Friday, February 15th, 2013

/! FIRST ARTICLES FINALLY ONLINE ! SCROLL DOWN /!

This website is meant to be the english version of my current blog. Once ready, I will be translating myself all of the articles previously published on the french version, plus translating my writing as simultaneously as it is possible to me. English not being my first language, the task will be challeging and any help or suggestion are more than welcome if you do realise any mistake in my english writing.
Les lecteurs français sont, quant à eux, invités à me lire par ici: A foot in my wild life ! :)

Saturday, January 14th, 2012

Her name is Betty and she has short shingled hair, like in the roaring twenties. Her touch of eccentricity is probably what makes her a wonderful woman at her age. She’s close to 80 years old, and yet, she has the soul of a 15 years old teenager. Since quite a while now, I come to see her and her fellow sufferers every monday, tuesday, and thursday. Sometimes, I do even spend my free time overhere, building puzzles while challenging the narrow minded side of some. I would never have thought to have the patience and the energy to take care of the elderly, and yet it is the most rewarding thing I have ever done until now.


On monday morning, I’m part of the fitness class where I am the assistant of the present educator; we are doing a few exercices in order to get their muscles working on so they don’t have to deal with osteoarthritis, among others muscular diseases. Henry takes part of the class, and I’m always asking myself why -every once in a while, he breaks one of the elastic bands we use because he has so much energy and strength. Then it’s very funny to observe his half shy hald proud smile. The truth is this dear Henry only comes to this class to impress the women, and especially Betty. It only took me a couple of days here to figure it what was happening between those two scallywags. The looks, smiles, and cheeky insinuations… to observe those two is as funny as observing two teenagers looking for each other.


Betty’s eyes are sparkling when she talks about her past. Her memories are so detailed it doesn’t feel that far. For that matter, it is sort of similar for everyone else here. Still on monday, early afternoon, we play card games. Most of the time, games to get their memories functioning. In about an hour, everyone tells stories about their past and my eyes are shining to every single word pronunced. It can’t be otherwise, except if you don’t have a heart. Then I realise how elderly people have this incredible ability our generation will never have. I am nearly capable of remembering what happened to me two years ago, on the other hands, they are able to tell you detailed stories of what happened when they were still young adults discovering the world. This is just impressive.


On tuesday morning, there is a kinda music class going on. Everyone sings along with the teacher playing the guitar. They are not always in rythm, some are out of tune, others seem to have been singers in the past… but they all sing willingly and this warms up my little heart.


On thursday afternoon, it’s time for errands. But only if the temperature is kind enough. In a mini bus, we are exploring the city: library, local markets, coffee… and if the weather isn’t warm enough, we stay in and I will talk to some, build puzzles with others, or else. I have the feeling to be a granddaughter for all of those people. And, somehow, it kinda makes me feel sad. I realise I didn’t really spend any quality time with my own grandparents. Or at least, not enough.



As strange as it may seem, each time I go visit them, I feel full of energy and hope. It gives me this incredible lust for life. And I do believe this is also right for them. Everytime they see me come in, Betty and the others have a huge smile on their faces. A pure and innocent smile of gratitude.

Monday, January 9th, 2012

I just wanna be okay, be okay, be okay, I just wanna be okay today…


Sometimes, things are getting way more complicated in our mind than we wished they would. Sometimes, past intersperses present with its deafening jinglings. Sometimes, let the present be isn’t as easy as we’d imagine. I’d like so much to hug you without a single drop of alcohol running in my blood. So much to feel you close to me while I’m so far from you. So much to give you a chance to take my mind on new adventures…


But I miss him, and you can’t do much about it.

Saturday, December 31st, 2011



My sleep is light for several reasons.


For three weeks now, my days have been a frantic and exhausting pace. My precious document handed to the authorities, I now spend most of my evenings in the kitchen of a restaurant, scouring the dirty dishes. And if I’m not in the kitchen, it’s in one of the bars of the city you’ll find me, trying to maintain my much more than active social life. Many new faces came radiate my little monotonous existence …


But if this night was short and choppy, it’s nor because of my hectic professional life or of my personal life upside down, but rather the result of another new year’s eve.


In less than 24 hours, the twelve strokes of midnight will sound. It will announce the beginning of a new year, but also the first day of my 24 years existence. And it scares me so much, those years crumbling without giving us time. I still remember celebrating my 23rd birthday at home with them, with him. That day seems so fresh in my memory it’s difficult to realize that 365 days came upon to crash it. And yet …




The wet kiss on my lips, the look of love on my smile, the hesitant hands on my face … new days trying to erase your image. And this young man is trying somehow to make me forget the gaping wound that is still in my heart, despite the soaring year.

Monday, December 12th, 2011

Quickly and nimbly, I saw her move on the impressive pack of snow in our backyard. She was leaving her tiny footprints, in the lookout for the slightest movement around. By her, I mean the young marten who took up residence in our backyard and pleases my little eyes which can’t get enough curiosity of the surrounding wildlife.

December came apace. Since a bit more than a month now, the whole city is covered with a thick white carpet which makes it even more enjoyable. The outside temperature is around minus 20, which is rather soft for a day of December.

Coat, scarf and hat on, ready for exploration, I swallowed a glass of water in one go before heading to the front door. Before leaving, I take time to put my helmet on, tedious but vital step. Here, wearing a helmet while biking is mandatory and fair to fine. Gloves on, I finally put the nose out. Then I begin to get my best friend -my lover, my dear, in other words my* bike- out of its hidden spot. After a few minutes, I finally get on this stallion and bike cautiously toward the center of the city.

Halfway, I get off my bike and lean it to the bin of the “spherical” house. Indeed, in the front yard can be found a huge sphere made of used bicycle wheels; a fairly clashing work, and very resourceful. One or two knocks on the door were enough to get me in. Inside, I call it Alibaba’s kingdom; extraordinary inventions, all -or almost- achieved by using parts of bike, are sharing the space. My favorite invention is on one of the living room walls: a circuit made of bike spokes makes large colored balls move from top to bottom over and over again. It’s very rare that I do not turn this ingenious stuff on if I come in the living room area. But tonight I patiently waited in the lobby.

Shortly after my arrival out again I am, rushing to keep up with my fellow. It takes us about ten minutes to reach our home base: the Gold Rush. We are now used to come here every Friday night to enjoy live bluegrass. We got to arrive before 8:00 pm to avoid paying the cover so we never miss the chance to get here by 7:45 pm. No cover means more beer! We find a place without too much difficulty, and without delay, my fellow disappears towards the bar. He is back before I even have a chance to blink, a pitcher of beer in hand. The band is set up, and soon the first notes of music resound. The singer and the drummer are familiar. Whitehorse being a “small” city, musicians go on and off different bands, depending on their mood. It is therefore not uncommon to see the same musicians playing from one day to the other, except that most of the time, the composition of the band won’t be the same, which allows some variation. The beers are emptied and filled over the music. We discuss here and there in a friendly atmosphere, with our best English in mouth. It’s good to live in this place. Around 1:00 am, we take our respective bikes, a little shakier than at the beginning, and head to Riverdale residential area where we live.

A nice surprise is waiting for us on the way back. Arrived at the bridge which separates Riverdale from the heart of the city, where the lights are less intense, Aurora wraps her green dress around us. The sky dances to the rhythm of our pedal strokes. My childish laughter half alcoholic rings out. All eyes to this magnificent spectacle, we’re slowly making progress, shaky. We’ll continue our journey until we reach my home, accompanied all along by this amazing phenomenon that represent the Northern Lights.

Smiling, eyes full of stars, I go to sleep peacefully thinking about my new lover, the Yukon. This winter will be forever etched in my memory as the most beautiful winter I got to experience. This immensity, this force of Nature is much more magical and energizing than anything else. My Yukon, my beautiful Yukon.

Wednesday, November 23rd, 2011

But not missing you is useless too. 

Undeniable empty space lying in my heart like a dead body lies feet under. Damned, I’m trying not to feel the gap you left the day I walked away.

Incoherence. I left. I miss you. Ah. I guess contradiction is part of the game.

However, despite this giant hole you shaped in my heart, if the power of turning back the clock was giving to me, I would do the same mistakes, without any doubt. I would go again through the moments of doubt, the several days or even several weeks of silence, the tears deaden in my pillow those nights you’d push me away, the accusing looks… I’ll take again the lunches at the restaurant, the dubious jokes, the raucous laughers, the days basking in the sun, the nights in your arms, the evenings we’d exert ourselves until the sun rises up, the serious high alcohol content talks. All of it… without any exception. The gaps make me grow up. At least, I think so.

Why do you not miss me, you?

I wipe the tears you left on my cheeks with the back of my hand. Probably crocodiles’ tears. You guys are good to play crocodiles.

I hate crocodiles.

Sunday, November 20th, 2011

There we go, I managed to spend three months in the Yukon! Woop woop! For the occasion, with a touch of humor, a short self-interview.

It is said that to spend three months in a country like the Yukon shows an unquestionable belonging to the place. What are your feelings for being that far ?

Well, I’m very happy to have survived those first months here. We are now going through the very critical phase of winter, which I intend to survive as well. For it is said that if a person can spend a winter in the Yukon, she becomes a true Yukonnais.

Tell us about the winter in the Yukon.

Oh you know, nothing alarming. Temperatures reaching negative impressive peaks and very short days. Besides from that, life goes on …

Cold doesn’t make you shiver though?

Well, as unbelievable as it may seem to some of you, not at all. We already got to minus 30 ° C which feels like minus 45 ° C with the wind. My nose hairs and my eyelashes freeze when I step outside for a little while. I also feel a sense of compression in the lungs. And I’ve never had so many white hairs since the negative temperatures showed up. But appropriately dressed up, cold can be fought. Here, the air is dry, so cold is less difficult than in other regions. Minus 30°C here is nothing like minus 30°C in France or in Quebec, for example. Anyway, I personally think it is easier to work it out with cold than heatwave! Just pretent to be an onion.

It is said that the suicide rate is higher during periods of short days. What do you think ?

Dark can it be responsible for a higher suicide rate? Yes, I think so. When days are short, behavior and mood of people vary. We tend to be more easily prone to depression because of darkness. Everything is not daunted by dark and do not get knocked by it. Life must go on, even in the dark! Currently, sun goes down at 5:30pm and rise up around 9:00am, the shortest day (the one where the polar night occurs further north) is found to be december 21st, day during which the sun only rises for a few hours. It’s exciting!

Finally, do you have any tips for surviving to the winter ?

Survive? What a funny idea! Well, in french, I would say “sortez couvert” but it doesn’t fit in english…
So I would say: cross country skiing, downhill skiing, snowshoeing, ice hockey, luge, magic carpet, quinzee, igloo, ice sculpture, dog sledding, snowboarding, hot springs (…) all activities that make winter so much fun despite the cold and the dark! Add to that a final touch of friendship, evenings around a campfire, aurora borealis, and good laughs and voilà.

Friday, November 11th, 2011

Under my feet, the thud of snow crashing. I tread upon this white powder snow until I’m out of breath, with a smile of melancholy. Riverdale’s trails hold no secrets for me anymore, they are mine. It even got me to go in a more delicate way, skis on.

Today the sun is giving itself to me, which brings me to escape. Music in my ears, I lay down on this imposing and inviting pack of snow. Eyes wide open on a deep blue sky, reflections of the sun dancing in front of me, the refreshing cold taking me away from here.

On this day, at this very hour, I imagined a huge noise that wakes up the dead. A big incessant boom calling us all back to order. Something spectacular, something scary. But instead of that, there was only the silence of fragile snowflakes landing on my eyelids, weighted with my own self fading from memory. And the silence of my thoughts, way too loud. Somehow, I didn’t care. All I wanted was to forget. Forget him. But basically, how could I forget while stretches of white he loves so much are just in front of me?

The cold makes my breath panting.
Soon, my tears will freeze. And hopefully, they will break…

Thursday, November 3rd, 2011

Late in the afternoon, darkness starts to swamp our neighbourood; it was finally time to go out in order to count the living deads. Without a second thought, dressed up but wrapped up in our winter jackets, off we go. Let’s the hunt begin ! And if some houses only had their porch’s light to show their participation, others used decorations worthy of horror movies. Few are those who don’t give a shit about that day here, in North America. And so the gathering is massive. The girls yomp, their bag full of candies in hand, grinning from ear to ear. After not even an hour, it’s time to get back home, deep night showed up.

I terribly miss the frivolity of being a child.

And there is this sentence, which goes on and on and on lately in my mind:

People aren’t schmucks until you leave .

I have to admit it’s not a happy thought in this day of celebration, nevertheless, it’s the truth. People too often believe that by going away, you have a wish to turn your back on everyone. Bullshit. I don’t forget my past, I’m only living my present.

Tuesday, October 25th, 2011

This weekend, Whitehorse hosted the BreakOut West Festival: over 50 of Western Canada’s finest performers will make their way to the Yukon at 10 venues in downtown Whitehorse. $20 for the weekend pass. LOVED IT! Discovered really talented bands such as, among my favorites: Jaylene Johnson, Jim Byrnes, Steve Dawson (huge favorite), Sarah McDougall, Sasquatch Prom Date (described as a mixture of Elvis, Chuck Berry and The Cramps) or Jeffery Straker.

On saturday evening, we were happily biking towards downtown, ready to take it right in the ears. An hour before the show, we are at the Tippler’s, our favorite haunt, where Steve Dawson were about to play. I was overexcited in advance because I did listen to his music on the internet and just loved it. Unfortunately, my excitement took a blow as soon as my little toes got inside : I forgot my ID at home. It’s unsual for me to be asked for my ID, especially in this place. Frustrated and angry, we biked back home. It’s always so frustrating to look like a 17 old girl when you’re already over 22… I keep telling myself that one day I’d be grateful. One day, but not today. An hour later, the line was way longer than it was before. I could not be more mad to look so young. We try our luck elsewhere, in the Old Firehall, where we discovered Jaylene Johnson. Gradually, the music makes me smile. Then, we went back to Tippler’s, where we will finally enter after thirty minutes in the line and muffled excuses from the bouncer after he checked my ID. Oh well…

The next evening, no way I don’t get to see Steve Dawson’s show. After checking more than ten times that I had my ID with me, we’re happily biking again, this time towards the Rock Pub. My intuition was more than good, Steve and his band are awesome! Then, it was the turn of Sarah McDougall, who has a tone of voice really surprising, before we biked towards the Tippler’s where I proudly waved my ID. Jeffery Straker, with his haunting melodies, closed our time to the festival.

Above all, it’s the musical richness of Whitehorse that gets me excited.


However, sometimes.
Sometimes the urge is stronger than the reason. And sometimes I just do not see myself locking up those filaments of hope that swirl around me. With them, I feel stronger. Undeniable contradiction when we know the harm they are causing me. But with them, I feel alive. They grind me from all sides, invite me into void, and peck my eyes. Suffering isn’t it what makes us the most majestic? Like a phoenix, I’ll rise up from my ashes with or without you. And I know you will not be there.