Mechanics

A man said to me once:

“I’d give anything to know what makes you tick.”

I was playing enchantress, but that wasn’t the reason for which I asked back:

“Why?”

“Because I don’t get you” he replied.

“But wouldn’t that kill the passion, knowing me so intimately.”

“I don’t think so. Your spirit seems to be capable of carrying on the entertainment.” He smiled.

I was left with that smile. He was one of the kindest man I’ve met in my life, a true gentleman. Never laid a finger on me. We had very beautiful conversations together.

Every now and then I come back to his question. In my darkest hours, in the melancholic pursuit of memories, even in the (nowadays rather rare) explorations of future possibilities. What makes me tick? What is there that wouldn’t let go when I feel like I’ve exhausted all ideas, all tries? What is hiding under the deepest layer of my breadth, in that inner chamber I’m not even sure I know where it is, never mind not having visited it, ever? Who am I and why was I born for other than carrying pain which isn’t mine. It would be nice to know. 

I miss having beautiful conversations. There’s so much talk and opinions around. I’m sometimes sucked into the whirl of politics and economics and the “fairness” of things, and I just want to scream 

“YOU’RE SO FAKE!”

so inelegant, so silly, so dumb, so selfish… and I get caught up in the game! It’s unforgivable, this waste of time and energy.

I was born to love. I was born to be with like minded people, courageous and real. I was born for conversations and dance and music and the art of life. And I have allowed others to control my being, my dreams, to tell me what I should say and, more importantly, what I shouldn’t, how I should behave, even how I should feel. Did you know that ‘should’ is not real? Did you know it is the root of all evil and doubt?

I have decided. Love makes me tick. Love for people and things and places. Love for me. Love for God. God is love. God makes me tick. I like that.

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A Perfect Day

Back to school today, right? Yes, for some. Not for me any more. 

I used to love school when I was a kid, there was something magical in learning about words and numbers, places and histories (hint: school was a solid institution those days). It also made me feel more likeable: in the culture I grew up in, getting an education was the only way you could stand up for yourself against class equality (no, I have not mis-spelled it). And if you were smart enough, parents would be proud(er) of you – so one was pretty much psychologically bullied into getting a degree of sorts. 

Many years and a few degrees later, I started to teach – I quite enjoyed it. It gave me purpose, it felt like I was contributing my knowledge to the betterment of the young. Alas, the young were less and less interested to learn… anything. Last year, I had four students who cheated on technical drawings (!!!) – basically copied them from one another which qualifies as plagiarism, while nearly a whole class of others failed to attend presentations of out-of-town professional guests who I had personally invited. Guess who was guilty in the end for students’ inability to properly perform? That’s right, me!

I fully realized it about two weeks ago. As I was just starting a trip on my own along the Columbia river gorge in Oregon, I hear my phone ding! An email from the coordinator of the program announcing dryly that there are no teaching assignments for me this fall and no winter course in drawing. It was the easiest thing to get mad – yet I looked straight at the Vista House and I forced myself to marvel at its magnificent location on top of a cliff overlooking the entire valley. The automobile enthusiasts in the 1920s had chosen well this spot for a journey halt.

The morning was simply splendid. I went on the top terrace and I slowly glanced from left to right. The picture below doesn’t even begin to describe the landscape, but what can one ask of a cell phone camera? Frankly, I think it did quite admirably at capturing some of the grandeur.

“Lord, help me to enjoy this day and this trip.” I made a mental promise to myself to let nothing spoil the joy. I let my eyes linger on the colours and my lungs get filled with the fresh air. My head was full of negative thoughts, trying to convince me how inept I had always been at making myself pleasing to the bosses, how terrible a teacher I was, what a failure of a mother I am as my children had chosen to spend their day browsing shops in downtown Portland…

“Stop!” I cried aloud. I closed my eyes tight with anger and then I looked up in the faint hope I might be able to release that. It didn’t exactly work instantly. So I looked up in the air at my imaginary (?) enemy and I said with a smile: “you shall not win today.”

With this determination in mind, I drove further into the woods and I stopped at a few of the waterfalls which make the travelers’ delight on the Historic Route 30. Sad as I kinda was, I didn’t expect the magnitude of beauty which gradually engulfed me with every stop I made.

Latourell Falls looked slim and elegant like a lady all dressed up to celebrate:

I found the Bridal Veil hidden behind tall rocks at the end of a descending trail:

Further down the road, Wahkeena Falls does justice to its Native name as the “most beautiful”:

… By now, my negativity had pretty much melted and had been carried away in the waters. From the base of Wahkeena, I decided to take the Perdition trail up to the Fairy Falls. Little did I know it would take me a good hour of rather strenuous climbing. The first half of the climb was on an asphalt trail – how the heck did they pave that and why, it really makes one wonder.

Then the Perdition lived up to its name as it did not seem to end… Not only that, but in due time I entered a strange domain looking much like Tolkien’s Rivendell.

The trail went up and up. There were only a few daring others following me or descending (and those had encouraging words of “just a few more turns and you’ll see it”). Finally, when I had almost lost hope, the Fairy Falls came into full view. Smaller than I had imagined it. But the closer I drew to it, the more fascinating and mysterious it grew to be. It had a symmetry about it which defied laws of merely physical nature. Indeed, later on that evening when I browsed the photos I had taken, I noticed a round face right in the middle of the falls… spooky!

I drank some water from the river.  People looked at me in a strange way. One said: “I wouldn’t do that.” I thought to myself: “too bad, city girl, you don’t know what clear fresh water you’re missing on – but hey, who am I to teach you anything.” I began my descent. My heart was beating fully alive with the overpouring beauty. There are no words to describe the poetry of the moment. ‘Blessed’ is the closest I can find.

The afternoon was leaving way to the evening when I made it to Multnomah. It is the second highest falls in the U.S. and it is truly magnificent.

As I stood on that bridge separating the two parts of the waterfall, I thanked God for my loneliness that day. I thanked Him for walking with me in the conscientious discovery of pure joy. And I was glad beyond all words and worlds that my own will had not let some stupid small-minded folk spoil the magnitude of the discovery which was to come.

I’ll leave you with this for tonight. Do not forget: if you want to find joy, you will. Sometimes it is a mighty fight against your own judgement – but boy, is it worth it!

As for the beginning of school today… well, it feels to me like time for a change.

A note

We have chased one another for too long. It is time to stop running and arguing right or wrong. Life is not a game to be played. Life is a bleeding certainty, too important to be taken lightly. Life is a grand test. I want to pass It. And I want you to pass It. And everything that we built together needs to stand firm because, crippled as It is, it is true. It is time to make peace. It is time to forgive. It is time to love. I want you to hold my hand when I hand it to you. No questions asked, no debate whether we should. Yes. Let this be our word. You are far away, again. I miss you and want you near. Do you?

I do. Always and forever. I do.

Victorian Tea

This past Sunday I was asked to volunteer for an organisation called Friends of the Farm. These are the people who help with keeping up the ornamental gardens at the Experimental Farm in Ottawa and I had helped them in the past in the peonies and rose gardens. 

They also organize quite a few fundraising events during the year. One of them is the Victorian Tea, which is a two hour affair where anybody in town can come and have afternoon tea and snacks while listening to live music. Here is the print-out of a little history of the afternoon tea, which the volunteers left on the tables:

“Anna the 7th Duchess of Bedford is often credited with the invention of the tradition of the afternoon tea in the early 1840s. In those days, dinner was usually not served until 8:00 or 9:00 in the evening and even later in the summer. Anna would become hungry by mid-afternoon and so would sneak small cakes and biscuits and other niceties to her room where she would indulge herself in secret. Once found out, she was surprised to learn that rather than being upbraided for her unladylike behaviour, she was applauded for her ingenuity.

It seems she wasn’t always the only lady to crave sustenance in the afternoon. Long before this, tea gardens were introduced in London. Women were allowed to gather in these places, often outdoors, with a male escort where they could relax and chat among themselves while enjoying delicate foods. In the early 1700s tea was an expensive indulgence and so these tea gardens were frequented by the upper classes only.

The Tea Garden engraved 1790 by George Morland 1763-1804

(George Morland – The Tea Garden, 1790 – source: Boston Tea Party Ships & Museum)

It was common for the lady of the house to serve the tea herself since it was such an expensive commodity not to be trusted in the care of servants. And, she alone would hold the keys to to tea cupboard. Today, we take tea for granted but we do enjoy it so.”

The Victorian Tea at the Farm is a nice reminder that heritage events of leisure are still possible in a world full of haste. Initially, only the servers dressed up in period costumes.

More recently, people have started to show up with amazing hats and fascinators, and even dressed up in 1890s original costumes. 

The event is a joy and the weather this year truly cooperated.

Some might be quick to say that this tradition of the afternoon tea is a British colonial reminder which many would like to put behind. However, one cannot disregard the sensible nature of the British: tea is tea and an afternoon snack makes sense. Plus, these events have always had a very clear healthy role in socializing. So today, being Thursday, I urge you to try find the spots in your part of the world which give a glimpse of a past worth remembering in some respects. Go out and enjoy!

Happy Thursday!

Summer Pasta

Wednesday morning. August is here. Feel like eating much in the heat? No, I didn’t think so. Still, we need to give this body some light energy. So here’s one of the best recipes I know of which does the trick for summer months.

Pasta with carrots and zucchini

450 grams fettuccine 

2 big carrots

2 zucchini 

Olive oil

Fresh basil

Salt

In a big pot, bring water to boil and add pasta and some salt. Stir immediately so fettuccine don’t stick to each other.

Remove peel from carrots and zucchini.

In a pan, heat up some oil. Using the peeler, slice up the carrots in long peels directly in the pan. Stir so they get cooked evenly. Do the same with the zucchini. The vegetables need to be mildly fried, don’t overcook.

Drain pasta and add cold water – this will cool the fettuccine off quickly and prevent them from sticking to the vegetables. Mix with the cooked vegetables. 

Separately, make a dressing from olive oil, chopped fresh basil and salt.  Add a bit of water if it looks too thick. Mix and shake in a jar so all combine thoroughly. Pour dressing over pasta and vegetables. 

Bon apetit! Happy Wednesday!

Dream

I saw you walking ahead of me

I could not keep up, you were hurrying hurrying after something not worth losing

I sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and 

I thought about you, about us, planning how to win 

I looked ahead every now and then

You were nowhere in sight. So

I raised myself from that sidewalk and

I decided: 

I shall sing and I shall dance 

I shall draw and I shall cook

I shall lead the way of this walk

I shall look up to the sky for guidance and inside myself for confidence 

I shall be free from you and my dreams 

Free like a spark in the distance.