October in Paris

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I think the secret of my apartment building -- the reason it's called October Mansion -- is that the entire structure is actually carved from one giant piece of amber, and when the angle is right -- beginning on the first of October -- it's lit from within by an astonishing warm golden glow, as though we all lived in a bottle of really good brandy and swam ecstatically through its light. Sometimes, just at dawn, you can see the faint skeletal shadow of a trapped insect's wing throwing its frail mesh across the floor, magnified through the lens of your kitchen wall.

I don't know what happens in November (apart from my birthday, ahem) -- I suspect the light moves and the building seems like dull brick and opaque stone for another year. So if you'd like to see Paris in October, plan your trips now. If you don't have a private jet (and we can't all be grumpy bastards), my good friend B. points out that the Number 14 bus goes right by Paris.

Greatest.kids.evaaaar

I met grumpy bastard's (see above) Dogkids the other day. While he and their mother smoked and talked philosophy on the deck, musing over the star-glittered view of the Gorge, the kids and I played what I have dubbed Speed Hide n' Seek. This involves a small child shouting random numbers while staring directly at you and running full-tilt in your direction while you "hide". Each round lasts approximately fifteen seconds. Then it's your turn. Then it's their turn. And so on. We made occasional forays onto the deck to make sure they weren't getting too laid-back.

It reminded me again that the only thing I'm sad about in my parents' move to Gibsons is that I have no kids to take to their house. it's a great house, not very far from the water, and I have so many good memories of that place as a kid that I want someone else to experience it. I like being there, and seeing them, but there's a missing generation of screaming happy hungry people, and somehow I feel the lack most when I'm there.

I don't know if my brother plans to have kids. I sort of hope so, because I decided a long time ago that I wasn't, and, barring an act of Dog--

Hmm, that's an odd image.

Anyway, no kids for (or at least from) me.

--rf

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

I have always been so sure that I didn't want kids, and I am still so sure. But the other day my teenage charge told me that she was sure she would have kids. I was oddly moved--I actually felt an odd pricking sensation behind my eyes. I am glad she want to have kids. She says I can be called "Grand-Bee."

I know the feeling of wanting to share the glorious moments of childhood with someone else--to watch them experience what you experienced. Isn't this what Christmas is all about? We want to watch the ghosts of our old selves wake up ecstatic with excitement. Is this why people have children? To reproduce their own joy--make it a living memory?

B

October light

[(Anonymous)]

I forgot to add that I know that light you are talking about. My dad's living room (which was normally a cold, Vermont-style, puritanical dwelling), was filled with what I used to call "the golden light." Very early on in childhood I remember realizing how much this golden time meant to me.

Here's hoping that November brings more surprises (good ones of course).

i can act like a kid if conditions are right

[(Anonymous)]

Does it snow in Gibsons? If so, i can be a stand-in kid for you. I'm housebroken. And throw me in some snow you'll never know i'm not five. Were you still in Victoria when it snowed and it took me an hour to get to work? Everyone said "Ah, you walked today." No, no i didn't. I walked three block to the bus stop. There were three whole blocks of snow that needed to be played in, though, y'see...

leirdal

[(Anonymous)]

You know what I regret? Not being able to "play" anymore. I used to have this incredibly rich inner life--except it wasn't inner--it was outer. I mean, I was able to play with dolls or stuffed animals for literally hours and hours. Making up story-lines, building them houses, making them clothes...I used to have special characters that I would draw as well. Like I invented this royal family who had five daughters, and I could draw out the various adventures these girls all got into for hours. The only way I can get that wrapped up anymore is when I read or when I first fall in love. I miss playing the way I used to.

"One loses so much when one becomes incredulous."

[(Anonymous)]

Ah, and then you have to look forward to Paris in the Spring. But October is still my favourite month there. Just try to avoid tracking in the chestnut husks and leaves. Really ruins the romantic patina. However, the chestnuts themselves make an irresistable handful to pick up and display in the window (and one in each corner is still rumoured to help deter spiders for those who are squeamish).

A wide variety of our city's transit routes pass by Paris for those who know to look - my favourite being the number 22, or the Irony Express as I know it: at a time when I could most have used the number 22 in order to get to my place of work I could sit for easily half an hour and watch 10 other busses pass by all going elsewhere. Now that I almost never take the route, if perchance I sit at a bus stop what is the one that always comes first? Really, take a guess...

Sadly the 10 is no more. It made such a lovely decorous turn at that corner. The 6 gets one close, and it's worth the work to make the rest of the trek. Avalon is on the way for those of an Arthurian bent (or who just need good toast and eggs). The 11, though largely indistinguishable from the 14 these days, also runs past. All in such a hurry to make straight lines. Meander, I say. Enjoy the amber days. Kick up some leaves. Just don't track them in.

\o/
(the sig ought to be self explanatory for those who've seen the recent tonsorial update)