Marching into April
More snippets, ‘scribbled’ in snatched moments:
*The grass is full of Speedwell! For those of you yet to come into acquaintance with this, one of my favourite flowers, Google Image will give you a glimpse (I need Bruce’s Macro lens to do the same from here): http://images.google.fr/imgres?imgurl=http://www.jkssite.com/BluePurple_Used/Speedwell.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.jkssite.com/BluePurple_Used/bluepurplepage.htm&h=533&w=800&sz=31&tbnid=yEErq5UtTJ05WM:&tbnh=94&tbnw=142&hl=en&start=2&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dspeedwell%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26lr%3Dlang_en%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN
Click on the picture, fifth row down: “germander speedwell.” Isn’t it beautiful? Now next time you are in the park, look down around your feet. See those little specks of blue? Lean in and look closer. Better yet, if it’s been too long since you’ve done such a thing, go on and lie down in the grass. You can have a much better look that way. Like the ubiquitous wren, found throughout the world, yet demanding close observation if one desires to delight in the whispers of creation. And here at Pré Borel we have waves of speedwell whispers – at least we do this spring. Maybe such plenitude will serve as introduction to those not yet knowing what they are missing in the grasses of their own. We also have violets, wild primroses, celandine, Gill-over-the ground, and heal-all. And it’s only March.
*Our friend Don recently did something that both moved me, and made me laugh. Although Greg never attended Regent, he has none-the-less received a number of gifts mediated, one way or another, through Regent. One of these is Don. A storyteller, a burden-sharer, an experience reveller, Don has stepped alongside us. And recently, that included spending a day (driving, working, etc) in his coastal US city with a patch on his eye, so that he could have some idea of what it was like for Greg. That was incredible enough for me, but then…he actually submitted to having eye-gel in his eye…the stuff that makes it impossible for Greg to see more than a blur…and which, for a couple of hours, did the same for Don. All the more amazing as the guy gets queasy easily!
*We attended our first French concert the other night. Bénabar is one of Greg’s favourite new discoveries – he has a massive following here in France (Bénabar that is…Greg’s is not quite as extensive). I’m not sure how to describe his music…it is amazingly sing-able, which I think is some of the appeal. He has a rich voice that can croon like someone from the 50’s or 60’s, although he keeps his crooning to a minimum. Most of it is very contagiously upbeat and rhythmic. He’s considered one of the prime musicians in France’s “nouvelle chansons” movement…France's tradition of "chanson" goes back at least a century, starting with the cabaret of Mistinguett, through the music-hall of Maurice Chevalier and Edith Piaf to the post-war jazz scene of Juliette Gréco. It aims to be both literary and popular. Apparently a movement in reaction to the pulp of celebrity music charts, it values the text almost above the music – Bénabar melds humour even into the most poignant of his songs…but the majority of the songs are blatant enough that the audience was laughing continuously. It really was the laugh-iest audience I have ever been in…revealing the ‘cabaret aspect’ I guess. Obviously I got almost none of the verbal humour, and even Greg didn’t get a lot (combine under-the-breath comments, the muffling of loudspeakers, and only one good ear….), but it was pretty funny for even us, none the less. And the massive concert-hall audience loved this guy like he was their favourite comic cousin. Most in attendance were between university age and late thirties…but there were kids too, and also those of retirement age.
But Bénabar, obviously a wordsmith, is a gifted musician as well, with a very good backup ensemble. Greg is always the technical critic…with rather exacting standards…and he was impressed, most particularly by the keyboardist. And he’s always happy to see an accordion player show up! I loved the electric violin and cello. What was hard for Greg though, was the trombonist – not because he didn’t appreciate his playing; he did. But because it was the first time he’s watched trombone playing since his op…and it’s a painful reminder that he probably won’t ever be able to play his own again. His lips just won’t have the strength and control (although he’s eversomuch better at drinking from a cup, it’s still not easy). He loves how we have seen groups of people just gather on the French streets, with their brass instruments, and join in with each other (esp in Lyon)…and he had been really hoping to do that sometime himself. It’s not impossible that that might still happen someday…but not very likely.
Soundwise, Greg said the concert experience was ok…he doesn’t hear bass like he used to, but that he already knew. It’s hard for me to understand exactly how Greg’s hearing experience is affected in this manner, as I just do not understand/respond to/listen to music in the extremely technically informed and intune manner that he does. In two minutes he can say: the drummer is not as good as the bassist, or, the cellist is the best musician there, or, the guitarist wasn’t as confident on that last song -- accessing subtleties that my ear will never be able to. I love music passionately, and understand it to some degree. But I will never know it, or be able to technically engage with it, the way Greg does.
*Gekkos. Gekkos everywhere! Everywhere there is sun, these little guys scurry about. They are quite cute really – in North America some people keep them as pets. Especially as they are great insect consumers. But apparently there is always this warning at the pet shops: CATS EAT GEKKOS. And so we have discovered that our new challenge on those warm days when one is tempted to keep the door open is this: keeping our gekko-bearing cat out. Gekkos have the same amazing capacity as starfish: when they are attacked, an appendage can break off, hopefully distracting the predator while the prey gets away. For starfish the appendage is their arm, for gekkos it is their tail. Our feline Pumpkin was distracted by the wriggling tails (it wriggles for up to 15 minutes!!) for maybe 2 days before she clued in to the trick. Now we are convinced that she actually enjoys simply detailing them. When the south-facing wall is hot in the sun, it has countless tailless gekkos scurrying up and down. Any effort to protect them would require a 24 hr patrol. We can only hope they get smarter. Or don’t feel humiliated by their shortened state.
*Pappy. Last week I met Pappy. I have waved at him from the car, recognizing him from Greg’s description, but I’d not yet engaged with him myself. He is the father of our neighbour farmer. Pappy had inherited the farm from his wife’s father, before, in his own elder years, passing it on to his son. I would guess that he is near 80. I knew already from Greg that he was hard to understand… between his rural accent and his lack of teeth, he is apparently difficult for even French folk to understand. So I wasn’t expecting extended communication when I waved to him as he cycled by our gate the other day. Certainly not almost an hour of ‘conversation’! But he wheeled in on his steed of rust, with Tiouy, his constant canine companion, at his heels. I was amazed that evening, as I recounted the ‘conversation’ (which entailed a rather significant amount of listening on my part) to Greg, at how much I * had * understood. There certainly was an awful lot I didn’t! But I was retrospectively encouraged by how much I did. Pappy keeps bees, in the ruin just up the road from us, and so he told me an awful lot about his bees. And he has arthritis in his hips, but not his knees, which is why he cycles everywhere. He is, like I am, affected by the ‘giboulées de mars’ – the rain showers that come and go through this month. The continuous barometric pressure change takes its toll…we shall both be glad when it is done. But the offset of hours of warmth in the sun is marvellous.
*************************************************************************************
**Well, so much for March; it is now April. We’ve both been battling serious colds for a month now, and time continues to slip by all too fast. I’ve not been very active at all, but the last few days have been better. We are enjoying having Andy (a friend and colleague of Greg’s from Manchester/Lyon, who also now works in Grenoble) living with us for a bit before he settles down in the city. We have been to another concert – this time Bach’s ‘St Matthew’s Passion’ (it was wonderful – even more enjoyable as a friend was in the choir). We had the opportunity to attend a live enactment of the Passion, for which Tullins has its own local fame, with some dear friends. More family has been to visit, and help, and make us glad. The entire garden is filled with blossoming fruit trees. Yesterday the swallows (hirondelles) arrived. And I have had several visits with Pappy now.
Easter Saturday Greg and I went to visit ‘Mme Pappy.’ She is housebound, due to the onset of Alzheimer’s, and Pappy had asked me if we would visit her one day. And we had a wonderful visit. She’s much easier to understand than her husband (who, I now know, is 84) – she speaks so clearly! Their old farmhouse interior, with its old calendars, and stacks and piles of all-sorts reminded me so much of old tucked-away farmhouses in the Ottawa Valley. The cups in which we were served tea belonged to Mme’s grandmother. We talked mostly of bees (Pappy took me to see his hives a couple of weeks ago), and a little of how farming has changed over the years. It makes for humourous conversation when, while it’s Greg who understands the ‘French language’ best, it’s me who understands the ‘farm language’ best –- we end up interpreting, each for the other! Today Pappy brought us a jar of honey –- Pré Borel honey! – as a thank you for stopping by. It is obviously hard for him to see his wife change, and be housebound, and he was so glad we came by. But it was so lovely for us too, and we look forward to doing it again. And it meant so very much when he said to us that it was good to have neighbours like us. After all, we aren’t just non-locals, we are foreigners, who don’t even speak the language well. It is we who are very fortunate in the neighbours that surround us.
Easter was wonderful. We followed the bells to the service in Tullins (traditionally in France the bells stop ringing on Good Friday because, it is said, they have ‘flown to Rome.’ When they ‘return’ on Easter morning, they bring back with them coloured eggs for the children!) We had Swedish Cardamom bread. We hid eggs and chocolate bells (!) for the four children who later ran all around the garden searching for them (the same children had made us a coloured-egg tree earlier in the week). We ate our (local organic) roast lamb dinner outside in the sun, followed by egg-rolling races (we missed our Guthries, who we did this with for Easters in Scotland), and violet-infused ice-cream (bizarre, but good). In the last hours of sunlight, after guests were gone, Greg and I sat in the hammock and read Wendell Berry’s novel ‘Hannah Coulter,’ watching the evening light on the mountains, and wondering how on earth we ended up in such a beautiful place. Gifts. Many many gifts.
Well…after another long hiatus, there is a little rambling to catch you up to date on some things here in our meadow. And may Easter Joy, and its Gifts, be upon you.
Bonsoir (oneword!)
Kirstin
*The grass is full of Speedwell! For those of you yet to come into acquaintance with this, one of my favourite flowers, Google Image will give you a glimpse (I need Bruce’s Macro lens to do the same from here): http://images.google.fr/imgres?imgurl=http://www.jkssite.com/BluePurple_Used/Speedwell.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.jkssite.com/BluePurple_Used/bluepurplepage.htm&h=533&w=800&sz=31&tbnid=yEErq5UtTJ05WM:&tbnh=94&tbnw=142&hl=en&start=2&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dspeedwell%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26lr%3Dlang_en%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN
Click on the picture, fifth row down: “germander speedwell.” Isn’t it beautiful? Now next time you are in the park, look down around your feet. See those little specks of blue? Lean in and look closer. Better yet, if it’s been too long since you’ve done such a thing, go on and lie down in the grass. You can have a much better look that way. Like the ubiquitous wren, found throughout the world, yet demanding close observation if one desires to delight in the whispers of creation. And here at Pré Borel we have waves of speedwell whispers – at least we do this spring. Maybe such plenitude will serve as introduction to those not yet knowing what they are missing in the grasses of their own. We also have violets, wild primroses, celandine, Gill-over-the ground, and heal-all. And it’s only March.
*Our friend Don recently did something that both moved me, and made me laugh. Although Greg never attended Regent, he has none-the-less received a number of gifts mediated, one way or another, through Regent. One of these is Don. A storyteller, a burden-sharer, an experience reveller, Don has stepped alongside us. And recently, that included spending a day (driving, working, etc) in his coastal US city with a patch on his eye, so that he could have some idea of what it was like for Greg. That was incredible enough for me, but then…he actually submitted to having eye-gel in his eye…the stuff that makes it impossible for Greg to see more than a blur…and which, for a couple of hours, did the same for Don. All the more amazing as the guy gets queasy easily!
*We attended our first French concert the other night. Bénabar is one of Greg’s favourite new discoveries – he has a massive following here in France (Bénabar that is…Greg’s is not quite as extensive). I’m not sure how to describe his music…it is amazingly sing-able, which I think is some of the appeal. He has a rich voice that can croon like someone from the 50’s or 60’s, although he keeps his crooning to a minimum. Most of it is very contagiously upbeat and rhythmic. He’s considered one of the prime musicians in France’s “nouvelle chansons” movement…France's tradition of "chanson" goes back at least a century, starting with the cabaret of Mistinguett, through the music-hall of Maurice Chevalier and Edith Piaf to the post-war jazz scene of Juliette Gréco. It aims to be both literary and popular. Apparently a movement in reaction to the pulp of celebrity music charts, it values the text almost above the music – Bénabar melds humour even into the most poignant of his songs…but the majority of the songs are blatant enough that the audience was laughing continuously. It really was the laugh-iest audience I have ever been in…revealing the ‘cabaret aspect’ I guess. Obviously I got almost none of the verbal humour, and even Greg didn’t get a lot (combine under-the-breath comments, the muffling of loudspeakers, and only one good ear….), but it was pretty funny for even us, none the less. And the massive concert-hall audience loved this guy like he was their favourite comic cousin. Most in attendance were between university age and late thirties…but there were kids too, and also those of retirement age.
But Bénabar, obviously a wordsmith, is a gifted musician as well, with a very good backup ensemble. Greg is always the technical critic…with rather exacting standards…and he was impressed, most particularly by the keyboardist. And he’s always happy to see an accordion player show up! I loved the electric violin and cello. What was hard for Greg though, was the trombonist – not because he didn’t appreciate his playing; he did. But because it was the first time he’s watched trombone playing since his op…and it’s a painful reminder that he probably won’t ever be able to play his own again. His lips just won’t have the strength and control (although he’s eversomuch better at drinking from a cup, it’s still not easy). He loves how we have seen groups of people just gather on the French streets, with their brass instruments, and join in with each other (esp in Lyon)…and he had been really hoping to do that sometime himself. It’s not impossible that that might still happen someday…but not very likely.
Soundwise, Greg said the concert experience was ok…he doesn’t hear bass like he used to, but that he already knew. It’s hard for me to understand exactly how Greg’s hearing experience is affected in this manner, as I just do not understand/respond to/listen to music in the extremely technically informed and intune manner that he does. In two minutes he can say: the drummer is not as good as the bassist, or, the cellist is the best musician there, or, the guitarist wasn’t as confident on that last song -- accessing subtleties that my ear will never be able to. I love music passionately, and understand it to some degree. But I will never know it, or be able to technically engage with it, the way Greg does.
*Gekkos. Gekkos everywhere! Everywhere there is sun, these little guys scurry about. They are quite cute really – in North America some people keep them as pets. Especially as they are great insect consumers. But apparently there is always this warning at the pet shops: CATS EAT GEKKOS. And so we have discovered that our new challenge on those warm days when one is tempted to keep the door open is this: keeping our gekko-bearing cat out. Gekkos have the same amazing capacity as starfish: when they are attacked, an appendage can break off, hopefully distracting the predator while the prey gets away. For starfish the appendage is their arm, for gekkos it is their tail. Our feline Pumpkin was distracted by the wriggling tails (it wriggles for up to 15 minutes!!) for maybe 2 days before she clued in to the trick. Now we are convinced that she actually enjoys simply detailing them. When the south-facing wall is hot in the sun, it has countless tailless gekkos scurrying up and down. Any effort to protect them would require a 24 hr patrol. We can only hope they get smarter. Or don’t feel humiliated by their shortened state.
*Pappy. Last week I met Pappy. I have waved at him from the car, recognizing him from Greg’s description, but I’d not yet engaged with him myself. He is the father of our neighbour farmer. Pappy had inherited the farm from his wife’s father, before, in his own elder years, passing it on to his son. I would guess that he is near 80. I knew already from Greg that he was hard to understand… between his rural accent and his lack of teeth, he is apparently difficult for even French folk to understand. So I wasn’t expecting extended communication when I waved to him as he cycled by our gate the other day. Certainly not almost an hour of ‘conversation’! But he wheeled in on his steed of rust, with Tiouy, his constant canine companion, at his heels. I was amazed that evening, as I recounted the ‘conversation’ (which entailed a rather significant amount of listening on my part) to Greg, at how much I * had * understood. There certainly was an awful lot I didn’t! But I was retrospectively encouraged by how much I did. Pappy keeps bees, in the ruin just up the road from us, and so he told me an awful lot about his bees. And he has arthritis in his hips, but not his knees, which is why he cycles everywhere. He is, like I am, affected by the ‘giboulées de mars’ – the rain showers that come and go through this month. The continuous barometric pressure change takes its toll…we shall both be glad when it is done. But the offset of hours of warmth in the sun is marvellous.
*************************************************************************************
**Well, so much for March; it is now April. We’ve both been battling serious colds for a month now, and time continues to slip by all too fast. I’ve not been very active at all, but the last few days have been better. We are enjoying having Andy (a friend and colleague of Greg’s from Manchester/Lyon, who also now works in Grenoble) living with us for a bit before he settles down in the city. We have been to another concert – this time Bach’s ‘St Matthew’s Passion’ (it was wonderful – even more enjoyable as a friend was in the choir). We had the opportunity to attend a live enactment of the Passion, for which Tullins has its own local fame, with some dear friends. More family has been to visit, and help, and make us glad. The entire garden is filled with blossoming fruit trees. Yesterday the swallows (hirondelles) arrived. And I have had several visits with Pappy now.
Easter Saturday Greg and I went to visit ‘Mme Pappy.’ She is housebound, due to the onset of Alzheimer’s, and Pappy had asked me if we would visit her one day. And we had a wonderful visit. She’s much easier to understand than her husband (who, I now know, is 84) – she speaks so clearly! Their old farmhouse interior, with its old calendars, and stacks and piles of all-sorts reminded me so much of old tucked-away farmhouses in the Ottawa Valley. The cups in which we were served tea belonged to Mme’s grandmother. We talked mostly of bees (Pappy took me to see his hives a couple of weeks ago), and a little of how farming has changed over the years. It makes for humourous conversation when, while it’s Greg who understands the ‘French language’ best, it’s me who understands the ‘farm language’ best –- we end up interpreting, each for the other! Today Pappy brought us a jar of honey –- Pré Borel honey! – as a thank you for stopping by. It is obviously hard for him to see his wife change, and be housebound, and he was so glad we came by. But it was so lovely for us too, and we look forward to doing it again. And it meant so very much when he said to us that it was good to have neighbours like us. After all, we aren’t just non-locals, we are foreigners, who don’t even speak the language well. It is we who are very fortunate in the neighbours that surround us.
Easter was wonderful. We followed the bells to the service in Tullins (traditionally in France the bells stop ringing on Good Friday because, it is said, they have ‘flown to Rome.’ When they ‘return’ on Easter morning, they bring back with them coloured eggs for the children!) We had Swedish Cardamom bread. We hid eggs and chocolate bells (!) for the four children who later ran all around the garden searching for them (the same children had made us a coloured-egg tree earlier in the week). We ate our (local organic) roast lamb dinner outside in the sun, followed by egg-rolling races (we missed our Guthries, who we did this with for Easters in Scotland), and violet-infused ice-cream (bizarre, but good). In the last hours of sunlight, after guests were gone, Greg and I sat in the hammock and read Wendell Berry’s novel ‘Hannah Coulter,’ watching the evening light on the mountains, and wondering how on earth we ended up in such a beautiful place. Gifts. Many many gifts.
Well…after another long hiatus, there is a little rambling to catch you up to date on some things here in our meadow. And may Easter Joy, and its Gifts, be upon you.
Bonsoir (oneword!)
Kirstin
posted by Kirstin Jeffrey Johnson at 10:24 pm
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