Over and over and over again

In Hautvoir, Local projects, proto drafts, Sundays on February 21, 2016 at 10:22 am

When I walked by the two houses in the morning, everything was out on the street, and all doors and windows flung open. Mattresses, old brass light fixtures, broken mirrors, bed posts. Old TV set with a busted screen, old gas stove that looked like a greasy time bomb.

When I came back after rehearsal, the owner of the two houses was finalizing removal arrangements with two of the boys from a local family of ironmongers. No picking through, she insisted, it’s an all or nothing deal. She interrupted the negotiation for a smile and a buss on my cheek. “They’ve moved out?” I asked. “And none too soon,” she said. Up until that point, I only knew her as the cleaning woman at a local venue. This is how I found out she was a landlady too. (Word to the wise: You’ll want to wait for lots of cleaning and fixing up before considering a rental in her properties.)


Understanding how somebody else’s mind works : like it or not, you make a few basic assumptions, based on your way of handling life, its joys, its miseries and its long stretches of when oh when does this lead to something?

Case in point: over an hour spent with someone yesterday evening, attempting to move on from the one point he kept on raising over and over again. I knew he was trying to make me understand something in his hesitant French. The closest he could get was to repeat: we have different Mayors. Meaning (I think) that the Mayor in his hometown fills out administrative papers his way, and the Mayor in another town handles things another way.

Even if this is what he wanted me to understand, my understanding won’t move things by one iota with the administrators in this country. Therefore, the young man and I shared over an hour exploring frustration the way a goat tethered to a post explores circling left vs circling right, then stops to bleat a bit (if bleating is the sound associated with a goat’s voice – must check with the Portal of All Knowledge.)

Sunday. Two-week school holidays. The days will be a mix of stop and go, I suppose. With fiction proceeding in something of the same stop and go pattern.


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