There's a cat in the courtyard, that keeps on saying "halloooooo".

There's a cat in the courtyard, that keeps on saying "halloooooo". as if it was answering a phone call and didn't hear anything. The cat is invisible. Always hear it, never see it.
I disappeared, too. Well, from my blog. 

It all started with a new job I enjoy, serving beauty again, how lucky. Moved into a great new house which decoration makes me feel I am in a retro movie every time I step in. Summer comes and goes but the occasional sunny afternoons spent with friends on my roof in deck chairs seem to be endless. I fell two times of my bike, but also managed not to fall off my bike while I was outrageously drunk. (it was my birthday, is that enough of an excuse?). 

That was a fun night, with an even funnier ending. Being a bit "tired" as we were riding home around 5 a.m., me (sideways) and the violinist (scared of seeing me fall and taking a nap on the side of the road anytime), I of course forgot to take the right turn to my street and got a bit lost. We stopped on an empty avenue to take a look at the map and find our way back, when, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, appears an orthodox jew on his bike too, wearing his fur hat (with a plastic bag on it to keep it from the rain), around his fifties, apparently sober. He first comes to us and asks if he can help. So we show him the map and ask him the way, but he appears not to know where we are at all and we say, thanks, we'll find it. And then he says, just as naturally as we asked him the way: "Could you please come and spend the night with me?" 
We were just looking at him, wide-eyed, blinking with disbelief. Then we looked at each other but he started again, nearly begging, "I really need you. Please come sleep with me".
All my wittiness or usual reactivity to such ridiculous bids was gone. Speechless, I was so shocked I didn't even think of telling him off, not even wtf????. Suddenly sobered up, I realized where we were and where we had to go, and just thought of leaving. 
Obviously, when we told the story to our Antwerp friends, acquainted with the usual attitude of orthodox jews, they could hardly believe us. Yet it was true. Some people are apparently hopelessly frustrated and I start getting used to bizarre encounters. 

Anyway, I went to Prague as well and had a wonderful time. Especially after a couple medical checks. Before that I had breast cancer (or lived with the idea of having one). Since I got a medical confirmation that I didn't, that I was all right, I only had to get rid of a possible nascent hypochondria. So I celebrated all that with the Flower lady,  the  fashion designer (who -normally - doesn't drink) and Nils, who had abandoned his wild geese somewhere in Vlams-Brabant to experience wonderful adventures with other wild animals in Prague. We were so happy and danced and partied for so long that we were tempted to blame it on some added extra substance in our drinks. But why do so, since they can always blame me if needed. (It's ok, as long as I'm blamed for really good parties).

Today started gloomy, but the sun finally came out, I took a train to Brussels, had a meeting and it seems I'll get another nice job soon. 
My life's not all sorted yet. New starts are never easy, that's maybe why they're so cool. I have great people around me, even if some of them are physically a bit far and I wish I could have a live laugh with them and hug them more often.

Meanwhile, this cat in the courtyard... it still keeps on saying "halloooooo". 

Flying bums and the little red riding hood in the fairy land of Antwerp

Bursts of laughter. "Dupka lata", meaning restless -literally "having a flying bum". It was the witches night after all.
Coincidence made we met on a Tuesday again. Me, the pianist and the composer, tacking between four languages. Them two laughing every time I answer their Polish in Czech, me, although a bit under siege, repaying their laughter with mine. Our mutual  mother tongues understanding was getting better as the bottle of Zubrowka gradually emptied, even if English and Spanish still dominated the conversation.

I had met her - ethereal creature with intense sparkling eyes-, in the South, late at night, and our first Czech-Polish (almost) fluent conversation about Albrecht Dürer and Günter Grass had sealed our friendship.We did consequently share several breakfasts by the river, many beers, a few friends, a couple of all night long walks in Seville, a mattress, and even found out we shared ...but that would be too much information.

I had met him - thanks to her but in her absence -, two years ago in Prague after a beautiful show featuring his not less beautiful music, and after a long day walking around the town on a beautiful summer day, we ended up in a curious bar, ordering a beer and being asked if we were already eighteen. We had to celebrate that!

Now we three were here, sharing our split or bilateral memories and building new common stories out of our shared nomadic fate. We' re especially good at bitching about people who are too "full of themshit", at cooking and comparing similar Czech and Polish specialties, baking weird sweets that end up tasting like matza bread, inviting our childhood friends Czarna Reka (Black hand) and Krvave Koleno (Bloody Knee) to our table, arguing about the name of Jesus, and foremost we're good at laughing, laughing to tears.

And as we ran out of drinks and decided to go out, the pianist put on her red fur jacket with a cap and off we were into the night. As I was looking at her from behind as we crossed the center on bikes I suddenly understood why the fairy tale was called The Little Red RIDING Hood. Charles Perrault or the Brother Grimms would have been surprised, but in Antwerp, everyone, even fairy tale creatures seem to ride a bycicle.