sunday comics--

he's mr.
So and So
and i'm ms.
I Think You Know

music boxes 
kindred spirits
sunday comics

and 
i knew 
the words



 

sunday comics 
with Linus.  

yes, THAT Linus. 
who else.  

yes really, the REAL Linus from the peanuts cartoon strip (minus the blanket, he left it in the car) the most amazing man you ever did meet-- cartoonist, painter, writer, thinker, joker, smooth talker, my mentor, sunday lunch date, partner in crime and pen pal.... ....Linus doesn't have a computer, or an email address, he doesn't use the internet and still draws his cartoons by hand and submits them in the post.. so we send each other good old-fashioned letters. "we're the exception" he announced with a grin to me and everyone else at the lunch table this past sunday, referring with pride to our out-dated habit of correspondence via handwritten letters sent in the mail.

Linus has been a mentor to me in my writing and in every other creative endeavor i've attempted. he's also just somehow always been there letting me know it's ok to see things in a different light, to try things another way, and to live a life that others might never really understand, he supports me as i attempt to discover what to do with all the extra details i continue to notice about this world.

he told his parents he wanted to be a cartoonist at the age of six. he used to wait on the porch for his father to come home from work every night with newspaper in hand, so that they could read the comics together. he worked with charles schulz (creator of the peanuts comic strip) and reminds me all the time that schulz used to tell him that even if he wasn't paid to draw the peanuts comic strip, he would have done it every day anyway, that's how much a part of him it was, that's how much it meant to him. and i got it. so did Linus. 

at the age of 83 he's still working hard and has made his living as a clever cartoonist, a brilliant artist (his paintings are fantastic) and a colorful comic on and off the page. So ya, this Linus is real. Just wish he could read my blog, i've showed him a few times how to access this internet thing, but it was just an art from another time that he didn't seem to grasp, so instead i'll print it out and send it to him in the mail.

sunday comics--

x c

photos : by c

more sunday comics photographs : flickr

last time i mentioned Linus : here

trying on the reading glasses at 30

had a dinner party last night in the warm still summerish air of the candle-lit backyard, in the company of a few good friends from college and paris who i don't get to see very often, the algerian, and my parents (my mom planned it as a surprise thing for my bday today) it was really nice, really good friends, really good conversation, really really really laughing. really.

 

and i figured since i'm 30 now and people seem to think that's a big deal and old, that i should act old and look old, so i should maybe wear my mom's reading glasses (the drugstore kind) i mean, 'old' people wear reading glasses right? ;) so i wore them all night i can't say they (the glasses) made it easy to see when walking around, especially outside at night... but i suppose like all things... like this new age..new decade... i'll get used to it. and on the bright side, i am excited for the potential of a new accessory--- and if all else fails, i'll wait another 10 years and try again...

x c 

(check out the full story on my flickr!)

photos : by c (flickr)

any time you need a smile just look at this photograph : and have a good weekend

then—
her laughter
shattered my silence—
a faint light
flickered in darkness
as pieces of her laughter
fell—
sparkled
--reflected
danced—
touched me
--gently
let them fall
laughter
and her eyes big
–gleamed with
something else to
tell me on another day
as her nose scrunched
and the corners of her mouth
could no longer contain
her laughter

(for abby)


 photos : by c
(for more visit my ever-growing fickr)

bon week-end x c

the tunnel, the end, in this light--

photos : by c

well, maybe i used to have a really different sort of life a few years ago, the kind where people still tell me, wow that's the kind of life i only dream about, what was it like, it must have been amazing. and sure yes it was. these days i don't even mention it anymore. time to-- because-- you see, between that and the world constructed in my mind through creativity and words, and from behind these headaches and sunglasses, i haven't seen much of reality. i haven't even looked at what's right next to me because none of it even resembled what i thought it would or should or-- or what i thought i knew i wanted it to look like. the life i was supposed to have. and that probably sounds familiar and i guess they say it never is or does or will--

photos : by c

and then i just sort of-- after all this time, started taking pictures everyday of every day with my old, temperamental digital camera. we have an on-again-off-again relationship in that it only actually takes pictures on occasions, when i hit it or shake it or when it's not telling me 'memory card error' or 'corrupt data' or when i can at least identify who is in the blurry photos. but it works. sometimes. and in these photos i've captured-- there's simplicity in the perspective, change, colors, fade, or focus. seeing things in another light or if nothing else-- trying 'in this light' and muting the shades of my words, to the simple, the corners of my world right now. corners of my mind and the corners that i've discovered right here, i was perhaps even hiding in them, and now i see, i don't have to go anywhere and they are taking me somewhere completely different.


photos : by c

it's been three years now since i moved back home from the five years of my life that i spent in paris but you won't see any pictures of eiffel towers these days, just cars and pavement buildings and suburbs for now and hours that glow when you really can't tell where i am or where any of us are. and i'm not looking away from these photographs anymore because they're even better in this light-- this isn't to say that i've figured it all out and everything is suddenly perfect for me, because you should have seen me yesterday, but i have my good moments, i don't think that the light at the end of the tunnel was just the flash of my camera, i think you were there with me and actually we both could have seen it but we just didn't-- too busy hiding in the shadows. and really, everyone has pictures of the eiffel tower, so in a way our subtle every day photos are most spectacular because no one else has captured lived laughed or written the moment in this exact light.



x c

the balcony scene

loyal waves crash touch

laughter-- pull away with faith--

to return once more

::

and other times life sneaks up like a huge wave knocking me down, throwing me far off course and leaving me there to see the beauty that exists but just out of reach...

all year long i thought the waves that would touch me this summer would be in maratea italy with all my friends to celebrate the marriage of two dear friends maria teresa and christophe.... but headaches and instability in this life of mine left me ashore. maria teresa and christophe have their wedding today and i won't be there.... au moins, later this week my norwegian friend will arrive from the wedding to california to give me the full report over kaffe. but i won't be in italy today and there was not question in my mind, i planned to be there for them. but life has crashed down on me multiple times since then.

and you may remember a little website we were making together for their wedding.. ya... it's still sitting there.. with one entry {ooops}. perhaps we can turn it into an online guest book / photo album for those who were there in person and in spirit. still can't think about missing their day, it makes me too sad.

dear friends that live so far that oceans get in the way and physically divide us, but at the same time, could never keep us apart.

these are photos from the last time i saw mt and chris last spring in paris. last farewell glimpses taken from the window of a train after years of friendship, two weeks of just-like-it-used-to-be, and this lovely afternoon spent in the sunny garden of their versailles house....

::

i'm not super sweet on wedding inspired stories, but their story is simply perfection and cannot be overlooked. two of the most genuine, generous, fun, funny, sweet, adorable, charming, vivacious, delightful people...

literal sunshine in my life and over my rough oceans.

you guys have brightened my life. and i'm not just saying it, i really really mean it. i wish you all the happiness. but it's been there and will be, it's already written for you.....

footprints trace those in

smooth sands deep that time will tell--

the hours-- yours to make

::

love to you mt and chris
et a tres vite j'espere...
bisoubacikisses
x c

{the first & last photos were taken in maratea italy and i absolutly love them :: by design monkey}

sitting amongst shadows of her memory

a dear friend of mine who has with dignity, strength and grace been enduring an illness, has passed away. i sit holding the breath within me feeling this news envelop me still fresh though it has stood wavering on the edge of my thoughts lately. been writing tonight ever since i heard the news an hour or two ago, these thoughts and memories in no particular order have come over me and with the touch of words i have begun to capture the essence of what she meant and what this means.

image :: flickr

i just stand and stare before me shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory here in a dimly lit room that looked exactly the same five minutes ago before i knew

she dried the sage i still put in my dark tea today..gave it to me by the door..waiting..as i walked out into the sun didn't realize it was goodbye

shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory

echos of her accent melodic in my head take me somewhere else i hope she knew--

still in this moment right after i read those words so easy to read what i already knew so hard to believe i won't hear her generous dignified gentle voice again

wish i could have saved some of the messages that she left me on my cell phone. like the day i left her house without taking some cake with me for my family. i had a worried message from her telling me to please come back, that she'd forgotten to give me more cake.

shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory

this is the surreal moment before it sets in where i float slightly above my chair, numb, resonating, fingers working madly on this keyboard to capture her as if she could somehow silently slip away from my memory my fingers work reach move to grasp cling caress while knowing somewhere along the way that what was can never truly be lost

sitting amongst shadows of her memory
smiling amongst the echos of her laughter

.


.
.

the girl, the boy, behind the shadows

chantal by cristian el chico de camisa morada

so my friend cristian likes to walk around with his camera and take pictures of everything and then never share them... i am now forcing him to slowly share them on my blog {until we get him on twitter or flickr or his own blog} today we came up with the name 'el chico de camisa morada' for obvious reasons, he was the guy sitting with me in the cafe, the guy in the purple shirt, and there it was, he had a name, he just needed to stop hiding behind the shadows and the camera and share his work!

so while i was forcing him to get in the light... i decided i would make him write his very first haiku ever, while sitting at the table with me in the cafe. each of us would come up with a haiku to accompany this photo, and as cristian came up with the words 'the girl behind the shadow' we would each use this in our own haiku. long story short... the cafe closed, and 'we' hadn't finished yet ;) ;) so we sat in my car in front of the cafe for the next hour or so, finishing up the haiku. i told him if my 12 year old students could do it, so could he, and after mumbling some excuses about english not being his first language, it all came out very well....

the dark secret life
the girl behind the shadows
lived-- reflections--

by cristian el chico de camisa morada
{his 1st haiku ever}


that road not taken
the girl behind the shadows
hiding-- could have been--

by chantal the girl behind the shadows

then i got back home and on twitter, where i've been encouraging other friends to write haiku, a game of sorts that i've started with @Dr_Wes called #haikutherapy where he's trying to build his haiku-writing stamina and so little by little we write together. he writes the first line {5 syllables} then i take it from there. this has proved successful and therapeutic for the both of us. a few minutes after i returned from writing or rather forcing cristian to write, i had a line waiting for me on twitter by the good doc himself: superficial talk. i couldn't believe how well this would fit with cristian's second line, and thus the following haiku was born::

superficial talk
the girl behind the shadows
never said a word

by @dr_wes, cristian & me
{collaboration is a beautiful thing}

chantal by cristian el chico de camisa morada



:: out from the shadows he will come slow but steady 'el chico de camisa morada' ::

a hush falls... on rue mademoiselle

rough day. been meaning to write for the past few days... in fact, i've been doing so, been writing so much, just not posting recently. i will. the haiku have been flowing..... i will also be back to communicating with all of you, i haven't forgotten. but i'm writing this late night post {in lieu of sleeping off this headache} because i received some news just now that saddens and slightly startles me, despite the fact that i knew.. one day.. it would happen. the beautiful sophie marie of mon bon chien in paris who touched something in us all with her devoted eyes and perfectly manicured paws has passed on in search of greener grass, more squirrils to chase, and walks with cedric that never end. i miss her presence already. and in heavy-hearted haste, tried to capture her sweet, gentle, patient, loyal spirit in this poem:

though i knew
one day it would arrive--
still my heart--
skipped a beat
sweet face tender eyes baby in her paws
resting her chin patiently attentive
as she'd sit waiting for the next adventure



ears alert to the sound of
biscuits dropping on the floor
or the infamous sliding door--
gentle loyal soph soph sniffing the air with curiosity
found her way into our hears and smiles
{as well as the biscuit cabinet, the kitchen..}
and into her french quartier and our laughter
the golden
pink painted paws touch softly
the sidewalks of paris
now only in our sweetest memories



and every time we pass
the window of her shop
somehow we know she's still there
crunching nostalgic dreams
and squirrels yet to chase
and on occasion {though cleverly disguised
as only a diva so artfully can}
tapping her tail on the floor over
her next mischievous but ever harmless trick
her next meal her next hug from harriet
daily caresses of small eager hands
who come from all over paris
to pet her soft {shedding everywhere} fur
on rue mademoiselle
and her next steps
into the forest she knew one day
she'd run through once more
in our bittersweet dreams

from squirrels in seattle to tempting baguettes and birthday parties on rue mademoiselle, the infamous, almost 14-year-old golden retriever with pink nail polish has retired from her position as princess of the boutique mon bon chien paris, leaving both joy and emptiness in our hearts. we still expect her to awake out of the deepest sleep and come out of nowhere just to sneak another biscuit. from all sides of the world, we remember her sweet eyes, her silly ways, her eyebrows that told stories of their own, and her devoted owner harriet, who started her doggie bakery business so that she could spend every day with sophalina. sending love and peanut butter kisses to you both, and dearest diablo {soph soph's rascal of a little brother.}

my puppy poulet {the one jumping here in the picture} learned his best tricks from sophie marie, he grew up in her sparkling shadow: how to guard the treats and how to sneak extra, patience and fidelity, guilt and begging as well as pouting to get what he wants {ok, that last one he may have learned from me}, his kindness to other dogs and feisty guarding of the bone, how to dress to impress and confidently wear pink, and soph's trademark move he does every morning that makes me laugh and think of sophie, the rollin' on the back with the legs flailing about it the air move.

you guys are the best thing that ever happened to us....
can’t imagine where we’d be without you.

i will write more mon bon chien stories soon {and please check past mbc posts here.} images: from the mon bon chien site where you can order biscuits online shipped all over the world, and from my camera last summer when i spent some quality time with soph. poulet {my little guy} is performing his trademark move above in the photo and sophie is, as ever, begging gracefully by his side.

"sweets to the sweet, farewell!"
shakespeare

happy 1er mai and bon week-end

ahhhhh the days when i was young and free in paris {haha, uh...about two years ago} i loved 1er mai. it usually rained {hey paris in the spring} but everyone had the day off which meant that the night before was an extra night to go out to some soirée until the wee hours when april turned softly {or often, not so softly} into may........

then in the morning {when i was on my way home, ahh to be young again...haha} and all day long, vendors would sell {they still do, i'm just not there, so i'm using the past tense to capture the bitter..sweet... nostalgia that sets in for me...and in case you didn't sense it, that was purposefully overly dramatized, perhaps on account of the amount of coffee i've had thus far today...but nevertheless...back to my musings..}

vendors stand about the streets selling small bouquets of the precious lily of the valley {en francais: muguet} that friends and family exchange on 1er mai. {certain people close to me at the time weren't french and were rather oblivious to this amazing tradition, and thus every single year, i'd have to nudge and hint and finally say, "get me some of those flowers on your way home" well, it always worked, quand meme}

so anyway, just wanted to quickly post these longings before running off to press the coffee that's been sitting in the pot for far too long already.........yes, more coffee.

et s'il te plait, get me some of those flowers on your way home. merci.

bisou bisou ♥c

fluttering words

"My sensitive little butterfly"

my gorgeous swedish jamaican friend michaela
from london {we met in paris} who recently
relocated to toronto, sent me an email
the other day, it began:
"My sensitive little butterfly,"

and i was immediately touched
and elusively enlightened by the gentle
nature of her words, the image fluttering
in my subconscious, their delicate resonance
in the back of my mind ever since.

so deeply, impossibly, sensitive, i go
through life, just coming out of a cocoon
not sure how strong these wings are
or how far they will carry me,
i know they sparkle in the sunlight,
at times i know their colors, yet
if fluttering wings could stumble,
then certainly that would mine,
feel as though, they've been heavy
sitting on this branch forever, watching.

the delicate flapping wings of delightful flight
the world finds its purpose
and the wind carries it with pride
at times i find the momentum
to fly, in moments you fly beside me
yet too often i wish
the cocoon was still there and i
could crawl back inside and disappear.

you know how they say,
the exact words don't come to me now,
but something to the extent of,
the butterfly effect, and the notion of how
the effect that the gentle fluttering
of the colorful wings, a single butterfly
can change the winds of destiny...

so too i find, even the smallest of my actions,
have the effect of something that,
though i hardly meant to flutter,
is so greatly felt by others,
in the furthest from intended, desired of ways,
the gentle flapping, propels a painful force

and yet in moments when i least expect,
the soft quiet of fluttering changes
and subtle movement, delight
in a refreshing breeze stronger than
initially perceived, a breath of hope
for the next, the fateful winds of discovery.

such fluttering effects of both winds, perpetual,
occur multiple times in one single day
the direction becomes, for the next moment
unclear, no clear path in the expansive sky
the brilliant colors of my wings seem, to me, dull,
lifeless, powerless, without significance,

then from the secluded darkness,
pressing walls of my cocoon, that hold me here lost,
the lull, the words of a proverb
permeate, find entrance to awaken me
“Just when the caterpillar
thought the world was over,
it became a butterfly.”

and when awakened, the words
spoken in a flutter by thoreau,
float past me too, and enter
my deepest of longing, my lonely cocoon
“Happiness is like a butterfly:
the more you chase it, the more it will elude you,
but if you turn your attention to other things,
it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

and i stop fluttering my wings for a moment,
in reflection, not fully convinced but all at once
in benevolent anticipation,
in desperate hope that the next
faint flutter will mean... that something
...that soft something of my waking dreams

in my subconscious, their delicate resonance
if fluttering wings could stumble,
and subtle movement, delight
at times i find the momentum
the exact words don't come to me now,
my deepest of longing, my lonely cocoon
"it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”
...that soft something of my waking dreams
"My sensitive little butterfly."

image 1} here image 2} here