Wasail, wassail!

Wassail! Wassail all over the town!
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!

The Christmas season is about to end. Officially, it would end at Epiphany, but really, who really celebrates after the New Year nowadays? I was wondering how to celebrate the last day, while the spirit of Christmastime is already pretty much over. I have uploaded before the Gloucestershire Wassail, and I thought it suits the New Year as much as Christmas celebration. While I don't think I will drink a proper wassail, which is some specific kind of mulled cider, and may not have even mulled wine tonight, I already drank two pints of ale, and it was indeed a brown ale. In the end, what matters is not the drink, but that you drink to people's health. So as I drink to yours, I invite you to drink to mine listening to this song.

Et de 731...

L'année 2013 se termine et je suis en train d'écrire mon 731e billet cette année. Au rythme de deux billets par jour, un en anglais et un en français, j'ai donc écrit plus de billets cette année que de jours de l'année, en tout et par tout, et plus qu'en 2012, année record jusqu'ici avec 730. Je crois que c'était beaucoup, je le crois cette année aussi. Résolution pour 2014 qui s'en vient: qualité étant mieux que quantité, je bloguerai moins, mais je bloguerai mieux. Tout indique que j'aurai moins le temps de toutes manières. Je veux également écrire autre chose qu'un blogue.Mais ça, comme le dit le conteur, c'est une autre histoire.

Coventry Carol

I have learned from this book that today is Holy Innocent's Day, so I have decided to upload here the Coventry Carol. It is one of my favourite carols, which as I explained here I associate with D&Dr, in spite of the gravity of the subject. It is still Christmastime, but Christmas is going soon, so I thought one last carol would be nice.

Les figurines du train

Mon lectorat connaît ma fascination tout enfantine (parce qu'elle date de l'enfance) pour les trains et les trains électriques. Or, après des années à lui demander de renouveler notre maigre stock de figurines pour aller avec notre train LGB, il a finalement cédé cette année en achetant plus de prolétaires, enfin je veux dire de petits bonhommes, afin de peupler la gare et ses environs. Vous trouverez les nouvelles figurines à gauche. Il y en a une qui a trente ans ou à peu près, je vous laisse deviner laquelle. Maintenant, il ne reste plus que des passagers avec un wagon qui va avec. Enfants, on imaginait pleins d'aventures pour nos figurines. Je suis tenté de le faire à chaque fois que revois le train.

All I wanted for Christmas...

This is an old picture of Odin, when he was called Homer, taken by his owners years ago. Back then, he still had his left eye intact and he didn't have visible scars. His fur was very black too, no sign of grey or of the strange bit of fiery red I could see sometimes on him. Not on this picture anyway. When I first met him, he was more worn out and did not look as healthy. Then with lots of feeding and TLC, he looked much better. You can sill see it is Odin thought, with his defiant attitude underneath the Christmas, when he seems to have done a bit of a massacre of some of the decorations. This is the feline friend I knew and love.

I am blogging about Odin again because I thought a lot about him recently. I associate Christmas with Vikings and Viking mythology, so it was natural, but looking at this picture it struck me that it is something I wanted to experience with him, to spend Christmastime in company not only of a cat, but this cat. It was in fact, the thing I was looking forward the most at Christmas. During the weeks prior to his tragic death, Odin really helped me get through those dreary November days and nights, his presence and his attitude brought me lots of happiness. I was so looking forward to spend time with him, take a few pics of him by the Christmas tree, or in the snow if there was going to be any. No snow came this year, but Odin is gone anyway. And he was really all I wanted for Christmas this year. So I look at this picture and I feel very sad, but I cannot help looking at it.

Marcher dans la neige

Mon lectorat me pardonnera ce nouveau billet  qui traite de neige et de mal du pays. Mais jeter un coup d'oeil dehors me donne le mal du pays. S'il y a une chose du Québec (et plus particulièrement du Saguenay, et encore plus particulièrement de ma ville de Chicoutimi) qui me manque ce Noël-ci, c'est de pouvoir faire une promenade dans la neige. La neige me manque chaque hiver passé en Angleterre, surtout lorsque je sais qu'il y a eu de grosses bordées dans mon pays natal. Les promenades digestives, ou pour se mettre en appétit, sont toujours plus efficaces lorsqu'il y a de la neige, bien qu'elles peuvent épuiser aussi.

Good Kind Wenceslas

This has become a Christmas tradition on Vraie Fiction: I am uploading Good King Wenceslas. as I avoid the Boxing Day, I consider the 26th of December, the Feast of Stephen, or more precisely Good King Wenceslas's Day, because of course of his namesake carol. This is sang by Loreena McKennitt, taken I think from her album A Midwinter Night's Dream. I love this song not so much about its moral message, although I do like that this is about generosity and kindness rather than devotion, but because of its atmosphere: cold winters and heavy snow just peak to me. So here it is anyway.

Les trois messes basses

Je vous offre aujourd'hui un conte de Noël d'Alphonse Daudet. Bien entendu, il s'agit des Trois messes basses. J'ai déjà blogué sur le conte en 2009 et l'année dernière aussi. Vous trouverez le texte original ici. J'ai également trouvé l'adaptation du conte tiré de l'adaptation faite par Marcel Pagnol des Lettres de mon moulin. Dites-moi ce que vous en pensez.

Good Yule!

Merry Christmas everyone or, as I say now and maybe for now on, Good Yule! I have decided to embrace Christmas' Pagan roots. Not like a neo-pagan, but more like a Godless heathen who loves the primitive symbolism of Christmas, which Christianity never really tamed. So yes, troll the ancient Yuletide carol, as I said before. And I associate Christmas with Norse mythology, from which it heavily borrows some of its most famous elements. Hence the Viking ship you can see on the picture at your left, it is a Christmas tree decoration my family bought in Sweden I believe. And there's a snowman who managed to get in the frame, but the thing I wanted to show the boat more. So yes, good Yule everyone! To my Christian readers, my fellow heathens and the rest. Eat, drink and be merry.

Joyeux Noël!

Photo familiale de l'arbre de Noël à Chicoutimi. Tout ce qu'il me manque ou presque est dans cette photo:un gros arbre avec des décorations qui ont de l'histoire (au moins cette année j'en ai un vrai ici), de la neige et, même si vous ne pouvez pas la voir, ma famille. Enfin, petit jeu pour mes lecteurs de la blogosphère alors que vous digérez votre dinde, les pâtés à la viande, les atocas et le reste: essayez d'identifier les décorations du sapin.

Christmas crimes

No, no, I did not commit any crime myself. I learned recently some news that surprised me: Vito Rizzuto, the presumptive head of the Italian mafia in Montreal, died of a pneumonia. Apparently of natural causes, which would be darn ironic. I can't say that I will shed any tears for this man, as I hate what he did and represented. A darn shame he did not die in jail, as he should have had. Anyway, at least he will not enjoy Christmas. I couldn't help but think of The Godfather when I learned the news, partially because Rizzuto had been nicknamed and labelled the godfather of Montreal (and probably considered himself to be) and because like the title character he died naturally. Funny because The Godfather is also among my list of Christmas movies, as many key events and plot turns in the movie happen during Christmastime. I have uploaded here the movie's introduction to the Christmas season. When death is looming above the festive spirit, it shows the darker side of Christmas in a gripping realistic fashion.

Les beignes de Noël

Mon père m'a envoyé des photos des préparatifs des Fêtes chez nous. Dont cette photo des beignes. Je mange ça avec du lait ou du thé, mon père avec du vin rouge. Pour Noël, on mange de la bûche, mais dans les semaines et les jours qui viennent, ou la veille comme aujourd'hui, on mange des beignes la plupart du temps. J'ai déjà blogué récemment sur la production de beignes familiaux durant les Fêtes, mais j'ai pensé les montrer comme on les mange, couverts de sucre en poudre comme si c'était de la neige.

Christmas train station

As my readership knows, I borderline obsess about trains. I have even blogged about them less than a week ago. I am no connoisseur, I mean I wouldn't know how the whole engine works, but I was never blasé about them. Since childhood, I love train as a mean of transport, maybe the first modern one, as a piece of technology and as an object. I find old trains aesthetic. And I love the atmosphere of train stations, some more than others obviously. I love the look of them too, old ones especially. My fascination with trains and everything related to them dates back to a childhood Christmas when my father bought us, and himself, a LGB electric train. I got hooked since then. My brothers and I played plenty of games set around the train, from pure fantasy ones where the train was going to the North Pole to "realistic" action thrillers.

My father bought a train station to go with the train years later. I think I was already a grownup, or at least a teenager, or young adult. Unfortunately, it was not a LGB one, but a Playmobil station. I am not sure they even sell stations at LGB. But it is still a good one and it does have the cachet of many old European stations. It is at the center of the village at the bottom of our Christmas tree, surrounded by many, many sheep we have gathered from all around the places we visited, houses (made of fluffy stuff), a Scottish ox, a few more animals and on the side there is a koala hanging on the pole of a Swedish flag (!). It is now the centerpiece of the base of our Christmas tree.

Question existentielle (213)

En relisant mon billet sur la cuvée Ciné-cadeau 2013, j'ai pensé à cette question existentielle:

-De quels films est constituée selon vous la filmographie de Noël idéale?

Happy Festivus!

I don't know if many here are fans of Seinfeld, but those who are probably remember that today, 23rd of December, is Festivus. A fictitious holiday that has become real, at least to some people, enough so that there is a website dedicated to it. And a fanbase to follow it. It even got into a bit of controversy recently. I was not a fan of Seinfeld, but I always liked it all the same and I found this particular pseudo-holiday hilarious. So to celebrate, here is the bits of the episode where Festivus is featured. It hasn't aged.

23 Décembre

Je sais, je la télécharge à chaque année, le 23 décembre, mais comme nous sommes le 23 décembre, j'ai décidé de télécharger à nouveau sur ce blogue 23 Décembre de Beau Dommage. Même si notre crèche n'était pas, n'a jamais été, mal faite. Et que je n'ai jamais passé des Fêtes aussi prolétaires, pour être honnête. Mais tout de même, c'est un incontournable aujourd'hui.

Liverpool and Christmas

I don't know why, but I remembered today a joke I heard during my year in Liverpool, around Christmastime, about... well, Christmas, Liverpool and Nativity scenes. Here it is: "They tried to make a Nativity play in Liverpool for Christmas, but they couldn't do it in the end. They could not find three wise men and a virgin." Maybe it is a bit vulgar, but it is nevertheless so very funny, especially if you know Scousers.

Un VRAI sapin de Noël

Je n'ai pas encore de photo de celui que j'ai en ce moment, alors je publie ici une photo du sapin familial de l'année dernière. Cela va bien accompagner ce billet qui a pour sujet un arbre de Noël, celui que j'ai acheté cette année. Comme je n'ai pas pris de vacances (je ne pouvais pas vraiment en prendre), j'ai décidé de faire le plus possible pour que Noël soit tel que je vis d'habitude les Fêtes. Alors, je me suis acheté un VRAI sapin. L'artificiel, je pourrai toujours l'utiliser l'année prochaine, car je compte bien prendre mes vacances cette année-là. Il n'y a pas à dire, un vrai sapin, ça fait toute la différence. Il manque encore la neige dehors, mais au moins ici il y a un arbre de Noël bien vert qui a une odeur magnifique. Et puis il n'est pas si mal décoré. Pas encore comme celui de ma famille, lequel a des décorations qui ont mon âge, mais au cours de mes quelques années ici j'ai quand même trouvé quelques trésors (vous pouvez en voir quelques uns ici) et elles lui donnent du cachet. Il n'est pas très grand non plus, mais au moins il est bien touffu. Et, l'ai-je dit, il sent ce qu'un sapin devrait sentir.

Yuletide D&Dr

Well, this is my yearly Christmastime post about Dungeons & Dragons, to celebrate decades of times playing my favourite role-playing game in maybe its best environment, the time of year where it brings such atmosphere. I blogged about it before and it has since become more or less a tradition on Vraie Fiction. Last year, I even blogged about it twice, here and here. Like almost every time I do blog about D&Dr, I accompany the post with a picture by classic fantasy, sci-fi and of course D&Dr illustrator Larry Elmore. In fact, the post pretty much an excuse to have some of his art on this blog.

This image is from the cover of The Bloodstone Lands module from the Forgotten Realms campaign setting. I never liked Forgotten Realms, well in fact I never liked much of the already-made settings of D&Dr. I much preferred our created world. That said, the name of the lands is great, and what a tempting image, if one ever wanted to play in a campaign setting. This picture works so well. There is the snowy background, the beautiful winter landscape. There is even a pine tree, so you have your Christmas tree (albeit without lights or decorations) on the image. At the center of the image, you see a duel between a wizard and a fighter, the wizard seemingly the evil one, with his goat's skin used as a hood, and the top of his staff is also a goat's head. Goats obviously have devilish associations. So yes, I always loved this cover. And to fully enjoy it, or, why not, a game of D&Dr this Christmas, if you play it, I give you again O Come, O Come Emmanuel, a Christmas carol which I also associate with my favourite game. I often do with Christmas carols, but this one in particular, and as it is also a tradition from Vraie Fiction this time of year, here it is.

Atocas et calembour atroce

J'ai fait des atocas récemment, afin d'accompagner le repas de Noël, parce que Noël sans atocas, je ne peux simplement pas le concevoir. J'y suis allé au pifomètre pour l'eau et le sucre. Le résultat final était plutôt bien, ce qui m'a fait dire sur Facebook: "Si je n'avais pas réussi, je me serais dit entéka."

C'était ce calembour atroce que je voulais partager sur ce billet.

Solstice

English below...

Nous sommes le solstice d'hiver aujourd'hui. Donc la journée la plus courte de l'année. C'est l'hiver pour vrai partout dans l'hémisphère nord, même dans les endroits comme ici ou il n'y a pas de neige. C'est plus déprimant, mais je tenais à souligner le solstice d'hiver. Et puisque pour moi l'hiver doit être enneigé, j'ai téléchargé ici une photo du sorbier familial sous la neige.
----------------------
We are the winter solstice today. So it is the shortest day of the year. It is not winter for real, in the Northern hemisphere at least, even in places like here where there is sadly no snow. It makes the solstice look dreary, but all the same, I wanted to commemorate the winter solstice. And since for me winter is snowy, I have downloaded here a picture of the family's rowan tree in the snow.

Fairrytale of New York

I first heard this song by The Pogues here in England. I first really started listening to it and paid attention to the lyrics recently. And I fell in love with it. I usually prefer old Christmas carols and think fairly little of new songs. But this one is brilliant, it is grim and bitter like Christmas can be sometimes, it is not preachy one bit like too many Christmas songs are. Yet, it remains festive, in spite of the bitterness and the disappointments life brings us. So I am uploading it on Vraie Fiction. Enjoy.

Arbre de Noël (et touche québécoise)

Bon, j'apprends que mon petit frère est descendu au Saguenay aujourd'hui, il doit être home sweet home à l'heure qu'il est. Alors que moi je suis foutu ici, dans l'Angleterre pluvieuse. Alors bon, je me console en regardant des photos de Noël, dont celle-ci. C'est bien entendu une d'un soldat-casse-noisette comme celui du conte/ballet. Maintenant, il y en a partout, comme décorations d'arbres, ou décorations tout court, de toutes les couleurs et de toutes les grandeurs. Mais celui-ci est spécial parce que... Bien, parce que les couleurs sont bien entendu celles du Québec. Avec le fleur de lis et tout. Noël, c'est surtout rouge et vert sur fond blanc, ce soldat amène une touche de bleu. Et il me fait penser à chez moi.

Of crimes and trains

I watched yesterday on the BBC The Great Train Robbery, based on, well, the great train robbery of 1963. It created a bit of controversy, as some people thought it was glorifying criminals. But I think the story had to be told and is very relevant. Because it made UK crime history. Heck, it made history, period. And however delicate the subject matter, I believe in the importance of memory. That, and I find such historical crime drama, history turned into fiction, to be cathartic. I loved it anyway, loved the top class acting and the characterization, the setting, everything. It was quality. And tonight there is the second part, showing the following investigation.

And watching it, something struck me about their motivations: I wonder if the robbers did not do it because they were going to rob a train and not a bank, that they didn't do it at least partially because it was an exciting setting. A train, in motion, that you need to stop, to ride a little bit even, then to empty of its content. They had to take into the account railways, signals, workers, a whole web of elements that make train travel possible and that don't exist in a bank. I think their was a bit of boyish mischief in their crime. Are there any children not fascinated, to a degree, by trains? And so many remain fascinated by trains as adults. I know I am. So I wonder if that was not their motivation: to play with a toy.

03:30 l'après midi

C'est l'heure où le soleil commence à se coucher maintenant, à peu près. C'est ce que j'ai remarqué hier alors que je marchais de retour d'un lunch avec mes collègues. On avait pris une longue heure et il était passé trois heures et demis lorsque nous sommes sortir du pub et la noirceur commençait déjà à s'installer. On se rapproche donc de plus en plus du coeur de l'hiver, le solstice. Et hier, ça m'a frappé.

The Twelve days of Christmas (a correspondence)

Today, I am plugging again this book, which is a satire of The Twelve Days of Christmas. I mentioned it on Vraie Fiction twice, here and here. It was written by John Julius Norwich and drawn by Quentin Blake. I had first seen it (and read it) in a Waterstone's back in 1999. I don't know why I didn't buy it then and there. I could find it online, but the illustrations of Blake enhances the reading experience and make it all the funnier. But nothing was lost in the end: even though I had not seen it again in a bookstore for years, it has recently been re-edited, with a foreword by Joanna Lumley. And I adore Joanna Lumley.

Anyway, what is the book about? It is about a presumably young man, Edward, sending his beloved fiancée Emily, who lives with her mother, each and every one of the items of the song, mainly, but not only, birds. Noisy birds. each and every day of the Christmas, for the whole twelve days of Christmas. Emily tells the story through letters sent to Edward, first completely smitten by his romantic idea and grateful for his original gift, then less than thrilled, finally outraged. There is a brilliant crescendo in her anger until the final bang, where the drummers drumming (the entire percussion section of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra) show up on the twelfth day. I don't know why Liverpool's orchestra, but since I lived there for a year, it also adds to the pleasure of the text to me. In the end, it is simply a deliciously funny book. Whether you love or hate the original song that inspired it. Oh, and the pictures! They show such a display of emotions. And you can almost smell the menagerie.

Le bréviaire du maire Tremblay

C'est mon père qui m'a appris la nouvelle: le maire Jean Tremblay de Ville de Saguenay, le mollah crétin et fondamentaliste qui sert de maire à MA ville, la métropole de MA région, a écrit et publié un livre sur sa foi. Misère! Et admirez un peu le titre pompeux du Journal de Québec: "Voyage au plus profond de son âme." T'as pas autre chose à faire, chose? Par exemple diriger ta ville dans la transparence et impartialité, sans favoritisme envers tes amis, les sycophantes qui t'entourent ou les croyants. C'est sûr que c'est trop demander. Après avoir gagné ses élections et la cause de la prière au conseil de ville (une victoire de l'obscurantisme), le potentat est gonflé à bloc. Alors il écrit un bréviaire qui, comme tous les bréviaires sont un ramasss de clichés (lisez les extraits dans le journal) et il confond allègrement dévotion et morale. Jean Tremblay a la conscience d'un servant de messe de cinq ans et a le même développement intellectuel. Sauf qu'il est un adulte teigneux. C'est un très mauvais mélange. Enfin, pour voir le bon côté des choses, moi qui le soupçonnait d'être analphabète, il semble qu'il sache lire et écrire. Un peu. Pas grand-chose, après tout c'est un anti-intellectuel, alors ça ne dépasse pas la teneur d'un catéchisme.

An Italian moment

I mentioned recently in a post about mulled wine the restaurant dinner with Odin's former owners. What I did not mention then, because I wanted to write a blog post about it, is that the waiter was Italian. He could also speak a fairly good French, which he was eager to use, so he spoke to me in French, but knowing he was Italian, I said my usual: "Io parlo bene italiano ma non capisco una sola parola". I say it as often as I can. It always has the same effect: the native Italian speaker thinks I am fluent in Italian, sometimes even thinks I am Italian myself. Sometimes I sound like a Southerner, a Neapolitan, a Roman, this time it was a Northerner. I am an all round the map pseudo-Italian. Anyway, he quickly saw that I was not a native, but just for the effect the line made, I think it deserves to be considered a great unknown line from now on, if I haven't listed it among them before. I talked as much as I could in Italian that night when ordering. Moral of the story: there is none. It was simply an Italian moment.

Le mal du pays/de l'hiver

Ceci est le millième billet, environ, sur l'hiver québécois que j'ai dû écrire sur Vraie Fiction. En fait, je ne les compte plus, mais ça fait beaucoup. Je radote peut-être, mais l'expatrié que je suis ne peut s'empêcher d'y penser. Il ne neige pas en Angleterre, en tout cas pas dans mon coin de l'île. Au Québec, ça n'a pas arrêté de tomber. Je voulais le mentionner ici en fin de semaine, mais finalement ça n'a pas adonné. Alors bref, il pleut ici et ça ne risque pas de changer d'ici à Noël, mon troisième passé en Angleterre, mon quatrième Noël brun (comme le dit la chanson) si on compte celui passé en France... Ca me donne un peu les bleus, pour rester dans les métaphores colorées. Alors j'exorcise mon mal du pays en regardant (et en publiant ici) des photos de l'hiver québécois, comme celle-ci de Chicoutimi. S'il y a une chose qui batte l'hiver québécois, c'est l'hiver saguenéen. Le mal du pays est en général, comme ici, mêlé de patriotisme.

December trains

I waited an extra ten minutes for the train for my commute home tonight. On a Monday night, it feels like an extra ten minutes that would usually feel like a fraction of Purgatory, yet I barely noticed it. Trains have been running late quite a lot recently, either way of my commute. It is now even snowing yet or anything, yet it feels very much like winter has messed up the train line. And it is barely winter. Something struck me when I stepped in the packed train: people seemed so resigned. Quiet, bored and resigned, as if they are all waiting for something. Christmas is coming soon, so people don't complain or even grumble about minor disagreeable moments. And I still love trains no matter what.

Question existentielle (212)

Tiens, ça fait déjà un bail que je n'ai pas posé de question existentielle. En voici donc une:

-De toutes les traditions associées à Noël, quelle est la plus oubliée?

The Ancient Yuletide Carol

This is a decoration from the family Christmas tree: a pine-cone turned into a little person, maybe a gnome, holding proudly a Swedish flag. I am putting it up for a few reasons: because it is a beautiful, simple decoration, my family and I have a bit of history with Sweden and because as I blogged before I associate Christmas with Norse mythology. I love my Christmas primitive in a Pagan way, with the Christmas tree represents some representation of Yggdrasil, the mistletoe is the instrument of the god Balder's death and overall, is all about the return of light after darkness. I am very tempted to call it Yule. I will blog more about it in the coming weeks. Now, as I haven't uploaded music on Vraie Fiction for a long while, I thought about uploading a Christmas carol that is more secular and mentions Christmas' Pagan roots. I immediately thought about Deck the Halls, with its instructions to "Troll the ancient Yuletide carol". Although the troll of the lyrics is a verb, not a troll, it is still primitive. I was not much of a big fan of this particular carol, unless I started paying attention to the lyrics. Now I love it.

Bonheur (la photo du mois)

Celle-ci a été d'une désarmante simplicité à trouver, mais pour une foisj'aurais voulu avoir de la difficulté à trouver. Enfin bref, Odin, mon chat noir et félin préféré de tous ceux que j'ai connus, est mort récemment. L'avoir près de moi, sur le sofa, à l'entendre et le sentir ronronner comme sur la photo, ou ronfler, c'était le pur bonheur. Et je crois qu'il était heureux aussi d'être ici.

Bon, je sais que j'écris un billet pas très guilleret pour un pareil sujet, mais comme je le dis, la photo s'est imposée d'elle-même. Je vous invite donc à aller voir les autres:

A'icha, Agathe, Agnès, Akaieric, Alban, Alexinparis, Alice Wonderland, Angélique, Ann, Anne, Anne Laure T, Anne-Laure, Arwen, AurélieM, Ava, Béa, Bestofava, BiGBuGS, Blogoth67, Calamonique, Cara, Caterine, Cécile - Une quadra, Cekoline, Céline in Paris, CetO, Champagne, Chat bleu, Chloé, Christophe, Claire's Blog, Cocosophie, Crearine, Cricriyom from Paris, Dame Skarlette, DelphineF, Djoul, Dr. CaSo, dreamtravelshoot, El Padawan, Elodie, eSlovénie, Eurydice, Fanfan Raccoon, Filamots, FloRie, François le Niçois, Frédéric, Galinette, Gilsoub, Giselle 43, Gizeh, Guillaume, hibiscus, Homeos-tasie, Hypeandcie, Ileana, InGrenoble, Isa de fromSide2Side, Isa ToutSimplement, Isaquarel, J'adore j'adhère, Joane, Josiane, Julie, KK-huète En Bretannie, Krn, La Dum, La Fille de l'Air, La Messine, La Nantaise à Paris, La voyageuse comtoise, Lau* des montagnes, Laulinea, Laurent Nicolas, Lavandine, Lavandine83, Les bonheurs d'Anne & Alex, Les voyages de Lucy, LisaDeParis, Louisianne, Lucile et Rod, Lyonelk, magda627, Mamysoren, Maria Graphia, Marie, Marie-Charlotte, Marmotte, MauriceMonAmour, Mes ptits plats, Mimireliton, MissCarole, Morgane Byloos Photography, Nicky, Nie, Oscara, Photo Tuto, Pica Moye, Pilisi, Piolo, Pixeline, princesse Emalia, Renepaulhenry, Rythme Indigo, Sailortoshyo, scarolles-and-co, SecretAiko, Sephiraph, Thalie, The Parisienne, The Singapore Miminews, Thib, Tuxana, Un jour, une vie, Violette, Viviane, Wolverine, Woocares, Xoliv', Zaza

The Atheist's Guide to Christmas

Tis the season to be reading, and as I often do as Christmas is coming, I am today plugging another Christmas related book. This one is particularly close to my heart. It is The Atheist's Guide to Christmas. Because I am an atheist and I love Christmas. I blogged about how I lived Christmas an atheist before (here and here, among other times). But anyway, since I don't think there is any God or gods to celebrate, let alone one made flesh, it is nice to see that I am not alone to view Christmas as secular. There is of course, in America but also in the wider Western world, a hysterical attitude among some Christians fearing that their favourite holiday is being taken away from them. I am referring to of course to the so-called War on Christmas, an imaginary war feared by paranoid religious fundies. The guide may be about the multiple faces of the celebration, the ways one can celebrate and interpret the holiday, more than it is trying to stir a controversy, nevertheless it often challenges this dubious claim that Christmas is exclusively Christian. It explains the pre-Christian and primitive roots of the holidays and shows how our enjoyment of it can be areligious as well as (and this may surprise some) non consumerist. Understanding Christmas, its origins and its manifestations is for me a way to enjoy it and love it even more. And there is such a lovely diversity of perspectives in this book, from artists to scientists too. So it is a must read, not only for Godless heathens like me, but maybe a few Godly people too.

La gratte a passé...

Vous vous rappelez de l'humoriste qui avait cette phrase et running gag mémorable: "La gratte a passé, deux morts" dans son sketch/one man show? Après une recherche sur Google, il semblerait que ce soit Martin L'Heureux, natif d'Alma (étrange, je le croyais d'origine italienne, peut-être que je confonds avec un autre). La fameuse phrase, tout ce qu'on semble avoir gardé de lui, je l'avais entendue, je crois, à Samedi de rire ou à Juste pour rire. Ou aux deux. Je me rappelle d'autres sketches de lui, je le trouvais vraiment drôle. Je ne sais pas pourquoi, ça me vient en tête ces temps-ci, le running gag. Pas que la gratte aie besoin de passer ici: le temps est doux, ça en est ridicule. Ce n'est pas estival, mais c'est beaucoup trop doux pour l'hiver. Enfin bref, cette photo a été prise l'année dernière à Chicoutimi, pas à Alma, mais c'est quand même le Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean.

An Epiphany about mince and meat pies

I was reading in this book (which is among my Christmas reads) its chapter about mince pies, when something struck me: mince pies are pretty much not so distant cousins of the pork pies, or meat pies (pâtés à la viande as we call them in Québec) which I have been eating all my life and which are an important part of the traditional Christmas supper in Québec. I blogged about the pie recently in French, surprisingly the post got me many comments from my non-francophone readers. You can find the recipe on PJ's blog here. Anyway, here is my theory: both pies are important, in their respective region of the world, during the Christmas season and are closely associated with it (even though we can eat meat pies all year round in Québec, they ar emore prominent during Christmas). The mince pie is a pie from which the minced meat has now been taken off, while in Québec, the pork pie is made of minced meat, more precisely pork and some veal, but has no more fruit. It has still, however, some spices and herbs in it. And anyone can see the family resemblance. So there you have it. Something that has been so familiar to me has its origins in at least the middle ages. I might make a wish every time I start a pâté à la viande now. In any case, I encourage all my friends in the blogosphere to try the recipe on my brother's blog. Te meat pies are delicious and a perfect substitute for pigs in blanket.

La cuvée Ciné-cadeau 2013

Il y a un peu plus d'une semaine, je me désespérais du site de Ciné-cadeau. Or, j'y ai jeté un coup d'oeil ce soir et je me suis rendu compte qu'il est finalement mis à jour. Fini l'horaire en fichier PDF. Bon, vous me direz que ça me fait une belle jambe, puisque je ne serai pas au Québec ce Temps des Fêtes. Mais j'ai pu enfin avoir un aperçu plus précis de la programmation de Ciné-cadeau 2013-2014, ou comme je l'appelle la cuvée. Alors, qu'en pensez-vous? Je trouve en général la qualité de bonne qualité, presque trop en fait. On présentait quelques chefs d'oeuvre alors que j'étais enfant, mais également beaucoup de trucs au charme désuet. Et je trouve l'ensemble un peu trop gentil, il y avait des trucs plus rock and roll, selon mes souvenirs en tout cas.

Foggy days and nights

I long for snow, I wish there was some, but so far no snow has fallen on this part of England. That said, I was lucky in other ways, as since yesterday, but especially today, the fog has fallen over this bit of land like a thick pea soup. And I love a foggy day. I barely read on the train today because I spent time looking outside, everything is so beautiful and eerie. I took this picture of the pub by the train station tonight. Not a very good one (compared to, say, this one), but it gives a good idea of the thickness of it. Walking through the fog today and tonight, in the cool English winter air was really enjoyable. I had to be careful though, especially at rush hour, as one could barely see two meters away in some places and I was wearing a black coat. But what a beautiful sight. There are not many places as beautiful as this town on a foggy day. Or a foggy night.

Les décorations de Noël mignonnes

J'ai blogué il y a deux jours sur les décorations quétaines pour l'arbre de Noël, ce soir je blogue sur les décorations mignonnes. C'est l'Avent, il faut bien que je blogue sur le sujet. Cette décoration-ci a à peu près mon âge, je ne me rappelle pas une année sans qu'il y en ait comme celle-ci. Des souris, des pandas, des écureuils, des koalas, des ours, tous portant les couleurs de Noël. L'un tenant une canne à sucre, un bas de Noël, ou comme cette souris portant le bonnet du Père Noël et tenant une chandelle à la main. Je ne sais pas ou mon père les a trouvées, mais elles sont là depuis très longtemps. Des décorations mignonnes qui étaient mes préférées enfant. Je ne sais pas trop pourquoi, j'ai pris cette photo l'année dernière. Moi qui déteste les rongeurs, j'aime tout de même bien cette souris.

Tyr's Day

We are Tuesday today, which means, of course, Tyr's Day. The day of the Norse god Tyr. I have blogged about the god Tyr, this too little known Viking god here and here. I have decided to celebrate the almost forgotten Aesir (the name of the Viking gods) again, because I like him a lot. Therefore I have downloaded again a picture from Gods & Heroes from Viking Mythology. Drawn of course by the admirable Giovanni Caselli. It is from the story of Fenrir being chained, when Tyr had to give his hand as guarantee to the demonic wolf. An admirable act of courage and sacrifice by Tyr, as he knew he was sacrificing his hand for the greater good. The image is in fact the second half of this one. You see Tyr with his freshly chopped off hand, Odin behind him and other gods, looking very carefree in spite of the gravity of the moment. So yes, Tyr is my favourite Viking god because of his courage and this is an example why. It may not be as impressive as fighting a giant, but it is much more admirable.

Quand la rivière Saguenay brûle

Je lis assez peu les nouvelles régionales d'habitude, pas parce que j'oublie mes racines, mais parce que je les trouve souvent un tantinet déprimantes. Mais bon, j'essaie de me tenir au courant malgré tout, de faire un effort pour me garder au fait de ce qui se passe au Saguenay. Et puis il arrive quelque chose qui te frappe soudainement: j'apprends aujourd'hui que le pont Dubuc qui lie Chicoutimi de Chicoutimi-Nord, a été touché par les flammes d'un bateau embrasé qui passait en dessous. Le cégep de Chicoutimi est fermé et la ville est dans un certain état d'urgence. Ca n'a pas la même ampleur que le Déluge, mais je ne peux m'empêcher d'y penser un peu. Je pense un peu plus au séisme de 1988, arrivé à peu près dans la même période. Deux évènements que j'ai vécus. Aujourd'hui, je me sens loin de chez moi.

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.