Saturday, July 3, 2010

a costume shop on the Rue du Parc, click on it to enlarge and note expression on blue dress' face...

and here are the duelling cafes two blocks from the house. the one with red umbrellas absolutely jammin at 1:30 p.m., the other nearly empty... go figure...

Not in much of a mood to Carry On Verbal. But I shall, even though no one reads it. Put it out there in the ether, send it off.. ..It's the least I can do for myself today. Catholic schooling in the 50s did a good job of inculcating the idea that complaining or even talking about your pain was unsaintly. Can I finally just admit: Mother Teresa I'm not and frankly don't wanna be?

There are times in one's life when you just have to admit that, for the time being at least, life has you beat. You've been dealt more blows than you were ever ready for and it's time to surrender to whatever spirit rules your world. You fall apart, collapsing into the arms of, if you're lucky, a comfy bed or hammock with a decent view. And you stay there, ignoring the phone, until the cat needs feeding, or the dog needs walking, or the plants scream for water. Otherwise, you are done. You lie contemplating what possible good could remain to be enjoyed in this unpredictably painful life. A life of betrayals, disappointments. You blame yourself for being a sucker. You can't see you've ever learned any lessons from your mistakes. You consider the non-ness of the end... but you'd miss that blue sky awfully, the breeze that's caressing your neck just then, and that is all that has you holding on. Are loaded sinuses just tears waiting to be shed? I'm beginning to think so. Is a sore throat just unspoken grief? And a headache, fever, fear boiling inside your thoughts?

Well, I seem to have grabbed a flu germ in Boston. Predictable. I never had a good feeling toward Boston, which always struck me as a dark, intimidating and fairly pretentious place. Years ago when I attended BU, my first impression wasn't good. But I decided to give it another chance back then and went out for an evening stroll with a schoolmate from Princeton down Comm Ave to the tea place. I wore my gorgeous royal blue suede military jacket from Elle, the Princeton Boutique (is Ms. Alonzo still alive?) and was feeling like "hey, this place ain't so bad" when smack! some catcalling guy came along behind us and slapped the remains of an entire pizza on my back, all over my gorgeous jacket I had worked and saved for. Needless to say, dislike for Beantown endured. And all the stress birds of the last two weeks came home to roost two days ago, head cold, fever, chills, cough. Yer basic body breakdown. No surprise when you considered how we push ourselves so hard to deliver, only to be disappointed. Just goes to show how difficult it is to live life without any expectations.

Not even sure I agree with that as a sound philosophy. Perhaps the problem was my low expectations, and even those both unmet and unacknowledged by moi...

Anyway, thought I 'd post some pics of the hood here in Montreal. The hood being a collection of gorgeous townhouses occupied by an interesting combo of native Quebekkers, Europeans, Anglos, and Hasidic Jews parading about self importantly in their black coats and fur hats that look like chocolate cakes balanced on their heads – in 85 degree heat? Whatever, guys. I'm told the women have to shave their heads and wear wigs, which seems inordinately cruel to me, but am not sure I believe it. I will say they are the most severe, oppressed- looking women, especially the young ones, I've ever seen. The average number of children in Hasidic marriages is 7.9 according to Wiki. And I see at least 2 or 3 families very day when I walk. I don't recall orthodox jewish women on the lower east side in New York City in the 70s looking so severe. In fact, Brookline Boston had its share of orthodox jews and they didn't look mean and superior like these folks do. I was also told they are terrified of dogs so when I walk Laika (who is fairly large) I cross the street if I see a Jew approaching. They sort of expect me to. I guess that could be some kind of genetic memory for them? How awful...

I figure I can say these things here because I honestly believe no one but my sister reads this blog anyway. So, hey, Tee. How are ya today? I'm sick. And I'm sick and tired as well. You know? But can still manage to count my blessings. Is that pathetic? or wise? I really don't know anymore. It's just a habit.

Pretty much everyone I know needs more than one drink to get through to the end of their day. Maybe it's time I gave in to that kind of despair. But that's just so not moi...

I love ya, Tee... Sure would be nice to be sitting at your table and having a few good hard laughs. I guess I can look forward to that day ...

Joni once wrote: "sunlight will renew your pride..."

Sounds like a plan. The sun, a confortable chair, and the sound of the warm wind shushing the treetops like a comforting mother..


  1. "Hey! Hey! I'm here!" she said waiving her hand madly. "I love your blog."
    It is the most wonderfully, informative, passionate, other-than-America-as-usual blog.
    Thanks, Cathy for writing it.
    It should be required reading for all high school females.
    Now for the nonsense about your smackdown.
    I remember when I was 19, I saw a film that absolutely blew me away. BLEW ME AWAY!
    It was a low-budget film with no-names and no-big budget advertising. Word of mouth got me into the film in the first place.
    The writer was passionate about the main (and title) character who was a proletariat American drifting aimlessly through life. At least a dozen or TWO agents rejected the script. The writer finally found a studio willing to pay a small sum to buy the script. BUT only if they could cast who they wanted in the lead role and thus make that person "desirable".
    The writer said "no way" and took the film and left. More rejections. More adjustments to the script. More rejections. More re-writing.
    More rejections. More indepth look at what was on the pages in black and white. Why didn't anyone GET this character and why was everyone adament that their changes were THE BEST?
    The script was tweeked over a period of at least 5 years. Then one day a studio said "OK we'll buy and give you a budget of $3 million and you can play the lead role but we know it is a waste of $$$ but we'll do it because we like to gamble."
    The film was Rocky.
    Can you imagine anyone else playing Rocky Balboa?
    And until I read your smackdown email, I never realized how little we know about Rocky's background. What do you, Cath, know about Rocky?
    That is where agents are coming from. They LOVE details and they oversell on the "got to know every frickin detail" part.
    BUT they missed the point of Rocky (and Carlotta) because Rocky (and Carlotta) could be any one of us. We are all Rockys....and Carlottas....if only we can endure (go the rounds for Rocky) and push our passion to the limits (like Carlotta).
    So, Cathy, what would Rocky do after a "smackdown" from Agent number one?
    Would he got to round two?
    Well, we know that he would and he did....and in the end he was the winner.
    Love ya,
    Cousin Lynn