Tonight my daughter went to sleep clutching a silk skirt with a palm tree motif. About twenty minutes later, I heard noise in the bathroom. Upon inspection, I found out that she was trying on the skirt in front of the mirror. Thank God, her tiara was downstairs. She's 3.
I sense that some explanation is due, so I'll try to do my best.
Some of you may be aware of the 'Fitna' polemic raging in the Low Countries. I would like to state for the record that I do NOT condone any of Mr Wilders ideas. What this whole polemic and this movie pressed home to me, was that there is a general lack of respect for ideas, lifestyles, opinions and above all, freedom of expression in a certain part of society. Something I take grave issue with.
I use the clip of gorgeous Italian artist Dalida, singing 'Helwa ya Balady', to drive home my point.
Dalida, like my father, was born in Egypt and lived in Cairo for much of her early life. She left in 1954 to pursue her career as a diva/songstress and in time would be elevated to the status of gay icon (before Madonna even hit the scene). My father, like many other foreigners, was kicked out of Egypt in 1956 when Nasser came to power, with two suitcases and a few piasters in his pocket.
What most of this diasporah shares, is their love for their 'native' country. My father raved about Egypt until his last day on earth. The sun had bored into his skin, as was evident, when I visited his body in the morgue and realised that even in death, the sun's life never had left him. The song 'Helwa ya Balady' (my sweet country) was a fixture of Dalida's repertoire until her death, of suicide.
When I asked my father about life in Alexandria (Claude François country) and Cairo, his eyes tended to glaze over. He would tell stories about how the rabbi from the synagogue would ply the children in the street with chocolate when he needed the necessary minyan to be present to start the service. My grandfather, an Italian Jew, lays buried in the Jewish cemetery in Alexandria. My grandmother, an Irish Catholic, was laid to rest in a Catholic cemetery in Antwerp. My three uncles, respectively a Catholic, a Jew and a Muslim, went to the French Collège des Frères and were taught by a Greek orthodox priest.
We were all raised on the principle of respect and multiculturalism. And our family has continued along these principles. A family reunion of the last three generations means up to 12 different nationalities at the table, and three different religions. I credit this spirit for my family's acceptance of my gayness, and our choice to have a child.
Finally, yesteryear's Cairenes and Alexandrians still search for and meet one another all over the world in an effort to recreate what they have lost.
So why is it that the rest of the world cannot follow our example?
I routinely work with words on a daily basis. In fact, language is all I see, every day. But these are other people's words, not my own. So I undertook to put my own words in writing. Hence, the origin of this blog.
It's been a good six months, and I enjoyed meeting new people with similar or different interests. Some people have even been kind enough to comment on what I've written.
However, at this point, I don't see any added value to this blog. I don't know what it does, except provide me with a vehicle to air my thoughts, opinions and interests.
Maybe I should just limit myself to being a reader, or to my day job even. Maybe I should focus on more important, relevant things. This evening I saw Geert Wilders' film 'Fitna'. It made me think about how people's perceptions cannot be changed, how we all end up choosing a side of the divide, and how people just cannot seem to bridge the gap.
It made me think about the fact that I am gay, and out there, although I have never actually encountered such people, there are people who would actually kill me for loving a woman.
It made me think that it's all very nice to be here on the Internet, blogging about silly daily events, but that there's more going on out there.
It was a fine game, while it lasted. But I think that my time has come to fold.
and get a cleaner instead! That said, we cancelled ours and got a gym membership, figuring that it would be more efficient to burn double calories by cleaning ourselves AND hitting the gym. I'll go to any lengths to avoid relinquishing my double cream!
After some comments that the winners of Belgium's most recent blog awards were just 'wijvenblogs', a bunch of Flemish female blog authors felt that this was somewhat denigrating and most definitely incorrect. In fact, the type of comment made by your typical male blogger that thinks the blogosphere is his domain, and his only. So they want wijvenblogs, they'll get them. This week female bloggers have been invited to contribute to wijvenweek, where women will blog about exclusively feminine subjects... So bear with me, while I break out my tiara and unleash my feminine wiles on you! Since today's theme was 'men', it kind of placed me in somewhat of a quandary. After all, this domestic demi-goddess has been sharing the last 11 years of her lifetime with... a woman. And while I do know men, I don't actually sleep with them, wake up with them or even work with them at this point.
So I thought, and thought, and thought. And then the infamous light bulb popped over my head. What about a post about the ideal man? Except there is no such thing, and I can certainly profess to not having found one, since I finally opted in favour of a woman instead.
Then I reflected on my professional career, where in my last job, before self-employed land, I was the only girl batting on a team of five of the most chauvinistic men I've ever met. Considering that I started my career working as one of three girls on a team of 13 men, I should have come prepared... I mean, what better way to start your Monday mornings than to have your boss walk by your desk and ask you if you had sex this weekend? Uh no, I've been out dancing since Friday night, have slept all of two hours, had too much whiskey and disgusting BiFi rolls, at what point of the weekend do you think that I had the time for some sex, was my standard answer, which inevitably would elicit a guffaw...
The little scouts troop with which I worked, for lack of a better expression since their favourite passtime was outdoor sports during office hours, might have invented the glass ceiling for all I care. God forbid that a woman should actually have, gasp, brains, and even a head on her shoulders. 'Sois-belle et tais-toi'...
So I turned my blogging mind to my male friends: invariably all the men in my life, whether relatives or friends, have always been courteous, caring, loving, in loving relationships, sexy, cute, sweet, intelligent, fun to be with, always up for a joke, clean, good cooks, good house decorators, fun-loving, flaming queens when they need to be, sturdy shoulders to lean on when I needed them, reliable, dependent, ...
Wait, on reflection, they are the ideal men! Dang, if I only I had noticed ;-)
And a dance clip thrown in for extra measure, just because I'd like to stick with my faves. Very 50s, extremely un-PC and on the subject of man... Ann Miller in 'On the Town':
Season 5 draws to a close, and once again continuity was not the forte of the writers of the L-Word. Not that it ever was. The leaps and bounds, the strands of narrative left hanging, never cease to amaze me.
Off the top my head, I can think of Papi (who disappeared off the face of the earth and the chart without so much as a mention), Mark, Helena's children, the fact that Kit, Tina AND Bette can all be out and about, but where is little Angelica in all this (attachment parenting, hello?), Bette and Helena hugging like best friends, Marina (oh, remember Marina) auditioning for Les Girls with her troupe, Carmen, and so on.
Also, I don't know who directed this episode (couldn't be bothered to look it up), but the direction sucked: the sideways profile (Shane/Phyllis scene), the filming through fabric or blinds (Bette and Tina, Jenny and Tina) , the seguing of Bette and Tina in traffic and the chopper overhead with Mama P and the jellyfish venom inside, ack!
But on to more interesting things, the storylines:
- Alice/Tasha: I guess the poster on the bus means that Alice DID get the job. Hurray, and thanks for mentioning that. So being on 'The Look' now means that she has to go dress like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, so she can take a ride on a Vespa. And what's with the identical dressing this season? The Wardrobe people must be on drugs: Bette and Tina, Bette and Jodi, Alice and Clea... Need I go on? Was the Cal-Mart badge a dead give-away that the Alice/Tasha relationship was going down the drain, or was it the police academy that cinched it? At any rate, I almost feel that season 6 will start sans Tasha, with once again no mention of what happened. I'll be very sad to see Rose Rollins go and I will definitely miss her belly laugh. Just seems amazing how Alice is capable of throwing her own principles (remember last week's eppy) out of the window when it suits her. But let's face it, if you're taking advice from Shane on your relationship, you might just as well call it quits.
- Shane/Molly: wow, how quick does Shane cave in to Phyllis on her future with Molly?! Coming from someone who just threw twenty years of marriage down the drain to rediscover her inner lesbian, that is a bit rich. (Also for some reason, Cybill Shepherd reminded me of Dawn French in that scene. All she needed was a giant baby strapped on). But I also think any best friend should know better than to hop on to the best friend's ex, especially when everything is so fresh and raw. That said, in the lesbian world of six degrees of separation, everything is possible, I guess.
- Jenny/Nikki/Adele: pff, I'm guessing that the balcony scene, as it will henceforth be known, (to replace that old favourite, which goes something along the lines of 'O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo) means the end of exciting purple strapon sex. Ah, had we had but more of that this season. I'm looking at you, Bette and Tina! It also gave a whole new meaning to the expression "safe sex", didn't it. As for Adele and Begonia: it's almost as if she lives out Jenny's life as it should have been? Success, and the hot exotic girlfriend to boot. And Jenny could have done MUCH more when she walked in and told Adele that she stole the movie from under her. The end of this episode was slightly puzzling: was this a cliffhanger? Was Jenny referring to Nikki or Shane when she dropped the 'love' word ? Guess we'll have to wait another ten months to find out. Now if this was Dynasty or As The World Turns, someone would have walked up with a machine gun or someone would have fallen off a balcony... No such luck here.
- Jodi: I must have missed something because at what point did Jodi become BFF with everybody overnight? Since I never was on the Jodi bandwagon, let's just say that this episode did nothing to make me change my mind. The 'Core' installation was downright spiteful and the smirk that served it too. Also, I must have been asleep during the past six episodes, because did ANYBODY ever see a videocam in the vicinity of Bette? We all did see the one in Nikki and Jenny's tent (how could we ever forget that memorable scene and the purple dildo) but at Bette's house? And why would someone who is deaf, make an AUDIOvisual installation? And personally, I'd be dialling Joyce Wischnia's number ASAP for assault of character or whatever it is that they call it these days instead of doing a paltry imitation of Annie Leibovitz's photo of Lennon/Ono.
- Bette/Tina: it must have been a pretty bad week at casa Porter/Kennard. First Tina gets kicked off her own set by scheming Adele (if you want this movie on time and on budget) and then Bette gets some pretty strong medicine levelled at her by Jodi. No wonder their heads aren't thinking straight, as Bette mentions having a 'baby brother or sister' for Angelica during the poolside scene. Um, hello, you haven't even decided whether you want to live together yet, have been reunited for all of twelve seconds, and you're talking babies? This will never fly in Peoria, or with the lesbians for that matter. On a nicer note, the ladies took dancing to a whole new level ;-)... The word 'floorgasm' has already been coined.
- Helena: I'll admit to having fanned myself as a sun-kissed, tussled Helena tumbled from under that chopper to greet Peggy P. So Mama P got herself stung by a jellyfish? I was reminded of this story in last week's news. With her untimely demise near, Peggy giveth, taketh and giveth again... and after all that, recommends Helena to go buy Kit a night club, or two... I'm lost for words. And did we see the old Helena shine through there, as she admits to being bored with life on a remote paradise island in Tahiti with a hot criminal wanted for tax evasion? On to the next thrill, rich girl.
- Double D: my God, my lovah Cindy has a middle and last name. It's Cindy Annabel Tucker, if you please, and she manages to serve Denbot her just desserts. And then, for some reason, she's glued to Helena. 'Mmkay?
- Max, wherefore art thou?
Some good moments this season:
- Bette: was Mary fucking Poppins not available (on learning that Bev would be played by a white actress) - Mama P: Were I receptive to such a proposition, it would first require a full booty check. Were you to pass muster baby, I'd give it to you family style. (hmmm, sigh, Holland Taylor, I love how you steal every scene you're in). - Pam Grier for being able to turn two words into a whole line. Max for getting fewer lines every eppy (hi guys, in ep. 12) - Fuck no, Denbo (Alice?) - Nikki/Jenny: We’re going to fuck in a closet? The irony hasn’t escaped me.
On a last note: I can hear groans all around about the baby mention, but has anybody thought about the fact that either Holloman or Beals might be really pregnant and that this has to be worked into the storyline again? They both have three-year olds or thereabouts...
And WHY did someone have to blend the song "2Wicky" by Belgian band Hooverphonic with an Isaac Hayes song and turn it into an onslaught on our ears??? (I'm so vocal on this one, because it was the first song that SO and I shared as a couple, and part of the lyrics made up the title of my first ever post on this blog).
Here, as my parting shot for this season, is the song with the splendid vocals by Liesje Sadonius...
Now if someone would take the memorable Bette and Tina floorgasm and put this to this music, I certainly wouldn't object.
There's an urban legend that says that men think about sex every seven seconds. Women a lot less, I am told. Who knows? Who cares?
When you're in a long-term relationship, however, this mere fact can tip the balance severely.
The impact of parenthood on any (lesbian) relationship cannot be underestimated as my SO and I have witnessed first-hand in our own relationship and the relationships around us.
To this date, we have knowledge of 5 lesbian couples breaking up, one being on the verge of breaking up and one couple that was on the verge. I won't even discuss the straight couples here. What is it precisely that rocks the cradle?
I can only give my own take, as ours was the 'on the verge' relationship.
Three years ago we welcomed our munchkin into our lives. It was an event that had been discussed at length, planned at length and at the end of the day took much less time than we ever expected. Cue, one year and two extremely tired mothers later. While trying to juggle the obligations of parenthood and work, we simply lost sight of the one aspect that had brought us this far in the first place: ourselves. We drifted, on very different seas.
One morning, I looked at my SO and was forced to admit that when she said the sun is shining, and it was actually raining, I no longer believed her. I took a long hard look in the mirror and realised that the same probably applied to myself. Where had those girls of the summer of 1997 gone? It was a tough discussion, one that occasionally still gives rise to some extremely poisonous barbs from my loved one.
As time passed, the subject lay dormant between us, and we circled it with some apprehension. Little did we know the answer would come from an unexpected angle.
Recently, my SO underwent some rather invasive surgery. The operation led to some minute changes in her appearance - a change of haircut, pregnancy clothes to alleviate the pressure on her scar - and an extended leave at home. Gone were the circles under the eyes, the severe hairstyle, with hair drawn back, the uniform for work. Eyes that had always been light sparkled once again in a rested face, framed by hair, that was, well, hair again. I rediscovered curves on her body that I had forgotten existed. I found myself wanting to be near her again, feel her skin touching mine at night, nuzzling up to her by day. In short, I found her sexy again. Her external appearance enhanced all of those aspects of her personality that attracted me to her in the first place.
So a word of advice to impending mothers: while the care of your child takes a lot out of you, you should never lose sight of that other priority. Yourselves.
The Easter Weekend is upon us. Some people make peep centerpieces. I bake.
The dough for tomorrow's hot cross buns is proving in the fridge.. Technically, we should have had them today but since SO and I were the on duty mothers in kindergarten this morning, running a breakfast restaurant for 27 toddlers and taking part in a 'jump' class with them - Don't ask, it's a Belgian thing -, they went by the wayside.
My mother is in charge of the paschal lamb and I of desert: coconut cake with physalis and ice cream as well as a lemon meringue cake. Guess I know what I shall be doing tomorrow afternoon.
In the meantime the black sheep of the family, my uncle, has surfaced again today. My mother has as usual imploded and has retreated in floods. My grandmother of course has welcomed the prodigal son with wide-open arms. You get the picture.
Thank God, it's a long weekend and we have an easter egg hunt, some snow and an episode of the L-Word to look forward to.
ETA: photo of cakes. Because I have to live up to my reputation of domestic demi-goddess... The hyacinth and narcissus in the background will hopefully flower soon. The munchkin kindly provided the artwork.
The William Tell Overture, as interpreted by Anita Renfroe. She might not have the greatest voice, and I know she is a comedian on the christian women circuit, but hey, she's a mum and it's all in a day's work...
I'm a failed domestic demi-goddess, fallen from the heavens, here to threaten you all with bad spelling and too much food, an arched eyebrow or two and too many adjectives. Don't you just love me?
After some comments that the winners of Belgium's most recent blog awards were just 'wijvenblogs', a bunch of Flemish female blog authors felt that this was somewhat denigrating and most definitely incorrect. In fact, the type of comment made by your typical male blogger that thinks the blogosphere is his domain, and his only. 
And what's with the identical dressing this season? The Wardrobe people must be on drugs: Bette and Tina, Bette and Jodi, Alice and Clea... Need I go on?
The Easter Weekend is upon us.
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