Mediteranian Musings

This is a picture of a rumsteak dinner with truffles that I had in the neighbourhood restaurant a few days ago. I thought my
computer 'ate' the photo.


I have a few snaps of scenic jaunts around where my residency takes place I thought I would share.





To the left is a close-up of a cork tree. As I have been consuming wine with the stoppers primarily made from this tree, it seems appropriate to include this picture, taken en route to a quest for sculpture materials and tools. The harvesting of the cork bark may or may not be bad for the tree. I broke off a piece, as a memento - I doubt the tree will miss the bit I would like to bring back with me. Maybe customs will prevent that?


Departing from the harbour at Cannes...




A passenger on the boat to the L'isle de Lerins...



















On the edge of the Mediterranean Sea... off the L'isle de Lerins



A few picture of the Fort Royal - Saint Marguerite...

















En route to the rampart...

A view of Cannes from the gun-hold...



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The spell of morning light

Somehow, I was remembering a bowl of oranges that were placed on a wholly wooden table, a table bought at the Salvation Army store, an expandable, rectangular, scarred, yellowing table. The oranges were large, and the morning light bathed those oranges, suffused them with a pale intensity, marking the beginning or an end or a transition.

Even now, 30 years later, I am not sure what to call that mark. The initiation into adulthood seems an appropriate designation of this distinguished realization. The window was never able to emit more than a glimpse of morning, and light never shone in except at early mid-day. The table was handsome in this caress of sunshine, made comforting by the roundness and purity of the hue of that copious pile of fruit.

I had walked into the frail apartment, alone. The scratched, phalo-green tiles surrounding the electric grill of the dormant fire-place to my left was a reminder of the attempt at remodelling that had taken place in this home.

We had conducted an alteration of our spirit, of sensation, of cognition - awareness and judgement of ourselves that had passed now to another phase in our lives. We had created independent pathways to our existence.

What was most startling in my new sensible awareness was the absence of presence; the gift of interaction was gone. The impelling forces we experienced, the moral poise, the emissions of fundamental physical forces between our bodies had affected us, made us part of each other's existent whole. There was seldom tranquility between us. I experience freedom from turmoil, of discomposure that morning.

The fruit had been a gift. Giving someone fruit, a product of growth, the maturing of a consequence of nature's productivity seems portentous now. Then, I just wondered, "Why oranges?". I remember asking myself the question as I stared at the present. I was confused by the beauty of the enchanted daylight.

My oranges compelled me to peel.

La DE Da

Once, upon a time...

Remembrances of new moon... They say in Turkmenistan that if you show money to the new moon it will mean that you will have money in the month to come ( at least). My friend took out her last $13 American dollars and flashed it at the crescent moon last night in twilight, the last of the money she had earned to come to Canada, in anticipation of this prophecy.

The Chef was cooking sauces last night. A cream tarragon and red wine sauce for the miniature bar-b-ques. Caramel with Grande Marnier and the secret Chocolate sauces ( orgasmic) for the strawberry and cookie dipping. A feast with panache. Starters were a double cream Brie baked with roasted walnuts and a vine ripened tomato salad with fresh basil, olive oil, lemon, balsamic vinaigrette, topped with shaved red onion. Fresh baguette, cold butter and straight up Stoly. Kosher pickles to nibble with the Vodka. (Russian tradition)

The smoke alarm only resounded once. The plastic bag was adjusted to prevent the fire brigade's entrance, and tongs were readied to braise the smorgasbord of morsels of meat. Beef heart, veal, pork tenderloin, chicken marinated in tarragon. Freshly ground pepper sanctified every course. Sauces were readied for immersion. Red wine and conversation about the comparisons of Turkmen/Russian/French and Canadian culture fortified the evening. The dessert was consumed intermittently throughout the meal.

Yum. A new Canada Day tradition was forged.