aupiffaladière

today was a day of prépos. a word you invent because it is a mix of preparation and repos (rest).  you’re physically resting from all the moving around, but mentally you’re busy as you’ve got things to prepare since tomorrow you’ll be teaching for the last time.

at the end of next week, you’ll no longer officially be in the education domain. you’re moving on to a different passion, the environment.

and so, even if you are slowly weening yourself away from evreux, you can’t help but just enjoy these long summer nights.

you just got back from the south. les alpes-maritines. where the mountains meet the sea. and that is what is freshest in your mind.

so. one needs to eat, even if they are resting up in normandy.

the conversation goes something like this:

-mélanie, on mange une pissaladière, j'en ai beaucoup mangé dans le sud et c'est trop bon!
comme tu veux, cathy
-as-tu du farine?
oui
-du lait?
oui.
-des oignons?
oui.
-des olives?
oui.
-des anchois?
euh, non, mais j'ai des maquereaux.
-ahh... est c'est dimanche aussi... pas grave,  ca marche... je ferai plutôt quelque chose inspiré par la pissaladière, au pif. donc ce soir ce sera une aupiffaladière!

-mélanie, let’s eat a pissaladière, i ate a lot of them in the south and it’s good!
as you like, cathy.
-do you have flour?
yes.
-milk?
yes.
-onions?
yes.
-olives?
yes.
-anchovies?
uhh… no, but i have mackarel.
-ahh… it’s also sunday… not a problem, that will work, i’ll make something inspired by the pissaladiere instead, by taste. so tonight will be an “aupiffaladière!”

awful puns are your specialty. a specialty you treasure.

the aupiffaladière was made. then eaten. outside, underneath a late summer sky in france.

the sea or the mountains?

if you had to choose.

would you pick la mer? the sea. (or ocean)

or would you pick les montagnes? the mountains.

mais dune immobiles
n'avez-vous jamais
jalousé la mer?

à la regarder
qui roule et qui vole
n'avez-vous jamais
rêvé de danser?

ô mer ébranlée
à les regarder
ces dunes immobiles
n'avez-vous jamais
rêvé de dormir?

gisèle prassinos

a poem for now. the stories are being saved for later.

simple saturday

this saturday is spent staying in.

with strawberries picked right from the garden.

along with lamb’s lettuce and roquefort and roasted walnuts and balsamic vinegar and olive oil and pepper and salt.

it is a rare pajama day. with countless mugs of hot tea. a day you’d enjoy more had your body not decided to break down. perhaps it’s all the moving. or the talking. or the eating. but you feel that the real culprit would be the sudden 10C/18F drop in temperature in less than six hours. from the sun and sleeveless to rainclouds and droplets, your body can’t keep up with such quick climate changes. and so today it said stop.

you hope it doesn’t last long, because you need to move soon.

the blue envelope inside a yellow waterproof envelope

this morning was nothing but sun.

and cherries.

and then a train.

to the usual rainy evreux.

and at the doorstep, you spot it, tucked away.

the blue envelope. in an international waterproof yellow envelope. but inside you know it’s blue. everybody knows that it’s blue.

and you, you’re going to wait for the rain to stop and then you will head into centre-ville and you will find someone to open the envelope with you because you don’t want to be alone when you finally find out what will happen next.

apples in antwerp

where there are apples and maple syrup is where you feel at home.

this morning you and a bel esprit had one last breakfast in the sun.

strawberries and pineapples and yogurt and coffee and homemade cranberry hazelnut granola.

tonight you came back to puddles. to a place you still love, but feels less and less like home.

and tomorrow, home will be mozzarella in paris.