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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 28th Mar 2020, 07:27am
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My Chronicles,28/03/2020

Selfish

This vital nationwide lockdown gives me the opportunity for intimate reflections, how ‘She who must be obeyed’, is a clear winner within my life. For 53 years we have been lucky to have a private learning curve… being in love, but far more important, cared for each other while reworking thru jaggy situations in our relationship. Almost all my life has been a ball, described in dictionaries; ‘Joy’, a vivid emotion of pleasure, or as wee Jimmy of the Krankies shouts, “pure dead brilliant”. It doesn’t take much to realize how magical it is still. Countless people helping in one way or another, especially Family, close friends and China’s. The goal posts have changed quite a few times, but I can still see the route… without squinting.

I need a certain level of boredom, even doubtfulness to gain the simplicity of pleasure. But for total rapture, bursting at the seams is music, dispersing all desolation waves, so even the most misery of all emotions cannot help but notice and vanish. With eyes closed, single minded clasping around the tempo, until I’m literally living the part of the composition itself…pure dead brilliant.

Via vibrating earphones, classical music is my concealed drug … just for me. The super tones connect with the inner ear, pulsating right out the socket for all their worth. When the tenor (personally, Mario Lanza) reach the almost ultimate crescendo in “Student Prince”, or more “ La Donna e Mobile”; though I have not a clue what he is actually singing, my whole body is emotionally tense, while my voice roughly harmonizing with the last vocal gesture. One magnificent harmonious rendition the ‘flower Duet’, from ‘Lakmé’, release’s an aftermath plus, floating on a different plateau. Another marvel for individual attention; “The Hebrew Slaves”; just sublime

Joe Cocker with “Delta Lady” accompanied by “The Letter”, almost anything of the early Stones, directs me into a paradise which is seldom shared with anyone. Wearing a huge set of headsets, attempting to follow the electrifying native throb is way out… something else. If ambrosia is the food for the Gods, then music must be the pulse? Listen to Ray Charles, blues or country, is just astounding. For me, it matters not the chic tune, or instruments playing, I’m willing to be transported to a music prism heaven… or simply go with flow.

I have no wish to peep into tomorrow, knowing what may happen with unsubtle hints, for it would spoil the surprise, good or bad, which keeps us truly alive. The blues melodies are right, for around every corner, are glimpses of slightly tedious moments are bound to become pointless, yet worth every agonizing moment. Remember each day, the world is a wonder, and a truly rewarding paramour.
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peter.howden
post Y'day, 02:34pm
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PARIS AGAIN;(old Story, in two parts )

Flying into Beauvais, France was for me, stepping directly on the scene between Paris and Orleans. My Scottish soles felt Musketeer ground, along with the Auld alliance. If I have ever read ‘Alexandre Dumas’ words, the three musketeers, Athos; Porthos; Aramis and of course; D'Artagnan, for me, somehow these tales represent Paris, even today’s…Vie la France. Paris itself, pulled my eyes out of their sockets, trying desperately to observe all around on the left bank. Uncontrollable imagination whispered, ‘all for one and one for all’, as my mind visualizing duelling in the park, in the lower parts of the amazing city.

Parisians, we noticed obvious hold immense pride in public buildings, cherishing what they stood for, belonging once to royalty and nobility. A hint of haughtiness from the folk utilizing them now. It is hard to go anywhere in the French capital, without its origins coming from regal background… or Napoleon, which to most Parisians seems to be the same thing. The greeting "Bonsoir", is essential with meeting anyone ,whether in a café, or shop, or asking for anything. also, polite Paree social decorum

While Rebecca and I were staying in Toni/Fergus apartment, roughly four blocks from famous landmark, Sacre-Caur, hallowed rain fell only twice through the night. The water from the heavens, if not so blue, encourages the masonry used on the building to weep, temporary bleaches the stone to produce whiter than white. Quite good for a chapel overlooking most of the capital, which in turn produces stairs, and hills up and down. The Artisan boulangerie where I bought the breakfast "baguette" each morning ,was just around the corner… though up 112 very steep steps upward to reach it.

The first time attempting the flight of stairs proved a significant struggle to complete, having to halt quite a few times before reaching breathless at the summit. Entering the establishment, I was lucky to “bonsoir”, then pointing in the correct area, using single one finger. The following early morning, the ascent took less stops but still breathing in gulps and gasps. So much so, I went into the shop, used hand signals, in case they mistook me for a dirty old man, practicing my telephone obscenities. From then on, each time I arrived in the shop, juggling my understanding of verbal French, after “bonsoir’, both my asking and my climbing had improved, though needing my full concentration, along with luck. Most times either breathless or forgotten the words… I’d point.

My last day, felt confident, enough to be able to totally outstrip any previous performance. From bottom to top of the stairs in one near effortlessly ascent, then sauntered into the shop, and in one, almost flowery flow to the end , asked; “Bonjour, madame, s'il vous plaît puis-je avoir une Baguette, merci beaucoup ?"

The lady and the gentleman worker of the shop clapped…then smiled profusely
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