With their unique pen and special sensitivity, artists, in turn, offer us their vision of the world around us. This week, we’re giving a carte blanche to Matthieu Pepper.
Posted yesterday at 9:00 am.
September 2002, Labor Day weekend, the weekend where we always take the opportunity to celebrate my birthday around a huge pot full of corn that serves as the start of the best burger Saint-Eustache has ever known: those of my father.
It is September, when begonias and castoreums line the flowerbeds, and lilacs die softly while visiting cars pile up on the street.
As in any good suburb, guests arrive right next to the house, gift bags rub against the cedar fence, which blocks the entrance to the courtyard, and smells of a delicate mixture of “sunscreen and mosquito repellent.” My grandparents arrived empty-handed. It’s exciting because it probably means the present is too big and they left it in the car.
I’m always puzzled by gifts, love and hate at the same time because everyone is looking at you with anticipation of your reaction.
“are you happy? “
” are you sure ? “
“We should have taken the other, I knew that!”
Breathe, I haven’t even passed Dollarama tissues yet.
Dad at the grill, my brother helps him, mom yells that timer Ren and dad says he doesn’t need timer. Nothing new at 267 Patriots Street.
The sound of ice cubes bathing in super strong sangria slides and plastic cups bang between bursts of laughter and the radio pushing Bohemian Aznavour. The meal was delicious, barely time to get the corn out of my teeth when the famous peanut butter ice cream pie arrived in front of me, candle wicks burn, wax slips, a Bengal fire sparkles with full fire, “Happy Birthday” in French and Flemish, for my grandfather, and presto is time gifts.
Quickly, my grandfather disappeared and reappeared filled with a large chest.
I opened it up and found a CRT TV from a brand I’m not sure I know… Kitachi or something.
“We will install it in your bedroom, and it will be your own television.”
“But there will be rules!” »
Mom doesn’t follow her rules.
Because of the scorching heat and endless carbs of the feast, “Bon!” ‘And ‘I’m going to think of doing a match,’ he began to hear. It’s never my favorite moment, I’ve had a hard time with endings. Why do we stop! ? Everyone has fun!
Fortunately, my new TV made up for it.
She was now in place, on her throne (my wardrobe), under the little cellar window that looked out over the last branches of the family’s lilacs. A lilac my parents planted, probably thinking something like “This lilac will be like our family, sometimes in bloom, sometimes faded but always promising blah blah blah.” I still really love this lilac.
“I can listen to whatever I want, and change stations whenever I want. Well, I’ll have to get up every time, because my grandfather bought the television at the flea market and the “seller” lost the remote.
Slowly, television became really important to me. Not the thing, but what she was doing to me.
I laughed while listening to Captain Charles Patenaud perform Bob and Flavian, I loved watching Dennis and Germain share a little angst, I thought Mum and Dad were the perfect pair.
I had a lot of friends already, but they were in a place where no one else could be.
The stories of Annie, Carlos, Jean-Michel, Yannick, National, Sylvie, Jay, Ann, Johnson, Dufour and Mayrand attended. They made me laugh, they made me feel good, and it might be stupid to say it, but I really liked them.
Every year, I would hope that someone would write more stories, which would make me want to buy a blue watch before I had anything to leak, which would bring tears to my eyes. still loving youA story with lines that will permeate my daily life forever.
And there was always.
Over the years, every time I saw lilacs wither with summer, I knew it was the beginning of new stories, new characters, and new endings.
I only like endings when they announce something beautiful.
The lilac is dead, but the TV is alive and well.
#Delegation #request #Matthew #Bieber #lilac #died