samedi 13 juin 2009

Moi aussi, partie en poussière

Falstaff, in bud

new David Austin English rose I planted yesterday
along with Anne Boleyn and Kathryn Morley

I'm late. I should have left now, but I have been working on my costume for the birthday party, Min-Hoï and Ariane's 50th (to think I was there for the 30th, the soirée Bleu Marine, at the apartment on the avenue de la Motte Piquet... sigh). The theme is "50 ans de pub", and Audouin woke up with a better idea than the one I had when I woke up.

I wanted one that included him, his absence, and made a joke of it so everyone would laugh, and not "faire la tête", at least his sister.

There was a commerical on TV, back when I first lived in France, for Pliz (pronounced "please"... who says the French don't speak English?). A woman ties an enormous dust cloth around her neck, leaves the room, and reenters at a trot (she's a stout, older cleaning woman) to take a running leap onto a long dining table and glides down its length, like a beer on the zinc, and the announcer says "Pliz, prend la poussière au piège".

Here I have been, sewing little fragments of pictures of Audouin -- on duty at the hospital (his grand classique) while there's a party, "parti en poussière", meaning "gone", or "disappeared", or "taken off" --, onto a dust cloth, when I should have been sewing them onto a giant piece of yellow fabric to tie around my neck, the photos of him sewn to that! Avec Pliz, Audouin, parti en poussière, reste sur le chiffron... get it?

I even have a piece of yellow cloth, somewhere.

Now, where did I put it? [searching through the drawers... rustle, rustle...]

Et c'est tant mieux parce que je ne ferai pas ça tous les jours.

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