I Want A Year Of Beauty

Such as this:

Jiri Kylian - Petite Mort (1st. part)

Blessings For a New Year

I read this somewhere this morning. Perhaps we'll be able to embrace these notions, globally as well as personally:

Evil is boring. Cynicism is idiotic. Fear is a bad habit. Despair is lazy. Joy is fascinating. Love is an act of heroic genius. Pleasure is our birthright.

Oh, to live for a good book (about death...)

Paul Auster :: The Invention of Solitude
(click on the post title to reach a thoughtful review of it).

My mother sent me this book, translated quite well, and as I started reading it I was distracted by thoughts of her, how she read it, in her precarious state of health these last few years, and what went through her mind as the words dissecting a parent's death coincide with her own thoughts about what remains of her life.

Here is a short quote:
Most lives vanish. A person dies, and little by little all traces of that life disappear. An inventor survives in his inventions, an architect survives in his buildings, but most people leave behind no monuments or lasting achievements: a shelf of photograph albums, a fifth-grade report card, a bowling trophy, an ashtray filched from a Florida hotel room on the final morning of some dimly remembered vacation. A few objects, a few documents, and a smattering of impressions made on other people. Those people invariably tell stories about the dead person, but more often than not dates are scrambled, facts are left out, and the truth becomes increasingly distorted, and when those people die in their turn, most of the stories vanish with them.

A disappointment

A few days ago I left someone (a very reliable and nice person) to tend to the shop while I went with my son to shop for school supplies.
While I was away someone switched the price tags of an expensive item and bought it for 1/4 of the price.
It pains me to think how careless someone could be to do that in such a small shop. Does he not understand that this is coming out of my own, very shallow pocket? I'm not part of some big corporation that would not miss it. Does he not understand that small businesses like mine can't survive such practices?
I just don't get it.

For all the coffee drinkers in the world - enjoy!

This has nothing to do with anything at all. But it made us all laugh so hard, I thought it is the right thing to share with fellow coffee drinkers, where ever they are.



It's a song of the French band Oldelaf and Mr D. from their LP L'album de la maturité. The movie clip has been directed by Stephanie Marguerite and Emilie Tarascou.

Lyrics translated in English for the blog http://french-kisses.blogspot.com/

My New Assistants, and the old one

Summer in the city

The first one is the view of the sky from the shop right after the storm passed. Furious nature showing it's colours.

Life and Death Cycles

Schunzel
1991-Aug 18,2009

Beautiful, feisty, smart
Loving, ferocious, curious

Wake us in the night
For love, or for attention

Come to us
Look into our eyes,

Talk with purr so loud
Remind us of our duties

Lie beside the kids when sick
Scratch them when they pass you by

Mark us with your smell and hair
Then move away to rest a while

We sit, you sit
We rest you rest
We eat you want to share

We live you live
And then you die
We live on to miss your essence
Your bushy proud tail
Those huge green clever eyes that see us as we are
The whiskers, the hair inside your dainty ears
The fine arrangement of your fur
The whole of you, and now the hole of you.

What Remains

I've just watched the film Sylvia, a touching rendition of her life and love with Ted Hughes. Made me want to read her writing again, after many years.



Poppies in July

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -------------
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.

Poetry on Lake Simcoe

I was referred to this poem by a kind customer who heard I was on lake Simcoe recently:

Poetry on Lake Simcoe
By Desi Di Nardo

We were oceans apart when I met you
On my way to a blackened hell
You swept by me
A wingless angel
And pulled me up
To keep me from sinking
I sat on an invisible alae
Stunned by your strength
You carried me to loftier dreams
While I scattered old dead skin
Like fragile snowflakes
Pale white shells
Floated down
Lighting up the sky
And drifted from memory
Like a cold winter song
Skimming dancing flitting
As broken pebbles do
We smiled and wondered
On whose toungue they would fall

Water Power

I take the phrase 'put your feet up' literally.


There's nothing like being by the water, on the water, in the water, to calm and repair what needs to be repaired inside.

Alive and Kicking

I had some interesting conversations today.
One with Allen, a lovely man who used to come to the shop before changing workplace sometime last year. I have not seen him around for a long time, and today he stood by the shop window looking in as I came to open. It was a nice surprise. He browsed and found a shirt I would have never thought he'd buy, it was very colourful. In the past he used to shop for dark colours only. Then we talked for a while and I understood why.
Allen told me he died last year when he was in the hospital, and was revived with a defibrillator. He's healthy now, and only faint marks of the defibrillator are there as a reminder. It changed the way he looks at life. I can see how death would do that to people...

Later in the day a lovely young man came by, sent to me by another favourite customer. While he tried on many items with relish, we talked about our lives. He is one of those rare youngsters who escaped (that's how I see it) the oppression of a religious orthodox Jewish upbringing. Our conversation drifted from that, to what life in a kibbutz is like, to ways to be successful with women, and lamenting the rarity of men like Don Draper (Mad Men main character). It was a lively discussion.

I was introduced to this TV series by David: Saving Grace is about an Oklahoma policewoman, a fantastically wild one, who's angel is trying to save her against her wishes. It's well written and acted, it's explicit and controversial, and I love it, despite the religious overtones. I particularly like it when Earl, the angel, effectively spreads his wild wings at the most opportune moments, to scare or to caress. Those wings are magnificent.

My Esteemed Curator

He's not really mine, but I like to call him that.
This is my dear friend David, who's been keeping me company and helping in the shop since the winter. His help is invaluable, I can't begin to tell you how much. His experience in the retail and fashion industry, his cheerful disposition, his brave attitude in the face of adversity is just amazing to me.
David is moving back to the U.S. in a few weeks and I will miss him very much. Who will bring me dvd's to watch, music to listen to? Who will curate the shop (rearrange the racks every few days) and refresh the look of the shop when I'm too laid back to do it myself? Who will keep me abreast with everything one needs to know about gay culture, fashion icons, great TV series, designers? Who will challenge my dear husband in ways to treat me better?
David, I hope we'll keep in touch, wherever you go, whatever you do.

New qoute and a song

Last night at my dear friend Linda's birthday party, this song was played and sung beautifully by Janice, Lucas and John. There is no recording of it, alas, so here's another version, by Chet Baker. It's heart breaking.



And a new quote, finally. I left the last one in the shop's window for many months, because I like it so much and wanted to be reminded of it's truth every day. (It was this: There's more to life than increasing its speed - by the eloquent Mahatma Ghandi).

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
Aldous Huxley

Melody Gardot

This is a new discovery for me. This one's called - 'Our Love is Easy'. Many of her songs are just as great. Enjoy.