The unapologetic romanticist that naturally dwells inside me obviously rooted impassioned for Barbara Pravi when she tried to overcome this year’s Eurovision with her powerful presence and poetic phrases. My cheers were not only for representing our current homecountry, but for her warmhearted words that reminded me French is the perfect parlance of passion, remarkably without the flush of embarrassment that usually guides their translation into other languages, condemning such pathetics.
I’ve become quite the expert in manically maneuvering a rich inner world myself, no other comparison intended than a friendly note of recognition (“Moi, c’que j’veux c’est écrire des histoires qui arrivent jusqu’à vous”), be sure to never allow me to sing, so with proper pathos I cannot but share the exciting news that I’ve had my first anti covid shot two weeks ago, without any noticeable side effects, followed by Ivory who got his on Friday, tragically with lesser luck, which in my simple medical mind must mean he would have become violently ill had he caught the actual virus, so Hurray anyway.
In the middle of all this sanguine solace there was also my mother’s birthday to muse on, who would have turned ninety-five had she’d still been here, which was exactly what I wrote my sister, “wish she was still here”, only to mark her physical absence because in my reality she never truly left me, not really. Her percipient presence has structurally shifted over the years, away from the hilariously quirky but woebegone Alzheimer patient, far away from the lamentable need for reminisce to substitute, back to who she really was.
As explained in Greek mythology Iris embodies the personification of the Goddess of the Rainbow and fulfills the role of messenger of the gods. The irises at Les Pierres, planted by the previous occupants of our tiny paradise, perfervidly cursed because for the most part of the year they make weeding a nightmare, have been displaying their glorious violetly blue blooms for some time now, but I have been lingering for a better suited moment to turn my social spotlight on them. Barbara’s cri de coeur convinced me it’s about time to share their literal gayety.