Weekends come and go and do the same. After a weekend trip with friends filled with abuse, I spent this time two days in Vancouver very quiet, mostly alone. Both options have their good sides, I love being surrounded by people I love, but I also need my time to myself, alone. In this case, I had many things running through my head, and a great need for calm to let the little things in question trot at their ease.
Housekeeping music store, I take possession of my space after failing. And it feels good to know dust tamed by vacuuming, to see everything in its place, almost. I can not help it, there will always be two to three gadgets lying around, but it's part of my vision of order, I suppose. Librarian at heart, okay, but not completely neurotic.
A very pleasant time on Saturday afternoon to finally chat with Anne quietly in front of a piece of cake (for her, I took me a soup) at Aphrodite's on 4th Avenue. To repeat more often. Luckily, I have all year to do it again. Thank you, god weekends.
And then one of my favorite moments of the week comes on Sunday morning. If I'm not out to point an hour yesterday, we agree. I get up early, but without waking me strength, I take my time, I listen to music. This Sunday, it was simple and perfect, I received it last Quebec a few days ago, I laminated alternately listening Bonobo Kraked Unit, with good coffee. I turned round in recent times, the music side, and I needed something different. It's done, I found. This is nothing new, it does not come out, but it went into my ears at a time when they desperately needed.
known Kraked Unit for music and movies Paris Klapish of Russian Dolls. Bonobo and then, my faith, you may be familiar. I do not know but I have good friends who share their discoveries. I never get tired of those two these days.
Other than that, I begin a film cycle, it seems. I began Sunday afternoon with Another Year at Fifth Avenue . The room was full and the average age was quite high. Let's say we had a lot of white hair. Not on my head, anyway, I was just coming to me dying.
Another year is a film about people. One year, four seasons, it follows a couple (with white hair, hence the hearing, I guess) and their entourage, their son, their friends. The couple is solid, accomplice, wise and happy. We would like to end up like this ... Other characters are less fortunate, especially the touching Mary, excellent Lesley Manville, who manages to make us feel a subtle range of emotions throughout the film. I'll talk about other movies I expect to see in another post, finally, if I remember. This one I liked, but left me a little something ...
To finish the weekend with serenity, I took yoga Sunday night. That's at least one positive consequence of a moment of deep frustration that hit me in the late afternoon. I had a choice as a brooding ill at home, wondering when will I finally understand that there are situations which will be repeated forever in my life, or go out with my carpet under his arm, and spend one hour to breathe and do me good. I chose the constructive option.
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