Hidden In France

Sunday inspiration 3

Via decor8

 

   

I had to separate this post into 3 for faster download.

Kiss kiss, and a heartfelt prayer (if i remember how to do that correctly) to the people of Chile.

Sunday inspiration 2

Via Table Tonic 

V

 

 
 

Sunday inspiration 1

Via A Beautiful Living

 

 

 

Aging girly girl

Wearing (or at least owning) one of Gata Valiquíria's necklaces would bring a smile to my lips right now.  There is such a wind of creativity coming from Portugal these days.  Everyday I seem to discover yet another fabulous Portuguese blog.  But I can't understand the language.  Not even one bit. How frustrating.

Okay, now let's talk about the big W. Wrinkles.  Thanks for inspiring this post with yours Belette Rouge.

 

The other day i was at Target and I met a woman about my age whom I have not seen in five years.  While I looked five (or more) years older, she looked ten years younger than last time I had last seen her.  (So 15 years.) We're talking new boobs, new smooth face, tight body, clinging clothes, snow white teeth, even blue contacts.  It's a miracle I recognized her at all.  Meanwhile she did not recognize me.

I'd like to say she looked fake and ridiculous.  How I'd like to write this right now.  But she did not look ridiculous.  In fact she looked fab. She looked pretty damn hot and alive.  

The moral of the story?  When you're 44, live in L.A. and haven't gotten work done, don't shop at Target.

 

Or maybe that's not the moral of the story.  Maybe the moral of the story is: don't age in LA. The moral of the story is definitely NOT learn to accept the aging process because that's not working very well when only some of us do it. 

I'm starting to rethink some of my most rigid theories about life.  I'm, starting to think that there is absolutely no glory in looking natural but shitty... that's what I'm thinking.

 

And those necklaces would look much better on her. If there is a moral to this story, you tell me.

PS: hehe, the moral of the story 2 hours later:  When you're French and you're trying to write in English, don't confuse the words morale and moral.  In French  le moral is the spirit, la morale is the the lesson learned.  In English morale is the spirit, and moral is the lesson learned. Only noticed this with the first comment (thanks again Belette) after writing it incorrectly no less than six times, not to mention countless times in my life and on this blog.  fml.

Multiple personality disorder?

I've been pretty negative on this blog this past week.  Then I read a post by Visual Vamp saying that she is feeling an itch to create a new blog.  I thought, Eureka!  I could simply create yet another a blog.  The new blog would only deal with my negativity. I'd call it: "Taste of my Self-Rightousness". 

 

That way I would not offend you nice people who are so lovingly tapping at my door for a cup of tea and a cookie, and end up with a bucket of iced water poured on your head. 

But seriously. If a blog is a reflection of its writer's personality, then would it make sense to hide more than I show? Would it not be like having multiple personality disorder to segment my blogging into swallowable, more likeable little chunks?

 

I feel in my bones that self-censorship is the worst kind of censorship there is. And I also think,as I get older, that most people won't like you, which is increasingly fine with me. Although it's tempting to try getting approval from the greatest amount of people, I know that it A- won't work. B-is a small death.  

But the more reasonable part of me tells me that 'les paroles disparaissent mais les écrits restent"  translating i think in 'words disappear but the written word is forever'. When I'm negative, I mostly don't like me. And once on the blog, I can't trick myself into thinking I'm a fabulously nice person. I can't sweep the crumbs under the rug forever.  Already, the rug is three feet off the floor.

 

Then there is, of course, this detail: The more obnoxious and controversial I am, the more subscriptions to the blog.  Insane no?  (Cool too.. ahem.)  But then am I not becoming part of the problem, with new readers flocking here for the next outrageous thing they can be revved up about? Precisely what is happening to The Media, which takes the sensationalist approach because only sensationalism sells these days.  So we are now confused between that is News and what is simply New.

  

Here is my question: How do you deal with this?  Are you taking the option of Split Personality or Dirty Laundry Aired out in Public? Should I then erase my ugly deeds, blog elsewhere or leave it alone?

The pictures are borrowed from the flikr page of O Mundo de Dália.  She and I vibrate on the same wavelength in terms of color. She definitely does NOT! have MPD.

My main man

On Valentine's day I wanted to honor a person who has all the qualities I love in  a man. Handsome. Intelligent. Kind. Wise. Patient. Good listener. Tolerant. Idealistic. Action oriented. Pragmatic. Educated. Leader of the Free World. 

 

 HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BARACK!!!!

And I apologize to those who were offended because I implied that Democrat suddenly rimes with backstabbing dingbat.  If that's what being a democrat is, then I rather call myself something else. 

I think it's time we pull (ourselves) together and believe in something. I, for one absolutely believe in Obama.

The heart picture is by she's sew pretty, on flikr here.

... and to my husband of 22 years (Half my life) sorry i called you a democrat. Happy vagina Valentine day to you. xoxoxo

Why are you so terribly disappointing?

That's the title of an article written by Mark Morford about... about.. well, i let you discover for yourself because it's so perfectly said that it would be wrong to paraphrase. 

As to what's going on in he U.S. political world right now, I rather not look.  It is nasty, it is painful and it is DUMB.   Have we gone mad?  Look at the media.  No, on second thought: don't look!  

And when I hear my democrat friends parrot fox News I want to bang my head against a wall. I was debating the other day wether or not I still should call myself a democrat.  But I could not possibly. I'm too progressive.  I'm too smart.

I have to remind myself to chill.  I'm only in the passenger seat.  I can freak out, close my eyes, and thanks the heavens that Obama is the designated driver. 

On a more positive note: It's nice that there still are people (in Europe, maybe not here) who are not entirely jaded and who believe there are solutions:

can I be honest?

I had one of those weeks where nothing exterior can quite justify the lousy feeling experienced on the interior.

Things have not been congealing on the page in any satisfactory way.  A month of work painstakingly describing a time and place that no longer exists, trying to be historically accurate ended up looking like I was plagiarizing effing wikipedia!

 

 My moods do ride the roller coaster of my work.  Unless it’s the other way around?  But that’s not all:  One kid no longer needing me enough.  The other one needing me too much.  Being called critical (I know you are but what am I?)  It all tipped the balance and suddenly I was not only flunking writing, I was also flunking the important relationships in my life, and life itself.

 Invariably, I retreated into my little world only to pass the solitude threshold and start to feel really, really bad.  Don’t give me enough space and I’m like a beast in a cage.  Give me too much and I feel there is no purpose to my life. Balance, it’s all about balance.  And right now I ain't got none. 

 

Today I felt better, at least in terms of writing, as my character started to emerge out of that  wikipedia rubble.  Now all I need to work on in my own character :-)

By the way, I don’t always have enough juice to write a blog post, but if you must you can get the condensed version of my existential agony on facebook (are we'''friends''' yet?) and twitter.

(The pictures are by photographer Paul Barbera: two interpretations of the same mantel, to illustrate that there can be more than one way to spin things.  And below a bathroom i like.)

Animal lover

I was full of good intentions last night. I had stuck post-its reminders on every surface of my desk admonishing me be productive today. In the morning, I opened one eye, looked out the window, saw the rain, went blahr, and  returned to a more natural state of contemplation and laziness.

I spent a good part of the day watching the ducks in my pool, who have returned. They do this every year and for some foolish reasons, it always flatters me.  It's as though the fact that they have chosen and remembered my garden makes me a better person.

Also I spent the rest of the morning sitting on the floor of my closet where the cat has taken refuge since his surgery.  (again, my side of the closet. that's how special I am) He was bitten by something or someone and the wound got infected. I don't know if the cat is in pain or just humiliated by the shaven hair on his back but he looks pretty miserable and won't leave that spot, poor guy.  

Yesterday, I had left him and his food bowl in the laundry room because the vet had told me that his abscess was likely to ooze liquid for a while.  Believe me if I tell you that a cat with shaved hair and a pus-oozing abscess is a sight to behold. Then we're supposed to wash the whole deal with soap and water.  I have three brave men in the house but let me just say that gag reflexes are being triggered all over the place and that i'm not offered help.

 This morning, I opened the door to the laundry room and found the cat livid for having been abandoned in the laundry room all night--I tried to remind the cat that he never seems to object to me spending half my life in that damn room-- and his food covered in ants, because when it rains around here, the ants move in.

No, be patient: this is going somewhere.  My husband asked me if I had fed the cat.  And I said that first, I had to wash the cat's bowl which was covered with ants.  What my husband heard, what he understood is that I had to wash the cat's balls, which were covered with ants.  I think he pretty near passed out at the thought.

Hehehe.. I though that was funny. Now back to staring at ducks...

Here is glamour shot of that rascal.  All parts of him are doing better now.

Making the bed

Bah, I'm feeling sore, tired, cold, lazy and uninspired.  It's February, people.... 

So I'm visiting you guys.  What are friends for, right?

Remember the story of Goldilocks?  I wouldn't mind to visit Jessica of Scrumdillydilly's room and curl up on her bed.  Would that be considered rude?   

 

She changes the look of her bed monthly.  So I would have to do the Goldilocks thing monthly too, for the full experience.

If, like me, you want to become a stalker, check out her blog, her bed, her shoes, and her craft here. Lots of talent, whimsy and FUN.