Grandpa Leo died yesterday morning, Monday, March 8, 2010. He did not catch the flu or any cancer that H1 is fashionable to blame when a landowner withdrew permanently from the world. He was not senile or any disease that suppresses stupidly dropper to the memory of the hard disk. He did not drink, at least not beyond the glass of wine recommended by any respectable physician, and he did not smoke, at least not since my memory could fix her memory as to render his figure gaunt material. Certainly, the culinary art of his wife was the only vice to which he would have abandoned any license, a generous kitchen after a long rural tradition that concocted every day my late grandmother and shouting themselves hoarse that insatiable foie gras, a product caused by Siros granny in person force to push the funnel in the neck tapered goose she raised in city, in their small farmhouse, syrupy soup of vegetables which floated a little glass of wine poured into the hollow of the plate of french fries drenched in glistening oil fatty liver, without forgetting of course the smiling ear offered to individual desires grandmother always ready to simmer in her home the forbidden childhood.
No, Grandpa died withered top of its 89 years in perfect health after his usual breakfast of the morning. On Monday, he opened his eyes to the promise of a new day. Even if grandma had left him fifteen years earlier, even if he had felt more maintain the garden of his small estate in town and joined himself to the nursing home that housed and cared for his melancholy, he knew getting up that morning he would find Pascaline, his girlfriend with whom he shared a few walks and drives to the ball and he could no longer drive, it melted the car (the Citroën, it goes without saying!), his eyes not allowing for more recently (just think, 89 years ago), but well-established scenario of life made him set foot on the ground each morning after a good night's sleep, to sleep early to get up even earlier, the vital impulse still gave meaning to his solitude, which was measured at narrowing progressive of his universe. And this morning, Monday 08 March, just yesterday, his heart rang the bell, without warning, with the authority conferred upon millions of years of animal life. A patriarch died in the privacy of its feverish toilets (yes, the mower does not wait, this is its least fault, it looks pretty so we do not protest when his turn).
of paper, I would like to keep a few pictures as the years have knitted in the alcove of my hard disk: first, this photo languishing in a family album, with my parents, and where is papi stands down from his 80 meter, front of the shoe closet of my childhood home. A photograph banal ... except for me, your grand-son. You never knew the importance to me this picture of you and the little bundle of joy that I was at the time (4 years, 5 years?), Whom you remember from your arms and huge which displays the same serious expression as you, forever expression identified in you: a mixture of seriousness, austerity and authority. Yes, Grandpa, I was already 4 years old like you. I knew the futility of life, the transience of the few magical moments where every wish has to leave at one time or another. My parents have a picture of you and me together: one. But what could he used to do when the other one and only caught one sixtieth of a second of an eternal truth understood only me and you?
Smile me again when I see you still out at the table at the end of supper, your imitation of teeth attached to a resin of the color of the metal, and put you to suck them into a horrible sucking sound that penetrated my flesh to disgust. All the guests were taking advantage of free entertainment in your greed when it came to licking the traces of soups or meat left on your device. But nobody said anything, I was silent too, holding the issues bothering me: how could you remove your teeth at will? I do understand that much later, at age 12, once operated a quist of the jaw which had won five teeth torn from life, reducing me to the state of his old man sentenced to suck soup.
The moment the meal is crucial to understand what you are being charged in Family Frayssinhes. You ate greedily all the good dishes for your wife who knew receive surprise guests. When there was food for 2, there were also 6. Grandma spent her morning and part of his afternoon to meet you ... and never had a thank you, never the slightest expression of gratitude to your wife. Myriam cousin will never forgive you for having reduced the life of his grandmother home, she cut her hens head with a savagery that terrified me, especially when I saw the decapitated bird trying to escape in spite of everything a geyser blood gore worthy of a film by Sam Raimi. You spent your afternoon god knew where. You'd have to answer to anyone. All were good excuses for leaving your area. Your satisfaction began as soon as you came on foot in one of Citroen countless successive in your long life. You loved the fine mechanics, the sweet music of the engines silent, the slamming of the door on the palate of your DS. You loved yourself comfortably in the driver's seat and admire the dashboard of your shiny new acquisition. Where was leaving you with your treasures? What countries did you go exploring, what adventures continue with your attentions?
In fact, you stayed mostly in town, you were going to test the temperature in the corridors of City Hall to smell the hard work of politics, to hear the Mayor or one of his relatives that you wanted to hear about the endless bloopers right. Right, the Dextra, the clever, always had two heads ahead of the Left, the sinister, ominous. You came back from those discussions with senior political dignitaries proud of the unwavering conviction that inhabits you tirelessly triggers you to reject all arguments that you could argue. Your dream was of the glorious trappings of the USA, the country of freedoms, the country of migrants, the countries of the success, wealth, the country imposing buildings scraping the sky.
Years and years and years talking about the USA, to cite an example ... until the day the dream was nearly s'exaucer. Belatedly maybe. You had already passed the age of major projects. You felt sick at least that you had simply been afraid. Afraid to take the Concorde that you had spent your time admiring the CRT. Afraid to leave your country, afraid to let the little world in which portable you felt so well. My father had wanted to offer you America for your 70 years (I forget exactly), even more than America, New York, the eternal city where glass is neither unemployment nor tramps nor affected districts like Harlem or the Bronx. You did not explode with joy the day my father has entrusted the project he was planning to you, for him, for you. I've never caught in the enthusiasm as in despair. Emotions, repressing you behind the mask of impassive tone. But I knew that the gift of your step-son was to them what your Father Christmas poses to the child about to receive for the first time in her white hands the gift delighted. This trip, you would have done, you might have to live: you're simply the dream, citing health concerns.
But you would not miss for anything in the world of a News who offered you twice a day, 13h and 20h, the new world which thou filledst regurgitate for your family when an event were right to your right side. No one was allowed to sit on your chair at the hour of national information on pain of being packed like a common alley cat that needs to be abandoned on the wool of the sofa.
Children. That's it! The word is out! Children, those who bothered indécrôtables nosy always the calm order of the garden that you maintain if maniacally. Children, this is not what was missing in the family, starting with yours. 6 children, 2 girls. Known exponential force of procreation, then it will not be surprised when your 6 children to spring forth magically 13 small children, so many worries, so many tricks. Why today's children cry so much? Why toil they want to speak at the table, to rhyme, when they could look down on their plate and eat wisely to keep silent as the brothers of Tom Thumb? But why the children are they on the gravel in the aisles in your area and they disturb what you've spent hours away? Why do they go up on the sofa to tear his hair in wild repeated struggles? But why they trample on your lawn at the risk of printing the print of their shoes fire? Why did they use the gift barn on the edge of your garden as a hiding place to hide and seek? Why do they ride on your cherries in the summer? What it takes their whim to climb well on their branches? Why do they scare the chickens the hen house? Children, you've always had on the back, your life, and Grandma has found nothing better, once your children married and became parents of 13 adorable Mouflets, to welcome under his roof of youth DDAS, as if to raise his family had not been enough! With the DDAS, moreover, are served with premium children their family problems, their stories of divorce and abandonment, assault and battery. And above all, these brats without manners have become playmates for your own grandchildren, before becoming for them as full members of the vast siblings.
The criticisms do not miss about you, even on the side of my cousins. Everyone knows, or has got to know the sad story of the son you never recognized, the eldest son from the union sacrilege of your wife with a biological father as the years have covered with the veil, but oh practice of anonymity. I know you do not often open for granny's arms or your tenderness it expanded to the narrow parts of the world destined to which the status of woman, wife and mother. You were yourself the fruit of education he is now easy to describe as retrograde, but you never had the means to challenge. You were not a father nor a husband tender: you brought the money home, and it's already a lot.
I leave you papi, reassured to have evoked some pictures of you ... not much ... Breadcrumb qu'égrènera my memory until it is not plagued by the disease of forgetfulness.
soon.
your little son-
No, Grandpa died withered top of its 89 years in perfect health after his usual breakfast of the morning. On Monday, he opened his eyes to the promise of a new day. Even if grandma had left him fifteen years earlier, even if he had felt more maintain the garden of his small estate in town and joined himself to the nursing home that housed and cared for his melancholy, he knew getting up that morning he would find Pascaline, his girlfriend with whom he shared a few walks and drives to the ball and he could no longer drive, it melted the car (the Citroën, it goes without saying!), his eyes not allowing for more recently (just think, 89 years ago), but well-established scenario of life made him set foot on the ground each morning after a good night's sleep, to sleep early to get up even earlier, the vital impulse still gave meaning to his solitude, which was measured at narrowing progressive of his universe. And this morning, Monday 08 March, just yesterday, his heart rang the bell, without warning, with the authority conferred upon millions of years of animal life. A patriarch died in the privacy of its feverish toilets (yes, the mower does not wait, this is its least fault, it looks pretty so we do not protest when his turn).
of paper, I would like to keep a few pictures as the years have knitted in the alcove of my hard disk: first, this photo languishing in a family album, with my parents, and where is papi stands down from his 80 meter, front of the shoe closet of my childhood home. A photograph banal ... except for me, your grand-son. You never knew the importance to me this picture of you and the little bundle of joy that I was at the time (4 years, 5 years?), Whom you remember from your arms and huge which displays the same serious expression as you, forever expression identified in you: a mixture of seriousness, austerity and authority. Yes, Grandpa, I was already 4 years old like you. I knew the futility of life, the transience of the few magical moments where every wish has to leave at one time or another. My parents have a picture of you and me together: one. But what could he used to do when the other one and only caught one sixtieth of a second of an eternal truth understood only me and you?
Smile me again when I see you still out at the table at the end of supper, your imitation of teeth attached to a resin of the color of the metal, and put you to suck them into a horrible sucking sound that penetrated my flesh to disgust. All the guests were taking advantage of free entertainment in your greed when it came to licking the traces of soups or meat left on your device. But nobody said anything, I was silent too, holding the issues bothering me: how could you remove your teeth at will? I do understand that much later, at age 12, once operated a quist of the jaw which had won five teeth torn from life, reducing me to the state of his old man sentenced to suck soup.
The moment the meal is crucial to understand what you are being charged in Family Frayssinhes. You ate greedily all the good dishes for your wife who knew receive surprise guests. When there was food for 2, there were also 6. Grandma spent her morning and part of his afternoon to meet you ... and never had a thank you, never the slightest expression of gratitude to your wife. Myriam cousin will never forgive you for having reduced the life of his grandmother home, she cut her hens head with a savagery that terrified me, especially when I saw the decapitated bird trying to escape in spite of everything a geyser blood gore worthy of a film by Sam Raimi. You spent your afternoon god knew where. You'd have to answer to anyone. All were good excuses for leaving your area. Your satisfaction began as soon as you came on foot in one of Citroen countless successive in your long life. You loved the fine mechanics, the sweet music of the engines silent, the slamming of the door on the palate of your DS. You loved yourself comfortably in the driver's seat and admire the dashboard of your shiny new acquisition. Where was leaving you with your treasures? What countries did you go exploring, what adventures continue with your attentions?
In fact, you stayed mostly in town, you were going to test the temperature in the corridors of City Hall to smell the hard work of politics, to hear the Mayor or one of his relatives that you wanted to hear about the endless bloopers right. Right, the Dextra, the clever, always had two heads ahead of the Left, the sinister, ominous. You came back from those discussions with senior political dignitaries proud of the unwavering conviction that inhabits you tirelessly triggers you to reject all arguments that you could argue. Your dream was of the glorious trappings of the USA, the country of freedoms, the country of migrants, the countries of the success, wealth, the country imposing buildings scraping the sky.
Years and years and years talking about the USA, to cite an example ... until the day the dream was nearly s'exaucer. Belatedly maybe. You had already passed the age of major projects. You felt sick at least that you had simply been afraid. Afraid to take the Concorde that you had spent your time admiring the CRT. Afraid to leave your country, afraid to let the little world in which portable you felt so well. My father had wanted to offer you America for your 70 years (I forget exactly), even more than America, New York, the eternal city where glass is neither unemployment nor tramps nor affected districts like Harlem or the Bronx. You did not explode with joy the day my father has entrusted the project he was planning to you, for him, for you. I've never caught in the enthusiasm as in despair. Emotions, repressing you behind the mask of impassive tone. But I knew that the gift of your step-son was to them what your Father Christmas poses to the child about to receive for the first time in her white hands the gift delighted. This trip, you would have done, you might have to live: you're simply the dream, citing health concerns.
But you would not miss for anything in the world of a News who offered you twice a day, 13h and 20h, the new world which thou filledst regurgitate for your family when an event were right to your right side. No one was allowed to sit on your chair at the hour of national information on pain of being packed like a common alley cat that needs to be abandoned on the wool of the sofa.
Children. That's it! The word is out! Children, those who bothered indécrôtables nosy always the calm order of the garden that you maintain if maniacally. Children, this is not what was missing in the family, starting with yours. 6 children, 2 girls. Known exponential force of procreation, then it will not be surprised when your 6 children to spring forth magically 13 small children, so many worries, so many tricks. Why today's children cry so much? Why toil they want to speak at the table, to rhyme, when they could look down on their plate and eat wisely to keep silent as the brothers of Tom Thumb? But why the children are they on the gravel in the aisles in your area and they disturb what you've spent hours away? Why do they go up on the sofa to tear his hair in wild repeated struggles? But why they trample on your lawn at the risk of printing the print of their shoes fire? Why did they use the gift barn on the edge of your garden as a hiding place to hide and seek? Why do they ride on your cherries in the summer? What it takes their whim to climb well on their branches? Why do they scare the chickens the hen house? Children, you've always had on the back, your life, and Grandma has found nothing better, once your children married and became parents of 13 adorable Mouflets, to welcome under his roof of youth DDAS, as if to raise his family had not been enough! With the DDAS, moreover, are served with premium children their family problems, their stories of divorce and abandonment, assault and battery. And above all, these brats without manners have become playmates for your own grandchildren, before becoming for them as full members of the vast siblings.
The criticisms do not miss about you, even on the side of my cousins. Everyone knows, or has got to know the sad story of the son you never recognized, the eldest son from the union sacrilege of your wife with a biological father as the years have covered with the veil, but oh practice of anonymity. I know you do not often open for granny's arms or your tenderness it expanded to the narrow parts of the world destined to which the status of woman, wife and mother. You were yourself the fruit of education he is now easy to describe as retrograde, but you never had the means to challenge. You were not a father nor a husband tender: you brought the money home, and it's already a lot.
I leave you papi, reassured to have evoked some pictures of you ... not much ... Breadcrumb qu'égrènera my memory until it is not plagued by the disease of forgetfulness.
soon.
your little son-
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