MESSY _ MESS...NO

There has been a long, silent break since the adventure began. Until I reached this point of shudding away the lethargy and rearranged the procrastinated items of a to-do list of all those things the Covid situation has pushed up to the priority list. 

RANDOM PROCRASTINATED ITEM ON THE LIST #1

• Post before and after pictures of the months you've been working on your house (you ace!)

I find them. Some on one phone (FP2), some on the new one (FP3). 
But I don't put them all together in one file. I forgot again to ask Rob for his footage, so then I can complete the process. It's too late today. And, after all, I can't come out of the blue, drop him a text and ask for them. We all have other prioritites. I tried to record him a message referring to a once-lived conversatio and some thoughts I wanted to share with him, and then I listened to it and I realise I get lost in story telling mode and forget to ask him for the videos he made. Some of us also have more time. I don't have to claim it with stories, maybe they are not interesting, maybe I am interrupting. Damn, now I am thinking for others and being irrational at the same time. Let's move to the next item, then

RANDOM PROCRASTINATED ITEM OF THE LIST #2

• Review the insurance 

Then I need to review documents. And I remember I have to write per request, for an exciting job opportunity. I should be writing. And I freeze 81/2 Fellini style because I have to adjust to the format and because they'd love to see pictures in the article. Images, my kriptonite.
 I tell myself if I talk to my insecurity, it won't help, I have all the time in the world, I am a passionate writer, I am not new to it. I give myself strength and then I wish it was like as easy as going on a stage, grab the mike and sing. 

And in the mess of papers and writings I find the ongoing book I once started, it is called "progressive pink", or "progressive grey" or both or "greetings from Memory Lane" or "Down Down Under", but today I am going to call it after "Family Man's" dog, Brian. Because Brian the book has been sitting in my computer folders for a while waiting for a reorganising of chapters, a thread and a purpose. Brian stayed in the 'Books' folder, because all I needed to get it out of my chest has already been written. 

SUDDEN RANDOM ADDENDUM TO LIST OF TO-DO ITEMS CRAWLING UP THE PRIORITY LIST

• You won't find a thing if you have so many bags full of papers. Recycle

A bunch of folded papers inside an esky/chilly/cooler bag. Like a script. It's  Brian in hard copy but I don't know, yet. I start reading it with interest: "quite an interesting piece" I hear my mind saying to myself.
 And then I read on and the style is awfully familiar, descriptions like: that smell of Mango, the recurring theme of Pelargon, the somehow grainy softness while sliding my hand... and voilà, I know who wrote it and I know who inspired it. 

I go back to the place, to that moment in time, unable to remember any image of that scene but vividly remembering the rigid touch of the fabric with a neon printout in some acrylic paint, it smelled a bit like rubber. The smell of the human wearing it, bare faced, soft chest, rough legs, the taste of the mango juice, a breath of Toohey's and one nervous cigarrete. My lovely Sydney in the background, smelling like seasalt and frangipani, greeting me with its OZ(oh)ne sun. Steep road and a high building overlooking Darling Harbour. The moon that rises from the water. My Locus Amoenus.

And I move in time and understand. I understand the writer's block, the fear at once, because the situation re-enacts itself and you expect the outcome to follow the usual pattern. It is ok if you don't succeed, but it is hard to reassure yourself when it happens. 

 And then I wish again everything was as easy as going on a stage, grab the mike and sing. 
And then I realise I still haven't written the lyrics to the song. 

To be heard, to be read.
To be seen.

Approaching

With somehow French melancholy we departed chez Vasil and started packing after some strong melitta coffee, a German flashback. I could take some of the leftovers in my mug because Rob doesn't drink any and Yann was anyway still sleepy and had plans to go back to bed. 

Good vibes, we had had two days of absolute switching off in a charming, quiet place and in beautiful company.

To me it felt like a cultural transition to Southern European lifestyle, minus the rural ambiance. I am talking about the eating habits where meals are a big deal and quality prevails and a warmer personality in general. After all, we all kiss in France and in Catalonia when we see for the very first time. Temperament starts showing, but something happened after crossing the Pyrenees, where people become generally loud, gesticulate a lot and touch a bit more often. Being hipersensitive to smell and sound I dislike the loud Southern European decibels, however, although I don't participate as much as a regular one, I do very appreciate the proxemics. 
Next Mitfahrer- co-voiturante: Sofie, picked up in Lyon, as much as I wanted to avoid the city, grrr. A North Catalan raised in Perpignan. You could tell: we talked for hours about food and cortados (machiatto coffee).

The trip went by really quickly. Bonzai was well adapted to the van and he also stayed a while in the back, to have some leg space. I had built a higher floor for him, a plattform with his toilet, his sleeping basket and a travelling bag.  I did have to keep him locked in the travelling bag, because otherwise he'd stay between the things underneath and I was scared that if I had to hit the brakes the bike or boxes there would shift and it could have hurt him. 

He is so awesome that in the one toilet break, I let him out at his own leasure in the back of the van to snoop around and he went to the toilet at the same time as I. Can't be more of a proud crazy cat lady mummy. 

In Perpignan we dropped Sofie off and picked Eric up. 
He had been travelling solo in a camper "into the wild" and his camper broke down. As he had booked a room in a hostel in Barcelona right down my street, I drove him right to his door. In the short trip Perpignan-Barcelona, Rob and I adopted him because we found his accent, a rusty English with French words in a German background mixed with some Spanish incursions too adorable. I invited him to come live with us and help on my home project. He agreed. and that's how we added to the itinerant family an old souled teenager with whom I believe I have more in common than with some people double his age. 

That for the journey. Our days pre-renovation works were a slow progression to cold with mornings of yoga and meditation. I could sign up to that life. In fact, it's my place, so I can... and I will 
met veel plezier and groot gemak

Franchute stereotyped

Second leg. Bruxelles-Cuisery.

Bonzai was well rested, the one who slept best in Brussels and very relaxed on the road. We dropped Bego at the airport and picked Ibrahim up, our next trip companion for the following seven hours.
Ibrahim earned brownie points by helping me attach a side mirror. We brought Ibrahim to Dijon and made our way to Cuisery. Looking forward to seeing Yann again.

Arrival at Cuisery by sunset. Received by Yann, with whom I shared house and life episodes many (so many!) years ago in Germany. I am glad I can still visit him, grateful we get to see each other sporadically.

Kiki, a friend of Yann had made us a soup we ate with baguette, cheese avec cordon bleau for the meat eaters.

When the sun came up we were greeted by a beautiful early spring day. The evening before we had decided to stay one more day to get plenty of rest.
Plan of the day: some stretchings in the studio next door, go take the donkeys and the dogs for a walk and to continue the French stereotype programme by rocking to Frank (his name should have been René) to play some petanque before the Barcelona-Madrid match.

Petanque - jeu de boules

Dogs and donkeys for a walk

Bonzai in the meantime wasn't impressed with the "campagne" environment. While the sound of the river outside served us as the perfect white noise to sleep like babies, it seemed too foreign for him. Add dogs, donkeys, big chickens, a lot of people coming in and out and the shouting during the Barça-Madrid game and there's no kitty to be seen.
We drank wine, smoked gauloises tasted the most amazing cheeses and went early to bed after a 0-0 to wake up and be on our 3rd leg on our way to Barcelona.

It was great catching up with Yann, it is beautiful in Cuisery... Bald mal wieder!