X me
Me: ‘I love the green tea, but I can’t have it because of my stomach.’
Christian: ‘Mutant.’
Impossibly cool
According to this, some of my compatriots are. And also Jean Seberg – I agree. Didn’t she look absolutely darling in ‘À Bout de Souffle‘?
My well dressed friends
I am lucky enough to have some damn stylish friends, on top of being wonderful people. My gorgeous friend Jen (who likes straws, and who introduced me to Jeremy, who gave me a tasty oats recipe, are you with me?) today knocked my socks off by giving me this dress of hers that I had my eye on, well, ever since I saw her wear it for the first time. It has a beautiful top bit that looks like a vest, and the skirt has this amazing pattern of braided hair being cut with big scissors, interspersed by hearts pierced by arrows. Swoon.
PS: this morning while thrifting I found not one but two perfect pairs of pants. Now that is what I call lucky.
The Jump Book
I found this on Matou en peluche (don’t you just love her blog name?). I knew some of the photographs but had no idea who was behind them, or even that there was a book! Philippe Halsman believed that asking a person to jump was the surest way to capture their essence in the picture. I love that idea. Although there will be no jumping for me since I strained the ligaments in my right ankle last Friday, during my little performance.
Erasing all traces of my little alien
We used to be the four musketeers: Christian, me, Mira and Astin (our little alien fur-less cat). Then one day in July Astin died, completely out of the blue and in literally less than two minutes. He wasn’t even five years old. This was over two years ago, and even though it seemed impossible at first we adapted to our new lives in the same apartment, but just the three of us. We donated or got rid of most of Astin’s things, only keeping the most precious of all (his blanket, his favourite toy) in a box that I hid away.
While cleaning downstairs in our old empty apartment, I found some traces of Astin: little paw prints on the wall, invisible behind furniture that was moved or only revealing themselves when the light hit them at the right angle. Every time I found one, I stopped and stared – very conscious of the fact that I was about to erase the very last visible traces of my cat’s short existence. These little marks, they took my breath away. I wish I could have kept them.
The contentious issue of finger counting
There have been many things to adapt to for me since moving from France to Australia, and this is the beginning of an attempt to explain.
So this is apparently a cultural thing: I start with the thumb when I count on my fingers, which Christian thinks is an abomination. This image on the right supports my worldview, but not my husband. When I show him my hand with fingers folded to indicate a number, he tells the number back to me minus the thumb. Always. So our exchanges go like this:
Christian: ‘How many?’
Me: showing thumb, index and middle finger (which equals 3 if you’re with me).
Christian: ’2 then.’
Me: ‘No! 3!’
Christian (grinning): ‘Ok, 2.’
I refuse to concede and so does he so on it goes, for quite a while. Each and every time we finger count.
(Image is from here).
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