A title goes here (or should)

In Animals, Artists, Circus, Drafts, Hautvoir, Local projects, Music, photography on April 2, 2014 at 7:54 am

The first of the public events that ran through till midnight yesterday. Purpose: deciding on what further action may prove useful for a child (or several) in a family with – hm – major challenges? As in: the family history reads like a long train still coming round the bend with each car loaded with more woes, miseries and howlers.

I’m not involved with all of those children. Sometimes, my contribution consists of penning in personal comments on my copy of the day’s agenda. Since this is a small town, you know the people under discussion, at least by sight. You have to marvel at the load-bearing capacity of humans and at the impossible odds stacked against some of them. At which point you start cracking jokes as your sole contribution to the proceedings. The good old response of laughing because it isn’t funny, so you’d damn well better make it so.

In an entirely different setting, a child described a martinet to me. From which I understood this lash, used by some to whip horses,  is two short of a cat’o’nine  tails. Seven strips of leather to a child’s bum, applied by an angry adult, are still seven too many. The boy and I concurred a visit to the gendarmerie with a responsible adult was the best available recourse.

Singing with others helps a lot. Watching birds streak by the window is nice too.


facebook drives me nuts. I resisted joining social networks for years. Gave in because of my association with a group that uses the platform. I’m lousy on the upkeep of my so-called account. Does anything worthwhile happen from clicking on a Like or spreading yet another online petition. I have no idea. I guess it’s something like an electronic excursion through a crowded bazaar.


Photos to choose. Typefaces to try out. Text to write. Printer’s deadline: end of this month. Plus, my own draft, of course. A slow read-through would help. Quiet time also, listening to the characters in my head while I scrape paper off a wall, and give thought to the amount of spackling the surface will need before painting can begin.


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