Humming As Sonic Art

We put a totem pole that Dan had made up in a precious little place in the woods, and a nice wooden bench. I can imagine it there in 50 yrs with lots of moss around. We cleared quite a bit of brush and lugged concrete blocks up the hill too. One of mine broke suddenly while I was carrying them.

There is no real describing this experience I’m living. Making blog entries was an attempt at disciplining myself or rewarding or some such behaviour. There are so many magical things that happen that I can’t describe unless I spend more time writing, learning the language, as it were. That kind of brings me back to some central tenets about art or music, that of learning one’s craft well in order to express the sublime. Well I’m neither Michelangelo, Mozart or Miller but I guess I’ll keep on doing what I do and enjoy it as much as  can. I’m really going to have to enjoy making art now.

A very dear friend is coming all the way here alone tomorrow to give me a ride home. I feel like the luckiest, most pampered little mermaid that ever lived. I might write less in the coming days, but I’ll still be feeling it and singing it inside.

Danny calls me fleur de sel because every day I have salt traces on my shirt where the salt water has dried. It makes a nice white lacey kind of line…

We got to have a few of the artists of the gaspé over to the house. Mostly they’re uncompromisingly solitary types, deeply sensitized to nature. Also Gilles Coté and his wife Pauline who run an absolutely beautiful café-resto in Barachois called Café Couleur. They have excellent espresso, designer waffles and a killer view of a distant percé rock. They’re all very sweet folks, who all seem to know the plateau and Mile End well, right down to the food shops. Gaspé is a culture of gastronomy actually. Gawd, I love it.

This is Jean-Paul. He walked in without knocking this morning. “Not out of bed yet?” he yelled. We were. Anyway, he’s fun. He’ll be opening a little foundry in a year or two. He and another guy we know live around Parc Forillon, that beautiful cliffside country just north of here. Michel (the other guy) is excrutiatingly soft spoken. A widower. Carves painstakingly faithful renderings of animals in stone or clay. He had a bear on his property the other, dues to another neighbour’s ineptness. He had to chase it off with a stick

I know where there is sweetgrass. We picked some the other day and braided it. What a sweet smell.

Uh oh. I guess I overdid it. There’s no real red on me but I was unable to stay all day at the beach because my body just said no. Cold shivers on the hot sand. Not good. Tia, being all black, had alot of sympathy for how pigmentally challenged I am.

Yesterday was 3 different beach experiences, but the last was truly spectacular. At about 10pm we walked barefoot out to the very tip of Penouille (2k). An extremely calm night, and with the tip way out into the gaspé bay, the city lights striped far along the water and it felt like you could hear a pin drop. We stood on the shore naked, eager to walk in because the tiny crustaceans at our feet were buzzing and nipping. The water was so warm that it didn’t make any shock as we waded. It was black like ink and warm. I didn’t put my head under. I do have my limits in daredevilism. But more likely I didn’t want to miss a moment of that experience above. Then the phytoplankton kicked in and in front of my hands, every time I moved them through the water there were sparkling stars at my fingertips. Primordial magic!
The clouds were rippled like a giant salmon, and I was swimming naked with my love in the waters of home.

How to describe the days now is getting even more difficult. I’m living out some of my fondest memories and sometimes facing some very deep fears.
I went to a 50th wedding anniversary on sat. evening of Julia and Hartley Briand, who were the first couple to be married in the church that defines Douglastown so well. Their four girls went to the beach every summer with me as a kid. It began with a mass at 4 pm followed by a church supper. The mass was pretty full of people and the bishop came in special for the event. I happened to sit just in front of my cousin Reid, so a wise crack was sure to be had. I got a good one in when it was time to shake hands and wish out loud “Peace of Christ.” I practiced my deadpan just before turning and said very calmly to Reid, “Peace of Ass” which was met with enthusiasm and laughter.

The dinner was for over a hundred in the basement. Roast beef with 2 scoops of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas. Adorable. I dragged Dan reticently to this event. But luck would have it that his very good friend, the previous parish priest sat right next to him. There was a “music night” at the town hall later but we both thought we should not push our luck and head on home.

I had a few different reasons for wanting to be at that town hall. One was because of the memory of that place. Another was the old FOMS (fear of missing something). I did have the fear that everyone from the supper went over to the hall and was now carousing and laughing about old times. My man. Yes, the Mr. Marvelous I have been on and on about. I mentioned aloud that I kind of wanted to go and he immediately suggested I drive all the way back from Pte. Navarre (30k) and that it wouldn’t be a waste. So I did of course.

After that is the story of how I sang again on the first stage of my long krazy kareer. It was just like on TV, how the organizer, Norma Gaul, went onto the stage telling the band leader my name, them fidgeting with my mike & guitar. I began with a melodramatic little intro about having been away for over 30 years, now making my living off music but never forgetting this place. Nearly teared, but then sang my heart out. If intensity is a sure sign of performance success then I was the best ever. They cheered and it felt like they genuinely loved me. KK goes back to her country roots.
So many memories coming at me like in a movie. Like going back to the womb in many ways. Faces from my childhood flooding, near dizziness. For one rare time, I kept my cool, breathed deep and just took it all in.

You know you’re in another time zone when..
Dan and I ate dinner on the front porch last night. First time it was bugless enough. The mosquitoes are kind of funny now because they’re so old and weak. They practically park and rest on you before trying to point their little stingers into us. Anyway, speaking of the speed of insects, we spent a nice little while watching a slug rip across the step. We did simultaneous commentary. We yelled to slug that the phone was for him and he should hurry up. The we told him it was long distance so he’d really better hurry up. Then the slug went for Dan’s foot. It was a fine time watching his antennae come in and out, his shape change as he pondered this new fantastical landing spot. Are you getting an idea of my sense of time here yet?
I also got 3 good swims in yesterday. Two at Douglastown (one on the river side of the bridge which was literally luke warm) and another long swim at Penouille. The trick is in knowing where the tide is everyday, and then choosing the best swimming spot based on that. My arms are like jelly this morning.
Tia is getting positively buff during her maniacal reign of terror over birds and insects near the house. Her belly is now hanging well above the ground!

I’ve had kind of a weird relationship with this little guy since I came here on june 1. The walk up our flowery path up the hill is full of them. I had an unfortunate incident once while I was navel gazing for what felt like an eternity in the rhubarb patch (no really).  I must have nearly nodded off when I was startled by at least two on my very person. Major Yuchh!
Then last night I heard Dan describe in french the site of them making love, the slugs. Well of course there was a thick white goo involved. I thought I was going to be ridden with nightmares of them forever. But then today I went up to the hidden stream (which I never mentioned before because it was just too precious) and I cleared a huge mass of alder bushes. Well I was lifting stuff hard and heavy, so much so that there were constant mosquito bombadiers coming in at me like I was King Kong with faye ray in my hand. Anyway I encountered a few of the poor little limaces on my big sweaty paws, and felt sorry for them. I felt their smooth bodies and soft vulnerability and thought of them as sweet little toutous (french term for teddy).

Awwww. Am I becoming a boring healthy naturalist? Will I never see a disco ball face to face again? Who knows. One thing is for sure though. I’m coming into the healthy stability thats a byproduct of being in a good longterm relationship.  What a guy.