It took the death of another icon, Montserrat Caballé, to remind me I had this post in my “drafts folder”…
When did I write the “intro“? 25 July, 2017! Sheesh. Won’t bother chastising myself. That said, I have not so much made a resolution as made a promise to myself to finish what I started. An issue I have. We Aries are fabulous at starting things, but finishing them? Not so much. And I know, I know, I am generalising because there are plenty out there who do finish what they start…
Without further ado, my main reason for loving CBC Radio 2 is the fabulous Tom Allen – not the English comedian Tom Allen, who was born after I graduated high school (which I discovered while Googling) – but the Canadian broadcaster/musician/writer/storyteller/et al, Tom Allen, who was born just a few years before moi. 😉 I originally got to “know” him when he was hosted the morning classical program called “Music and Company”, way back in 1998, and which he continued to host until 2008, when the program changed to “Radio 2 Morning” for about a year.
Things moved and shifted big time at CBC Radio 2, morning people got moved to afternoon, afternoon people go moved to week-ends and I thought, that’s it, I won’t be tuning in… Nope, nope and nope. I found there were many things to enjoy. Tom Allen was no longer the morning guy, but we could still catch him now on Shift, a perfect programme for him (probably designed by him 😉 where he shifts from classical to contemporary rock without you even noticing…
I mentioned in my intro post how much I enjoyed Tom’s stories and, in Googling him to find recordings and whatnot to share with you, (and having to sift between the other guy’s stuff), was reminded of so many other things.
Seriously, I had always enjoyed classical music but he has brought an extra oomph to it with his stories. Here are three to entertain you…
I once tweeted to him, following some comparison between musicians like Metallica and Chopin, (not really, I can’t remember who he was comparing but it was just as far-fetched), that he was the Alton Brown of Music. Cool thing? He tweeted me back with a “That’s good, right?” And I responded with a “He is to cooking what you are to music…” The man is a seemingly endless fount of musical information. From classical to heavy metal. He blows me away pretty much every day.
He is a musician, a storyteller, an author, a producer, a musical host… oodles of talents that I shall have to explore further.
Thank you, Tom, for making classical music so very approachable and fun. I love to tune in from 1 till 3:30 pm… It ain’t long enough, but I’ll take what I can get!!
I am subscribed to the Place des Arts newsletter. Which is great because I know what’s coming, what’s on pre-sale, what’s on special… I say great but not sure if this is a good or bad thing! Ka-Ching! On September 20th they had a 45% price reduction on Les Grands Ballets Canadiens’ “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”. Hmmm…. I checked to see what sorts of seats were available then contacted my ever-willing- partner-in-all-things-cultural, Julie, to see if she was interested. If she wasn’t, I was going to go it alone. However, it is always way more fun to share these things. Lucky for me, she said yes and I purchased the tickets in a loge. Number 13. Maybe that should have been a warning.
We agreed to meet just outside of the interior parking lot (both of us felt lazy) around five-ish giving us a good almost three hours to eat and catch up. But where to go? Many options in that hood, lemme tell you!
There are two restaurants, one in back of the other, built right on the sidewalk of Jeanne Mance Street. They are like glassed-in “pop-up” style restaurants. Only permanent. At least, I think they are! Coolest thing ever. Both of them are the “offsprings” of high-end restaurants in the city. We stopped first at Brasserie T (baby of Toqué!), checked out the menu… looked interesting. We decided to check out the second one. There was no menu posted outside so we had to go in and ask to look at it. This one is Taverne F (baby of Café Ferreira). We chose this one.
Entrance of the Restaurant
Looking towards the back
Looking towards the front – that is a window!
The two chicas
The hostess asked us if we had a reservation. You see, on nights where there are events going on at PdA, they are booked solid. However, if we were willing, there was a place at the bar. Ever the uncomplicated peeps we are, Jules and I accepted. What a great thing that turned out to be!
Our barman/waiter, Simon-Pierre, was excellent, plus he had a little of the Chris Pratt look to him 😉 It was suggested we order 2-3 items per person. So we ordered 6 in all. He then suggested a bottle of red (Boina) to go with. I have no knowledge of Portuguese wines so his suggestion, based on our tastes, was essential. No. I did not take any pictures of our food (d’oh!) however should you wish to, just click on the link above and you can see all sorts of beautiful pictures.
We started off with Pastéis de Bacalhau (the quintessential cod fritters with a red pepper piri-piri sauce), Sardinhas (roasted sardines with pickled veg) and Camarão e Amêijoas (shrimp and clams). Perfect trio to start us off and we had lots of time to enjoy, so we did!
Simon-Pierre asked if we wanted a little break before the next three and we agreed…. We then had Polvo (grilled octopus with potatoes, confit tomato, chouriço and shery vinaigrette), Feijoada (lima bean cassoulet with chouriço sausage and fried pork) and finally, Arroz de Marisco (seafood rice, sofrito, calamari, shrimps and mussels). With a little (maybe more than a little) bread to sop up the various sauces – for both trios – we were feeling just perfect. Not too much, not too little. We leisurely finished off our wine and chatted away.
It was then suggested we have a little dessert. Looking at the time, we still had over half an hour to kill. What the hell! Pastéis de Nata is a classic Portuguese pastry (custard tartlet, cinnamon, caramel sauce) and then that handsome feller went and gave us each a glass of Moscato!
Simon-Pierre in action
Now we were properly stuffed! We made our way back to PdA and settled into our seats. They were not as great as I had hoped. If we had been on the other side of the theatre, we would have seen everything. We did have a great view of the orchestra pit. Snark, snark. The stage was built on an angle, to represent hills, so any action happening on the left-hand side was out of our view. Thankfully, not too much happened in that corner, but still. Quite annoying. During the second half, the two sitting ahead of us and to the right (where the water bottle is and which had a better view) did not show up and we considered taking their seats but by the time we realised they were not returning, we, didn’t want to disturb…
View from our seat
I was a good girl and did not take any pictures of the ballet. It was a pretty ballet but it was so slow in the beginning, us two chicas, satiated on food and wine, both struggled to stay awake (I was relieved at intermission when Julie admitted to me she was struggling as much as I was!) A bottle of sparkling water each and we were ready for the second half!
I have to admit to not having read D.H. Lawrence’s book – yet – so I did not know the storyline, except for the obvious part. I also like to NOT read the synopsis of the ballet because I like to see if I can figure out what is going on. And I did, mostly, so that says a lot for the choreographer, Cathy Marston. It was easy enough to figure out who was who except for two characthers: Lady Chatterley’s sister – though I was fairly certain that’s who she was. (A little aside on this character… At intermission, I turned to Julie and asked: “Have you ever seen such a busty ballerina?” To which she responded: “I know, right? I couldn’t help but notice, too!” One of those stupid things you can’t help but comment on because it truly is outside the “norm”.) There was another dancer that we thought was maybe a lady of the evening but, it turns out, was the lover’s (Mellors) former wife. Oops. My bad.
Taking a bow
All in all, we did enjoy it – way more than the last one we saw which was Stabat Mater – a whole lotta hype that disappointed us.
What we both were wondering is why in the hell do they put this image on the cover of the programme and all other advertisements? We kept waiting to see this superbe costume! Nope.
They do the same with their videos… not anywhere near what we saw, costume-wise…
La beauté n’a pas d’importance. Quand on est un homme aimable, on finit par avoir une beauté dans le regard, dans la manière d’être en vieillissant.¹
— Charles Aznavour
The lyrics, in both French and English, are here Qui Who
Il faut savoir, coûte que coûte, Garder toute sa dignité Et, malgré ce qu’il nous en coûte, S’en aller sans se retourner Face au destin qui nous désarme.²
— Charles Aznavour
Helluva preamble to my post, eh? Lemme explain myself before I continue. Yesterday, the world lost the fabulous French/Armenian singer, Charles Aznavour – also known as the “Frank Sinatra of France”. You can’t really feel bad. The man was 94 and had a most prolific life. If you click on his name, you have access to a wonderful article on his life as well as a link to his most famous English song “She”.
But I digress…
Because of his passing, I ended up on YouTube to listen to my favourite tunes by him, such as “La Bohème” and “Emmenez-moi” (the latter being, by the way, IMPOSSIBLE to sing along to in a Karaoke session. Trust me. I’ve tried) and left YouTube to do its thing and play whatever it felt like… well.
Along came Cesária Évora and her sultry voice singing “Besame Mucho”. My Spanish is so-so but passable enough to know that Besame had to do with kissing. So, of course, the Google came into use when I searched the English translation of the song for confirmation. While I continue blathering on, g’head, enjoy the late great Cesaria…
I started thinking about kissing. And how much I love it. And miss it. I think we don’t spend nearly enough time kissing, to tell the truth. I’m not talking about those pecks on the cheeks or those chaste, dry, barely-there touches of lips, unless those are just to lead up to the real thing. I’m talking about those deep, long, slow kisses that turn your insides to liquid mercury. I’m talking From Here to Eternity beach kiss scene…
Those mornings when we kiss and surrender for an hour before we say a single word.”
― David Levithan
When you first start dating, you spend so much time just kissing: while taking a walk, while doing dishes, while sitting on the couch. It doesn’t matter where but you sneak them in wherever and whenever you can. You can’t seem to get enough. And it’s not automatically a foreplay of foreplay, either. Not saying that it can’t be, mind you… You kiss just to feel connected to your partner. You’re getting to know them on an intimate level. The dance appeals, you keep on dancing.
“If we’re going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy.”
― Colleen Hoover
Now, what I write here is my own personal experience and I am totally generalising but somehow, I am sure many can relate.
After a while, your relationship falls into that long term category. Kissing is still very enjoyable but the spontenaity has decreased. As has duration of most kisses. They are not so deep and long. You may still find yourselves kissing for kissing’s sake but let’s face it, it is now more of a foreplay to foreplay.
“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.”
― Ingrid Bergman
Years pass and you are happily coupled – married or not, same diff, to me… Kissing somehow has taken a backseat. No matter how much love is between you, those long, slow, deep kisses are now reserved for the bedroom as foreplay. Or maybe they start in the living room or kitchen (if you’re lucky) but they’re still an invitation to make your way to your love nest. And they don’t last that long anymore. Mind you, my circumstances made that I didn’t get a chance to find out what happens when the children leave the family home… Does your kissing game go up a notch? Do you do like those silly movies and transform your son’s bedroom into a “play room”? I sure like to think so. I like to imagine that you rediscover that freedom you had when you first met.
I’m not saying some couples don’t kiss and kiss often. But do they last more than a few seconds? Rarely. But hey, they are still good. Kudos to the couples who have kept up their kissing game.
“Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.”
― John Keats
One last thing. Another reason I decided to write this post it this: I never thought to find myself back “on the market”, so to speak at my age. Thanks, Mick. Dammit.
That said. I will TOTALLY judge you on your kiss. If you don’t try to kiss me on our first date, that might be okay, depending on how the date went…. then again, it will show me you are not that into me. Cool. We move on.
If you do kiss me? I will decide then and there if we move on to the next stage.
——————
¹ Beauty has no importance. When we are a lovable man, we end up with a beauty in our gaze, in our way of being while growing older.
² One must know, no matter the cost, how to keep one’s dignity. And, despite the personal cost, to move forward, without looking back and face the destiny that disarms us.
Ever since her bout with cancer, my hairdresser only works three days per week (can’t say I blame her, quite frankly) – usually on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Occasionally, she’ll switch her Saturday for a Friday. More often than not, I get an appointment on Tuesdays (nice and quiet), sometimes on Thursdays (a bit more action); I avoid Saturdays because, frankly, I just do.
Last week, I called Françoise to see if she had any openings and she could only give me the next Friday morning at 9:00 am. I accepted (gawd that is early!) since I usually have Fridays off and if I don’t, I probably won’t start until 4:00 pm which just so happened to end up being the case. I know for most people 9:00 am is no big whup but when you work the night before until 11:00 pm or later, you just don’t really want to have to put the alarm clock on…
There was just Françoise, waiting for me, and one of her colleagues, let’s call her Yolande, because I have no clue what her name is, and she is taking care of one client whilst another waits in one of her chairs. Yolande talks loud. No, I mean LOUD. And she sounds like a dock worker. I asked my sister if she knew what her name was and her response was: “The one with the potty mouth? No clue.” 😉 So. Yolande it is.
Another customer comes in – Yolande’s. The noise level has gone up more than a decibel. Not long after, in comes Pierre-Luc, owner of the shop and requisite gay coiffeur – walk and talk as one has come to imagine as well as the expressive hands. What can I say? Stereotypes were not born of the air.
Pierre-Luc’s customer comes in.
During all this coming and going, at the other end of the salon, Françoise and I exchange looks and smiles, with the occasional laugh at the conversation behind us, while she does my own roots in a shade of exactly my natural colour (coz I’m wild like that) and if she wants to speak to me, bends down close to my ear otherwise must shout above the din. She is not the shouting kind.
Dye applied, she leaves me to read for my 45 minutes as her customer comes in. Or rather, attempt to read. I go through comments on my last post, chat with a friend on messenger, and then try to get into my book. I, at first, keep my back turned to the circus behind me in said attempt. Finally, unable to concentrate, I give up and turn around to enjoy the show fully.
One woman, who is trying really, REALLY hard to “keep it young” is sitting in the third chair. Her flaming red hair is standing up in chunks all over her head, while her roots are being refurbished with the appropriate shade of “You Can’t Miss Me”, giving one the impression said chunks are pulling her face up though we know it’s the result of one visit too many with Dr. Nip and Tuck. Her face is painted to match her hair, clothes appropriately loud – ’nuff said. Trying hard to look sophisticated and worldly until she opens her mouth and the trash talk that emits is enough to make one take a step back. She is Yolande’s customer.
The door opens and a man pops his head in, letting Ms Flashy-Red know he saw her car and knew she must be close by and hoped to see her. Then leaves. Well THAT starts a whole rush of “What was that?” and she admits the man seems a tad smitten with her and basically follows her around. The comments of “Did you call the police?” are mingled with the “Look at you with your admirer!” One can’t help but laugh. The man is in his early 70’s or well-used late 60’s…
Just as my timer pings, Mr. Loverboy pops his head in to check on his “sweetie”, well hidden behind Yolande, who is just finishing up one of her ladies – you know the type who comes for her weekly wash and set, now properly pouffed and spray-netted and sent out the door.. He says: “I get to see you in your pre-beauty stage!” and leaves.
Ms Flashy-Red says, “Oh my God, he won’t leave me alone and he can’t see me!”
To which I retort: “If you want to get rid of him, maybe you should let him see you like this!” Everyone cracks up.
By now, I have had my hair washed and have moved to Françoise’s chair for my cut. In the mirror I can see Pierre-Luc teasing (they still tease?) the hair of one of his weekly-wash-and-set ladies and find myself wondering if all of this should end up in a post. Of course it must as here I am.
The conversations are one one top of the other; a true cacophony. The customers know each other; the hairdressers (we are not in the “stylist” business here) interjecting their two cents’ worth… I feel I’m in the middle of a mix of “Coming To America” and “Steel Magnolias”. Everybody knows everybody and their business and I’m just sitting here enjoying the show
Oh… and, before you ask… end result (once I re-wet it and removed all the gunk…)
“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt
Last one in my little Woodstock series… Time to wrap it up and move on to the next adventure… Since I didn’t really share any pictures of the official town of Woodstock, I thought I would here as a fare thee well…
Thursday morning came way too soon. The end of our little getaway-from-reality-and-live-in-the-moment escape was almost over.
Our little home
Proper Decor
Welcoming Elephant
We – okay, I – made one last breakfast using whatever leftovers from our little grocery expeditions: smoked turkey, peppers, cheese, bread, and made a variation of a high-end grilled cheese. B, of course, had a couple extra crêpes as well. Any leftovers were going home with him and since I had made a ridiculous quantity, he was sure to have himself another breakfast back home; and, if his daughter was lucky, she might have some too! (I did learn later that he did share…the pancakes but not the garden vodka!)
We had to pack up and be out of the Airbnb by 11 am so, after breakfast and a shower, we packed up and loaded our cars. Then, loathe to part so soon, we took one last drive into the town proper, parked the car and strolled, while we chatted and I snapped pics. We marvelled at how easy our three days had been. We had become friends on line and our three days together just solidified that friendship. We had found our beat and went with it. A suggestion here, an idea there and we were in total cahoots. So very glad I can never say I shoulda, coulda, woulda.
The town really does have a nice artsy vibe to it and shows how it has been, not just a hippie town (though, of course, it still is) but a town that welcomes artists of all kinds. They still hold various festivals to this day.
You have the requisite head shops because, you know, Woodstock!
Must always be a sidewalk sale
Old Phone Booth
Blues Brothers
And there are lovely homes and buildings of all sorts.
Dutch-style Church
Home/business
As well as really funky joints and places to sit.
Birdhouse
Birdbath
Home/business
Seat for two
Though this sign explained the reason for the sad state of the flag, it was the car that drew me. I had the feeling the car has been there as long as the flag has in memory of 9/11.
One last one before I go… A lovely stream goes through part of the town, so I had to capture it.
There was still much to see but no more time to do so. B drove us back to my car, we hugged and kissed and went our separate ways, basking in the memories we created.
“The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye, the story of love is hello and goodbye…until we meet again”
― Jimi Hendrix
Good Wednesday, my peeps! It’s that time of the week. Some call it Hump Day, we here in this group call it Friday Fictioneers Prompt Day! And jeez louise, Rochelle chose a doozie from Ronda Del Boccio
I was stumped for a bit… then I wasn’t. Hope it gives you a chuckle… Click on the blue frog below if this photo inspires you to write something… anything!
“You must have suffered an immense amount of heartburn. I have heard that women do in this instance.”
Jeanie couldn’t help but smile at all the comments she received when people were first introduced to her newborn son, George. It truly was something else. She had suffered an insane amount of heartburn. During her whole pregnancy, Jeanie popped Tums like they were candy.
“Crazy, eh? I don’t know where it comes from but his hair was like that at birth! Straight up and full!
This is the way to hear music, I think, surrounded by rolling hills and farmlands, under a big sky.
– Michael Lang (Co-creator of the Woodstock Music and Arts Festival)
As promised… here’s the next installment of our Woodstock Wander in Mid-July. How can it be almost mid-August already?
Wednesday morning was THE day. We were finally going to visit the site of THE Rock Concert of all time! To say we were excited, is to put mildly. Two Fifty-somethings all a-giggle, I tell ya… By now we have watched countless videos about Woodstock, totally immersed ourselves into the whole experience as much as two born-too late-to-have-been-there peeps could be. (And if we had been there, would have been too young to remember and would have had beyond-cool (or crazy) parents… Just sayin’). One hour, some 60-ish miles away. I swear, we are still trying to wrap our heads around a Woodstock that never took place in Woodstock. I think B’s wonderful intro post to our adventure says it best here.
But first, we needed sustenance. I had brought my crêpe mix so of course I had to make those. But then, I pimped ’em up. We needed to fuel up, after all! A little bacon, some Swiss cheese and a fried egg on top was sure to do the trick – add to that some Québec maple syrup and we had ourselves a breakfast of champions…
No matter how many videos we had watched – and we watched many there (not to mention tons more since our return), we were still amazed to drive through the winding country roads towards Bethel. We tried to imagine all those thousands of cars simply left willy-nilly to block the road for three, almost four, days. Insane. Did you know that 37 rental cars were lost? Thirty-seven!! Just one of those little snippets of information discovered…
We finally get to our destination…
… and there are huge, I mean HUGE parking lots… now 😉 We chose a shady area to park the car and made our way to the main building. How did I manage to NOT take a picture of the outside? I dunno… So I have nabbed the one on the site…
I don’t know how to explain the myriad emotions this place evoked. Maybe it was just us. But I don’t think so. Maybe we had created an expectation by reading about it, seeing movies, documentaries, listening to the music. While neither one of us had this destination at the top of our bucket lists, we were still thrilled and awed that our desire to meet had directed us to this place. Just how did the Universe sneakily direct us here? Our love of music, culture and history might have had something to do with it. Whatever it was that did bring us here, we felt we were on hallowed ground. Or we gave it that descriptive.
Or maybe, just maybe, we each have a little Hippie in our Hearts.
We purchased our tickets and entered, looking forward to – we had no idea what!
“We were ready to rock out and we waited and waited and finally it was our turn … there were a half million people asleep. These people were out. It was sort of like a painting of a Dante scene, just bodies from hell, all intertwined and asleep, covered with mud.
And this is the moment I will never forget as long as I live: A quarter mile away in the darkness, on the other edge of this bowl, there was some guy flicking his Bic, and in the night I hear, ‘Don’t worry about it, John. We’re with you.’ I played the rest of the show for that guy.
—John Fogerty recalling Creedence Clearwater Revival’s 3:30 am start time at Woodstock”
There were so many things to see, notes to read, we could have stayed in there for hours on end.
It’s funny… I didn’t take the picture of the sign explaining the fence but felt this other sign said it all. This concert was going to be way bigger than anyone could have anticipated (Imagine how parties have gotten out of hand with the advent of Facebook? Could you even imagine?) People were not going to let some fence stop them from getting in… Might as well give in. And they did! In the name of peace. And debt.
The useless fence
It’s free, man…
So many details, so many stories, so many things to see!
There is a small theatre within the museum that shows a 20-minute movie about the event. So, of course, we watched it!
So many acts played in those three days, that spilled into part of the fourth. Sha Na Na? Really? John B. Sebastian wasn’t even scheduled to play. He was a “filler” and, according to Ira Brooker from “A Talent for Idleness” Sebastian was the ultimate hippie. I dig, I dig. And, I didn’t know him. And now I do.
Time to go outside and see just where this party took place.
The grounds around the museum are beautiful and a stroll was in order.
Though he never made a sound, I could sense B was itching to get to the site itself and I quickly snapped a couple more pics before joining him.
I don’t know why I never realised how much of a hill it was! You see the pictures and there are masses of people but somehow, I just never focused on the terrain itself. This sign gives you such a perspective of the size when you are in front of the field. I purposefully left just a smidge of said sign in the second pic showing the road (we felt it would be disrespectful to walk on the grass itself – at that time, anyway!) we took to get down to the bottom to show you a portion of it.
As we made our way down, we could see, right in the middle of the field, a huge Peace sign cut into the grass (like a crop circle 😉 ) Too bad they have been suffering from lack of rain because it is a tad difficult to see, no matter how much I enhanced it.
We, of course, went to the official memorial monument (which bizarrely is NOT where the stage was…)
The stage is left of and further down from the marker when looking up the hill. It was confusing to us at first but then I could see the demarcation of the sort of square where the stage was.
Standing on the “stage”, looking up I could not imagine 500,000 people. I’m sure the 600 acres Max Yasgur rented out spilled out beyond… Plus, I do not have a wide lens… but still. It takes your breath away.
I’m a farmer. I don’t know how to speak to twenty people at one time, let alone a crowd like this. But I think you people have proven something to the world–not only to the Town of Bethel, or Sullivan County, or New York State; you’ve proven something to the world. This is the largest group of people ever assembled in one place. We have had no idea that there would be this size group, and because of that, you’ve had quite a few inconveniences as far as water, food, and so forth. Your producers have done a mammoth job to see that you’re taken care of… they’d enjoy a vote of thanks. But above that, the important thing that you’ve proven to the world is that a half a million kids–and I call you kids because I have children that are older than you–a half million young people can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing but fun and music, and I God Bless You for it!
— addressing the crowd at Woodstock on August 17, 1969
Peace and Love…
We made our way back to the car, our souvenirs in hand (of course I got a Tye-died shirt) with new memories created and oh-so happy we had made the trek. We may have missed out on actually being part of the whole Woodstock experience 49 years earlier, but walking those grounds sure brought us closer to the feeling that we would have fit right in.
Joni Mitchell didn’t make it either, but all say she captured the feeling exactly. I was torn between the video where Joni explains why she wasn’t there – with a little catch in her voice – or the one she did right after the concert… So I put both!
