Category: Stream of consciousness

sentimental nostalgia

The weather is weird,

damp,

hot,

looks like rain,

but,

it doesn’t come,

strange,

and,

well,

frustrating.

Customers?

Not too many,

of those,

today,

or,

yesterday in fact,

oh well,

it should pick up,

tommorrow,

or Friday,

right??

šŸ™‚

I had a chance to finish,

my Helene Hanff,

it was fun,

like visiting,

New York,

in the seventies,

with someone who lives there,

and,

loves her city deeply,

these are the hard,

New York years,

of near brankruptcy,

and ‘Death Wish’* like,

violence

some parts,

areĀ disconcerting,

as when she writes about,

the World Trade Towers,

Hanff,

wasn’t a fan,

she wasn’t the only one,

likeĀ all gigantic building projects,

The World Trade Towers,

had their critics,

and,

when you consider,

what happened,

the unthinkable,

the day the world went mad,

yeah,

disturbing.

So, yesterday,

was my birthday,

it was ok.

I got a really cool present,

a five cd set,

a sort of retrospective,

of Quebecois music,

from 1936-2011,

which corresponds,

to the time,

seventy-five years,

that Radio-Canada,

the French arm of the CBC,

has been on the airwaves.

It’s amazing to hear,

some of these songs,

the ones,

my Grandparents,

met and married to,

the ones my parents,

peace and loved to,

the ones that nursed,

my childhood,

myĀ early years.

Some long cherished,

some long snickered at,

and,

yet,

the nostalgia,

of sitting,

in my grandmother’s kitchen,

always the kitchen,

listening to,

our national,

nationalistic,

poets,

and,

our silly pop music,

pop music is always silly,

nothing wrong with silly.

Songs that speak to my roots,

to the life of my people,

to the lives of my family,

some of them,

these songs,

about our history,

about our land,

remind me how,

profoundly,

Quebecois I feel,

I am,

the pride in those,

who came before me,

and,

how much I miss them.

Birthdays make me,

setimental,

and,

nostalgic.

Later girls,

BB

***Death Wish is a Charles Bronson movie from the seventies, a man becomes a vigilante after the muder of his wife and rape of his daughter, and cleans up New York, or part of it anyway, horribly violent, expressed the climate of New York in those hard violent days**

 

 

 

On travel ??

What a glorious morning it is,

sunny, cool, blue blue sky.

I’m at home,

Thursday morning,

mom’s in charge,

at the bookstore.

I’ve had breakfast,

Great grains cereal with extra raisins and soy milk, I’m so middle aged- the Dude looks hopefully at the bowl and when I let him have the dregsĀ , he looks at me, disappointed, puzzled and, I think, a little grossed out. He doesn’t speak human, but, if he did, I’m pretty sure he’s be saying “you like this shit?”- In point of fact- I do, a Franciscan monk breakfast, for the twenty-first century:-)

It’s my birthday next week,

I’ll be forty-seven,

and,

three days later,

I’m getting my,

buzz cut for Cancer:-)

Should be an interesting week,

if you factor in the fact,

that mom has picked that week,

to have the kitchen painted,

busy, busy, bald:-)

I got my new John Irving,

yesterday,

hot of the press.

I ordered something else,

in order to avoid,

the shipping charges,

a Helene Hanff book

(she of 84 Charing Cross Road fame)

it’s called,

Apple Of My Eye,

all about Helene’s New York,

a sort of a guide book,

it’s delightful,

as all her books are,

feel like you are right there with her,

sharing a Martini and a cigarette,

nice.

The thing is,

I don’t travel,

never have,

it’s not in my,

temperament,

not part of my lifestyle,

I have no objections,

per se,

I just don’t.

Many people think that’s,

close minded?

reductive?

lacking an adventurous spirit?

all this might be true,

I don’t think it is,

but still,

what do I know?

šŸ™‚

I know,

that I like to travel in books,

with interesting people,

I used to like,

historical novels,

read tons of them,

not so much anymore.

Now, I like my fiction,

and,

memoirs,

not biography so much,

as,

memoir,

slices of lives,

traveling to New York,

with Helene,

watching Paris from my window,

with Colette,

and her cats,

having and raising a baby,

in France,

with Adam Gopnik,

drinks with Janet and Hem,

walking through the 1930’s garden at Sissinghurst,

with Vita and Virginia,

that’s what I like.

But,

since I now eat my cereal,

with soy milk,

maybe,

I’ll experience Shakespeare and Company,

for myself,

live,

with the sights and sounds.

If I can have my head shaved,

change my eating habits,

maybe I can learn to travel,

maybe,

you can teach a middle aged butch,

new tricks

WinK!!!

Later girls,

BB

 

On my mind, quotes, Russian punk rock and Hockey

Butches give me a lady boner.

-Mark Twain

Restroom

Pussy Riot,

Russian all women,

balaclaved,

punk rock band,

members arrested,

for denouncing Putin,

and,

his repression,

homophobia,

his patriarchy.

They face,

a possible seven years,

in jail.

Sure, Russia has,

Democracy!!!

***In Montreal, a law recently passed outlawing the wearing of masks in demonstrations, hmm, masks, balaclavas, kind of the same, hmm, food for thought, no? Thank you CBC for stimulating thought***

and…

finally…

Hockey,

remember,

I said recently,

I didn’t care who won the cup?

Ok, well, now I really don’t care!!!

I wonder who will?

The two teams in the western final?

Phoenix and L.A.

I know..!!??!!

I’m predicting,

low ratings,

I wish them luck,

but,

wow,

Arizona and California,

brings to mind,

snow,

ice,

no?

It’s weird,

exporting our game,

to places,

that don’t really want it,

and,

having,

mostly Canadian players,

win!!

Like I said weird.

Stream of consciousness:-)

later girls,

BB

 

 

 

 

It’s Complicated?!?!

Well I’m cured!!!

Thanks,

for putting up with me.

Now, that I’m back to,

my usual self,

exhausted:-)

Mom’s a wreck,

she hurt her back,

not quite sure how,

something silly,

like bending,

the wrong way,

sometimes,

it’s that simple,

and that painful.

I got her some painkillers,

and,

she has to learn to,

slow down,

it’s hard for her,

she’s been a,

Speedy Gonzalez,

her whole life,

but,

Speedy is now,

seventy-one,

and she has to be,

more,

measured.

I’m trying to get her to,

‘get’ that,

without calling her old,

or even using the word,

aging,

delicate.

There is a relationship,

descriptor,

on Face book,

‘It’s complicated’

it refers to romantic status,

a contrast to,

single,

or,

coupled with,

the alternative to both is,

‘It’s complicated’

funny,

I’ve been part of a couple,

and,

I’ve been single,

seems to me,

‘It’s’ all,

complicated.

Happy relationships,

unhappy relationships,

romantic,

friendship,

mother-daughter.

All,

require,

communication,

compromise,

all,

are complicated.

Maybe,

the best things in life,

are complicated,

love,

relationships,

career,

choosing your path,

complicated.

Sometimes,

it’s complex,

sometimes,

it’s mysterious,

sometimes,

it’s hard,

sometimes,

it’s frustrating,

sometimes,

it’s joyous,

sometimes,

it’s buoyant,

and,

sometimes,

for short,

increments,

it’s,

easy,

but, it’s always,

Complicated:-)

What the hey,

as long as it,

ain’t boring.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

Latest reading impressions

It’s a nice morning,

well,

almost afternoon,

sunny.

I feel so much better,

I’ve even managed to get,

through a couple of books.

I read Conrad’s The Secret Agent,

a very political, radical, anarchist novel,

I liked it.

I read a mystery novel,

something I haven’t done,

in a while,

Barry Maitland,

The Marx Sisters,

the first in a series,

featuring Detectives Brock and Kolla,

intelligent and well plotted,

I intend to read more.

I also finished Lady Chatterley’s Lover,

beautiful book,

very sensuous,

an astute observation,

about class distinctions,

and,

male female roles,

at the time,

I wonder how much things have changed?

and,

aspirations,

sexy,

and,

raw,

reminded me a great deal,

of Hardy’s Jude The Obscure,

a satisfying read,

that needs time to sit.

I had thought,

of re-reading some,

John Irving,

at the beginning of the year,

but,

I hadn’t got around to it.

Last weekend,

I took a copy of Cider House Rules,

off the shelves,

in the bookstore,

it’s one that never seems,

to last long.

I read it years ago,

and,

I have sketchy memories,

of it,

I remember the orphans,

and their odd names,

I remember Homer,

working in an apple orchard,

but, not much else.

My sinus problems,

have forced me to read,

slowly,

and,

for short stretches,

which is perfect for,

such a long,

plot heavy,

complex novel,

what a master story teller,

Irving is,

you can see every character,

even the ‘walk ons’,

you care about them,

all of them,

they are so human,

the good,

the bad,

the strong,

the weak.

The thing with Irving is,

you want to read quickly,

to get to the end,

‘see’ what happens,

but,

if you do that,

and,

don’t re-read,

you miss most of,

the moral,

philosophical,

tapestry.

Good people do bad things,

bad things happen to good people,

life is full of joys,

and,

full of tragedies,

he shows this,

doesn’t tell,

and,

never judges,

you don’t know what he thinks,

not really,

it’s a thing of beauty,

his artistry,

in the guise of storytelling.

I don’t know,

if any of this,

makes sense to you,

just sharing impressions.

šŸ™‚

Later girls,

BB

 

Are Butches as Tough as You Think??

If You prick us do we not bleed?

If you tickle us do we not laugh?

Shakespeare wrote this about Jews,

in The Merchant Of Venice,

theĀ  point was,

people are people,

Jew,

Gentile,

Black,

White,

Men,

Women,

Gay,

Straight,

Butch,

Queen,

people are people,

we all bleed,

we all suffer,

we are all strong,

we are allĀ weak,

we are all good,

we are all bad,

given the right circunstances,

we can all rise to the occasion,

or,

crumble like a house of cards.

Butches are people,

tough?

sure,

we pride ourselves,

on our strenght,

it’s part of what we believe,

about ourselves,

and,

what we vehicule to others.

Butches can tough it out,

butches are ‘good men in storms’.

You can count on us,

in a crisis,

a shoulder to cry on,

a sympathetic ear,

bail you out of jail,

drive to the car impound,

hold you through the scary night,

get you drunk to drown your sorrows,

butches,

are your buds,

they help you move,

they pickĀ Ā your mother up at the airport,

they’re who you call,

right?

Butches understand,

they don’t judge,

they’re tough,

they’re sensitive,

they’re gentleman,

they’re considerate lovers,

of course they are,

but,

they are also,

tough on the outside,

and,

soft on the inside,

butches bleed,

butches aren’t always impervious,

don’t let appearances,

deceive you,

butches aren’t so tough.

šŸ™‚

Later girls,

BB