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The universe of Jocelyne

Photo 1: Last Saturday, the camp, I managed to tear myself away from pain and misery in my book go for a long walk in the last rays of sun this afternoon. In this play of light and shadow, I also saw what I call a downtown hares!

Photo 2: Returning to the camp where waiting for me after this novel within me passionately, I sketched this picture of our camp as m 'appeared in this strange light on the other side of the "swamp", which could have illustrated the universe Jocelyn is also mine.

Photo 3: Before returning to devour other pages, I still had to feed my friends. This one, though high, takes the time to greet me before attacking his meal.

universe Jocelyne

Critics are ecstatic, and even Jean Fugere, writing in his column on the First Channel Radio-Canada lost for words, before declaring "Fabulous" the universe, history, scenery and characters of his latest novel. This kind of criticism does not usually influence me. Me is rather Jocelyne itself interests me, one I know and like a long time. But I'm still happy for her that her talent is finally recognized.

Our professional worlds have often crossed. Because Jocelyn has always earned his living other than in writing, no doubt, we are here in Quebec. With a natural affinity we felt both by dint of cross, we arrived often draw parallels with our personal universe resembled too. And our inexplicable desires to write, our foibles, our habits, we did not take himself seriously, neither one nor the other but we knew we shared this consuming passion, and this need that we sometimes marginalized. Jocelyne meet either at work, at the book fair, in any cultural event, by chance in a restaurant or grocery store, has always been a magical moment for me. That girl is a real!

She lives in a small village near here, Cléricy, but to do it faster, they say Rouyn-Noranda. Born in Acadia, she arrived in Abitibi very young and I recognize her from the same roots (or rather algae) in the same quest that all those who seek instinctively a lost country, a paradise flew, to find . Another case we have in common, always implicitly and that is not explained. His spouse is a woodsman, a sort of Crocodile Dundee in the boreal forest. She can not invent any of the authenticity of what she writes, despite his fertile imagination and his world so full of all the characters she embodies. Jocelyne, when she writes, does not create everything from nothing and that I know on good authority!

Upon publication of her first novel in 1996, I was conquered by your unique, intimate and personal that is his. Life as an image , published by XYZ, marked for me a discovery, a turning, an awakening. It is a book that I lived a long time.

In 2000, again at XYZ, she published The heirs of the mine a particular universe of mining town that is familiar with the life that takes place, the influence of any powerful, what is happening below the surface and in the lives and intrigues lived by his characters. A few years later, in 2006, still faithful to the same publishing house, she published Jane roads.

We see that Jocelyn took his time to write. We do not draw a flower for her to land faster. It publishes every five years, in addition to his passion for writing, she has a life too! So I waited a little anxiously as the last is expected to mail a letter from a friend. A hurry, I did not wait rouynorandien its launch, so I went straight to my favorite bookstore and order it because I had all copies had flown like hotcakes. A nice problem to Jocelyne and her publishing house that had to go into reprint, victims of their success!

It rained birds is the title of his fourth novel published in the first quarter 2011, Editions XYZ, by Jocelyne Saucier, a talented writer.

I can not find the words to speak accurately and in a detached way. So I start sentences like that on the fly, and I trust you, you always understand me usually ... This is a novel that I could not let go until the end and even after, he still with me, you understand? It's been a while since it had not happened. I was caught up, seduced, dependent, hanging, begging, a little more and it would become insane!

And the characters ... If true, if endearing, is known to like that, they are found everywhere here in the forest or in small shops in villages. They can be heard live, breathe and think, especially in their silences and looks that speak for themselves. Mine are different names but are called Jocelyn to her liking, it is his privilege as a novelist.

If freedom is so dear to your heart than mine, if you are a hermit's life and often tries fascinates you, if a bit of crime and folly sweet charm you know, if you like you to tell true stories need not be disguised or embellished to touch you, if nature means a healing balm on your wounds to the point of wanting to blend in it, if you talk about the resilience of abundance and humanity, if old age and death achalent you and you aspire to become more serene face of these normal stages of dying, if you still believe in the immeasurable power of human love, then go ahead, the library or bookstore, you could plunge with delight into the world of Jocelyne, where It was raining cats and birds.

Oh, I forgot to tell you ... I almost cried at least twice while reading it. It either, it had not happened since reading a small booklet borrowed from the school library Galinée, Matagami, when I was in fourth grade! I can not remember the name of the author, in that time, it mattered little, but this little book from the Library rose, and was headlined, asked a Mommy . I tried both this childhood memory since, if you knew, in all garage sales, bric a brac, used book stores, etc.. So I felt like the replay, with my adult eyes, to find the little girl I was. There are books you never forget. As childhood friends.

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Invaders

Photos 1 and 2: Do you remember the week Last, when a ruffed grouse came parading in front of me to wish me a good Valentine? A week later exactly what is looming on my horizon, in my field of vision, do not fire at all the same emotions ...

Invaders

Do you see the fishing shack? Me, I just see it. It's in my face all day long yesterday morning. It makes me pump the air. It's nothing that you do not hear the reaction from Crocodile Dundee when he came to work yesterday. He could not believe his eyes either. He said bad words here!

The guy moved in front of our homes. We are a few to have him in our field of vision, but its facade is turned specifically to us, as if to spy on us. You feel overwhelmed. Hence, the name given to them at that kind of world one.

You tell me that the lake does not belong to us. That's true. Caring for 20 years, we pay exorbitant taxes to live here, are constructed by thinking environment and wildlife, it was almost in the house, it is part of our landscape, even inside, but the lake is true, it does not belong to us.

Lake Dufault, as I affectionately call "my" lake is the source of drinking water for the city of Rouyn-Noranda and surrounding areas. That should give him some respect. But it is not. Except for some residents.

My lake shores inhabited some but not much, thanks to laws that have been to stop 25 years ago in the anarchic development stopped there: the path of Sailing, the Rue Gagnon Avenue des Iles, the way the Beavers, and the way England. That's it. Its area is about 8 km by 4 km. WELL YOU WANT ME TO SAY WHAT HAPPENS BETWEEN TWO Zoreil AN INVADER SETTLE THAT COMES WITH HIS SHACK FISHING IN FRONT OF U.S. IN OUR BUBBLE?

There is no law that protects us from the invaders. They think of nothing at all, especially not to others. What's next? He will come and borrow a cup of sugar? Ask us to come pee in our bathroom? Or worse, pee out on the lake by drawing a sign of peace and love in yellow on the white snow, making us beubaille? It will give each other a music box that spits out at 120 decibels and we impose its boom boom? There's no limit to human stupidity!

The guy probably works. He will fish the weekend. But his cabin, he was in the face all week, you know. That's it in fact you of the penalty,? Simonac, it is in Abitibi, a country of space and freedom. That is to say that we are not immune to anything, us either, especially not the invaders.

It reminds me of an anecdote. A true story, as said another. Our friends Bob and Marie-Claude live path of Sailing. Their slope to the lake, there are small mounds they have left au naturel, with trees, blueberries, etc.. One night in August, Bob comes to work, there is parking in Your Ride and he sees a man and a woman picking berries in his yard. Always cool, my Bob, he said: "A nice tiller, eh? . The invaders feel disturbed, they opine, but do not prolong the speech. They pick the handful beautiful ripe fruit and sweet. Bob is my resume, always inclined to do a bit of education: "Because you've come here, you see the white house ... . Then the two sparrows, arrogant and insulted him throw, "Wood is at the very world ". That's where Bob has lost his temper is legendary. He was escorted to their Your Ride, and a good boy, he left them with blueberries, telling them to make pies, they had a good foundation.

"J'overeact" I know, but it felt good to talk to you ...

-------------------------------------------- ---------------

Small note added in 14 hours: The end of history. It could be titrated as follows: The time I farted my coach for nothing, or, The steambath my neighbor gives me heat or, In speaking we understand .

short, I arrived just in the city. Opposite me in the parking lot of the grocery store, there was my third neighbor, Yvan, all happy to be happy to tell me that he goes fishing in James Bay for three days. I tell you our conversation:

- In any case, you'll have good weather to go!

- Mets-en!

- Why you go so far, Yvan in front of you, there are some who think they are in Ste-Anne de la Perade?

- Ah, you speak of the dark cabin?

- Yeah, right, this one has a beautiful view of our houses ...

- This is the shack Ti-Blanc (the neighbor between us) he wants to make a steambath with his fishing shack!

- ...???... You sure about that?

- You always thought ben not that there were people thick enough to come and live the rest of us stuck on well in front of us?

- nenon nenon Ah, I thought nothing Pantoute, I said it as well. Yvan good fishing!

I have no ego, I just show you. But as I still have a little pride, I hope with all my ♥ my neighbors do not read my blog. Otherwise, my new hobby, it becomes: "I do not care how ridiculous" and try to remember what my mother told me when I was little: "When you is not worth a joke ... "

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A new day dawns A Valentine

Photo: This is the first one I posted here, January 24, 2007, when I opened my blog. It means a lot to me.

A new day dawns

How you say ... I lack words to express my joy ... The sentences are running through the small end of the funnel ... At the same time, life carries me from all directions at once these days, I have not even had time to respond your last comment but I read them and I will, I promise.

My blog has never been my personal journal, so I wanted to avoid it but since coming here to take from me, I must share this message that was on my answering machine yesterday on my return.

The pathologist's report is conclusive: NORMAL. I repeat: NORMAL. I listened twice, this message as expected. I checked to repeat all the details and know what happens next. That tells you ... We will follow me closely, we will do everything thing and I will work with all my heart.

relief, serenity, joy found, recognition to Life, wonder, I do not know, I feel like a little bird that would hit hard in the window, still alive but stunned, recovering his bearings, trying to shake its wings to fly again.

Thank you for waiting and hoping with me, you made me warm at heart, I will never forget.

Life is calling me!

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real-time ticket

Photos 1, 2 and 3: It happens in real time, I'm at my desk working and this beautiful casserole (a ruffed grouse) came wish me a happy Valentine's Day!

A Valentine realtime

was a few minutes ago ... I was working on three or four files at the same time and I had just made a brilliant discovery that would save me time, which would allow me to be present wherever I had to be today to meet all the needs are greatest. There she appeared to me, her, the pan directly into my field of vision when I am sitting at my desk, as if to say, 'Wow, there are times you're awfully effective, my casserole ! "(We called the same one and the other in the privacy).

Today is Valentine's Day. I have written here that this festival too commercial in my opinion should be broader and include all forms of love, whose friendship. I repeat the same vow while making you mine that have nothing to do with flowers or chocolate or what is bought in stores.

Yesterday, returning from the hospital, I left with my brother in his mailbox a book that I wanted him ready. I took two minutes before leaving home for him to write an affectionate little word on a map very quickly cobbled together with hearts, red paper and all that he abhors. I was funny. But I still put my heart and my big sister sense of humor in it. It reminded me that evening, he found it funny and touching when he arrived home. Was chatted a good shake, I missed her laughter, it was generous of himself as always. It was also Valentine's Day last night, even for him ...

My Valentine girl waiting at the other end of town at noon, his university course ends here for today, it has miraculously two hours free, she would like the spend with me is the jackpot. It gives me the jackpot for Valentine's Day, time shared with her. I stress, must I be in hospital with Belle Maman. My Valentine said: "I'll go with you, I will see Grandma at the same time. "

Crocodile Dundee does not know it yet, but in his lunchbox, I had made last night ti chocolate hearts surplus. It's not much but it heartily, he will know that I think of him. This morning he was spinning ugly, coughing, a sore throat, he slept badly, it is congested and exhausted, rising. I told him: "How do you go about your day, sick as well? He said: "I'll start by going shovel, I'll take two Tylenol and I'll sing louder, you know, our life is a contest of courage! "I looked Starting with his lunch box, still smiling, courageous, brave heart, he changed tack, I sent him a beak blown out the window.

Valentine's Day is a celebration of all those and all those who love each other. It also includes the love ...

♥ ♥ ♥

Small note added at 20 30 pm tonight (I'm definitely used !...): That's what happens when a ticket garrocha in 22 minutes. I had to leave the house without rereading. This is terrible, my tenses that contradict my faults and 2nd year B! I do not fix anything, I leave this post as is, all that is most authentic, in fact I wrote it in real time, between 11 and 11 h 16 h 38 this morning!

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Ahmadou Kourouma 2

Good evening,

I continue to write on this writer Ivorian. Today I talk a little about him.
Ahmadou Kourouma was born in Boundiali. At age 7, he was separated from his parents to join the family of his uncle. It was he who dealt with education Kourouma. He has seen his mother before the age of 27. He participated in the group of sharpshooters of the colonial army. He worked in Paris in an insurance agency for two years after he returned to Ivory Coast. In 1963, the Ivorian writer is unemployed because of a conspiracy (wrong) he was accused by the government. During this period he wrote "The Suns of Independence". In this work he wanted to show the plight of its people (Malinke) and political inequalities that are passed in that time. Authorities banned Kourouma to find a job. He went to France and got a job in Algeria in a position of actuary has worked for nearly five years. The writing profession was not expected by him. The desire to write has appeared after working as an actuary in Algeria. Hoping to write on African ethnology he began studying sociology in Côte d'Ivoire. At this moment the novel "The suns of Independence "was written. After several refusals, he received the motivation to keep trying to publish his novel. In Quebec Francophonie in prices, he won the opportunity to edit his novel.

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Winter

Photo 1: Last Saturday, we left the camp very early, Crocodile Dundee and me. Each time I arrive there, I undid my little backpack and I found my old stuff, I am overcome with a feeling of peace.

Photo 2: He was sweet, it was well with the Magpies and tits. Crocodile Dundee was splitting logs into quarters, me, the strings in the shed, bark on top, in a balance that I honed as that is very therapeutic!

Photo 3: It always delights me to see my man at work in his world of another time, so happy. An expansion of the heart, a little piece of song, one ax, accurate, and the log splits in two as if there had dotted lines that he was the only one to have seen.

Photo 4: birch bark, which are duplicated are the raw material I need to tinker with my note cards. I always have a good supply on hand. I just take pictures of my harvest of the weekend, at the same time you know how I do to make them. Otherwise, I'd be happy to tell you.

Ticket winter

Nenon nenon, nothing back to my horizon but I found this morning a little impetus to write a post nine. It was time to tell me, after over a month ... You would think that I finally abandoned my blog, which took 4 years on January 24 last.

Two small day at the camp and suddenly life becomes soft, full of hope, of simplicity and serenity of a beneficent calling for new life as she can be shaped. It is often said that manual labor prevents from thinking too much but I found this weekend that it helped mostly think better!

I brought two books in my luggage extraordinary, I alternated between one and another, and what seemed a whimsical contrast to the top proved to be a real treat in the end, in the decoration of trees and snow and the sound of the wood stove purring. I eagerly devoured the first half of Avard chronic François Avard and reread for the umpteenth time The notebook of a stroller the great Felix "no e" Leclerc.

I also took a long time to observe the designs of Isabelle, those it has offered to his dad at Over the years, his writing with a child or teenager on the back, all illustrating the same in substance, the great relationship that exists between them and which I welcome. For him and for her. For me too, because I can fully measure the importance that it takes a lifetime.

In closing this ticket winter may seem empty, I remember the taste of something we tend to forget when you think nothing is happening, that we end up with a space-time that one is tempted to call empty and useless, would not it be more profitable to consider the space-time as a true freedom, an opportunity that we is given back to jump further?

Small note to those who are worried about being cut trees: First, we only take those who are dead or diseased then, Domtar purchased by EACOM, s 'in all just shave our industry is a matter of weeks. The path is already made a few miles from camp ... With this gap, this new road between Seven and Fast Fast Two which gives access to the territory, it makes mineral exploration happily, and who knows what they will find like vein, we are on the fault line of Cadillac ( gold) and is already known that uranium deposit is in operation near Lake Simard. All this takes place "casually" while we think nothing happens noteworthy "in the North." Maybe I will come back soon, this is not the media that will keep you informed, it is certain. Neither of those here nor elsewhere.

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Ahmadou Kourouma

Amahdou Kourouma Ivory Coast is a writer. He is French and I studied in the course of French Literature.
Before talking about this writer, I want you to ask questions. What Francophone literature? If you are looking for on the Internet you can find this definition: "French literature is any literature written in French." This definition says nothing about the history of la Francophonie. It is a neutral definition and superficial. To learn more, we must ask questions like: How the French language came to other countries and regions? How did she become the official language? What is the difference of the word Francophonie in lowercase and uppercase? Why write francophonies instead of la Francophonie? Can I put other issues too, but I think it's good to reflect those I began.
Firstly it means that there is no single way to express themselves in French. To do this we write the Francophonie. Every person, people, country, city and region is expressed in its own way. How can we say "This is not French" in a variety of communicative one language?
I do not want to answer all these questions, if you want you can comment on this topic.
The writer, whom I introduced you, wrote novels, drama and books for children. In the novel I'm reading "The Suns of Independence", he outlines three topics: the Francophonie, politics and culture. The story is very dynamic. You never get bored, but there are expressions in the region I do not know. Despite these expressions I knew the general subject of the novel. I know there are things the teacher will enlighten me in the course, but I can finish this book quietly without losing the main topic. This course and this writer dealing with very important issues, they are for linguistic diversity exists in the French language. The rich cultural and literary diversity comes from the language to make the language of beauty and nobility different.

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Look! I have a real life!

Life in France, life in others.
study, it is a sacred pleasure. This is the strongest reason for travel. There are people who want to travel for taking photos. They recorded hundreds of photos to add to Facebook (my spell checker said I should write facebook mayuscule). The vice of our generation is the internet, but nobody admits it. To hide this truth people want to show other photographs showing activities, travel, pictures. "Look I have a real life". They spend the whole weekend by adding photos on internet sites. "Look! Paris, China, Brazil, USA! Look at me, I'm cool. I know the world. Because I travel. I like the simple people of the East. I took a photo next to several ethnic groups etc.. " Good, really good, long live the plurality! But why you do that? I answer for you! To show! The personal experience is shared the collective.
Sorry for the mistakes I made. "This text, he is not French."

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Goodbye! There are students

The time to say goodbye began in December. My neighbor is back in Canada. Yesterday my neighbor took his Mexican airline, today is gone my Belgian neighbor and another person of the fourth (the place more lively Planer). Friday will go from other neighbors as well. I see people coming out of this place surrounded by mountains, it's sad. I feel I lost something, but I actually lost anything. I gained experience, we must say that to my heart, my head knows well that speech. I think we want to keep People like the mountains of Grenoble, but it is not possible.

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very strange

Like an animal that came from the tropics:
"Come and see!", "He can read and write, the monkey who recites poetry!", "Straight from Brazil."
"But these monkeys do not believe in eating, fornicating and show your teeth!" (Said one visiting)
"Yes sir, but they are apes, you want what?"
The public begins to laugh.

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Brassens, my life is yours.

I see blue skies, sunshine and orange trees without leaves, I see it all and I feel nothing. Completely empty. Sometimes people look like multicolored paper. I also insist on a dumb sing. Life is fair, but if you do not understand their legal it becomes harder to live.
A woman dancing, a beer and a cigarette. Yes, I am a hermit who wanders about not leaving his room. The recitations of the poems are rare, literature is beautiful "do not touch!". I love France, yes I love France. My chest is open to this love. In bloody, I do not ask her love, but a word, a word in my vocabulary. The doctors came in the room. They begin to withdraw my lung, my heart, my astounded. I literally emptied.

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happy fools who were born somewhere.

For once, I think I am a coward. The French language is in all corners of the city. She's like the wind, like air. But I'm in my bubble and boil is a huge question mark. Language fleet and I accompany, but without any interaction. My brain tries to understand, for both questions are multiplying. My spirit is heavy because of these doubts and it becomes more difficult to support this language so free, so orthodox.

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Gratitude

Photos 1, 2 and 3: They were all taken at Christmas and each m inspires the same old-fashioned feeling: gratitude.

Gratitude

Each year at this time, come to my mind the words of my mother, those she had written to honor his parents who celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. I must have been about 9 years and I had memorized his long text in order to make it more sensitive, putting all my heart a little girl who had a life before her, who felt things more that she understood them. I already feel vague and strange that those words were be meaningful to the rest of my life. It began like this:

"Before vanishing into the mists of the past, the joyful procession of Christmas and New Year invites us to indulge in any deep joy and intimacy. How is it that we always felt happiness again express wishes already old? Is that love and gratitude are sentiments that do not age but instead, become more intense heat and as time flies ... "

This way of being and see life was part of my "bar code" forever.

Recently, someone I know called me an optimist and I assure you it was not said in the tone of a compliment. For although I understand the intention behind the message was added it royally slapped on my nerves sometimes. Everything I have found to answer was: "Yes, I know myself I royally slap on my nerves sometimes. "

At the time, it has stirred my pen, I am questioning is healthy to do and I think I have demonstrated openness. And then, after careful consideration, I decided to take it. Point. In the following days, I stumbled across a reading that went something like this, that people who show gratitude to live longer. I wanted to laugh. I do not know if it's true, but I am sure of one thing as gratitude, to live with it every day!

The Holidays ( the joyous procession of Christmas and New Year ) was as always a whirlwind here. Before turning this page ( before collapsing in the mists of the past ) I need to pick a few precious moments to keep in my treasure chest ( to unleash a profound joy and all intimate ).

There were two days in the forest with "our children, our little Christmas, a simple pleasure, but so great to take the time to live with each other.

A trip from 20 minutes to run an errand in town with my brother, Jocelyn, confident that even at 900 km distance, it can be so close we understand with just the beginnings of sentences and smiles. And so we know where it comes: the same place!

A giant hug received December 31 and that I did not expect, a great declaration of love came from nowhere as if by magic. "You go, eh? "And I rocked a lot longer than a few seconds of this impromptu and enthusiastic hug that I had no choice but to abandon me.

Gratitude ... It means taking the time to savor those moments of eternity are gathered in passing and which let forget easily if we are not not paying attention. It also means that it is good to appreciate what we have rather than desperately wanting what you have not. Is growing, against all odds, the attitude and the ability of people happy ... fundamentally optimistic, although it can sometimes enter royally on my nerves. All things considered, I assume, and signed,

zoreilles, the optimist who can not and does not change its barcode xx

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Rink "found"! HAPPY NEW YEAR

picture: there was some minutes away, in January 2, 2011.

Rink "found"!

Continuation and conclusion of the saga of the rink this year, with supporting evidence. We had made in early December, lost before Christmas, found the 26 and 27 December, pampered until 30 December. It was "water" for the traditional party of 31, as I said in my previous post and here comes just the "find". Those who play hockey are now our neighbors and friends, our visit is any party since January 1. Bouhouhou (tears of despair).

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Photo 1: On the morning of December 31, 2010 ... Lots and lots of water on the ice that had all redone and sprayed on 26 and 27 December. Then it froze, it was perfect until December 30 but ...

Photo 2: That's what saved the tradition hockey table in the garage!

Photo 3: The final took place on the evening in the lounge. An exciting game that was able to monitor the kitchen!

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2011

I was in the preparations for the evening of 29 December for me. Because with the traditional part of hockey on the lake, 31, came with other traditions, such as family and friends who meet there around our wood stove, my soup partridges, of a large baking homemade bread and stuff that people only eat in us that day!

So I was ready to accommodate about thirty people, as always. From noon to ... some remain in bed.

The phone has not stopped ringing in the morning, I was about to hire me a receptionist. The big question was: "We will you be able to play hockey on the ice? . The answer was clear: "No". But Crocodile Dundee with a few neighbors did everything to transform it into street hockey in the street, it could have been very friendly. But there were too constraints. This avenue was abandoned at 11 am ...

remained the large parking lot in our yard to play games such as "confrontation" or several small teams of three competing. By putting the cars elsewhere, of course. Anyway, everything was melted, we saw the asphalt. But it started raining ropes, it was unthinkable to play outside.

Several have withdrawn. Others just are not coming. The first began arriving around 13 am and everyone returned to the house. Nobody outside. Unless smokers ... To 15 hours, our saviors arrived with a game of table hockey straight out of mothballs. The guys have patched up, oiled, and once Warmed far as the game, men are again the guys of the past, the atmosphere in the garage was rather overexcited. The girls did not play, I do not know why, it seems that hockey table did not interest those who were with us.

If I waited about thirty people, I have had a fortnight around my table yesterday, the day and evening. The age of almost 2 years to 89 years, the average was around 43 years, and it was more like a family party of New Year's Day as our traditional hockey game that was played for 19 years before us, which leads me to wish you ...

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2011

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Holidays are made to study! (Cheers Fac)

Compared to the last comment there is nothing personal. I have no hatred against France or French, but there are differences and sometimes I have no one to talk about this and you're done.
Now is the holidays, it's time for ... STUDY. Yes, it must consider my friends (imaginary), examinations of January arrived. What you gonna do? Read, write, read and write. Litt.Gener examinations. and grammar make me afraid, but that's normal. I think it depends on revising I'm doing. If I revise well I would have good grades. "Good notes" that means a 10, 11 or 12, but that's normal. I hope to succeed. But we must also take on 31. At 31 I want to go out for a drink with imaginary friends and real life friends too.

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2011 Christmas camp

Photo 1: The Magpies have welcomed us upon our arrival, they were present (and hungry) throughout the two days spent at camp. Each turn, and sometimes both at the same time, we had the privilege of their visits to eat in our hands, head, and they have even taken a few miles when we left.

Photo 2: This is not because there was no "snow man" that deprived himself of the character who fascinates Félixe. It asked us just a little more creativity, and there she saw that the fire! This tree then now has a name, it will be our Christmas tree for all the years to come. Patented in the nursery on site, it lacked the "presence", then after this photo was taken of toys and nursery Félixe became inhabited by a princess, a prince and ... a pink horse!

Photo 3: At night, when lit up our Christmas tree using the generator, I wonder which of the five of us was most amazed ...

Photo 4: In the little house under the trees and snow, there is Felix and I want to wish you the most magical, the most wonderful Christmas.

Christmas at Camp

13 kilometers in the forest, far from civilization, the camp Fra-Gilles was the scene for a simple story to us procured miles happiness. It was the greatest gift we could get to live it together.

The moon shone in the clear sky of 22 December the temperature was ideal, magpies showed up at the rendezvous, not at all shy, the forest had begun all beautiful and we were immensely happy.

To Fast Two is what we told Felix, Santa delegates some deliveries of gifts to her friends, magpies, which helps a lot in his work. Do you know where they have deposited the gift for Felix? In the house of fir that feels so good when I'm photographed with her. She could not, Félixou, and the rest of us either!

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Our little Christmas

Photo 1: Taming the magpies, it starts like that.

Photo 2: Crocodile Dundee maintains close links it has established close with these birds that never leave us.

Photo 3: This is where we are headed tomorrow to live ...

Our little Christmas

We've always had this tradition since our daughter is in the world. The holiday season, it lasts long with us, our families are large, many come from outside and enjoy the time off to travel, meetings are continuing at a steady pace and it begins very early with the birthday of my mother, December 20. His brothers and sisters still have celebrated this year but since they are all retired, it lasts three days!

In my little family to me, before losing sight in the whirlwind of Christmas, the "in between" and New Year's Day, we always felt the need to live somewhere something more intimate, sweet and nice, simple and relaxing: Our little Christmas. We were three for a long time ...

Our daughter grew up, our tradition has been ingrained over the years, so there was a need, increasingly hard, especially when we formed a family even greater when Dominic 's is joining us. We had become four and we find ourselves a taste before we lose it again for one whole world around us.

In January 2009, we became five, and our little Christmas took a facelift!

This year, I do not know where the original idea to start but we want to live it in the woods at the camp called Fra-Gilles is one of the two is really very highly in the woods, far far away! Just five of us, far from the commercial madness, stress, work, obligations, commitments and responsibilities, cell phones and computers, and everything goes too fast. Take Time is the gift that is, us five, five of us, with all our love ...

Crocodile Dundee was cool the trail last weekend and a friend lent us a big cart that will attach to the snowmobile. I finish preparing our little comic for two days, because there will be from 22 to 24. Christmas will be our little getaway for two days this year, we planned two days long, we have always stuck in our diaries too well filled. Dominic returns from filming outside this late at night, Isabella finishes his last course at the university this night at 23 o'clock we'll be free as air as we and tomorrow morning we share together.

The moon is full, clear skies, the snowy forest, the trail entered, magpies will eat in our hands, the stove purr and we will play out as we please, the day the evening. They announce the nice weather, when snow can be sticky, it will make a big snowman for Felix, who loves them. (Hey, I think, should not forget to bring a large carrot, an old scarf and a hat funny). Crocodile Dundee dream of putting a lot of lights in a tree without cutting it, then send off the generator to show the expression of Felix when he lights up like magic, in our midst.

Merry Christmas to you all!

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We lost the rink! Ti

Photo 1: It was Sunday, Dec. 5 last. They had spent part of the afternoon playing outside with our little visit, to clear the ice in anticipation of the hockey year-end. You remember the smallest pool in the world this summer? Here the winter version of Grandpa Dundee: the smallest sled in the world!

Photo 2: Yesterday morning, December 13 is the vision I had from the garage doors.

Photo 3: Same time, same place, but a little closer. Do you see the rink? No? Me either. We lost ...

We lost the rink!

It's one week you must shovel every day. But yesterday was the grand prize: snow, blowing snow, wind, slippery conditions, zero visibility, schools closed, leaving the road. "My country is not a country is winter" Vigneault sang. In the great book of the seasons, it says that winter starts December 21. As always, we are ahead.

The frozen lake once covered all this snow, is not at all safe, there are yellow patches everywhere. The rink is "slushée" as we say now and it would take a miracle of nature and hard work for you to recover before the holidays, which endangers our tradition of the hockey game December 31.

To be continued ...

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The dodo, the slice of apple ... Happy Birthday Dad

Illustration: If I read a long time, you've probably already seen, since I posted here, December 2, 2007, an extract from this text that I wrote in 1996. Today, I offer you the full, direct from my bottom drawer. If you had a father as wonderful as mine, I hope you bring your most memories. If you have not had that chance, I would like to share a little of all this love that I received.

The dodo ti,

slice of apple,

the sublet and the white horse

Sometimes an object, a smell, a song, a book or a picture comes back instantly instead magic of our childhood ... For me, the roundness of an apple red evokes unequivocally all the tenderness of the world, laughing in the complicity of a loving father and his beloved little girl: me!

the days of home range VII and throughout our family life, La Sarre, Matagami, Noranda, Dad was always at least three jobs, a main to support our family and at least two in the sale, which enabled him to meet lots of people and we pay little treats. He sold cars at Auto Nicol, snowmobiles, jet skiing, furniture Lapierre removals Labrecque, tires Abitibi Nylart nylon stockings, industrial products Mica, clothes tailor Tailoring Stephen, Amway products, Coke, Vachon cupcakes and I forget. Dad was not as she said, a good seller. He loved the world and thought hard as iron in customer service. I always thought he was above all a great communicator, able to convince when very satisfied himself.

In this swirl of life around him and us, it happened to be a father very far. I even think that it was he who invented the concept of quality of presence.

The dodo ti

When he finally returned home, exhausted but happy, all lit up with his warm smile. I ran toward him as if he were my savior. Then, his blue eyes became even more blue and I snuggled in my little circle in the arms of the strongest man in the world, certain that nothing could ever happen to me, only because he was there.

Sometimes, when he was very tired, he told me: "Come rock a little before ti ti sleep". And then I discovered it was for he makes a DODO IT, IT. Still nestled against Dad, I listened to his heart beat regularly and loudly. Was normal, he had a big heart. His chest rose and resumed his position with a regularity and a calm had me thinking once again beyond a doubt that nothing could ever happen to me as he would be there. When I raised my head to watch him sleep, he always had that smile, even with eyes closed. It definitely lacked something but I never risky move at all for fear of breaking the spell. I admired her sleep, while smiling, confident as can be in four years that I was the maker of his happiness.

The apple slice

One day I turned 5, I was fortunate to have my first little brother. Although I content, I also realized that he had become the new focal point of the family ... It was the day of his baptism I think, anyway, there were plenty of people around the cradle of the child. Dad came and sat with me in the lounge with a beautiful red apple all plump and a small knife. Without saying a word, he looked at me and then looked at the apple. He smiled all the time. His eyes crinkled more. It seemed he would burst out laughing. I knew he would give me the best slice of apple, first, when he had finished the peel. But you should not say, that I felt, it was unwise to say ...

More

knife walked methodically wheeling on the apple, the more he looked at me intensely and we both had a wild desire to laugh. It seems to me that in the end it slowed a bit, to take this complicity between us. There he produced a moment of grace. He cut the first slice, all white, I placed it in front of my eyes and offered it as if it were the most precious stone. Still without saying anything, I accepted a gesture as dramatic, and I finally tasted while he ate the rest of the apple. We were there, both alone in our universe, this house full of people, to eat our apple in silence, with the satisfied air of happy people who do not even call into question their happiness.

often over the years, he repeated the gesture complicity between us but it was the New Year's Day 1996, still in his house full of people, where I was again very touched. He came to offer me the first slice of apple and I accepted with the same eyes that dazzled as a kid. There was a long time apple did not taste as good and again, we did not say anything. Not one word. Just a glance and a smile, with an urge to giggle. Besides, we never speak, neither he nor I understood it was because we knew it could break the spell.

The sublet

I must have been about 10 years when Dad started building a cottage in Bay Dunlop, Matagami Lake, this cottage that has left us memories even if they never lived. I went to complain to him that was boring, no friends, no music, nothing to read, nothing to do. He said: "Wait a minute, it goes without making music, Dad will make you a sublet. What a mystery. A sublet?

With an energy that was calling me to follow him, he went to the tiller of alder in the small wood behind the cottage. Still without saying a word, he cut a small branch after having evaluated all. I was intrigued, I did not understand at all where he wanted to come but I gave him my full confidence and that was unconditional. As if a genie had appeared to him to whisper words and gestures to make, he said, gravely and mocking at the time: "Here, if you want it to work, your sublet, we will have you sing all the time that I do. There, you'll never stop you sing the song of the sublet ... Listen ...

peeler peels my sublet

Never worry'll regret

When my Tom Thumb peel

I will make it "

With application and determination, I sang in reproducing the words as well as its emphasis madelinot while he, with application and determination as he did weird things with his knife on the small branch of alder.

Suddenly he threw at me a look that meant it was when ever not stop singing. He sang with me the last time the magic verse ...

peeler peels my sublet

Never worry'll regret

When my Tom Thumb peel

I will make it

Instinctively, we are silent. These few seconds before the miracle lasted a century. And if it does not work? However, it was well sang the song sublet. Make a musical instrument was not easy but I knew Dad capable of all miracles since he did regularly.

With dignity near the devotion he brought to his mouth branch of alder, which emitted a pure sound, strange and beautiful, who had to agree to the bay to the mouth of Dunlop Bell River, without a shadow of a doubt. In the middle of nowhere, right in the woods on the shores of lake Matagami, my father came again with the same chemistry, give me what was best: a little of himself!

And the white horse

Among the memories of childhood, it is one that still serves me in the bad moments of my life. A panacea for a rainy day or general pain. A miracle cure that is similar to what we call self-healing, visualization, and perhaps also positive thinking. It's called "The white horse."

When I hurt your ears, teeth, I took a search by bicycle, he spoke of the white horse. If we made fun of my accent, I lost pieces of the puzzle, or that I had missed my sculpture clothespins, he also told me his story of the white horse, so much so that I ended up really see. It always began same. He told me to close my eyes, he took his soft-spoken, calm, serious and thoughtful, and he told ...

"Think of a beautiful white horse ... It is beautiful, white horse there ... It's loud and proud, he runs through the meadow, the mane in the wind, free as air ... It is a beautiful white horse happy, thinking nothing but his heureusité to run fast and strong in his meadow ... Oh it's so beautiful, a beautiful white horse ... "

And then I forgot but what I remember is that it worked all the time. No pain, physical or moral, no trouble, great or small, could resist the white horse. When I became a teenager, and later a woman, he never told me the story of white horse but I always remembered it was me, and I kept saying to me as necessary, until the day when ...

I was 29 years. For eight years, I wanted to become pregnant and finally, I was, but I was bedridden from the beginning of my pregnancy, sick, unable to feed me, weak and worried about losing this baby awaited, if desired. Inevitably, I ended up losing a lot my joy. The physical was eventually rub off on morale. As I more or less trapped at home or in hospital, I saw only the people who visited me because I, I could not move.

This morning, Dad had stopped at the house for no reason. Lying on the sofa, I only had not even opened the door he had entered simply to stealthily, silently. He sat in the rocking chair next to me. Without saying a word. I was not the conversation I either.

He was lying on the coffee table of old white boxes and scissors. He wanted to pick it to help me. Mechanically he began to cut into the cardboard, without seeming to know where he went. Then he asked me how I was.

While I told her about my worries of losing this baby, my doubts whether I could go to term a healthy baby, he cut as he always listened. When I had finished answering her, he had finished carving. He got up to carry the clippings in the trash and I noticed a small rocking the white form lying there. I went to fetch her and I took in my hands a beautiful white horse, the most beautiful white horse in the world. He smiled and said: "It is not successful, I had no model, but look, he has a little paunch and still, he looks strong enough and it still stands ! "

I told him:" It's white horse when I was little! Do you remember when you told me Dad ... And in his little boy embarrassed laugh, I felt two things clear: First, yes, he remembered exactly, and secondly, that it, it was unwise to say. So I kill because that is not expressed prints and then we both smiled because we knew all the wonderful hiding in this little white horse box.

was the greatest gift he could offer me. I put it on the mantel where I watched so often until the end of my pregnancy in bed. Of course, this is the first thing I put in my bag when leaving for the hospital. My little white horse followed me to the delivery room and then, on my bedside table.

When he came to see me in the hospital with Mom and get acquainted with his first granddaughter in full health, he saw " our "white horse on my bedside table. He smiled, perhaps even more fondly on that day.

I wanted to tell him all the beauty of my childhood, all the magic he had created in my life as child and adult, all hope I had to make even for my little girl.

I wanted to say many thanks especially for this panacea, this child would be happy for my whole life a guarantee of happiness, or rather, as he himself says, "to heureusité" but I said nothing and I smiled because that's for sure, it was not say. It could break the spell.

Francine, November 1996.

-------------------------------------------- -----------

Papa

December 2, 1996 This marks your 69th birthday. This text, I did not intend to offer it to you just because they value the tacit complicity between us. Literary Café in November, several men told me it was terrible to think that thou didst not ever read. Mom who I consulted suggested I offer it to you at your party. She had a tender smile when she told me that she, too, you often was offering the "first tranche" of your apple.

So here's what I hesitated to text you to read if this complicity can be diluted in any way in the future. And come what may, I trust we! What I have written a few pages, at bottom, I could sum it up in two words: "I love you, Dad." Happy Birthday!