OOps

aww,
blogger won't upload the film, too big? too Hogarthian? Anyway, here's two photos of the event including one of Dr Mark Wyatt Lockett conducting band of urchins.

Fracas de Limoux

Fracas - loud, chaotic sound - something like that. I thought the name sat nicely between 'Fecos de Limoux' (carnaval) and Fricassée de Limoux, the local dish of pork and beans.
Here we are, (photo seems to have moved to following post . . .) performing for 'Toques et Clochers' on a beautiful Saturday in Limoux before the surging hoards of piss-heads appeared.
As we are, none of us, svelte 23 year old Brazilians, the Dickensian look seemed a good option. A unique (I think) melange of pulsing street sounds and 'my old man said follow the van'.
Perfect day for the grand drinking binge; seemed to be good humour all around and some excellent street acts, notably the wonderful 'Compagnie Stromboli' theatre of the absurd, of whom I sadly have no pics. Only heard one ambulance in the night, and pretty much the only reminders the day after were a few abandoned socks littered around the streets...?

The boy done good

Ezra with CHEQUE for first prize in children's section of the Toques et Clochers painting competition. So proud I nearly dropped the camera . . .
Thought they might have given the parents a 'well done' for making him prize in the form of a magnum of blanquette, but a most generous prize quand meme, thanks S.D'Arques.

Grand design

Just in case we forget how amazing nature is.
Makes me feel somehow hopeful, despite us unloading toxins into the air/soil/sea, that the natural world will prevail. Talking of dumping stuff in the sea, I read with amazement that the hole in the crippled Japanese nuclear power station has been blocked with a mixture of . . . sawdust, newspaper and a form of liquid glass. I remember doing exactly that to my cousin's red Spitfire in about 1976, surely things must have have moved on a bit?
Anyway back to the vegetable featured above.
Err, not much really, except that when I see these bright green kings of the legume world I always have to take a few minutes of silent contemplation over their sheer magnificence. Ezra says he saw an 'expose' about them in the Paris science museum. Apparently, even under super-magnification, the spirals keep on spiralling, seemingly into infinity. Well, it makes a change from thinking what is outside our universe, where does it end? etc . . . but similarly brain-taxing on a slightly different scale.
Enough. Back to the washing up, invoicing and cat hair removal. Safe, small activities of no wonder.

Funny thing life...

Mark and I say this to each other at least once a week.
The moving forward through the various stages of our existence's; the seasonal comings and goings, the familiar, the uncharted . . .
Had a good chat with above pictured boy-person this morning on the usual walk to college. He has suddenly made a leap forward in the life thing. The realisation that what you get out of life generally depends on what you put into it. This is a wonderful moment - if it will last. Less nagging re homework, jobs etc.
Ezra has acquired an interesting mix of genes from us, as far as learning goes.
French for example. I muddle through, unashamed of errors, picking up mostly from what I hear/see in conversation, lazy? possibly, to busy to really make time. Mark is very different. He constructs the grammar perfectly, works hard at it and enjoys the learning process.
I think Ezra is in the middle somewhere, but I hope he leans in Mark's direction for his current school work. On the other hand he is becoming a fine drummer from just listening to music and years of table tapping - something to be said for finding the way yourself too.
Part of this morning's chat included the recounting of a dream in which he was living in a small basement of a factory making buttons, while his friends were outside being well known rugby players/writers etc . . .
He asked me if he didn't do well at school would he not be successful in life, big question for 7.30 in the morning, and very important to reply properly even if one is still mentally in bed. I seemed to say the right things, and he went off determined to do well in his French evaluation, having STUDIED for it - a possible first.
I watched him turn the corner towards college, and walked home my head full of memories of his stages so far in life.

A lasting impression.

I liked this lady. Somebody else did too. She has been reposing on a sunny step overlooking the sea in Cerbère since 1940.

Time lost.

The brain, as I and many thousand others have observed, is complex, to say the least.
I once heard a memorable program on radio 4 by a very eminent prof of the brain woman who described the emotional part of the brain as a series of tiny see-saws.
I always remember this when experiencing a day of 'ups and downs', such as yesterday.
The morning was dullish but satisfactory in acheiving 'stuff'. Washing, shopping, trip to insurance broker to ask why we had an unfathomably weird letter from them, which they in turn had no idea about either, etc etc.
Home, lunch, went to make several boring but important phone calls . . . no sign of phone book, slim orange thing pictured above. I bought this because it is bright orange and thus CANNOT be lost. Spent about an hour looking all over the house. First in casual hopeful way - of course it would just be under a pile of papers. Nope. Then in more intense way - possible sensible places: in-tray, drawers that contain important items etc. Then in deranged, irritable way: fridge, sock drawer, dog beds etc. Nowhere.
Cloud of grey descended; made sure that everyone else joined in as I wanted to share my fury. Dogs sulked, cat went out into the rain, and Ezra became strangely helpful. Tried the 'count one's blessing thing. No good. I knew what I was cross about on a world scale was so pathetic that it could not register, but the day continued thus, briefly up-lifted during a gardening episode.
Tried different looking techniques from time to time - quick furtive scramble through piles I had already looked at, a nonchalant glance under the sofa . . . nothing. Accepted I would have to find all the numbers another way, then I found it. In Ezra's room, under a massive pile of electronic bits I was moving so he would be able to find the bed.
Mood lifted, the lights came on, the dogs smiled. Everything for just a moment was completely perfect . . . in fact, has continued to be so, despite sullen grey drizzle outside, and the fact that all the boring phone calls still have to be made.