Snowplow Man.

I thought of Billy and then Erin when I woke, flew out of bed, eight minutes to spare before having to fly out the door with Kurt Vile to get to Dracula's house (Leo was wearing his Dracula jammies and a huge smirk when I walked in this morning). Billy laughing; I heard it when I woke. Miss you man. I thought of you smashing a badminton racket against the gym wall just to get a rise out of Bev Isabey. It worked, she was furious, the racket spent. I watched you in half horror, half delight (probably from a side bench, distraught with pretend period woes just to get out of badminton) wishing I had the same gumption as my cousin. I would love to smash a racket against a wall while looking at someone's face for a reaction.

Erin, I heard your laugh too. Wish I was sitting at my little red table in the sunny kitchen on Jessie, tea steeping, waiting for my sister to knock. There would be a record on, probably Cat Power's Jukebox as it is a great morning listen. We would sit and dunk cookies for breakfast into tea, taking turns tell each other our dreams for the future. Someday, we will meet in the morning again and plan our work for the day. I have no doubt in my mind that at some point in the future, we will run one hell of a business together. All encompassing, sharp, soft and pretty. Who knows, I like to dream about it before sleeping, always hoping it will tether itself to my sleep-thought and the story will continue to unfold while I sleep, my cat Hey Puss at my feet.

This week was totally insane. One of the craziest I have lived through in quite some time. Jillian saved my sanity on Saturday night after a loooooooooooong kitchen shift and a walk around town in search of a mysterious battery for my flash. Oh Rouge, how I long to hop in your Volvo to do some midnight grocery shopping. I would look for you in the cheesebun aisle and you would know to find me elbow deep in the tiny cookie aisle. You would pay because I forgot my wallet and we would go pick up Lisa and sweet Maude. My triplettes of Beconia Beach. I would give away a limb to cozy up in that little home away from home with you women, Lisa flying around laden with blankets, Madhavi rolling rolling rolling, Rouge stoking the fire and me taking photos of all the soft faces.

After hanging up the phone with Jillian as she finished off her stick and poke, I colored in a few of the horses I was idly drawing while chatting and decided to NOT GO TO BED, even though it really would have been the wise thing to do at such an ungodly hour. With my Running Room jacket and boots, Vile and I left for the East in the pouring rain. How glorious, March RAIN!!!!! What a sight to behold, the Great Melt! Party. I cut through the rain, feeling completely elated but the sudden change in weather and laughing at anyone holding an umbrella, head bobbing with such passion to the music wrapped around my uncovered head. JJ met me in a sassy as always outfit and led me back to the party she had left. I noticed a gorgeous pair of boots on a long man with sparkly eyes and greeted on-comers with my politest french. Bienvenue, entrez! JJ and I went downstairs and we were greeted warmly by a bunch of french bees in the basement hive. I saw a pingpong table and all I could think about was playing against myself as a kid in our own basement in the country. The French party was good; I mingled mutely, laughing at all the wrong times. It will come, eventually.

Living as an anglo in Frenchland is strange. I feel inadequate at times, an English burden. But for some reason, after hanging up with Rouge, I felt proud of who I was and what I have accomplished in my young years. I speak English yes, but I do so much more than that. Body language, Madge. Use your body, your smile, your eyes to tell the story. I tried my best and was received warmly by a new circle of people (hot french babes included, woooh!) that I cannot understand. Moving from Winnipeg, where everyone is a STAR (if you want to be) to Montreal is C-WAZY MALADE. I am learning so much by listening. It is not that I have nothing to say, oh I have stories to share, anecdotes coming out of my English ears; I have no way to say it yet. For now I am listening, thanks to the wonderful advice of my moon life giver, listening to the rhythm and cadence of French. I want to be FRENCHED. But not yet, I have too much to learn a la moment.

Life is good, not easy as I once knew it, but good. For the first time in my life I am enjoying and executing BOTH of my jobs with everything that I have, there is a lot of love for what I do here. My boychild is busy as EVER, but the thought of life without his curiosity and laughter is mystifying. Life as I know it sans Le Poulet? NO WAY am I ready to leave this nest yet. As for the kitchen, well. Every weekend I leave that place with new knowledge, practical KNOWLEDGE (the ONLY kind I seem to be able to retain) tucked away. I long for a Japanese knife. The new head chef, Eli, a quiet man with savage knife skills is teaching me how to sharpen knives with a stone. Operation Stone, I don't own one yet. Actually, I don't own any knives worth sharpening. I love watching men sharpen knives, it gets me fired up. I love being the only little woman in the kitchen, flying around with hot pans, calling out French words "derrier" as I sail between oven and butcher block. I know myself in a KITCHEN. Shit do I know myself. Most of the rest of the time I flounder around, questioning how in the world I will ever make something of myself.

It is the journey, it is the journey. Who am I? Who have I become in this new world? For anyone curious, I work seven days per week 9-5 (first time in my life that I LOVE that time slot instead of loathe it), come home, headphones, draw by lamplight, tidy. Then I make soup. I have made about five types of soup in the last 8 days. It is all I want to do. And they are good! JJ has sampled most of them, I think I am onto something.

Here are my dreams of Monday:

- go to New York, try it
- moped around India with Creme, try it
- learn how to shoot the Russian without the shake and rumble
- learn how to dye
- learn how to except death
- cook more meat (yikes)
- make Ma's white buns
- shoot more fashion spots (I love fashion)
- speak more French, even though it sounds terrible
- go to New York, soon (in JUNE with June)
- make giant flowers
- plant Geraniums
- draw more
- go to New York

New week, new dreams. I have a lot of work cut out of me this week. Lola also offered me a little interview spot for her blog project, aptly titled "Le Blog Edgy" for Montreal's upcoming Edgy Women's Festival. We are edgy women, hear us roar. I am realllllly looking forward to dipping my toes in this project. More on this later! Le Poulet is awake.

Mute Margot from Frenchland reports.