“This world, such as it is, is not tolerable.
Therefore I need the moon, or happiness, or immortality,
I need something which is perhaps demented,
but which is not of this world.”
- Albert Camus
Ain’t nothin’ like a walk by the river
on a lazy afternoon.
I sat there for I don’t know how long…
watching the ducks sail on by.
Happiness is…
it just is.
Musical selection:
Up a Lazy River, Benny Goodman Trio
More river inspired posts:
Sounds of Happiness
Quack Meditation
Last month, my brother was in Prague.
He’s the same traveling sibbling who
graced me with postcards 1 and 2.
I spoke to him this afternoon. Actually, the call was meant for his son Benoît who turned 20 today — I wanted to serenade his ears off with an appropriate song. But my nephew was out and about with friends, so good old auntie Mudd will have to wait.
All this to say that my dear brother Robert was blown away by Prague’s architecture. He visited the “superbe belle ville” (i.e., superb beautiful city) with his childhood friend Louis and, of course, the wives. Result: 5 days of total bliss.
So blissful that he ran out of words to express his feelings — as you can plainly (and shortly) see by reading the card. 
I can remember the days, many many moons ago,
when we used to hold hands and wait for the future
to whisk us away on exotic adventures.
Well… one of us is still waiting.
But my time will come!
In 1991, on the eve of turning 41,
I decided I was going to live till
I’m 133 — MINIMUM.
A healthy 133 years young…
in mind, body, and soul.
Along with being vegetarian, eating healthy foods, exercising regularly, and laughing in the face of adversity, I thought I’d add a little Law of Attraction to my daily routine to help keep my mojo workin’ for another 74 years.
Before I move on with my plan, here’s a reality check: I already have a ravaged face.
That’s because of the rock’n'roll life I’ve led, the roads of depression I’ve traveled, the sun I’m addicted to, and the load of crummy genes I inherited from my now-deceased mother.
At the moment, the wrinkles around my mouth are the ones that bother me the most. But I’m sure it won’t be long till they blend right in with the ones that are slashing my mug, from my forehead to my chin.
Another thing that makes me look older is my hair.
I got my first grey hair when I was 12; by the age of 28, my mane had turned to salt and pepper; nowadays, well, it’s mostly grey… a very light grey (see photos).
In 2006, sick and tired of my dusty locks which, back then, came down below my shoulder blades, I had my hair coloured a nice golden brown. Two weeks later, realizing that the grey would always pop back to ruin the look, I bought a clipper and shaved it all off.
In September 2008, deep in the throes of another capillary crisis, I had plum-coloured streaks brushed in. After going through the same process in December and once more last March, I have since chosen to drop the streaks and get used to my natural look. Instead of reaching for the clipper, I’m patiently waiting for the streaks to either fade out, grow out, or fall out.
So when I say I want to live till I’m 133,
esthetics are evidently not a priority.
My new motto:
GREY ROCKS!
WRINKLES RULE!
From now on, my mental and physical health, my strength, my endurance, my flexibility, and my humour-slash-happiness are what I intend to focus on in order to stay in top shape.
Enter Deepak…
According to Chopra’s teachings in his book Grow Younger, Live Longer – 10 Steps to Reverse Aging, the “normal” experience of the body and its aging is a conditioned response — a habit of thinking and behaviour.
By changing my habits of
thinking and behaviour,
I can change the experience of
my body and its aging.
Excerpt:
SETTING YOUR BIOSTAT
Close your eyes. Become aware of your breath, releasing any tension you may be holding in your body.
Now, choose an age within the last fifteen years
that you would like to be in biological terms.
(Note: I’ll be 59 this year, so I chose 49.)
This means you would like to have the physical and mental capacity of a healthy person at that age, that you would like your biomarkers to reflect that particular age, that you would like to feel and look that particular age.
Just as a thermostat adjusts the temperature in a room to a particular set point, so, too, your Biostat will orchestrate your psychology and biology around the biological age you have chosen.
This will happen through the following mechanisms:
We suggest practicing the following ritual upon awakening, before breakfast, before lunch, before dinner, and at bedtime. On each of these occasions, close your eyes and mentally repeat to yourself each of the following phrases at least three times:
Every day in every way, I am increasing
my mental and physical capacity.
My Biostat is set at a healthy __ years of age.
I look and feel a healthy __ years old.
Within a few days of performing this ritual, you will actually begin to think and act from the level of your Biostat. All your habits will be influenced, but even more important, your perception of your biological age and your experience of it will begin to shift. You will start to believe in your Biostat and its organizing power, and your new belief will shape your new biology.
Believe me,
IT WORKS.
Give it a try and let me know how you feel.
KEEP ON ROCKING IN THE FREE WORLD
Took a break from cleaning the back balcony.
Sat with the pots, sipping green tea, and
listened to a CD.
Mobile post sent by OzaMeilleur using Utterli. Replies. mp3
Here are a few pics as well as track #5 — Heart of Mine,
from the album New York City by The Peter Malick Group
featuring Norah Jones.
Happiness is so easy to set up
Today… at 2:45 this morning…
the youngest of my two sons
turned 30.
He was born in the old house you see below, in a place I like to call (out of revenge) “Poche d’Air,” Comté de Lotbinière. Of course, you won’t get the humour if you don’t understand French; you’ll have to wait for something else to laugh at.
This picture was taken the year before Vincent’s birth. In June 1978, my then-husband and I left the city and moved to the country — back to our roots — to live the peace & love life in a red & white house that had both a wood stove AND a Franklin fireplace, but no bath and no hot water. See, that’s my then-husband taking down the “For Sale” sign, and my then-only-son Sébastien posing for posterity.
Sitting on the front porch of Our House Is A Very Very Fine House, we had a great view of the fields and — at the end of the fields, a mile away — beautiful Downtown Poche d’Air where the church stood high and empty, except on Sundays and special occasions.
When the sun was out, it made for bucolic settings.
When it rained, it made for pitiful puddles of mud.
And so it is that Vincent was born on a cold and rainy Friday, in the little room at the top of the stairs.
It all took place on this very bed; we had stripped it down to the mattress and covered it with a plastic sheet for when the waters broke. And boy, did they brake: Huguette, the midwife, got splashed all over and had to endure her wet look throughout the remainder of the event.
With all the action going on — no screaming, just a lot of pushing and laughing — Sébastien woke up but was too stunned to step out of his room. He waited silently till Vincent was shot out of the cannon, and then approached the scene of the miracle where he stood — astounded — watching his brand new baby brother stretched out on his barenaked mom’s belly.
My mother had also decided to skip the delivery part. She kept herself busy downstairs, in the kitchen, whistling madly in an effort to stay calm: birthing at home, a mile from the middle of nowhere, wasn’t her idea of life in the 20th Century. But once it was over and nobody had died, she put The Four Seasons by Vivaldi on the record player (as per my instructions) and proceeded to bring us plates stacked with thick slices of toasted bread garnished with her famous homemade cretons.
Huguette went out to her car to fetch the bottle of sparkling wine she had brought for the occasion; with the lights down low and everyone gathered in the master bedroom around the antique iron bed, we lifted our glasses, in quiet bliss, to the arrival of a new player in this game called life.
So the picture you see up there was taken two days after Vincent’s birth; the bed was back to its normal state, my mom was back at her house in the next town, and I had lost 17 of the 19 pounds gained during pregnancy.
I would soon lose the other 2 pounds going up and down the stairs to breastfeed my hungry little ogre.
Here we are the following year, on MY 30th birthday. That’s my mom with half her head chopped off, holding onto Vincent; as you can see, breastfeeding payed off big time!
Finally, here’s what 30 years did to my kid…
6’2″ and getting more handsome every day.
Je t’aime
xoxo
EPILOGUE
In February 1981, we escaped back to the city.
By then, I was a single mom, eager to move on.
Because though having Vincent had been heaven…
the rest of my rural episode had been hell!
_____________
