Les cantons de l'est

Oh my god . . . we just came back from a place called Shefford, where we stayed at my friend Jacques Beaudoin's cottage/country house.

Let me tell you, I won't tell you where it is -- secrecy is of the utmost. But suffice to say, I brought my guitar (he already had one) and there was a piano, and his kitchen was almost a role model for MY kitchen, there was a pot-belly stove for heat, there were ladybugs in our bed, there was a squirrel who I named Alfred (for no particular reason) who looked completely different from these rats with fuzzy tails we have in Montreal, there were chickadees, there was a view of Mt. Orford and it was FANTASTIC.

All day Sunday, all day Monday . . . raviolis in cream sauce lovingly made by Brigitte last night, steak at McPherson Steakhouse/Bistrot the night before, champagne, a tiny smoke here or there, and SILENCE. Blessed silence. A silence so huge you could cut it with a knife.

And darkness, disorienting, at first, like being blind, it was so dark.

And a host so charming, so raffiné that words fail me in my descriptions.

Oh, and we watched the Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show dans la campagne. That alone was worth the price of admission.