True colours

I had the most horrid headache this morning, as I do most days, but thankfully not all mornings. They usually happen late in the afternoon when I'm so worn out by the day's activities that I need to just lie down a bit, for twenty minutes or so, and get my thoughts together in a noise-free atmosphere. But today I woke up with one, which is one of the most excruciating feelings the world. Took a Panadol, but to no avail. Didn't help a bit, my head just kept right on throbbing to the beat of Stravinsky's "Sacrificial Dance" from his "Rite of Spring". So I told hubby to pack up the kids and let's all go to Maksimir Park and the zoo. So we did. And boy, did it do the trick.

Just looking at the trees turning shades of red, gold, brown and a myriad of other colours, with their foliage falling slowly, silently through the air onto the ground and into the lake like flakes of snow, and the ducks and swans witnesses to it all, put my soul, and my head, at rest. It was as if I had become one with Mother Nature for a moment, and she sent me a message that she felt at one with me too when she delivered a falling leaf right into my hand.

Here are a few photos of Maksimir Park that I took today:



Looking at the marvel of it all made me think about my life. You know, whether I like it or not, I'm not young anymore, I'm way past 30 which is the point that I consider to be the "end" of youth. I'm not old either. I can't really define old, I'll let you know when I feel it. I guess you could call the point I am at at the moment as in between. Not in the spring of my life, that's for sure. I'm not sure whether summer's up but if it isn't, it is definitely late summer. Perhaps this is the autumn of my life, my chance to really glow like the leaves, fervent and ablaze with colour. Because honestly, although I am still prone to bouts of depression here and there, I have never really felt better about myself. I don't care that I haven't had a haircut since Christmas, that my butt looks like the back of a bus, that I don't dress hip and trendy. I've finally come to realise that really, it doesn't matter one iota in the grand scheme of things. Not one, God damn iota. Like my little prince said, "What is essential is invisible to the eyes". It's what's on the inside that counts in the grand scheme of things.

I recently bought myself a book of poetry. It was on sale so I thought, oh, what the hell. It's simply called "Penguin's Poems for Life". Appropriate, as it takes the reader from the cradle to the grave. And while reading it, I came across a poignant poem that really defines this moment that I feel that I'm at, this autumn of sorts. It was written by Alison Fell and it's called "Pushing forty":

Just before winter
we see the trees show
their true colours:
the mad yellow of chestnuts
two maples like blood sisters
the orange beech
braver than lipstick

Pushing forty, we vow
that when the time comes
rahter than wither
ladylike and white
we will henna our hair
like Colette, we too
will be gold and red
and go out
in a last wild blaze

Now I'll leave ya with my 3rd favourite autumn song (the 1st being "Les Feuilles Mortes", bien sur, the 2nd being "September Song", but I'll leave that one for another post. Can't stick a Kurt Weill song just any old place, on the side, by the way. Deserves a bit more space than that...), sung by Ol' Blue Eyes, the Chairman of the Board himself, Mr. Frank Sinatra. Enjoy...

Les feuilles mortes

Ah, autumn. It hasn't arrived here officially yet but you can already feel a crispness in the air, see the trees changing colour, taste the first apples, grapes and pumpkins at the markets (the pears arrived a few weeks ago), hear the birds slowly moving on to warmer climes. I have to admit, I was a summer person for a bit there, a couple of years maybe, but I've gone back to my roots this year and prefer the coolness of autumn and winter. Autumn is a wonderful time for doing the things I love like baking - there's nothing like having a warm kitchen during those cool nights - or knitting. Snuggling under a nice warm blanket, listening to someone like Eva Cassidy (she to me is the ultimate autumn person) and the needles clicking away, waiting for the apple pie to finish. Many people would say that I'm such a baka (granny) but what can I do, that's me!



Here's a wonderful autumn-y recipe given to me by my lovely friend Irina. No one (except maybe Jamie Oliver) has changed the way I cook, eat and think about food like her. Thanks Irina! And the great thing about this recipe (besides that it's dead easy) is that it is sooooo healthy that it makes you think, how can something so delicious be good for you too??? Try to get the best ingredients you can, preferably organic.



Baked apples



4 washed and cored apples
2 tablespoons of wheat germ (I sometimes leave them out 'cause they can be a bit hard to find 'round here but this doesn't effect the recipe at all)
2 tablespoons of chopped hazelnuts or almonds
2 tablespoons of barley syrup or honey
2 tablespoons of soaked sultanas (if you're feeling naughty, like I sometimes do, instead of soaking the sultanas in water soak them in rum)
1 tablespoon of freshly squeezed orange juice



Preheat your oven to 180 degrees C. Place the apples on an oven try. Mix the rest of the ingredients together and stuff them into the apples. Bake for 20 - 30 minutes et voila, c'est finis!



Autumn also reminds me of one of my favourite songs of all time, Les feuilles mortes. Eva does a lovely version of it, as does Nat King Cole, but to me, Yves Montand's is the original, ultimate, definitive, basically best version ever. As the guy who posted the video says, if you're pining after a lost love, don't listen to this song - it'll just make your heart ache even more. It sends a shiver up my spine and brings a tear to my eye everytime I listen to it. You've been warned:



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLlBOmDpn1s



It's a pity that the Americans butchered this song in terms of translation. The original is so full of emotion and beautiful imagery that you can see the person raking the leaves with a wistful look on his/her face, perhaps looking towards the sea with the wind blowing and the waves crashing. Here's the original French version by, in my opinion, one of (if not the) best French lyricists and poets ever, Jacques Prevert and the literal English translation below it:



Oh! je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis
En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle,
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu’aujourd’hui
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n’ai pas oublié...
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Et le vent du nord les emporte
Dans la nuit froide de l’oubli.
Tu vois, je n’ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais.


REFRAIN:
C’est une chanson qui nous ressemble
Toi, tu m’aimais et je t’aimais
Et nous vivions tous deux ensemble
Toi qui m’aimais, moi qui t’aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment
Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Les pas des amants désunis.



Oh! I would like so much for you to remember
The happy days when we were friends.
At that time life was more beautiful,
And the sun shone more brilliant than today.
The dead leaves collect with the shovel.
You see, I did not forget...
The dead leaves collect with the shovel,
The memories and the regrets also
And the North wind carries them
In the cold night of the lapse of memory.
You see, I did not forget
The song that you sang me.



REFRAIN:
It's a song that we resemble
You, you loved me and I loved you
We lived together both of us
You who loved me, I who loved you
But life separates those who love
Very gently without making a sound
And the sea erases under the sand
The footprints of separated lovers



And here is the American bubblegum version which just can't compare - soooo much less emotion, just soppy and sentimental in my opinion. They don't even use the beautiful recitative at the beginning of the song, only the refrain! Pity that Eva left us too soon - I get goose bumps thinking of her singing Les feuilles mortes in French...now THAT would be the ultimate version!



The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winters song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall


Until soon,
The Knitting Songbird