Âge,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
Penrith,
Penrith Castle,
train
Pas de commentaires en français
Une simple remarque que je viens de faire: je n'ai pas eu de commentaires sur un billet en français depuis ma douzième question existentielle. C'est un peu dommage, parce que j'essayais d'écrire des billets en français peut-être pas profonds mais plein de nostalgie, laquelle à part être ma marque de commerce a le don de faire parler les gens. Parfois je me demande si ce blogue ne s'anglicise pas imperceptiblement. Son lectorat est sans doute plus anglophone. Cela dit, même si c'est un hasard, c'est tout de même singulier, ces billets français toujours vides. Je parie que celui-ci va changer les choses.
Tuesday 27 July 2010
A (nostalgic) great unknown line
I say nostalgic, but it is maybe more melancholic. Anyway, it is a great line my wife told me today, simple but kind of profound, so I decided with her permission to put it here:
-It's not super fun being an adult sometimes.
This is a line that even those who are not as fond of their own childhood as I am can relate to, especially when times are incertain, or simply moving too fast to appreciate them.
-It's not super fun being an adult sometimes.
This is a line that even those who are not as fond of their own childhood as I am can relate to, especially when times are incertain, or simply moving too fast to appreciate them.
Une constatation à propos du maïs
Ce billet risque d'être d'une trivialité affligeante, vous serez prévenus. On a mangé des épis de blé d'Inde ce soir avec notre repas, ma femme croyant que j'adore le blé d'Inde. Or, bien que je m'ennuie des épluchettes, du bouilli, de tous ces petits rituels gastronomiques qui marquent la fin de l'été (on est déjà fin juillet après tout) et l'automne qui vient, ce passage du temps marqué par le blé d'Inde donc, et tous ces petits rituels qui me manquent, force est de constater que le blé d'Inde, ça pogne dans les dents, comme le chantait François Pérusse. J'en ai fait l'expérience une fois de plus ce soir. Je préfère et de loin le maïs en crème.
Labels:
automne,
autumn,
blé d'inde,
épluchette,
été,
François Pérusse,
maïs,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
Summer,
sweet corn
Monday 26 July 2010
Passing through summer
It is a new and strange thing for me to work during summertime. So far it has been easier than expected, partially because, as I was hoping (and I am sorry for everyone taking a , the weather has not been too nice. Not too hot to be unbearable, except when I started, and not too sunny to make me regret that I was sitting at a desk. We had plenty of rain, but sadly no storm.
That said, being busy like this means that July is almost over and I barely saw any of it, except during our short (bit idyllic) holiday at the beginning of the month. And it is strange for me, as I have always considered time within the frame of a school year: holidays during the whole summer, working year starting in September, being busy during cold months and less active during the hot ones, etc. I don't know how much I will enjoy it three months from now, but it is certainly an interesting experience.
That said, being busy like this means that July is almost over and I barely saw any of it, except during our short (bit idyllic) holiday at the beginning of the month. And it is strange for me, as I have always considered time within the frame of a school year: holidays during the whole summer, working year starting in September, being busy during cold months and less active during the hot ones, etc. I don't know how much I will enjoy it three months from now, but it is certainly an interesting experience.
Maisons suspendues
Je ne fais que reporter des nouvelles anecdotiques "locales" (enfin, québécoises) ces temps-ci, mais bref. J'ai lu cet article sur une maison construite dans un arbre. Un peu plus sur le sujet ici. Je n'ai jamais eu de maison dans les arbres enfant, mais c'est une des choses dont l'on rêve à un moment ou à un autre. Je me demande si des gens parmi mon lectorat ont déjà eu une maison suspendue. L'idée est séduisante, mais il faut un arbre assez grand, donc j'imagine que c'est une idée assez difficile à transformer en réalité. Il n'y avait certainement pas d'arbres.
Une question qui me vient comme ça: comment se fait-il que je n'ai jamais pensé à donner à mon personnage de Dungeons & Dragons, lequel est un ranger (ou rôdeur en français) version deuxième édition, une maison suspendue dans les arbres, au milieu d'une forêt? Ca aurait été une excellente idée, étant donné sa profession et son habitat de prédilection.
Je blogue beaucoup sur les arbres récemment. C'était ça ou bloguer sur Maxime Bernier et je n'avais pas la tête à bloguer sur l'idiot du village beauceron. Ca arrivera bien assez tôt, alors autant bloguer sur un sujet trivial.
Une question qui me vient comme ça: comment se fait-il que je n'ai jamais pensé à donner à mon personnage de Dungeons & Dragons, lequel est un ranger (ou rôdeur en français) version deuxième édition, une maison suspendue dans les arbres, au milieu d'une forêt? Ca aurait été une excellente idée, étant donné sa profession et son habitat de prédilection.
Je blogue beaucoup sur les arbres récemment. C'était ça ou bloguer sur Maxime Bernier et je n'avais pas la tête à bloguer sur l'idiot du village beauceron. Ca arrivera bien assez tôt, alors autant bloguer sur un sujet trivial.
Labels:
Dungeons and Dragons,
forest,
forêt,
home,
home sweet home,
maison,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
Québec
An old (yet new) great unknown line
I quoted this line before on this blog, but I think it is so good that it deserves the recognition from my "great unknown lines" series. The context and details are here. The line is from my sister-in-law. Here it is:
"It is never too early for smoked salmon."
Pure wisdom.
"It is never too early for smoked salmon."
Pure wisdom.
Nouvelles des framboises du Québec
Une brève de Cyberpresse qui a capté mon attention: les producteurs de framboises québécoises l'ont trouvé difficile cette année à cause de la canicule et des orages de juillet. Outre que je trouve chanceux les Québécois qui ont pu profiter de vrais orages, cette nouvelle me rappelle que je ne cueille plus de framboises depuis des années. La dernière fois, c'était en 2003, je crois. J'ai sans doute déjà blogué là-dessus, mais nous allions chaque année en cueillir chez mon oncle, mes frères et moi. Il avait pleins de plants de framboises, deux allées complètes, pour une raison quelconque ça ne l'intéressait pas de les manger, il préférait la culture. PJ n'aimait pas manger les framboises non plus, mais la cueillette il adorait. Je dois me faire vieux, je rêve d'avoir mon propre potager, ou mon propre verger...
Sunday 25 July 2010
An evening with the Bard
I often say to my wife that last summer was the summer of sea life for us, as we visited two aquariums and we went whale watching. This summer is our "theatre summer", as so far we have seen three plays, more than we had in the last five years. So yesterday, we went to see Romeo and Juliet in an outdoor setting. We had to bring a picnic and we sat on our recently bought picnic mat quite close to the stage. It was not the most comfortable experience, we had pins and needles and had to share our space with ants, but it was a unique experience. The tale of the two lovers of Verona is not my favourite play of Shakespeare (Hamlet is, if you are curious), but it is still a brilliant dramatic work. Some observations on the evening:
-I miss the stage. Yes, I said this before and recently, but I can't help it. Every time we see a play, I will both admire and envy the actors. I am considering getting back on the stage, finding an amateur troup I could but there is the language barrier: I never played in English and no matter what it will never be as natural to me as my own mothertongue. I can eliminate my Quebec accent when I play in French, but the out there accent I have when I speak English would be utterly unconvincing for iambic pentameter. However, I could play roles in contemporary dramas and I guess that for an English audience I could easily pass as an American with a bit of practice.
-Watching a play outdoor is an experience in itself, worth in itself the price of the admission ticket. There was a minimalistic stage, no décor to speak of, but the surroundings were enough to feel in another place.
-Being in such a setting made the actors rely more on interactions with the public and old saltimbanque type of entertainment. Playing takes all its meaning here. It is sometimes unsettling, but it is theatre at its roots and highly enjoyable.
-I can never help but find it funny that the quintessential British playwriter wrote a story, a tragedy no less, set in exotic Verona. I wonder what it would be to hear the characters with Italian accents.
-Shakespeare is such a powerful dramatist. I mean, it might sound like a cliché, but he is such a powerful dramatist nevertheless and it still struck me tonight. His text literally lifts the actors, the setting, everything. You can be on a small, bare stage and have limited acting skills, Shakespeare will still make the play work in itself.
-I think no matter what, I will always picture the play with the look and actors of Zeffirelli's version. And I have difficulties seeing any other actress than Olivia Hussey in the role of Juliet.
-I miss the stage. Yes, I said this before and recently, but I can't help it. Every time we see a play, I will both admire and envy the actors. I am considering getting back on the stage, finding an amateur troup I could but there is the language barrier: I never played in English and no matter what it will never be as natural to me as my own mothertongue. I can eliminate my Quebec accent when I play in French, but the out there accent I have when I speak English would be utterly unconvincing for iambic pentameter. However, I could play roles in contemporary dramas and I guess that for an English audience I could easily pass as an American with a bit of practice.
-Watching a play outdoor is an experience in itself, worth in itself the price of the admission ticket. There was a minimalistic stage, no décor to speak of, but the surroundings were enough to feel in another place.
-Being in such a setting made the actors rely more on interactions with the public and old saltimbanque type of entertainment. Playing takes all its meaning here. It is sometimes unsettling, but it is theatre at its roots and highly enjoyable.
-I can never help but find it funny that the quintessential British playwriter wrote a story, a tragedy no less, set in exotic Verona. I wonder what it would be to hear the characters with Italian accents.
-Shakespeare is such a powerful dramatist. I mean, it might sound like a cliché, but he is such a powerful dramatist nevertheless and it still struck me tonight. His text literally lifts the actors, the setting, everything. You can be on a small, bare stage and have limited acting skills, Shakespeare will still make the play work in itself.
-I think no matter what, I will always picture the play with the look and actors of Zeffirelli's version. And I have difficulties seeing any other actress than Olivia Hussey in the role of Juliet.
Labels:
acteur,
acting,
actors,
été,
Franco Zeffirelli,
Olivia Hussey,
picnic,
pique-nique,
Romeo and Juliet,
saisons,
seasons,
Shakespeare,
stage,
Summer,
théâtre,
Verona
Taxidermie
Cette photo a été prise au Keswick Museum, un petit musée plein de vieilleries et de bizarreries intéressantes qui me faisait penser un peu aux musées régionaux qu'on nous faisait visiter durant notre enfance. Cela dit, ce musée battait la plupart d'entre eux. Mais c'est le cas de la plupart des lieux publics et touristiques du Lake District: ils exploitent à leur plus haut potentiel les attraits régionaux, plus que partout où j'ai été. Dans le Keswick Museum, il y avait notamment plusieurs animaux empaillés: un renard, un blaireau, des rapaces de toutes sortes, des canards, des hérissons, des furets et j'en passe. J'en ai donc photographié quelques uns, dont cet aigle (je crois que c'est un aigle, je me trompe peut-être), avec dans ses serres un lapin (ou un lièvre?). C'était de loin l'animal empaillé ayant l'apparence la plus dramatique, le prédateur avec sa proie, avec en arrière-plan un décor qui nous fait croire que l'on est en pleine nature.
J'éprouve une certaine fascination pour la taxidermie. J'ai grandi dans une maison où il y avait une peau d'ours noir et une tête de chevreuil empaillées, produits de la chasse de mon père. Ils étaient devenus nos compagnons de jeux (surtout la peau d'ours noir) et ils ont développé chez moi une certaine fascination pour la vie animale. J'étais aussi fasciné quand nous visitions chaque année à l'école primaire une exposition d'animaux empaillés exotiques (à Place du Royaume je crois). Ma femme trouve cela cruel, mais selon ce que j'ai lu du sujet au musée, d'habitude on n'empaille pas d'animaux morts de la chasse, surtout pas lorsqu'il s'agit d'espèces menacées, et la taxidermie telle qu'elle est pratiquée maintenant a aussi une dimension environnementale et éthique. Elle a également très souvent une valeur éducative, comme c'était le cas ici.
J'éprouve une certaine fascination pour la taxidermie. J'ai grandi dans une maison où il y avait une peau d'ours noir et une tête de chevreuil empaillées, produits de la chasse de mon père. Ils étaient devenus nos compagnons de jeux (surtout la peau d'ours noir) et ils ont développé chez moi une certaine fascination pour la vie animale. J'étais aussi fasciné quand nous visitions chaque année à l'école primaire une exposition d'animaux empaillés exotiques (à Place du Royaume je crois). Ma femme trouve cela cruel, mais selon ce que j'ai lu du sujet au musée, d'habitude on n'empaille pas d'animaux morts de la chasse, surtout pas lorsqu'il s'agit d'espèces menacées, et la taxidermie telle qu'elle est pratiquée maintenant a aussi une dimension environnementale et éthique. Elle a également très souvent une valeur éducative, comme c'était le cas ici.
Labels:
aigle,
bear,
black bear,
eagle,
hare,
Keswick,
Keswick Museum,
Lake District,
lapin,
lièvre,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
ours,
ours noir,
rabbit,
taxidermie,
taxidermy
Friday 23 July 2010
Melancholia and post-mortem cruelty
My wife and I went for another evening walk. It was later in the evening and much darker. We stopped at a local café for a drink, then carried on. I still had that feeling that we will not stay here for all that long. I am going to miss the town, some of it at least, but not all of it. Seeing all the people on the main street going clubbing, young and old, I felt like an outsider, belonging to neither age. People go clubbing everywhere on Friday night, but it just seems more strange and unnecessary in a small town, like it is somewhat fake.
We walked to my former working place. Not the school, the company that is now bankrupted. Losing that job gave us a lot of anxieties, so I was glad they paid for it, even though I think they did not suffer enough. I say "they", yet many employees probably suffered a lot more than they deserved by staying there. I am of course refering to the bosses when I say "they". Certainly, "they" didn't suffer enough, didn't get humiliated enough, even though they went down pathetically. Looking at the abandoned place, I had a strong feeling of schadenfreude. We came here because of that lousy job which I lost too soon, when we didn't have time to even get settled. Yet, they are the ones who went down first and left town. I felt that I survived them, if that makes sense. And it gave me a lot of pleasure tonight.
We walked to my former working place. Not the school, the company that is now bankrupted. Losing that job gave us a lot of anxieties, so I was glad they paid for it, even though I think they did not suffer enough. I say "they", yet many employees probably suffered a lot more than they deserved by staying there. I am of course refering to the bosses when I say "they". Certainly, "they" didn't suffer enough, didn't get humiliated enough, even though they went down pathetically. Looking at the abandoned place, I had a strong feeling of schadenfreude. We came here because of that lousy job which I lost too soon, when we didn't have time to even get settled. Yet, they are the ones who went down first and left town. I felt that I survived them, if that makes sense. And it gave me a lot of pleasure tonight.
Labels:
Friday,
job,
melancholia,
mélancolie,
promenade,
schadenfreude,
vendredi,
walk
Auprès de mon arbre
"J'ai plaqué mon chêne
Comme un saligaud
Mon copain le chêne
Mon alter ego
On était du même bois
Un peu rustique un peu brut
Dont on fait n'importe quoi
Sauf naturellement les flûtes
J'ai maint'nant des frênes
Des arbres de judée
Tous de bonne graine
De haute futaie
Mais toi, tu manques à l'appel
Ma vieille branche de campagne
Mon seul arbre de Noël
Mon mât de cocagne"
Auprès de mon arbre, Georges Brassens
Je n'ai pas publié beaucoup de photos du Lake District, j'ai trouvé cette excuse pour en publier une autre. Ce soir, je ne sais pas trop pourquoi, j'ai écouté beaucoup de Georges Brassens, des airs connus et des airs moins connus. Je vais essayer de bloguer sur les airs moins connus dans un avenir proche. Pour l'instant, j'ai décidé de mettre ici Auprès de mon arbre. D'abord parce que ça me donne l'excuse pour publier ici cette photo d'arbre (duh!), ensuite parce que j'ai déjà "eu" un arbre.
Enfin, façon de parler. Mes frères et moi on avait des arbres "attitrés" par mon père, pas des chênes mais des pommetiers, ce qui est un peu plus modeste. Trois en tout, donc, je disais "mon arbre" comme s'il était vraiment à moi. Il a pris de l'âge et est mort brisé par le vent durant l'été 1995. C'est précis à ce point-là dans ma tête, je me rappelle même de l'année. C'est dire l'affection que je lui portais. Je ne sais pas encore pourquoi. J'ai d'excellents souvenirs du pommetier, des nombreux après-midis ensoleillés passés à lire à son ombre surtout, d'avril à octobre. Il était superbe en fleurs au printemps. Lorsqu'il est mort, mon père l'a remplacé par des pommiers. Ils nous ont fait passer de bons moments aussi, surtout lors de la cueillette, mais ce ne sera jamais la même chose.
Maintenant, je n'ai plus d'arbre attitré ici, je n'en ai plus eu depuis cet été de 1995 en fait. J'ai presque "une mansarde pour tout logement", comme le dit le reste de la chanson, mais pour combien de temps encore? La chanson parle bonheur qu'on obtient de la simplicité et de la modestie, mais qu'on perd avec la richesse et le statut social. Je ne suis pas beaucoup plus riche qu'il y a quinze ans (non sérieusement), mais ma vie a certainement gagné en complexité (et parfois complications). Enfin, la chanson l'illustre mieux que moi:
Comme un saligaud
Mon copain le chêne
Mon alter ego
On était du même bois
Un peu rustique un peu brut
Dont on fait n'importe quoi
Sauf naturellement les flûtes
J'ai maint'nant des frênes
Des arbres de judée
Tous de bonne graine
De haute futaie
Mais toi, tu manques à l'appel
Ma vieille branche de campagne
Mon seul arbre de Noël
Mon mât de cocagne"
Auprès de mon arbre, Georges Brassens
Je n'ai pas publié beaucoup de photos du Lake District, j'ai trouvé cette excuse pour en publier une autre. Ce soir, je ne sais pas trop pourquoi, j'ai écouté beaucoup de Georges Brassens, des airs connus et des airs moins connus. Je vais essayer de bloguer sur les airs moins connus dans un avenir proche. Pour l'instant, j'ai décidé de mettre ici Auprès de mon arbre. D'abord parce que ça me donne l'excuse pour publier ici cette photo d'arbre (duh!), ensuite parce que j'ai déjà "eu" un arbre.
Enfin, façon de parler. Mes frères et moi on avait des arbres "attitrés" par mon père, pas des chênes mais des pommetiers, ce qui est un peu plus modeste. Trois en tout, donc, je disais "mon arbre" comme s'il était vraiment à moi. Il a pris de l'âge et est mort brisé par le vent durant l'été 1995. C'est précis à ce point-là dans ma tête, je me rappelle même de l'année. C'est dire l'affection que je lui portais. Je ne sais pas encore pourquoi. J'ai d'excellents souvenirs du pommetier, des nombreux après-midis ensoleillés passés à lire à son ombre surtout, d'avril à octobre. Il était superbe en fleurs au printemps. Lorsqu'il est mort, mon père l'a remplacé par des pommiers. Ils nous ont fait passer de bons moments aussi, surtout lors de la cueillette, mais ce ne sera jamais la même chose.
Maintenant, je n'ai plus d'arbre attitré ici, je n'en ai plus eu depuis cet été de 1995 en fait. J'ai presque "une mansarde pour tout logement", comme le dit le reste de la chanson, mais pour combien de temps encore? La chanson parle bonheur qu'on obtient de la simplicité et de la modestie, mais qu'on perd avec la richesse et le statut social. Je ne suis pas beaucoup plus riche qu'il y a quinze ans (non sérieusement), mais ma vie a certainement gagné en complexité (et parfois complications). Enfin, la chanson l'illustre mieux que moi:
Labels:
Auprès de mon arbre,
chanson,
chêne,
Georges Brassens,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
oak,
song
Thursday 22 July 2010
Seeing ghosts (sort of)
Yesterday, when I was walking back home, I saw some of my former students. Nothing special so far, it happened before. I said I saw some former students, but to be more precise they saw me. What I saw was a bunch of teenagers, and one of the girls in the small group shouted: "Oh my God! It's that French teacher!" Don't know if that was a good thing or not. She then said "Hello sir!" in a polite yet not quite friendly way. Without their school uniforms, I don't really recognise them. I don't remember her, or any of the other teens that were at that street corner. They just look like kids. It is not from a distant past, yet my last teaching job is as blurry as if it was in another lifetime. Maybe I am really over it.
That is one problem I still have as long as I live here, as my former workplace was local: I see my former students, even when I don't remember them. I will be always labelled here as "that French teacher". Even when they don't say a thing, there is always the glance they have at me that tells me they recognise me, noticed my presence. Anonymity here is very relative. There are more awkward moments, but still, I will not miss this particular aspect of life here when we finally decide to leave this town. It sometimes feels like seeing yesterday's ghosts, if that makes sense. In a way, I am also a ghost to them.
That is one problem I still have as long as I live here, as my former workplace was local: I see my former students, even when I don't remember them. I will be always labelled here as "that French teacher". Even when they don't say a thing, there is always the glance they have at me that tells me they recognise me, noticed my presence. Anonymity here is very relative. There are more awkward moments, but still, I will not miss this particular aspect of life here when we finally decide to leave this town. It sometimes feels like seeing yesterday's ghosts, if that makes sense. In a way, I am also a ghost to them.
Labels:
école,
home,
home sweet home,
job,
N'importe quoi,
school,
school job,
whatever
Question existentielle (12)
Je me la demande des soirs comme ce soir:
-Pourquoi est-ce que je me sens énergique le jeudi soir quand j'ai ma semaine dans le corps, mais jamais le lundi matin quand j'ai eu deux jours pour me reposer?
-Pourquoi est-ce que je me sens énergique le jeudi soir quand j'ai ma semaine dans le corps, mais jamais le lundi matin quand j'ai eu deux jours pour me reposer?
Labels:
existential question,
fin de semaine,
jeudi,
lundi,
monday,
question existentielle,
Thursday,
weekend
Wednesday 21 July 2010
Musing of an evening walk
My wife and I went to an evening walk. It was just cool enough and light enough, it was one of those comfortable, soothing walks that makes us reflective. I blogged about the way walks can lead to reflections. First thought that came to my mind: we don't walk enough like this. When walking is an end in itself, it is always nicer, whether it is in an unknown environment (say a town we newly visit) or a familiar one. I also thought that we might not stay all that much longer where we are. There is no particular reason for it, only small little insignificant details (which for now I will not dwell on) that might all together make us move, not tomorrow, not next month, but eventually. Time has passed and we already stayed here much longer than expected. I felt that we had more behind us here than ahead of us.
Maybe I am wrong, but I still had that feeling anyway. It made me appreciate the familiarity of this town a bit more. For now, it is home, and I might miss it when the time comes to leave it.
Maybe I am wrong, but I still had that feeling anyway. It made me appreciate the familiarity of this town a bit more. For now, it is home, and I might miss it when the time comes to leave it.
Labels:
entre chien et loup,
home,
home sweet home,
maison,
promenade,
walk
Les cousins?
Je lisais des commentaires sur l'unes des pubs quétaines (ou kétaines? kétenne? comment ça s'écrit?) retrouvées sur youtube, pubs sur lesquelles j'ai blogué hier. L'un des commentaires, écrit par un français, nous appelait "les cousins". Je l'ai déjà entendue celle-là et je ne m'y habitue pas. En quoi les Québécois sont-ils vraiment cousins des Français? Nous partageons les mêmes origines et la même langue, langue tout de même fortement métissée, mais pas la même histoire. Des générations plus tard, les liens du sang sont un peu dilués pour se faire appeler cousins. Pas que j'aie particulièrement d'affinités avec tous mes cousins.
Ce n'est pas une expression désagréable, c'est même affectueux, mais je l'ai toujours trouvée incompréhensible. Comme lorsqu'on me dit que j'ai l'accent chantant, on semble parler de moi comme on parlerait d'un total étranger. Entend-on les Anglais dire que les Américains sont leurs cousins? Il est vrai que les États-Unis ont une population beaucoup plus métissée que la nôtre (ou que toute autre nation au monde, en fait), cela dit la fin de la Nouvelle France ne date quand même pas d'hier. Bon, au moins ce n'est pas condescendant...
Ce n'est pas une expression désagréable, c'est même affectueux, mais je l'ai toujours trouvée incompréhensible. Comme lorsqu'on me dit que j'ai l'accent chantant, on semble parler de moi comme on parlerait d'un total étranger. Entend-on les Anglais dire que les Américains sont leurs cousins? Il est vrai que les États-Unis ont une population beaucoup plus métissée que la nôtre (ou que toute autre nation au monde, en fait), cela dit la fin de la Nouvelle France ne date quand même pas d'hier. Bon, au moins ce n'est pas condescendant...
Tuesday 20 July 2010
Hoping for the storm
It is supposed to rain tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and this until the end of the week. Today it was hot and the air was heavy with humidity. But there was no rain. Tomorrow it should be pouring, but there is no indication on BBC news of any storm. And I want to see a storm.
If this sounds familiar, it is because I blogged on the same topic in French not long ago. I got poetic (it happens rarely), I said that summer is not quite summer until it has been baptised by the fire and water of a storm. More prosaically, I love storms, and I need the coolness they bring to the air. Sadly, I might have to wait for another time. I will keep hoping.
If this sounds familiar, it is because I blogged on the same topic in French not long ago. I got poetic (it happens rarely), I said that summer is not quite summer until it has been baptised by the fire and water of a storm. More prosaically, I love storms, and I need the coolness they bring to the air. Sadly, I might have to wait for another time. I will keep hoping.
Les vieilles annonces quétaines de notre enfance
Parfois, il m'arrive d'avoir du temps à perdre et je le passe souvent sur Youtube à voir des vidéos pas très intelligentes. Je suis tombé une fois par hasard sur des vieux enregistrements d'annonces québécoises, mais surtout régionales (lire: saguenéennes, donc à prononcer rérionales), profondément horribles. Ca me rend presque nostalgique. Faites une recherche "pub poche Québec" et vous allez être servis. Je ne sais pas laquelle j'aime détester le plus, peut-être cette annonce d'une émission du sinistre preacher made in Québec Pierre Lacroix (bien sûr maintenant il a un blogue), peut-être ce pur cliché italianophobe/italianophile, avec Roberto Medile vandant le fromage de Nutrinor. Ouch! Dire que des années plus tard, il allait jouer dans la troisième saison d'Omertà. J'en suis presque nostalgique. Cette télé indigeste et profondément stupide, c'est une bonne partie de mon enfance, j'en ai bien peur. Difficile de se sentir chauvin ou même particulièrement fier d'être Bleuet ou Québécois après avoir vu ça. Cela dit, aimer son pays et ses racines sincèrement, c'est aussi se garder une salubre dose d'autodérision. Et il y a là matière à autodérision.
Labels:
childhood,
enfance,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
Pierre Lacroix,
Québec,
Québec tv,
quétaine,
Saguenay,
Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean
Monday 19 July 2010
A new kind of summer
Something I have noticed today: for the first time in years, I work during summertime. It is certainly the first time for ages. Last time was I think in 2006, but before this it was back in the nineties, when I was washing dishes in a restaurant. Between and after, I never really did work during summer, summer was holiday time. And even when I did work during summer, it was only part-time work. Now it is the real deal. Okay, so the schools here are open until July, so one could say I was working during summer this last year, but this is different: I am no longer subject, or privileged, to school holidays. I am not yet used to it. It might have some good sides: I might not get the feeling of dread I usually have in August anymore. I wonder what kind of September I will have though.
Of course, one's appreciation of working during summertime is relative to the kind of weather summer gives. If it is rainy and grey, nobody will mind. If it is hot and sunny, one will suffer more, even I who is not much of a summer person, except when there is an available swimming pool around (and I do mean available). So I should get through this different kind of summer, providing the weather is not too kind.
Of course, one's appreciation of working during summertime is relative to the kind of weather summer gives. If it is rainy and grey, nobody will mind. If it is hot and sunny, one will suffer more, even I who is not much of a summer person, except when there is an available swimming pool around (and I do mean available). So I should get through this different kind of summer, providing the weather is not too kind.
Minable censure montréalaise
Je ne croyais jamais bloguer sur Pamela Anderson, une "actrice" que j'ai toujours trouvée prodigieusement mauvaise et que je n'ai jamais aimée même quand elle était au faît de sa gloire (et que je n'ai jamais trouvée belle non plus, croyez-le ou non), mais quelques joyeux fonctionnaires tatas à Montréal me forcent la main. En fait, non seulement je vais bloguer sur elle, mais je vais la défendre! J'ai appris dans une chronique de Richard Martineau qu'on aurait censuré une pub faisant la promotion du végétarisme la mettant en vedette. Le motif: la publicité est sexiste. Dans le genre de décision imbécile, on ne fait pas mieux! Rappelons que c'est la même ville qui a carrément donné le contrôle de ses travaux d'infrastructure au crime organisé, qui a presque plus de bars de danseuses que de bars tout court, que c'est la ville dont la population tourne chaque victoire du Canadien en séries éliminatoires à l'émeute. Il n'y a pas de quoi donner des leçons de vertu, ni à devenir soudainement pudibond. Surtout quand on se vante d'être plus ouverte que les autres villes nord américaines et de ne pas souffrir du puritanisme anglo-saxon. On devrait pratiquer les rares vertus que l'on peut peut-être encore se vanter d'avoir.
La publicité elle-même est intelligente, provocatrice ce qu'il faut et reflète également une nouvelle réalité montréalaise: la vogue du végétarisme chic. Honteux. Cela dit, cette décision pathétique reflète également une réalité montréalaise, celle-ci malheureusement chronique: l'hypocrisie et l'incompétence de son administration.
La publicité elle-même est intelligente, provocatrice ce qu'il faut et reflète également une nouvelle réalité montréalaise: la vogue du végétarisme chic. Honteux. Cela dit, cette décision pathétique reflète également une réalité montréalaise, celle-ci malheureusement chronique: l'hypocrisie et l'incompétence de son administration.
Labels:
Montréal,
Pamela Anderson,
Richard Martineau,
vegetarianism,
végétarisme
Sunday 18 July 2010
Afternoon (or morning) tea
I might be becoming a real Englishman, or maybe an old-fashioned Englishman, or maybe just an English cliché. In any case, when we went to the Lake District I became quite fond of afternoon teas, which were often reversed into morning teas, which themselves completed or replaced breakfasts. I think I tried more tea during those holidays than local beers, which is quite a dramatic change. The Lake District seems to have more tearooms than any other place I have seen in England. It is as if this piece of land barely saw the world changing outside, in that aspect at least.
Tea was perfect for the kind of coolish, windy and often wet weather we had there. The picture here was taken in Temporary Measure's tea room in Keswick, shortly after breakfast. I had black tea with mud cake, maybe the best mud cake I ever had. We went to other tea rooms and had more proper afternoon teas, with fruit cakes, scones with cream and jam, a slice of cake and so on (and we actually had them in the afternoon!), but I think this was was favourite tea room. They served tea in Chinese porcelaine, which was absolutely charming, with the cake it was even better. And I simply loved the philosophy of the place, which you can see on the bottom right picture.
Tea was perfect for the kind of coolish, windy and often wet weather we had there. The picture here was taken in Temporary Measure's tea room in Keswick, shortly after breakfast. I had black tea with mud cake, maybe the best mud cake I ever had. We went to other tea rooms and had more proper afternoon teas, with fruit cakes, scones with cream and jam, a slice of cake and so on (and we actually had them in the afternoon!), but I think this was was favourite tea room. They served tea in Chinese porcelaine, which was absolutely charming, with the cake it was even better. And I simply loved the philosophy of the place, which you can see on the bottom right picture.
Labels:
Angleterre,
breakfast,
cake,
chocolate cake,
Déjeuner,
England,
gâteau,
gâteau au chocolat,
holidays,
Lake District,
mud cake,
tea,
Temporary Measure,
thé,
vacances
Les manchettes brassicoles
Deux nouvelles sur la bière au Québec ont retenu mon attention, d'abord un chef en utilise dans ses recettes et lui donne ainsi ses lettres de noblesse (une crèpe à la bière à l'abricot de McAuslan? Mais quelle bonne idée!). Ensuite le vin risquerait de supplanter la bière en popularité, ce qui inquiète Molson et O'Keefe. Ca m'inquiète moins, parce que je sais que les bières de mcirobrasseries gagnent en popularité. Bien fait pour les grosses brasseries si leurs décalitres de bibine pour brosseux perdent de la vitesse. Ils ont dominé les tablettes trop longtemps de toute façon.
Labels:
beer,
bière,
Brasserie McAuslan,
microbrasserie,
microbrewery,
Québec
Saturday 17 July 2010
My favourite writer on Rome
Anthony Burgess on Rome, a city he lived for a good while, and which inspired one of my favourite of his novels (but the quote is not from it, as far as I can remember):
"Rome's just a city like anywhere else. A vastly overrated city, I'd say. It trades on belief just as Statford trades on Shakespeare."
I have never been to Rome, and I doubt he seriously disliked the city all that much, but he seems to have the same love/hate relationship with it as I have with Italy as a whole. I decided to put that quote here as I want to go to Rome one day, but I am in the same time wary of what I can find there. I can love it, hate it, or both.
"Rome's just a city like anywhere else. A vastly overrated city, I'd say. It trades on belief just as Statford trades on Shakespeare."
I have never been to Rome, and I doubt he seriously disliked the city all that much, but he seems to have the same love/hate relationship with it as I have with Italy as a whole. I decided to put that quote here as I want to go to Rome one day, but I am in the same time wary of what I can find there. I can love it, hate it, or both.
Labels:
Anthony Burgess,
Beard's Roman Women,
books,
Catholicism,
catholicisme,
Citation,
Italie,
Italy,
livre,
livres,
quotation,
Rome
Une nouvelle rassurante (un peu)
Lu dans Le Devoir, les résultats d'un sondage qui nous apprend que les tenants du créationnisme sont très peu nombreux au Québec, à 17% alors que les tenants de la théorie de l'évolution sont à 65%. Il est profondément aberrant d'apprendre qu'il y ait des membres haut placés du gouvernement qui sont créationnistes, mais au moins la peste obscurantistequi sévit aux États-Unis semble être contenue chez moi (cela dit, pas tout à fait autant que dans mon pays d'adoption). Il y a donc des raisons d'être optimiste pour la suite des choses. Et le cardinal Ouellet qui est parti. Décidément, je suisil doit faire bon vivre au Québec ces temps-ci.
Thursday 15 July 2010
Theatre by the Lake
I want to come back to our trip to the Lake District and Keswick. We went to Theatre by the Lake twice (my wife's brilliant idea). Lovely place, idyllic one even, literally surrounded by nature. A few steps away from the theatre we could see flocks of sheep in the field and within eyesight we could see the lake, with the ducks . The walk there and back (a slow walk back) were worth the price of admission. Whether there was clouds or clear skies, the sunsets were strikingly beautiful. The picture at the right does not give it justice.
We saw first Shining City by Conor McPherson, then Northanger Abbey, adapted from a Jane Austen novel. I never cared much about Jane Austen (my mother-in-law must think I am a blasphemer right now, maybe my own mothet too come to think of it), but I actually enjoyed that one. It was partially because it was gently mocking gothic fiction, a genre I enjoy. There is always a good deal of affection in good parody, and that was good one. I don't know how the original novel is, but I thought the adaptation was a smart adaptation. I enjoyed it mainly because I love the art of acting, no matter if the play is a great one or a minor one.
Shining City, I loved completely, so much so that I bought the text the very next day. My wife and talked about it all night afterwards and we still come back to it. It was that smart. Obviously it is a haunting story, literally as it is about a ghost, but this ghost, if it has a human appearance, is guilt. I will try to blog about it more deeply. Let me just say now that I loved it. Oh, and the production was a perfect example of small is more: the play was presented in a small studio, the audience was surrounding the stage, we were like unwilling voyeurs witnessing the drama.
Seeing those two plays reminded me how much I love acting and how much I miss the stage, how powerful it is as a medium. My interest for it has been rekindled recently, through reading of plays (well, one play so far) and through these two nights at the theatre. We should have more of them, even though it makes me envious of the people on stage. I know from experience that they have the best seats in the house.
We saw first Shining City by Conor McPherson, then Northanger Abbey, adapted from a Jane Austen novel. I never cared much about Jane Austen (my mother-in-law must think I am a blasphemer right now, maybe my own mothet too come to think of it), but I actually enjoyed that one. It was partially because it was gently mocking gothic fiction, a genre I enjoy. There is always a good deal of affection in good parody, and that was good one. I don't know how the original novel is, but I thought the adaptation was a smart adaptation. I enjoyed it mainly because I love the art of acting, no matter if the play is a great one or a minor one.
Shining City, I loved completely, so much so that I bought the text the very next day. My wife and talked about it all night afterwards and we still come back to it. It was that smart. Obviously it is a haunting story, literally as it is about a ghost, but this ghost, if it has a human appearance, is guilt. I will try to blog about it more deeply. Let me just say now that I loved it. Oh, and the production was a perfect example of small is more: the play was presented in a small studio, the audience was surrounding the stage, we were like unwilling voyeurs witnessing the drama.
Seeing those two plays reminded me how much I love acting and how much I miss the stage, how powerful it is as a medium. My interest for it has been rekindled recently, through reading of plays (well, one play so far) and through these two nights at the theatre. We should have more of them, even though it makes me envious of the people on stage. I know from experience that they have the best seats in the house.
Labels:
acteur,
acting,
actors,
Jane Austen,
Keswick,
Northanger Abbey,
Shining City,
Theatre by the Lake
Déjà le temps des épluchettes
J'ai lu récemment cet article dans Cyberpresse. Certains légumes seraient donc disponibles plus rapidement cette année, dont le blé d'inde. Je suis un homme de saisons, surtout en ce qui concerne la gastronomie. Je ne suis pas un grand fan du blé d'Inde en épis. Le maïs en crème, ça va, c'est un délicieux mélange de sucré et de salé, mais je trouve qu'en épis ça prend entre les dents et je trouve ça très désagréable. Cela dit, j'aime beaucoup éplucher le blé d'Inde et j'ai une affection pour les épluchettes. Je n'en ai pas beaucoup vécu et on n'en fait plus assez au Québec. L'activité a cette particularité de marquer l'été qui se termine et l'automne qui commence. Je suis beaucoup plus un habitué du bouilli, un repas qui est souvent accompagné de maïs en épis (alors ça me permet de l'éplucher avec bonheur) et comme l'épluchette ce repas marque souvent le changement de saison.
Labels:
automne,
autumn,
blé d'inde,
épluchette,
été,
gastronomie,
maïs,
nostalgia,
nostalgie,
Québec,
Summer,
sweet corn
Wednesday 14 July 2010
The end of my teaching career?
This is what I think, at least for a good while. I discovered it recently, it did not strike me but it is a thought that kept creeping in me until it became clear, obvious in my head: I have had enough of it. Maybe it is because my current job is good enough, the best I had in a while, decent salary, decent work, very nice colleagues, instead of being overworked, underpaid , forced to deal with arrogant and cliquee colleagues. I can barely believe the stuff I put up with the same time a year ago. I blogged my disillusions regarding the teaching world often before, I don't want to repeat myself. Let just say that I got sick and tired of going nowhere with it. I got too bitter I guess, which is sad as I loved teaching. It was the surroundings I hated, the background. I cannot say that I am sad about it, which is very sad in itself, maybe even tragic.
Le grand orage de l'été espéré?
On prévoit des pluies diluviennes pour aujourd'hui. Ce n'est pas encore arrivé. Le site de la BBC ne précise pas si ce devait être (ce sera?) un orage, mais je l'espère/espérais. On n'a pas eu de vrai orage d'été depuis le début de celui-ci. Il a plu des cordes hier et j'ai cru entendre le tonnerre une fois, mais c'est tout. Or, j'aime les orages d'été, ces grands déploiements de fureur céleste (je suis poétique là). Un été n'est pas un été sans avoir été baptisé par un orage. Un baptême d'eau et de feu à la fois, pour rester poétique.
Monday 12 July 2010
Vampire romance?
I love Waterstone's, but it recently irritated me to bits. I recently got an email from them, they were advertising their "vampire romance". Not the chain's fault, it is making the best of a trend, but I happen to hate, hate, hate that trend. Vampire and romance should not, should never have been in the same sentence. I want them as thirsty bloodsuckers, who can turn into bats or wolves, or mist at will. Call me old fashioned, but I think vampires have lost their bite with Anne Rice, who turned a great horror archetype into a "romantic" (read: Eurotrash) antihero (read: lovestruck teenagers with hormonal problems).
I long to a come back to the nasty predator that was personified by Dracula. Bram Stoker's novel might not have been great literature, but it was a smart, efficient book with more intelligence than any of the modern vampire books, without any of their pretention. I mean seriously, romance? There is something romantic about a creature that suck someone dry and turn him into a similar ravenous beast? I just don't get it.
Labels:
bats,
books,
Bram Stoker,
brouillard,
chauve-souris,
Dracula,
histoires d'horreur,
livre,
livres,
loups,
mist,
scary stories,
vampire,
Waterstone,
wolves
La savane
Il a plu aujourd'hui, mais samedi et hier il faisait si sec que le gazon était jaune et sec comme de la paille. On se serait cru dans une savane. C'était une illustration frappante du contraste entre le nord et le sud de l'Angleterre en été. Il pleut simplement plus là haut et ce n'est pas nécessairement un mal. On se plaint beaucoup de la pluie ici (comme ailleurs), mais le gazon vert est quand même plus plaisant à regarder. Hier, j'avais l'impression qu'un lion allait me sauter dessus ou que je marcherais sur un scorpion à tout moment.
Labels:
Angleterre,
England,
été,
gazon,
grass,
pluie,
rain,
Summer,
température,
Weather
Sunday 11 July 2010
Inland Odyssey
I might be milking the Odyssey's analogies a bit too often on this blog, but there you go. My recent trip felt like an odyssey, even though my wife and I travelled by train most of the time, with a few bus and boat trips here and there. It certainly felt like we were entering another world when we got into the Lake District.
The weather, for one, was radically different than what we have had so far here in the South. July in the Lake District often felt like a mild September day. Not that I complain about this: I was getting tired of the heat and was glad to be in cooler temperature. I am a Northerner everywhere I go: I feel comfortable in Northern weathers and felt that Cumbria was oddly familiar. The mountains, the large lakes, the forest, it is in a way quite similar to the Saguenay region in which I grew up. In another way, it is not so similar, as no town we visited was positively horrid. Civilisation espoused nature instead of spoiling it. Place for place, I would rather live up there than here, if my wife and I could both have similar jobs. It is not exactly my Ithaca, but it could be just as good.
My travel book was Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I wish I had discovered this book earlier, when I was Jim Hawkins's age. Still, Stevenson is always enjoyable to read. I am still reading it, will probably finish it soon. People might think it was odd to read a sea adventure book for a journey that was done inland. Still, I thought it was appropriate for the trip, as it is the story of a sort of odyssey. Travelling novels (road novels?) are about the return as much as the journey, and the changes lived by the character through the process. I don't know if I changed much these last holidays, I still think I rediscovered things about myself.
The weather, for one, was radically different than what we have had so far here in the South. July in the Lake District often felt like a mild September day. Not that I complain about this: I was getting tired of the heat and was glad to be in cooler temperature. I am a Northerner everywhere I go: I feel comfortable in Northern weathers and felt that Cumbria was oddly familiar. The mountains, the large lakes, the forest, it is in a way quite similar to the Saguenay region in which I grew up. In another way, it is not so similar, as no town we visited was positively horrid. Civilisation espoused nature instead of spoiling it. Place for place, I would rather live up there than here, if my wife and I could both have similar jobs. It is not exactly my Ithaca, but it could be just as good.
My travel book was Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I wish I had discovered this book earlier, when I was Jim Hawkins's age. Still, Stevenson is always enjoyable to read. I am still reading it, will probably finish it soon. People might think it was odd to read a sea adventure book for a journey that was done inland. Still, I thought it was appropriate for the trip, as it is the story of a sort of odyssey. Travelling novels (road novels?) are about the return as much as the journey, and the changes lived by the character through the process. I don't know if I changed much these last holidays, I still think I rediscovered things about myself.
Compter les moutons
Voici un petit billet qui fait partie de mon compte-rendu de voyage... Je vais bloguer sur mes vacances au compte-goutte comme ça, histoire de ne pas diluer les sujets dans une longue chronique. Une chose qui m'a frappé avec le Lake District et avec Keswick en particulier, c'est la proximité avec les animaux de ferme, surtout les moutons (parfois aussi des vaches). Il y en avait de toutes les formes et de toutes les couleurs, des blancs, des gris, des jaunâtres, des têtes noires, blanches, j'en passe et des meilleures. Dans le parc près du Theatre by the Lake, on pouvait marcher près d'eux. Ils sont cependant assez timides et s'enfuient dès que l'on s'approche trop d'eux.
Outre l'image saisissante qu'offre cette proximité pour qui n'y est pas familier, la présence des moutons m'a valu une montée d'empathie animalière: je ne crois pas manger de l'agneau de sitôt, au grand plaisir de ma femme. Je trouve les moutons un peu trop sympathiques ces temps-ci.
Outre l'image saisissante qu'offre cette proximité pour qui n'y est pas familier, la présence des moutons m'a valu une montée d'empathie animalière: je ne crois pas manger de l'agneau de sitôt, au grand plaisir de ma femme. Je trouve les moutons un peu trop sympathiques ces temps-ci.
Labels:
agneau,
holidays,
Keswick,
Lake District,
lamb,
sheep. mouton,
Theatre by the Lake,
vacances
Saturday 10 July 2010
Lake District
English below...
Je suis de retour depuis aujourd'hui du Lake District, où nous avons passé une semaine, surtout (mais pas exclusivement) à Keswick. Je bloguerai plus amplement sur notre voyage plus tard, en essayant de ne pas être trop ennuyeux, je sais qu'un carnet de voyage ça peut parfois paraître lourd pour ceux qui ne l'ont pas vécu. Je vais me contenter de dire pour le moment que ma ville de résidence me semble plutôt banale présentement.
-------------------------------------------------------
I am back today from the Lake District, where we spent a week, mainly but not exclusively in Keswick. I will blog about it in the near future, trying to be as interesting as I can, as I know that travelling chronicles can be boring for those who were not part of it. After all, I am no Ulysses. But I will say that the surrounding of the town I live in seem rather bland right now.
Labels:
holidays,
Keswick,
Lake District,
The Odyssey,
vacances
Saturday 3 July 2010
Another great unknown line...
...this one from my niece. She deserved to be quoted here, especially in this category. It was back when she was just my then future wife's niece, very jealous of her aunt and disliking me strongly because of this. It was our first meeting, she was something like four and she asked us to draw scary monsters. I can't remember what the others draw, but I decided to impress my future niece by making a really scary monster. It was a big wolf's head, with the wings of a bat, the clawy legs of a hawk, the tongue, tail and fangs of a snake (the fangs looked like a mix of wolf's and snake's teeth actually), nasty red eyes, black fur, horns, what have you. Verdict of the niece:
"This monster isn't scary AT ALL!"
My wife and I still laugh about it to this day.
"This monster isn't scary AT ALL!"
My wife and I still laugh about it to this day.
Labels:
bats,
chauve-souris,
grandes répliques inconnues,
great unknown lines,
loups,
monster,
monstre,
niece,
serpent,
snake,
wolves
Friday 2 July 2010
Question existentielle (11)
Une question à laquelle j'ai déjà répondu moi-même ici, du moins en ce qui concerne nos prochaines vacances. La voici donc:
-Que lire en voyage?
-Que lire en voyage?
Labels:
books,
existential question,
holidays,
livre,
livres,
question existentielle,
vacances
Thursday 1 July 2010
Cats of the neighbourhood
Today I saw the tabby cat that looks like a white tiger. he was crouching by the wall, as if to catch a bird. But there was no bird around. He rubbed against me and followed me around, both scared and predatorial, with the strides of the little tiger he was. I told him would adopt him, iff only I could. I must be crazy, talking to cats like that.
Earlier this week, I saw the black cat who is not so sociable. He was cooling down in the shade. There was another cat in a flat at the top, looking at my black friend with curiosity through the window. I took a picture of him. It is banal, but these cats are parts of my life here. When I leave this place, whenever that may be, I am going to miss them, so I am glad I could take a picture of at least one.
Earlier this week, I saw the black cat who is not so sociable. He was cooling down in the shade. There was another cat in a flat at the top, looking at my black friend with curiosity through the window. I took a picture of him. It is banal, but these cats are parts of my life here. When I leave this place, whenever that may be, I am going to miss them, so I am glad I could take a picture of at least one.
Romans de voyage
Je ne sais pas si c'est parce que je serai en vacances bientôt, mais je lis des romans de voyage ces temps-ci. Je viens de terminer L'Énigme du retour de Dany Laferrière (cadeau de Noël de ma mère) et j'ai commencé à lire Treasure Island, le classique de Robert Louis Stevenson. deux grands livres, de manières bien différentes. J'espère parler des deux bouquins prochainement, au moins par citations.
Il y a deux romans de voyage: celui qu'on lit en voyage et celui qui parle de voyage (ce que les Anglais appellent parfois un road novel, comme il y a des road movies). Le déplacement géographique illustre le voyage intérieur des héros, leur cheminement. En littérature, les exemples sont légions.
Je ne lis pas assez Stevenson, on oublie parfois que même s'il faisait dans la littérature à genre, il était un écrivain remarquable, avec non seulement du style, mais un style, capable de rendre une époque révolue avec authenticité. J'ai découvert Treasure Island d'abord dans une courte adaptation en livre 3-D, ce genre de bouquins avec les personnages et le décor en papier qui sortent des pages. Le roman était résumé en une dizaines de pages avec peu de texte. Puis il y a eu la série animée japonaise, qui m'a vraiment fait aimer accrocher. J'ai retrouvé le générique sur youtube et ça me donne toujours les mêmes frissons. Étrange que je lise l'original aussi tard dans ma vie.
Il y a deux romans de voyage: celui qu'on lit en voyage et celui qui parle de voyage (ce que les Anglais appellent parfois un road novel, comme il y a des road movies). Le déplacement géographique illustre le voyage intérieur des héros, leur cheminement. En littérature, les exemples sont légions.
Je ne lis pas assez Stevenson, on oublie parfois que même s'il faisait dans la littérature à genre, il était un écrivain remarquable, avec non seulement du style, mais un style, capable de rendre une époque révolue avec authenticité. J'ai découvert Treasure Island d'abord dans une courte adaptation en livre 3-D, ce genre de bouquins avec les personnages et le décor en papier qui sortent des pages. Le roman était résumé en une dizaines de pages avec peu de texte. Puis il y a eu la série animée japonaise, qui m'a vraiment fait aimer accrocher. J'ai retrouvé le générique sur youtube et ça me donne toujours les mêmes frissons. Étrange que je lise l'original aussi tard dans ma vie.
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