Beautiful Cynicism III

12:40 – fall asleep. 4:10 – wake up. 4:30 – step into hot bath. 6:30 – step out of lukewarm bath. 8:12 – post meaningless note on blog, as I am still unable to slip back into the world of slumber. Today is the Civic Holiday, a day where one is supposed to celebrate one’s province and city – but in truth it’s just an excuse for a day off. Because, unlike many other civilised countries, here in Canada, August is not synonymous with “vacation” or “time off”. Here we are entitled to one week of holidays per year (though most companies offer 2) – none of these month-long absences common in many European countries. No, here the wheels never stop spinning, and so we depend very much on our beloved statutory holidays, those lone days off tacked on to weekends that occur approximately once every 6 weeks. So one could argue that the average Canadian in fact gets 3 weeks of holidays per year – it’s just that the 3rd week is spread out over 12 months. Of course, I am entirely removed from this equation for the time being, as my fracture is still healing. Hee hee.

Alors pourquoi me sens-je inquiète? (Eh oui, je sais: encore la réponse est assez facile à deviner…)

Ô bonheur de l’été: le carillon tinte
puisque dimanche est en vue;
et la chaleur qui travaille sent l’absinthe
autour de la vigne crépue.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Ô bonheur de l’été
—–

En pleine angoisse, ne perds jamais l’espoir, car la moelle la plus exquise est dans l’os le plus dur.

Hafiz

Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt.

Virgil

21h27. Le ciel est un gris foncé; il pleut. Une pluie d’été, une pluie d’août. Des gouttes énormes. Une pluie qui commence lentement, puis devient violente après quelques minutes. Du tonnere, de la foudre, du vent.

The window is open: I see the backyard lit up by electricity in the sky, feel the wind play with my hair, feel a fine mist on my face and bare arms. Il pleut. Il pleut furieusement.

Nous sommes août, un nouveau mois. Juillet m’a offert beaucoup de difficulté – espérons que ce mois sera plus tranquille! Je n’ai pas mis des poèmes sur ce blog depuis l’accident de mes grand-parents; mon humeur n’était pas très bien ces derniers temps. Mais je me suis rendu compte que la grace et la beauté de la poésie pourrait peut-être m’aider à digérer les évenements de ces dernières semaines. Alors voici un petit poème pour fêter l’arrivée d’août – le mois où ma grand-mère et moi fêtent nos anniversaires.

Louis-Honoré Frechette, Août

The chairs in the Visitor’s Lounge are blue. There are also a couple of couches, which appear to be a few blue chairs simply pushed together, armrests removed. There is a large television in one corner of the room, which is usually set to some silly show, such as Canadian Idol or the Country Music Awards, that no-one appears to be watching. Against one wall is a sink and microwave, next to a coffee maker that can only be used when volunteers are present (which is twice a day); against another wall is a vending machine filled with chips, chocolate, pop, and orange juice. The walls are white. One section of the room is slightly removed and set back, offering slightly more tranquility. This is the setting of a strange subculture, one with which I am currently very familiar: the ICU groupies.

Dans le salon d’attente il y a des larmes et des sourires et des embrassades. Il y a de la sympathie et la gentillesse profonde. Et il y a de la compassion sincère et authentique. The lounge itself may be drab and uninspiring, but the humanity found within those walls is anything but. Nobody in that room is truly happy. The 7th floor of the hospital houses the various intensive care units, temporary home to the most critical patients. Every single person waiting in that lounge has a loved one in the ICU; we’re all in a constant state of concern. In that sense it’s humbling: however bad you may feel about your situation, you look around and realise that everyone around you is in the same boat, feeling just as helpless and worried and frustrated. The Visitor’s Lounge is a microcosm of society, a neverending soap opera that plays itself out day after day. It is intensely human, always interesting, and, I’ve come to realise, an integral part of the entire injry/sickness and healing process.

J’essaye de garder un peu d’espoir, malgré quelques mauvaises nouvelles, et la mauvaise humeur de presque tous les gens autour de moi. C’est compréhensible; nous vivons une situation difficile. Il y a exactement une semaine que mes parents étaient dans l’accident d’auto, ma grand-mère est toujours à l’hôpital, la famille attend toujours des nouvelles… My baba woke up from her sedation on schedule, and was answering questions by either blinking her eyes or raising her eyebrows. Progress. However, in the 2 days since then, she’s largely just slept. No more opening of the eyes, no more wiggling of the toes, no more gripping of the hands. This is discouraging for the ICU doctor, who continuously reminds us in hushed tones that “this is not good”. The neurology team, however, is of the opinion that this isn’t a serious setback. Nobody, unfortunately, can figure out why she’s sleeping so much. Every test, every scan, every x-ray they do comes out normal. Which only proves one thing, in my mind: that even with all the knowledge and technology that modern medicine brings us, there is still something mysterious about the human body and its inner workings, and that we can’t know everything that’s happening, or why. And while prognoses and timelines are all well and good, in the end all that matters is what the body is actually doing. Pour le moment, la condition de ma grand-mère est stable, et ses médecins étaient rendus perplexe par son comportement. Elle est une énigme. Et je pense qu’elle aimerait cela.

In the meantime, I have slipped back into recovery mode with my elbow – my healing suffered a setback when I slipped and fell as I was leaving the hospital last night. Someone had spilled coffee on the floor just outside the ICU visitor’s lounge, and I took a tumble… landing directly on my already-damaged arm. Je me dis que le mois de juillet 2006 est le mois d’enfer…

After spending over 12 hours at the hospital yesterday, I am in need of some diversion and relaxation. It feels selfish to say that; if anyone is in need of any rest it’s my grandmother! Je n’ai aucune envie d’écire longuement à ce moment; je voulais simplement laisser une photo jolie que mon père m’a envoyé après son voyage au nord de la Colombie-Britannique, où il a fait de la pêche avec son fils et un ami ce WE. Ils étaient sur un bateau pour 4 jours, entouré par les montagnes et l’eau fraîche. Je suis un peu jalouse! (Sauf pour la pêche, évidemment ) The image of a cloudy sunrise over the water instills a certain calm in my soul, badly needed after the last few days.

J’espère que votre été passe bien. Je me sens un peu distant du monde à ce moment: quand je suis à l’hôpital j’ai du mal à lire les journaux, je ne peux pas concentrer; quand je retourne chez moi ou chez mon chéri, je peux seulement dormir, je suis trop fatiguée pour quoi que ce soit. Ce sont des jours difficile pour tous qui aime ma grand-mère. Et, surtout, ce sont des jours difficile pour elle. À ceux et celles qui m’ont écrit en privé, merci de vos messages de soutien. Je suis très reconaisante.

Après recevoir des centaines de spams 5 fois pendant la dernière semaine, j’ai décidée de fermer les commentaires sur mon blog pour un moment, en espérant que les spammeurs me laisseront tranquille. Je n’aime pas faire cela, mais je n’ai aucune choix; je vous demande pardon. Cepandant, je n’écrirai pas beaucoup dans les prochains jours: mes grand-parents étaient dans un accident d’auto et le pronostic pour ma grand-mère n’est pas bien du tout, ainsi je passe la plupart de mes journées à l’hôpital en attendant ses nouvelles, et avec mon grand-père, chez lui, pour qu’il ne soit pas seul. Ce sont des jours difficiles, et je n’ai pas envie d’écrire. Alors peut-être c’est le bon moment pour fermer les commentaires! En tout cas, je vous souhaite un bel été. Merci d’avoir passé par ici.

Au creux des humides savanes,
Ceint des herbes et des lianes
Qui foisonnent dans les roseaux,
Calme, à l’abri de la rafale,
Le lac en plein soleil étale
Le miroir de ses claires eaux.

Nérée Beauchemin, Le lac (extrait)

Je me suis connecté sur mon blog ce matin, et j’ai découvert que j’ai été inondé par du spam pendant la nuit – la quatrième fois en une semaine! J’en ai marre de passer des heures à supprimer les commentaires. Je crois que les blogs Ublog sont particulièrement susceptibles aux spammeurs, puisqu’il n’y a aucun filtre ou autres mesures anti-spam ici… Je ne sais plus quoi faire. :s

“Quand je pense à tous les livres qu’il me reste à lire, j’ai la certitude d’être encore heureux.”

Jules Renard

The cast has been cast off!

And I come online today to find hundreds of spams hidden throughout my blog yet again (there were about 500 posted here a few days ago, which took me nearly an hour and a half to delete). Well, at least I can now use my right hand to control the mouse

Photo: katharinehepburn.net

“As women, the first thing of importance is to be content to be inferior to men, inferior in mental power in the same proportion that she is in physical strength. A really sensible woman feels her dependence. She’s conscious of her inferiority and therefore grateful for her thought.”

In case it wasn’t already apparent, it’s a Katharine Hepburn night on the classic movie channel After Alice Adams finished, I was set to go to bed, but when I saw which film was coming after, I had to stay up. Although the ending is a little disappointing, this remains one of my favourite Hepburn films. She was perfectly cast in this role of a feisty woman longing for independance in the Victorian era. Her Pamela defies the wishes of her father, her governess, and society by breaking into the household library to read “forbidden books” – forbidden only to the female sex, of course. She sneaks away from her chaperone while on outings, goes for moonlit walks in the garden when she’s supposed to be in bed, and talks back to her cold-as-steel father. She refuses to get married on principle, proclaims that women’s dependence on men was a myth created by men for their own benefit, and insisted on living alone and working in London at a time when women simply didn’t work. (The scenes of her job hunting are among my favourites – “A female secretary? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”; “A salesgirl? My customers would refuse to shop!”; even the editor of the Ladies’ Home Companion magazine had his doubts – “It would set a very dangerous precedent” – then relents and offers her a position, but only after Pamela agrees to keep her job a secret.) In short, while tame by today’s standards, A Woman Rebels was bold in its time, and (due mainly in part to Hepburn’s energetic performance) is still a joy to watch.

And on that note, as the clock strikes 5, and my hand cramps up… goodnight!