Eh oui, il est venu le temps de mettre des chaussettes dans la maison (j'adore ces chaussettes hautes de Betsey Johnson), jusqu'à ce qu'ils démarrent le chauffage au moins, d'ici une couple de mois. Cela a commencé hier soir, ce froid, brusquement, malgré les papillons dans le ventre qui me torturent tout l'après-midi, et mon coeur qui me donne des palpitations littéralement, vers 1h30-2h, il bat de façon très irrégulière, très lentement et fort, cela m'arrive pour quelques secondes à chaques 3-4 mois, mais là c'était long comme jamais, j'ai du aller chercher mon portable, je me suis fait peur moi-même comme une vieille hypocondriaque, pour appeler quelqu'un si ça continuait, le fait de m'être mise debout pour aller chercher mon téléphone l'a arrêté, avant je m'étais allongée dès que cela a commencé, anyway je dois aller voir un medecin pour ça, voir si j'ai vraiment un souffle au coeur comme ma mère m'a dit).
Mis à part ces problèmes physiologiques, ce fut comme un aquiècement, une acceptation, la réalisation de quelques chose qui jusque là ne l'était pas (réalisé et accepté). Et de là je me tourne et retourne dans mon lit jusqu'à une heure du matin, sans être capable de dormir, et Lu qui ronfle de son nez bouché (si petit ce nez, et si puissants ces ronflements!...), mais rassurez-vous, cela n'a rien à voir avec aucune des choses que j'écris ici.
My least favorite time of the year, the one that gives me goosebumps and anxiety, and always has, is around the beginning to the middle of august, the (almost) end of the summer, which I hate. I love summer, I always had, birhtday, vacation, the seaside when younger in my country, no school, freedom and trips, skimpy clothes, walking a lot, going to the parc, terasses and pools. At some point though, in the beginning of august, the weather starts to cool down, especially in the mornings and evenings, shorter days and shorter evenings, you start to need a light sweater and you're not yet accepting the fact summer may well be over soon, as well as the summer vacation, if you're in school. It's painfull, the denial is strong in the beginning.
My favorite time of the year is just after that (it's funny they're just back to back), the beginning of autumn, the red leaves, trips for hiking in the mountains, the excitement of the new school beginning, new crayons, books, notebooks, their smell I still remember, getting back old friends not seen for months, the wine making in the countryside of my father's home village, apple picking, sunny but cooler days, new clothes, pullovers and coats, going back home from wherever, and finally accepting summer is over and something new has started, something fresh and exciting and new. Different smell and different feeling. Different.
The least favorite time of the year, and it still is, no matter how many things change throughout the years, even if I am now in a new home, and even if I like it even more than when I was young, going back to school, this time still scares me a little. I used to wake up in the morning and my grand-mother would make my breakfast : bread and butter, honey or jam, or cheese sometimes on the bread, with chocolate milk (or was it coffee with a lot of milk as I was getting older?), at her home on the outskirts of Bucarest, and for a few days she was telling me that mornings were now getting chilier, so she would then ask me whether I would still want to have my breakfast in the garden, and I would get mad at her, for why is she asking me that, of course I still want to eat outside, it's not like it's winter already or something...
As she put the food in front of me, I was really starting to feel it, the cold of the august morning, and although shivering, I would refuse and take off as soon as she was going back in the kitchen her favorite (and mine) lavender colored cotton sweater she wore for special occasions, or she put on my shoulders whenever I was cold. But I did not want no sweater, because I did not want to see that summer will soon be over, ok, maybe not right away, but soon, in 3-4 weeks, so only 3-4 weeks left of the long, looooong summer vacation.
It's not like I did not want to go back to school, not at all, I always liked school, my friends and colleagues from my class, my teachers, studying was fun too, but there was something difficult to accept about things that finish, things that change, people I would have to say good-bye to (my grand-mother, even though she was not far from our home, and she came to visit us every week almost, my friends from her neighborhood), going back at home, where things were a little different. And that gave me a little bit of sadness and papillons dans le ventre.
I was especially sad in front of the realisation I would have to leave my grand-mother and her welcoming house, where I felt so at home. I was first brought there to her when I was a few weeks old during my first summer ever, and then when I was about 7 months I moved there to live with her, so my parents can finish university. So I knew every corner, object and little spider of this house like the back of my hand.
As a baby at that time I think, I got really close to her (and also to my uncle who was living wih her, my mom's brother, which at that time was just recently married, and wanted to have children of his own, and he loved me a lot, him and my aunt taking care of me and walking my stroller around town), and for the rest of the time I knew her, I felt closer to her than anybody else. So it was sadening for me to go back home to the city, at least for a while.
As I was sitting looking at my food, I did not feel like eating right away. Normally I would get a book (I was always reading one while eating, sometimes even at noon if we had no one over), put my naked feet on the side of the table (as an american, she would say, and even now if I am alone, I eat and study in this position), and eat. But not now. Rather I held my legs under my chair, and feeling the cold, wondering why I am already awake, before my sister and two cousins which were there all the time, since I was not (even then) a morning person, looking at everything around me, smelling the air, seeing the morning light, lighter and whiter than before, less yellow light, thinner the objects.
I was looking at everything as if noticing every little detail for the first time, wanting to have an exact imprint of the view I had, for later, to remember it exactly how it was : the whole side of the house, the vine from its walls to the fruit trees on the other side of the garden, making for shade and cool all summer long (and summers there were hot), the swing close to the well (of which water I did not like the taste, so she was getting my water from the street corner well), the high, dark green fence in front of me, through which I would see one neighbor or other pass, going about their daily business, tanti Tanta's house across the street, her in her garden, or coming over to our house's fence shouting at my grand-ma always "Fa, Ecaterino!...", asking for this and that, the ocasional, rather rare, car passing our street, every detail and object I saw and registered in my head like a photograph, for later (and tougher) times, my home. Even though just summer home.
And the light of the morning sun was different, somewhat whiter, and the air smelled of other things, like of raisins ripe on the vine, and of nuts from the nut tree (the biggest and oldest tree from all around that neighborhood) becoming nuts, and other things I have now forgot.
Summer home, but also adventure home, for everything was an adventure. Or so it seemed then. Or so it seems now.
More to come tomorrow, since almost falling asleep while typing..........
No comments:
Post a Comment