Saturday, April 20, 2013
Tout ce que tu possedes (All that you possess)
de Bernard Emond
- Pierre Leduc, giving classes in literature of Eastern countries and being in the process of translating poems by Edward Stachura who took his life at the age of 42, chucked his job and his books. He refuses a 50 million heritage from his father on the grounds that the wealth was acquired fraudulently.
Meeting his 13 year old daughter for the first time changes his life.
The director/screenwriter Bernard Emond was present. One could have heard a fly walk during the movie. At the close the applause was enthusiastic and long lasting.
Whomever had the courage, discussed the movie with Emond. I was sitting in the last row and could not hear in detail what people were saying but hearing Emond's answers I pieced things together. - Mr. Emond had just returned from Poland where his film was very well received - Stachura is a well known poet there - The main character had been on his mind for a long time before he connected him with the poetry of Stachura and made this film - the little girl is a born actor , he hardly had to guide her - and on and on
Some people left, some stayed, some more left and a few stayed. I was still sitting there in my bubble , so very moved by that film not even able to talk with my two friends besides me. When I got up I saw Mr. Emond sitting on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling down on the side, talking to two young women. I approached them and when he acknowledged my presence I just said "I don't want to leave yet" and after I had said that, my bubble burst and I spilled out how embarrassed I felt to make my comment, that I feel as if his film had undressed me, that I feel like a naked person with intense emotions such as hate, love, fear, sadness, disgust, exhaustion written all over my body, that this is the first time I react in such a way to a movie. Me, who never says much because I lack vocabulary, had the guts to say all that to him. What guts? It just all came out.
I don't know how to describe the expressions in his face while I was talking. I could tell that my words had an impact on him and was not surprised when he told me how moved he was by what he heard. He thanked me profoundly.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
She just left my apartment, my favorite next patio neighbour. One month ago she had come to tell me that because of the 'no smoking rule' here, they were going to move away. Today she came to tell me that she was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas, how painful it is and that she is seeing a specialist tomorrow who will tell her if she can be operated and that they are moving this Friday. She has lost 25 pounds, the tiny lady, and for killing the terrible pain, she has been prescribed painkillers that are stronger than morphine. Yes, she is still smoking and yes she wants to be operated on or avail herself of chemo treatments. "Look, my sister agreed to the treatments and she had time to go on a beautiful trip before she died" she said.It was a short visit. She feels very weak. We hugged and exchanged 'phone numbers.
I feel so helpless. I hope so much to be able to talk with her again.
I doubt that anybody in our building here is younger than I am. Maybe one or two years yes but that does not help when I realize that my turn to move out might be next. I have been reminded to often since the beginning of the year.
Mrs. #4 no longer being a 'case' for home care never came back here and Mr. Lovebird's induced coma turned into eternal sleep. It was here, not long ago, that I talked about them.
And, mid-March I was away visiting and when I came back 3 days later, I found a note on my door saying that two bouquets of flowers have been left with Apt.#10 for me. You see, I had made it to one more birthday. I picked up the 'phone and checked in with them via answering machine. The Mr. called me back 3 hours later "I put the flowers in the office. I'm coming down, meet me there". Two gorgeous arrangements were standing there...one from Pasha and one from her twins. I turned to the Mr. and with a wide smile began "So kind of you, thank....." when he interrupted me with "my wife died". She had died a few hours ago. We hugged and sobbed.
I realize that this is a sob story but writing it helped me to appreciate how fortunate I am.
The only thing I can complain about is that I am a bit slower in doing things. Yes, so who needs to be fast when enjoying life?
Monday, April 15, 2013
In 1936 a group of vacationers from Montreal drained the marsh and build a synagoue overlooking the Riviere du Nord. Since 2001, this house of worship belongs to the Municipality of Val- Morin and has the mission to provide locals and tourists with quality entertainment. The cozy little building is now equipped with 100 very comfortable seats, a stage and sound equipment. Whenever we attend a live artist performance we feel as we were entertaining them in our living room.
Picture by our Mayor Serge St-Hilaire
This is the movie I saw last week.
The story of an arranged marriage and an 'avant-gardiste' woman who, although submissive, will do anything to liberate herself.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Reading comments on a friend's post has taken me back to the chapel in our small town in Germany.
Shortly after I had decided to be a Catholic like my friends, I was looking for the best way to be fully accepted. I got involved in all activities that were organized by the church for us teenagers. But still better was to do more than what was offered and that's how I came to my exiting early morning job. I committed myself to attend 6AM Mass on Thursday mornings and to ring the church bell 15 minutes prior to Mass. What a wonderful feeling to hang on the rope, pull it down and be pulled off the floor as the bell swung upwards and come slowly down again to pull for the next ring and to know that I was the one summonsing the pious ones to church.
A magical feeling. The chapel was next to the high school. How convenient for me since I was coming to that area of the town anyway. And, to top it all off, after Mass I was served breakfast at one of the church ladies house. Bread was still rationed then and even if it had not been so I never got enough of it. I can still remember Miss K's look when she asked me how many slices I wanted. She had picked up a huge round farmer's home backed bread off the table, cut it in half and held one half up against her upper body and with the knife ready to slice she asked me the question to which I answered "three, please". The slices were humongous and so was the jam to spread them with.
I think I held that job for 3 months and then promoted myself to be an assistant to the nuns working at the hospital next door to the chapel. I was allowed to help them serving breakfast to the patients.