So Many Wishes {World Wise Words}

Winter Sleep {Drive In}

A timid dust of fog veils the landscape every now and then and people walk briskly, efficient robots fleeing from the grip of the rising cold. Surprisingly enough, the movie Winter Sleep aired on one of these days, matching the mood, the hues and the willingness to contemplate every single branch and stone, leaving none unturned. Even the ugliest ones.

Winter Sleep is about the hurtful remains of a family sharing the same roof under the cavernous walls of Anatolia; the central character is Aydin, a former actor married to a younger and very beautiful wife, Nihal. He now owns what tourists think is an authentic troglodyte hotel that becomes the hub of turbulent family relationships and unspoken suffering between husband and wife, and Necla, Aydin’s sister. As winter muffles the region, shutting down most communication channels, contacts with fellow human beings become rare; the main character, his wife and his sister share a limited space and few discussions, sparse and tense. They talk, they do not listen. They do not understand each other, they’ve grown far away from each other. 

A wintry and steel like veil descends on each of them, snow piles up, mountains of solid rock spurt from the arid ground making all true and deep contacts a hardship burying hearts and souls. Sometimes, the truth painfully breaks through and unsettles the rocks, shakes the ground and the innermost convictions of the characters. Aydin is self-assured, proud to the point of disdaining his wife’s true nature, to the point of being blind to the sensitivity, frailty and needs of others. He hasn’t turned out to be as famous as he hoped - as his family hoped - so the hotel has become his own stage, his kingdom surrounded by souvenirs - posters on the walls, books… He feasts on his wife’s submission and silent energy, until the day she fiercely shows her independence by making her own choices and wanting to preserve her own world and friendships, being able to express herself, freely and under no judgement. She’s a volcano shut down for way too long. 

What is freedom in an isolated land with no escape, surrounded by a handful of nosy neighbors, weighted down by traditions while pride and family history tug at you? The rooms of the hotel are dark, warm and somewhat cosy, in stark opposition to the outdoor landscape, vast, rough and demanding. The inner comfort is just a tricky hideout, four walls encasing the immuable order Aydin relies on. The movie ends with a silenced Nihal and Aydin back to his computer, in his beloved office; his face is the still portrait of unchallenged satisfaction. Everything - from objects to humans - is back to its rightful place as if no ripples ever appeared on the surface, no earthquake shaped a new landscape. Like a book, a poster, a computer, every one is back to its initial place; roles and priorities have not shifted. Aydin is reassured: his quiet life and writing of articles for a local newspaper can resume as if nothing ever happened, his pride back on the throne. No matter how much destruction he leaves behind. 

The movie is touching: it shows how communication between human beings who share the same space becomes disrupted, painful and simply impossible. In this world of forced silence and occasional outbursts, winter is the backdrop to isolation. Still, it looks attractive: it is stark, clearcut and harsh - somewhat true to its nature, making it the only truthful character of the movie. Some of the scenes look like paintings, inviting us to contemplate how we communicate with our loved ones, how we trip, fall and stand up again despite the slippery slopes and muddy soil on our front door - or at least how we try to. Do watch this slow, intimate movie. Take your time, forget the rest of the world - it is three-hour long- treasuring each word, every droplet of heavy silent and each snowflake and mud splash on the screen.

Credits: DeathToTheStockPhoto (edited by TheDaydreamer)

Musical Harbor {On the Turntable}

After school activities in the fall or in wintercan be a challenge: kids are tired, not to mention exhausted, it may be raining, forcing you to stay inside limiting any chances of outdoorsy outbursts of freewill and wild jumps…

Today is one of those days: you need to go straight home under buckets of persistent water, every young individual forming your lovable family team is grumpy - yet no teenagers in sight - and unwilling to say “yes” to pretty much any idea you put forth, no matter how big your smile and how tenacious your goodwill. 

How can you save your kids from implosion and yourself from explosion? I’m giving you a couple of tips - they worked for us, so I might as well share the good medicine for once that I seem to have found the right elixir. 

At the girls’ school, I have met with one of the teachers who mentioned that she loves music, all types of music, and that parents can freely access the classroom to check what the kids are currently listening to. How brilliant is this? As a mother who’s very rarely been allowed into her children’s classroom, this comes as big news, especially if you’re kind of curious, verging on nosy…! Attending a new school can be stressful for all, but this seems to be one of the perks for us right now…

Her method, if I may call it so, is working beautifully: my eldest came home just a few days ago mentioning that she likes Tchaikovsky (1840-1893). The moment she spoke, I went straight to our CD collection and picked up our own Tchaikovsky playlist and put it on, starting with piano and orchestra concert n° 1. At the same time, I displayed a stack of sheets of paper and pencils of a thousand colors on the floor - that’s where all our creative activities take place, sometimes on a paper tablecloth (the cheap kind you can get at Monoprix or Hema, they’re surprisingly resistent). Needless to say the music+drawing wonder kit is transportable and perfectly suited to be packed in any suitcase: think iTunes, MusicMe, SoundCloud, Spotify or any MP3 reader for that matter…).

The combination rhythmically worked its magic: each girl picked her favorite creative hobby; they both quieted down to the soft music of Tchaikovsky,  at quite a low volume so as not to distract them and induce further uncontrollable outbursts of energy. A few minutes later, the  youngest one was coloring away and humming along… Classical music is actually the only one I can listen to when working - all other types of music are way too distracting as I tend to then sing along… The only exceptions I have noticed so far pertain to natural sounds, the ones mother nature makes and unless you forget your mind has been formatted by urban jungle noise, you’ll never learn to allow into the farthest corners of your soul. 

Another soothing option suited for introspection and daydreaming while drawing and colouring away is Agnes Obel: her crystal-like voice rises towards the sun, unchaining us from heavy, earthly ties. Can her style be called classical? I would call it celestial… Songs like Familiar and It’s Happening Again throw a reconciliation blanket on my daughters’ excessive and unexpected mood swings at the end of a strenuous day. It is a harmonious balm capable of leading even the most restless children into a safe and peaceful harbor where they can express themselves freely thanks to mindful focus. 

Tell me, how do you bring your children to a safe haven where they can focus and create? What is their safe haven?

Credits: Love From Ginger (edited by The Daydreamer)

Grit in the Water {Get Moving}

Far away from the (beloved) body pump floor, I have been encouraged to jump in the water and try a new activity: aquabike. Not the kind of sports lesson where you’re on your own in a cabin filled to the brim with water with one single bike you need to work like crazy, all alone, like a lost polar bear…

This type of lesson would not be for me: I need loud music, rhythm and the energy and drive you can only get in group lessons, tuning in to the efficiency of collaborative workout. A friend of mine invited me to a test lesson in my brand new city; I thought that joining the course, aside from having very positive effects on my mental and physical health, would be a lovely way to meet new people too.

The lessons are provided by a professional coach, Nathalie. She just moved to Bordeaux and is launching her freelance activity. She’s used to training high level sportsmen and is now opening up her intensive lessons to all of us out there. The swimming pool is small, which means that it can welcome a maximum of 9 people she can easily monitor for the best results possible. Not too few, not too many participants - perfect to chit chat before and after the course for some much needed networking, to share the pain and the happiness of the collective effort. Nathalie is a fantastic motivator: she’s self assured, encouraging and precise in her technical explanations, making sure we’re adopting the right posture before sprinting and splashing in the water. She’s talkative and friendly to make sure we never get bored and open up to the sports and to our fellow participants!

Each lesson lasts 45 minutes and the pleasure of it all starts with the lovely warm temperature of the swimming pool water, a comforting 30 °C where you know you are going to feel welcome. To add charm to the experience, the pool is located under the vaulted ceiling of a typical, ancient Bordeaux building made of local stone. The serene environment lets positive energy vibes sink in to the rhythm of the music played by Nathalie’s iPod. After a three-week session to the same tunes and choreography, our coach shifts to a new playlist so that we can re-energize and refuel our motivation - as well as learn new lyrics, you bet.

The sport combines the grit of RPM or cycling to my favorite element - water. The feeling is one of high efficiency complemented by a back-to-the-womb embrace. The workout is smoother  - after all you only feel 1/3 of your body weight in the water - and perfect to get back in shape avoiding shocks, injuries, muscle or articular pain. Think slow self-indulgence allied to muscular strength and cardio.

Are you ready to jump into the water with me and pedal like there’s no tomorrow?

Credits: OpiaDesigns (edited by TheDaydreamer)

The Stallion at the Library {Drive-in}

The DVD case cover featured a horse silhouette on a purplish background. Its title was the welcome line for us all: “The Black Stallion”. Appreciation for horses runs high in the family, so we knew “The Black Stallion” was going to be on our list of borrowed resources that day the moment we stepped into the hall of the children section at the Mériadeck Library in Bordeaux. 

The idea to pay a visit to the temple of books and culture at Mériadeck stemmed from a friend who had previously registered at the library to take her kids there once a week; they can borrow books and media supports for up to 4 weeks, bring them back there or in any other public library around the city. I jumped on the wagon, bringing the rest of the family along for a cultural and fun treat. 

The library is actually more of a media library and the children section is a dream come true. Comparing it to the libraries I used to go to when I was younger (hem…), this is a new galaxy altogether with limitless possibilities. Come to think of it, the wealth of activities and tools at our disposal may even be a bit overwhelming at first: books, comics, newspapers, journals, photography, video game room, tablets, headphones, DVDs, blue rays and so forth. Can you tell my head is spinning with joy?!

The space is welcoming, spacious and well kept. The kids can feel instantly at ease since most of the shelves are quite low, allowing them to grab all they fancy with their small hands. I could literally see them thinking that this may well be the one place on earth where mom is not even saying “Don’t touch!”. The floor is dotted with comfy and colorful cushions and blankets, while small tables and chairs for children are available around the room for more formal activities. We spotted a lovely table where the kids started drawing and colouring - quite surprisingly, they started using the supplies we had brought from home. Were they finding the novelty and numerous resources available to them too daunting? Maybe. But with time, they will feel more at ease and start exploring.

My youngest daughter and I stepped into a baby area. She left shyness at the door: running here and there, she grabbed quite a few books and toys, imitating toddlers around her. Parents were reading and playing with kids, crawling after them around the area, without having to say “Sorry” for their babies’ laughter or occasional shrieks. Is this freedom? It certainly felt like it. We could finally just follow our intuition and act as we pleased in this world of endless discoveries. We may well have read three books, each more than once of course, before starting to play with an abacus in what seemed to be an incredibly retro moment.

Going back to the main area, I took the time to walk through the various sections and picked books in Italian (yes, yes!) and a couple of other books on topics such as: the storm, why thunders and lightnings should not scare us, friendship and…horses. Which all too naturally led us back to the entrance where I asked to rent “The Black Stallion” DVD. The movie was our week-end treat as we all watched it (twice, may I add). Produced by Francis Ford Coppola, its photography is breathtakingly spectacular - especially during the first part of the movie picturing the idyllic life in inhabited natural territory. It is about friendship, loss, courage, efforts and dreams come true. 

The main characters are a smart and introvert young boy named Alec and a gorgeous black Arabian. They meet in dramatic circumstances during a fateful trip off the African coast: they are both embarked on a doomed ship. They will face tragedy together, followed by a new life; they will get to know and trust each other far away from any kind of other human contamination once they reach the shore of an ideal island - the scenes were actually shot on Sardinia. They meet new challenges and face new opportunities as one, growing stronger together. They each bring out the best in the other. This is the kind of lesson I would love to be able to pass on to my children. The second half of the movie is more traditional and familiar as the two heroes are thrown back into the “civilized” world. We know this world and the contrast between wilderness and civilization is therefore even more striking. I admit having been totally carried away by the beauty and mesmerizing strength and intimacy of nature… This is a memorable experience, setting the movie apart from others of the same kind.

During my next library visit - I plan on going at least once a week - I will venture around the other sections of the venue, including the one dedicated to music. I will return “The Black Stallion”, trusting that his honesty, bravery and energy will stay with us for a long time. I will take the children with me: this is a space where they can explore, make their own choices, grasp bits of reality, feed their imagination and learn independently. 

Credits: Unsplash

L'apprentissage de Goshu {Drive-in}

Pour une première, c’était une belle première : j’ai pu accompagner la classe de maternelle de ma fille pendant la sortie culturelle organisée par sa maîtresse ! C’est tellement rare et d’autant plus précieux que je n’en ai pas dormi la veille. Je sais, j’aurais mieux fait de dormir, je sais…

Au programme, un projet Ecole et Cinéma et notamment le premier volet de celui-ci qui allait nous emmener dans la salle obscure d’un intéressant cinéma bordelais, l’Utopia  Situé en plein cœur de la ville, cet endroit qui remonterait au 15e siècle m'est d’abord apparu comme un bar au style décalé avec ses vitraux et sa bâtisse rappelant vaguement une église. Il s’agit aussi d’un cinéma avec un adorable jardin caché en son centre. C’est l'un de ces bâtiments qui ont traversé les siècles et revêtu différentes fonctions ; église, salpêtrière, usine, garage… ce brassage de sacré et païen me fascine, cette façon de communiquer tant de messages différents mais d'être toujours une passerelle des savoirs et interprétations, un miroir de son temps, me rappelle tellement les Pays-Bas et leur propension à donner une deuxième chance à des lieux comme les églises (Nieuwe Kerk, par exemple, haut lieu d’expositions photographiques) ou les entrepôts de l’ancien port. Il s’agit pour moi de l’expression d’une grande flexibilité et capacité d’adaptation tout en préservant la culture reçue en héritage. 

Revenons à nos bambins, car je m’égare. Le projet cinématographique en cours comporte trois séances de cinéma et la première a été pour moi une délicate découverte : “Goshu le violoncelliste” (1981) est un film d’animation en couleurs de Takahata Isao  réalisateur japonais.

Sur fond d’aquarelles délicates où la nature joue un rôle plus que prépondérant et n'a de cesse d'évoluer à l'image de l'eau omniprésente, le film retrace le parcours d’un adulte, le violoncelliste  Goshu, sûr de lui et peu enclin à accepter la critique ou les conseils des autres. Il fait partie de l’orchestre qui accompagne la projection de films dans le Japon d’avant-guerre. Un grand concert attend l’orchestre et Goshu se fait reprendre sévèrement par le directeur d’orchestre qui estime que son interprétation manque de vérité, de sentiments et d'expression et qu’il ne sera pas prêt pour le grand jour. 

De retour chez lui, notre violoncelliste sera successivement interrompu lors de ses répétitions nocturnes pas d’étranges rencontres qui ouvrent la porte à la magie : des animaux, un chat, un coucou etc. viennent lui rendre visite de façon inopportune et lui demander de jouer ou de les faire jouer. Chacun d’eux semble avoir besoin de son aide, chacun à sa façon. Progressivement, Goshu apprend à jouer autrement, à se libérer, à s’exprimer tel qu’il est. Chaque animal lui permet d’ajouter une nouvelle dimension à son apprentissage musical et à sa personnalité. Grâce aux visites aussi inattendues que surprenantes de ces animaux, un véritable échange s’instaure avec Goshu, parallèlement à un voyage d’introspection et initiatique pour le musicien. A la clé, la patience, la persévérance, l’écoute et la découverte de soi et des autres.

Je ne vous en dis pas plus concernant l’histoire.

Les couleurs sont douces, les traits vivaces et nets et les animations tellement typiques des dessins animés des années 1980. On peut discuter les bouches de travers, les yeux aux traits simplifiés et les expressions déformées (héritage des masques du kabuki ?), mais la variation des points de vue, la dimension magique et le souci du détail naturel ainsi qu’un accompagnement musical omniprésent dépeignent un environnent holistique qui nous accueille, entraîne et fascine. 

Ce film peut être vu et revus à tous les âges ; à chaque fois, nous y découvrirons, j’en suis certaine, un nouveau détail, une nouvelle facette, pour une aventure et un apprentissage à chaque fois différent et enrichissant.

N'oubliez pas : que la création soit avec vous.

Image : DVD

Healing Horses {Discover}

Journalist Jules Howard imagined a world without animals for a piece he wrote for The Guardian. For more than one reason, this would lead to hell on earth. For me, it would even be impossible to imagine such as thing, let alone then write about it. I long for the presence of animals and have even befriended a lovely blue cat, dubbed “BigBlue” by the family, in our new neighborhood. Every morning I marvel in Snow White style at the robin redbreast singing at the top of the pine tree in the neighbor’s backyard. Should I even bother to mention our beloved Mr. O or my father’s love for horses passed on to me by genes it seems? Well, you get the picture.

I  have always loved the honest company of animals and lately I have been craving for the company of horses more than ever, which could also be translated as the increasing need of honesty in my life, whatever… Last time I had the opportunity to go for a trotting ride, we went through the Landes forest, the largest one in France. An extended stretch of pine and fern forest once covered by marshes, is now wearing the warming colors of Fall, from pale pink to dark brown, all shifting under the lightest breeze. The perfect seasonal rainbow under the perfect setting sun. It was just us, the horses reassuring breath and rhythm, and our joint effort to move on.

They say the behaviour of a horse mirrors yours. I cannot tell you whether this is true or not, the only thing I know is that when going horse riding, I need to leverage my self-confidence - what’s left of it - and willpower, and that I need to install a different channel of communication to reach mutual trust. Horses’ smell, skin, and eyes are soothing to me and the moment I see a horse, I need to talk, touch, ride and communicate in every possible way. Better if during a lovely ride in the beating heart of nature; better if along the way we spot a deer, hidden in the tall ferns, its dark head and ears the only part of its body sticking out, a fine outline etched on the golden background. Our smell being covered by that of the horses, the deer did not flinch and leisurely watched us passing by. 

Via Twitter, I’ve had the opportunity to briefly mention my growing interest in equitherapy. As of now, I am not sure where this interest will lead me, but I find myself being living proof that animals, and horses in this case, have some sort of healing power on our psyche: they do not judge, they ask for respect, they listen (well, most of the time at least!) and are open to communication and exchange. Now, how many times does this happen to us in a day?

The power of animals, I tell you.

The power of horses.

Credits: drawing by TheDaydreamer

Half of a Yellow Sun {Page-Turner}

Where did the idea of reading this book come from? I cannot remember. No matter how hard I try, the memory is gone, erased, vanished. Has it been stolen from me after I finished devouring its pages, during the reading adventure or even before I started reading, blinded by that half of a sun, that brightly mysterious title? 

This is one of the best books I have read this year. 

The novel Half of a Yellow Sun by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has been a glorious discovery, a difficult read, an epiphany. It epitomizes all that a book should be: a reliable guide into unknown worlds, a leading thread into tormented history and a larger than life insight into troubled human stories, feelings and minds. All’s well that starts well, as it were, but I could still feel the frailty of untold stories and foresee the cracks in the blissful life of the five main characters. Their dissents, the roughness of the land, social differences were all foreboding hints leading to disintegration. 

Several characters tell the story, starting with thirteen-year-old Ugwu: the young boy joins professor’s Odenigbo as a houseboy and will follow him throughout the pre-Biafran war events, during the war and during the ensuing uncertain period. He’s a symbol of hope, loyalty and trust throughout bouts of violence. 

Odenigbo is the intellectual mind behind the meetings that take place at his house where political, pro-revolutionary and cultural discussions are heated. His political zeal however will bear no fruits; he embodies the lack of action behind political ideals. He will be joined by Olanna who will be his companion and become the mother of his daughter, Baby, from an adulterous relationship. Olanna is a positive soul who will fall only to stand up again and continue with steadfast resolution and conviction. The motherly figure is reassuring in the midst of unsettling events.

Olanna’s twin sister, Kainene, is as different from her as day and night. She’s independent, fierce, cynical. She sees reality in all its cruelty, while never failing to face and challenge it, until the end of the Biafran secession war, when she crosses the enemy lines, never to return. A shining female figure of proaction, she stands tall in the middle of the horror. Kainene’s uncertain destiny leaves us depleted and haunted by the historical and family events that have unfolded before our very eyes. I still wonder whether her disappearance at the end of the book means she’s fallen under the bullets of the Nigerian army or whether she has chosen a different life for herself…

Richard is a British white expatriate thrown in the deadly depths of Nigerian history and Igbo-led Biafran war for independence. He remains an outsider and a keen observer of the war. His ties to Kainene are sealed by love and admiration for her strength and independent spirit. He is involved to the point of proclaiming his pro-Biafra support.

The Nigerian Civil War (1967-1970) is the sixth character: Biafra is the Eastern part of Nigeria that has taken its independence into its own hands and hoisted its flag bearing half of a yellow sun. As Nigerian forces build up and raid the country to regain independent Biafra, fury unleashes. Refugees - among which our main characters - loose everything, flee every city and corner of the starving country, hatred is the motto, lives are brutally taken, families shattered. The main characters are faced with cruel choices testing their every nerve, value, feeling and belief. Each and every one of them will be transformed by evil emanating from human beings. Not even young Ugwu will be spared, a child thrown ruthlessly into the darkest side of adulthood. On the battlefield, two factions fight: the pro-Biafra Igbo and Hausa people. The only result will be disintegration where once some kind of common life flourished.

The characters accompany me day and night. The book is a presence you won’t be able to ignore once you’ve accepted to surrender to its vital energy. This is what it is about: survival in a forgotten war and world. Up to you to transport it into your present life and the current historical events. The transposition will, unfortunately, be an easy one.

As I write these words, I’m thinking that what seems like the uncertain ending - the unfinished story - of Kainene and the book itself is deeply linked to the never ending story of love and war on Earth. History, we know, tends to repeat itself. 

We’d better not forget that the loop is never looped…

         

Credits: Canva (edited by TheDaydreamer)

Hossegor Spirit {Look Around}

The Quicksilver Pro France taking place in the South West of France was just an excuse to meet up with old friends in a new place for us all: we all moved out of the Paris area to the Gironde department within the last month or so. It was a coincidence and a very happy one too. Amid all things new, good friends deciding to move in the same area as us is a blessing, a sign from above, the promise of strong feelings, invigorating encounters and never ending exchanges in a new environment. The best of both worlds? 

Soorts-Hossegor - commonly referred to as Hossegor - in the Landes area, just north of Biarritz, turned out to be our meeting point. The small commune is located between sandy beaches, clean waves, clear skies, green carpets of ferns and towering pine trees where once lay the marshlands. Nature at its best was sending positively vibrant vibes to every pore of our bodies. The energy was palpable as the surf competition drew aficionados from all over the world; we heard Spanish, Swedish, Italian, English and Dutch during our stroll in the lively streets and our leisurely beach retreat with the kids. Laid back surf vibes seemed to permeate the behaviour of drivers and pedestrians alike: although the contest clearly drew zillions of people, there was no tension in the air, no fights for parking spots, no stress around the packed restaurant tables despite the erratic service of waiters. 

Between the brute force of the ocean and the quiet surrounding the salt-water lake ideal for SUP lovers, there is a spot for everyone. Locals may complain that during the competition too many people take over the world-renown spot, with ensuing noise, and some reckless behaviors, but it is clear that businesses thrive and that competitions as such are the driving energy behind the scenes. Local nature calls for sheer sports, efforts and awe. What makes Hossegor so appealing and unique is the fact that human settlements and nature are intertwined in what appears to be beneficial cooperation: the harmonious architecture of the houses is complimented by pine and cork trees, the forest is clearly well tended, the dunes are well preserved and every local is proud of the beauty of this exceptional place. 

During our wander, we stopped at a lovely bar I’d like to share a few details about since it fits so perfectly into the Hossegor spirit - and despite the fact that it is now closed until the next spring/summer season: the Mango Tree is a juice and smoothie bar infused with a nomadic spirit also serving deliciously healthy dishes from morning til evening. This is one of the very few places in France where I have found açai based drinks… Two lovely sisters are busy behind the counter and serve vegetarian bowls and cold chai tea lattes among other delicious home-made dishes and beverages. They grow their own herbs and bake their own bread. A dream come true, on a peaceful spot: you can sit down by the pier or on the beach, literally, while admiring the SUP riders passing by and the exoticism of the surroundings under the benevolent eye of the Hossegor spirit.

Now, if you would excuse, me, I am going to take the plunge and daydream about the glorious day spent in Hossegor… You are welcome to join me, dear friends…

Credits: TheDaydreamer

Easy Move {Discover}

Moving is an adventure, a road and mind trip, a rediscovery of one’s environment and own life, a launch into the unknown - for the better, one hopes. It is a complex, layered process that can be stressful, tiresome, exhilarating, motivating and rejuvenating.

Yes, all of this and much more too!

That’s in the ideal world, where good and evil may seem to be quite balanced - a pinch of the latter, a touch of the former.

In practice, it can be quite an ordeal people from different horizons start warning you about the moment you mention the moving project: watch your mental health, be careful with your back when moving furniture around, plan ahead, your kids need to adapt, do not stress, watch your belongings, etc.

Since we just went through a short distance move, I thought it may be useful to share the experience and thoughts with you; ideally, this post is to make your life easier, avoiding the pitfalls we fell into (what else?); truth be told, it may also be a way for me to make our settling down official… A little bit of both, most probably.

1 - Plan ahead

This is what we did not do for several cumbersome reasons I am not going to detail here; we had to find movers at the last minute. How to find them? If you can move via your company, that’s of course the easiest option. If not, I would start by asking friends and family for feedback about their moving experience. Try asking Twitter as well: I find long-term contacts on Twitter are a good source of valuable information. If you belong to a Facebook group, a sports club, a women’s network, think about turning to them for advice and feedback. If, like us, you end up picking a moving company from the Internet at the last minute, do check that they are duly registered and that the testimonials of previous customers are positive. 

2 - Packing

As soon as we had found the right moving company, we asked them to drop a lot of cardboard boxes at our place to start packing while the girls were away. Check with the company and read the contract very carefully to make sure you are packing the right things and are not wasting time packing the items they will have to pack in the end. Double work for you and that’s not the point at all. Clothes very often travel in special boxes, so you may leave those to them, for example. Simple tip: buy a black felt marker (large tip) for each adult involved in the packing process to write what the box contains and where it should go once at the final destination; I would advise doing this even though today boxes come with a printed checklist of rooms. Writing on all sides and especially on the top of the cardboard box makes its contents visible from all angles. To work faster, instead of spelling out the name of each room, we number coded them. This means that once arrived, our boxes were placed in the right room by the movers and the lost sheep eventually found their way to the right spot.

3 - Sort out

Moving can be a healing process: that’s when you can literally leave behind what you do not wish to drag along your life anymore, turn the page, open up new possibilities, rethink your processes and approach to life. This applies also to everyday items: sort out your books, clothes, notebooks, pen collection, shells and whatnot. Think about all the toys, CDs, clothes unused over the past  year - that’s my limit - and find out how to get rid of them in a constructive way. I gave the girls’ clothes and toys to Emmaüs and the local association helping single women and their children. Check if there’s an orphanage next to where you live, an immigrants’ center and other similar structures in need of help. Basically, this is a good opportunity to shed your old skin and jump on the living-with-less train.

4 - Letter templates

List all the administrative companies you need to contact to announce your move: tax center, banks, post office, insurance etc. I have made a single template where only a few lines need to be adapted each time. In one go to the post office I have sent all of them AND asked for the post to be forwarded to my new address. Be careful though: it took longer than announced for the post office to activate the forwarding service, so some letters got sent back to the sender in my case or simply lost…  This can only mean trouble. Life would be boring otherwise. I have another template I use to terminate all ongoing contracts such as electricity, gas, landline etc.

5 - Kids: you are not alone

A special word about small children: we started speaking about moving months before it actually happened and even though we were not sure about moving at all. We did this using books, reading bedtime stories as usual. I found it is the best way to bring on new topics gradually and in a playful way. The plot of the story - with lovely Tchoupi - shifted as our project became clearer. I also had the chance of having the support of friends who gave my daughters books about moving, making new friends and attending a new school. When we received the empty boxes, I put a couple of them aside for the kids to play with - they make great hideouts - and then fill with toys. They did it themselves, throwing in toys as we were preparing to leave. They accepted the process as a game involving the entire family; the clan was to move undivided. The underlying message is: nobody is left behind, everyone participates in the process and enjoys it too. Once at destination, the kids have opened their own boxes: the happiness on their faces seing that their precious dolls and horses had arrived sent ripples of joy through our minds. FaceTime and the likes are helfpul tools to keep in touch with friends: I though my eldest would soon move on to her new friends, but the two years she spent in her previous school have been meaningful - thankfully! We regularly plan video sessions with her little friends and she is happy about it (no crying afterwards, yay!).

6 - Networking

Going downstream in the process, I have found it extremely useful to try and think about the contacts in the city of our final destination. Having a human contact and an insider is a wonderful way to gain insight into the real life in our new geographical area, its culture, language and habits. I have the chance of belonging to a wonderful group of women spread around the world via the Hub Dot network. The first reaction for me is therefore to leverage the online feedback of fellow women who’ve moved before me in the same spot. I strongly encourage you to do the same: online communities flourish and exchanging experiences and information has never been so easy.

These are the few ideas I can think of after having spent a month in our new house and turning it slowly back into a home where every single family member has found sufficient space to breathe. No matter how many tips I may add to the list above, it is the human factor that comes first: home is wherever family is. The contrary would never even cross my mind. So, who cares if there are still a few boxes strewn here and there…? Who cares if the process has been rocky...? We're here after having learned from our mistakes and successes. We're here, yes!

Credits: Death to the Stock Photo (edited by TheDaydreamer)

Summer Pages: Review {Page-Turner}

At the beginning of summer, I shared with you my list of Summer Pages. Those were the books I had selected, the Elect if you like, to accompany me through my favorite season of the year. What an honor, right?

Below you will find who has made it in the end - life is unpredictable after all - and what my thoughts are on those that reached the finish line.

1 - Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert 

The magic is not there for me. So I came up with two interpretations: either the book is indeed lacking sharpness and new information, or I am definitely not cut out for this kind of read despite all my efforts to vary the type of books I choose. Admittedly, it is always difficult to write a new book after a sensational success - Gilbert is definitely aware of this as she writes about it in her book - but while “Eat, Pray, Love” remains engraved in my head, no memories subsist of "Big Magic". Maybe because it is less personal in a way? Maybe because there is no real “plot” or narrative. Which brings me to question my ability to read and enjoy books other than novels. What did you think about this book, I am curious? 

2 - L'homme qui parlait la langue des serpents by Andrus Kivirähk  

This is where I let the awful truth out: I have not read it. I have a very good excuse though since this book is the only one of the list I bought in paperback. It turned out to be a very thick book, quite heavy to carry, not handy at all when taking the plane with two kids - right I'm blaming it on two vulnerable beings unaware of the existence of this very blog. I substituted it with two (Kindle) books in French:

Les gens heureux lisent et boivent du café by Agnès Martin-Lugand

Le charme des après-midis sans fin by Dany Laferrière

I will post a review for the two outsiders. No spoiler here.

3 - The Lake House by Kate Morton

This is not my first go at a Kate Morton’s novel and she remains true to her style, her settings, her flavour of romance and intricate storytelling. What have I preferred in the book? Her description of what a family house is - a home really - and how a house can embrace different generations and be a testimonial of their lives, their choices and the consequences of their actions. Her descriptions of the Cornwall-based lakeside Edevane house and its garden oscillate between reality and fairy tales, introducing a romantic layer of moody mystery. Two parallel stories unwind as we progress: one set in the past and one in the present led by detective Sadie Sparrow. During one of her stays in Cornwall Sadie finds out about the Edevane estate and gets raptured in the unsolved disappearance of one of the family members who used to live there - a baby boy, no less. From then on, past and present are tied together and it becomes impossible to put the book down. You are warned.

My only doubt about the book - and a major one too - lies in its ending: the mystery is solved all too easily and the happy ending falls flat, lacking the twist the reader is expecting throughout the book, while the family tragedy builds up. A perfect book if you like suspense, lush nature, family drama and a romantic touch.

4 - Les Oiseaux de Christophe Colomb by Adrien Goetz

This has been the lightest book of my summer selection, both in volume and content.  Yet a true delight with a surprising ending that makes it all worth reading. The main character, a young girl, takes us to the Quai Branly Jacques Chirac museum in Paris. She needs to prepare a paper for her school on Christopher Columbus. While she discovers how the museum operates behind the scenes, she also gets to know its inhabitants and a bit of herself. She’s smart, sharp and notices details, which makes her the perfect guide and investigator. What seems to be an innocuous trip to the museum turns out to be a fantastic fable where birds encourage us to look at history under an interestingly new and entertaining angle. Go go go, read it!

5 - La Femme fardée by Françoise Sagan

This has been by far the most complex of the books I read this summer, much longer and more articulate than Bonjour Tristesse which remains my favorite so far from the same author. The story reminded me of Agatha Christie’s mystery novels and subsequent movies: a group of rich bourgeois is gathered on the Narcissus, a ship bound for a cruise. The characters are trapped during the entire trip as it were, stuck with one another. As their lives intertwine, collide or merge, their emotions and behaviors show the shallowness of their personalities. They all seem to be acting in a play, the play of their farfetched identities. The symbol of their fake existence is  the mysterious Clarisse, a sensitive woman who hides for her husband’s sake behind a thick layer of horrid makeup that makes us wonder instantly: who is she really? As her affair develops with Julien, she let’s go of her mask and so do many of the other characters. Some are nicer than others once faced with their real nature… Some succeed in showing a touch of human empathy and understanding, others are born actors who will never adapt and grow out of their role. A must-read since Sagan is a master at drawing with sharp cynicism society and its puppets, their interactions and developments. 

Credits: Pinkpot (edited by TheDaydreamer)

The Great Animal Orchestra: Open up & Listen

For our first time around Paris together, my mother, my eldest daughter and I, we decided to choose something fun and enriching, something new to the three of us that would take us into unknown territories, together.

We chose to spend a full afternoon - luxury! - at the Fondation Cartier Pour l’Art Contemporain. I had never been there before, had only heard a lot about it and my mother was thrilled to take us there and be our wise guide. 

The ongoing exhibition is The Great Animal Orchestra. Animals being one of our favorite topics for games, books, conversations and so on, it seemed like the perfect choice, capable of captivating even the youngest of us. It was a bit challenging for my mother to pick this type of exhibition knowing how she is not the animal type of person; the bottom line was to please my daughter, obviously, but also to find common ground for further discoveries, culturally and personally speaking. It was also quite interesting to see how the guide role switched from my mother to my daughter, the animal "specialist". 

Here we are, on the ground floor staged like an orchestra and hosting visual exhibitions of animals in their habitat. From the huge elliptical drawing  “White Tone” made with gunpowder (how ironic) by artist Cai Guo-Qiang to the photos of animals snapping their own pictures flying or walking in front of the flash of Manabu Miyazaki’s camera, every image comes as a refreshingly wild surprise. What would our faces look like on pictures taken just as suddenly as we discover the work of all these artists, I cannot help but wonder…

The colors, the sounds and the images - whether animated or not - pull us into a fearsome yet familiar kingdom where flora and fauna unite and let us in, exceptionally. Fear, surprise and laughter show on our faces. “Is the bear really going to eat the photographer’s camera? Look at that bird’s flight!” Each and every visual input triggers a reaction in each of us. Sometimes similar, sometimes utterly different. That’s what I call richness.

As we plunge downstairs, the mysteries of plancton and the muted sounds from underwater life hug us as if we were going back to the primal womb. Dark rooms are fitted with luminous screens on the floor where shapes of  plancton life move in an infinitesimal world. Alien seems to be all around us, in the air and in deep waters. So why do we actually fear the alien?

Hopping half-hypnotised already from one room to the other, we reach the sound room. Plunged into darkness again, our hearing and eyesight are sharp and fully alive. On the walls, the sounds turn into wave length graphics, accompanying the screams of animals typical of a meadow, a delta, a valley… Wolves, geese, whales, jaguars and their brothers pull at our lethargic urban mind and dig their way into our imagination. As if by magic they turn into flesh. The captivating audio landscapes are the result of the year-long recordings of musician and bio-acoustician Bernie Krause. Music in its various shapes, from nature to electro, is his passion. 

People linger in the room, in awe. Sitting on the cushions or lying on the floor, they abandon themselves to nature and its simplest form - while being underground, in the heart of one of the world’s metropolises. That’s when my daughter kicks her shoes off. She walks around barefoot before lying down too. 

Back to the basics. Back to nature.

From the magic of the US territories, to Africa and Europe, the trip is one long experience of a life we often dream about, only never truly listen too. The exhibition is a great way to learn to listen again by shutting down all that man-made noise; a way to listen a anew - to yourself, your neighbour, your mother, your friends, your pulsing heart… Open up and listen.

Credits: Unsplash (edited by TheDaydreamer)

The Daydreamer on the Shore {Fairy Talk}

It’s another sunny day, scorching the eyes, licking the skin, pulling me out of my soft sleep shell. My moves are swift, I just need to wear a bikini, grab a towel, a ton of sunscreen lotion and walk right out the green door. 

All is silent. The cicadas are still mutely wrapped in the early morning blanket. One step after the other, I reach the pinewood forest - it is still here, proud and tall, lightly swaying and sending wafts of sticky pine up in the air - and suddenly step out into the light: I’m on the cliff.

The goal is to reach one of the hidden away beaches pristine from cries, screams, music and any kind of audio or video pollution. One of those shrines that still exist if you mind to look around, wake up early and embrace the day without a doubt, ready to make circles in the sand and water. What I am looking for is brilliant earth and deep blue. Doubting makes you hesitate, lose precious minutes, lose vision and motivation - why doubt?! Let’s go.

I slowly reach the shore. The sand is smooth and welcoming, easy to sift and spread wildly around like liquid powder. Nobody is going to complain, the sandy crystals will scatter to the ground, back to where they came from, with no interference.

There are still faint traces of steps from yesterday’s day at the beach: men, women, children - whose traces are they? I imagine a whole family, with their footprints intertwined, sometimes spread apart depending on the beating of their hearts. 

This is the perfect time to add my own prints, right before plunging into the oily see. I start toying with my feet and making circles: the eternal spiral won’t last long here as it will be swept away by wind and water. It does not matter since I am deeply enjoying making shapes on the ground and imagining that my volatile circles are here only for a few minutes, for the birds to be seen from their high perched nests. 

I loose myself on the shore and boy does it feel good to blend with the elements and playfully shape them without any further thought other than immediate gratefulness. 

Credits: TheDaydreamer

Childishly Joyful {Fairy Talk}

The night is warm, there’s no wind to ruffle my hair and the appointment has been made with my beloved cousin. As with all things Italian, we take our sweet time: time to find the meeting spot - even though I have been coming here since I was born - time to meet and greet, time to hug, kiss and cry. This is how I meet with my Italian family. It’s summertime, warm and welcoming under the starry sky. It’s under the benevolent eye of the village’s patron saint, San Domenico. My dad never missed a celebration, never missed a nostalgic opportunity to tell us the story of his joy as a child when he attended the  procession carrying the statue of the saint around the cobbled streets. 

It’s all different now, but I am so childishly joyful to be here: we are all sitting in the local piazza, surrounded by tacky stalls selling horrible plastic toys, animals of all sorts, crêpes and local pastries. We are going to have a pizza, there’s 12 of us. We share the piazza with the rest of the inhabitants, the faithful who step into the church - I do too, but can barely recognize it now that the priest that my dad used to know (don Gino, whose highly pitched voice still resonates in my head) and my dad too are gone. My world has changed, but I am childishly joyful to be here. 

We share the simple food, we talk about food, as always we listen to the band playing the music we used to tease my dad and uncle about. These are the small things that remain now, the all important memories. Now, we listen and rejoice to every single key, we could even sing along if we dared! Around the table, conversations take shape, twist and turn: new projects, old habits, new stories and old myths, new videos, old photographs are told and shown by each family member. 

I am part of it all, under the fairy lights of the piazza lighting arrangement and of the old village center and its history. For the first time in what seems like an ageless life, I am actually here: I can feel the earth under my feet, smell the sweet almonds of the local specialty - cupeta - , the sour beer - another local star, Dreher beer from Hungary - and the holiness of it all. I breathe it all in, then divide it all into tiny particles and assimilate each of them to who I am today. Forget about the others, the feeling of unity, the meeting of generation: this very day, I finally understand where I am too. The feeling is fragile, and breakable; I know only too well it may be gone tomorrow. So I am childishly joyful to feel fulfilled, to feel like a child, to be able to truly and deeply smile. 

Credits: Unsplash (edited by TheDaydreamer)