Bombshell's Birthday Bash‏

On the drive to Bombshell's surprise, birthday dinner, the
sky was filled with the most magnificent cloud formations,
backlit by the sun. The dinner party was held at La Molisana,
a family restaurant in the heart of Ahuntsic.

'Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general
observation – the test of a first-rate intelligence is the
ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time,
and still retain the ability to function.' ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

When her Grandparents journeyed from the outskirts of Gaspé
and landed in a quaint, picturesque neighbourhood bordering
Montreal-North, along with their 7 daughters and one son,
they settled in Ahuntsic.
They have called that area home since the 50s', and have
all evolved into their own very different and special individuals,
and for some in that same environs.
From the beginning one of the activities that brought them
together, as a family, was dinner at that eatery. I felt it
was apropos that she celebrate such a milestone soirée at
this storied establishment that carried such history for the
Couture family.

'And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count.
It's the life in your years.' ~ Abraham Lincoln

The food was delicious, well-presented and mouth watering.
Every dish was a chef-d'oeuvre. The liveliness and ambiance
were unparalleled and the entertainment top tier.
Our beautiful and talented Godchild, Chanel, who is our very
own Adele in-the-making, provided the entertainment. She belted
out her rendition of 'Aleluhia Acapella', with that magnificent,
Angelic voice. Hearts melted and minds imploded of the forty
family members and close friends who were present, including
those lucky patrons who were present by happenstance. The girl
brought the house down!

'To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds
our life.' ~ Pablo Neruda

* From Where I Sit! *
October 15, 2011
www.fromwhereisit.co

The Mount Stephen Club

Let us begin with a meeting at the once, grandest and most
opulent gentlemen's club located on Drummond, between De
Maisonneuve Blvd and Saint Catherine St. The setting for
hosting elegant weddings, speeches and parties for Montreal's
elite. The Cuban mahogany front doors of The Mount Stephen
Club opened up for me on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon.
The former home of Lord Mount Stephen - formerly George
Stephen, 1st Baron Mount Stephen (1829–1921), was built as
an example of late Victorian architecture, with 24-karat
gold doorknobs and hinges and antiques filling its rooms.
The home was converted into a private business club for
men in 1926 - by Noah Timmins, J.H. Maher and J.S. Dohan.
Women were only later admitted.
The mansion, in which the club is housed, has been used
by various Hollywood stars for period films. The mansion
was designated a National Historic Site of Canada in 1971,
as the best example of a Renaissance Revival house and due
to its association with George Stephen - the Scottish-born
founding president of the Canadian Pacific Railway.

'Architecture is the triumph of human imagination over
materials, methods, and men, to put man into possession
of his own earth.' ~ Frank Lloyd Wright

I was there to meet a man for a job interview . . . of
sorts. Kenneth Beaumont, the scion of a real estate empire,
had decided to start a new venture in housing. Through the
years, his family had accumulated vast swaths of industrial
properties, and due to the recent economic downturn were now,
mostly vacant. Beaumont came up with this novel idea of
converting these large behemoths into cool units, but did
not want to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on newspaper
and magazine advertisements, but rather do it online. Of
course it had to be catchy, with cool phrases and enticing
content, aimed at the young and hip 'nouvelle vague'. Through
a business associate, Beaumont was informed that I may be
just the right candidate for the task at hand . . . being
a prolific writer of fantasy. Hence our luncheon.
I thought about how the course of life has shifted and
evolved, in such a brief moment in time and space, into
a whole other plane of existence. I look around the room
and thought about being from another world. This was a
moneyed world of fundraisers, cottages on the lake, old
iconic institutions, flying south on a whim, and houses
on the mountain. I thought how several obscure encounters
have brought me into this very private and exclusive
macrocosm.

"Good afternoon, young man," said Kenneth Beaumont, as
I entered the foyer.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beaumont." I returned the greeting.

"Please call me Kenneth. Here is our table," said Beaumont,
as he motioned to a corner enclave set up for three.

At that moment a very tall, slender and gorgeous woman
dressed n a Herringbone skirt and jacket, with a crisp white
blouse and a foulard. As she was walking towards us, actually,
as she was slowly swaying every man, even some of the ladies,
turned as she went past them and made her way to our table.

"Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon Mr. Borsellino. My name
is Wendy Carr. We have a mutual friend . . . Caitlin Rainn."

I turn to Beaumont and say, "Whatever you need . . . I'm your man!"

As he chuckled, he began, "We would like you to write content for
our online pages. I was shown several of your articles and I think
it's exactly what we are looking for."

'When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the
conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my
talent for absorbing positive knowledge' ~ Albert Einstein

Published @ Amazon Kindle Store‏

Ladies & Gentlemen,
A short story I submitted to KDP was published @ Amazon
Kindle Store. It is for lovers of thrillers, mystery and
intrigue . . . and avid readers on the go. It is about illegitimate
offspring, family inheritance and art theft.

Here's a link to the book in the Kindle store:
'The Heist' | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005GHE3VO

My friend Nadine Hennelly (www.nadinehennelly.com)
directed me to this new medium as well as contribute
the book cover.

'All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing
them for the first time.' ~ Ernest Hemingway

Genevieve

As was customary, within my circle of peers, at eighteen, a boy is
driven to a business associate of the father, who owns an automobile
dealership and allowed to choose his first car. Being that we just
stepped-off of the seventies, muscle cars were still in vogue, most
notably Pontiacs and Camaros, more specifically Trans-Ams and Z-28s.
Having just seen the movie 'American Gigolo', I wanted a European
convertible, not some hunk of steel, so I put the word out among
auto enthusiasts.

Late one summer evening I get a call from an enthusiast, who had
a connection with the sole auto dealer in Montreal who dealt in
Italian models Luciani Motors.

That same night, like some cloak and dagger mission, we arrived at
the showroom. After introductions we are lead to an underground storage
facility. As I adjusted my focus, in the back of this large backdrop
of concrete and steel, I see the most beautiful, exotic jewel, a black
Fiat Spider with a tan interior and ragtop. The same color like the
title character in 'American Gigolo'.

FIAT 'Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino' was founded in Turin, Northern
Italy, in the year 1899, at the dawn of the Italian industrialization. Now
the FIAT group is a financial and industrial conglomerate that initially,
also manufactured aircrafts. In the year 1979, the FIAT 124 Spider came
to be known as the Spyder 2000. The 1980 Spyder 2000 came equipped with
a bigger and more powerful engine that provided good acceleration. It had
a wide rectangular mesh grille and a badge on the bonnet. It was a classic,
in the sense of Austin Healeys, and MGB Roadsters of the late sixties. It
had these incredible power bulges over each wheel rim. The aerodynamic body
of the vehicle was designed to minimize drag.

I was in Heaven, an instant bond between man and machine. I turned to
Mr. Luciani and said, "That's the one!"

My dad wasn't happy and so he let it be known it was my responsibility financially, of course. I had to come up with the funds, but I didn't care,
she was worth it.

"I like you Frank so I'll arrange for the car loan to be approved. Just
don't let me down, young man?"

Imagine what that felt like to an eighteen year old? Like, in 1492 when Christopher Columbus first saw land in the horizon.

Two days go by and I get a call from Mr. Luciani's secretary, who says, "Mr.Borsellino, Mr. Luciani wanted to let you know your car is ready."

I must have jumped 3 feet in the air, all the while trying to maintain
civil dialogue with the lady on the other end. "Come in to sign some papers
and you can drive her home."

I got a ride to the lot and went up to the office. Signed some documents,
and got my first set of keys. It was like getting your license for freedom.
You were now allowed to go anywhere, anytime and with anyone, day or night.
I don't think I had ever or since felt such an invigorating feeling of
'The world is your oyster'.

I crossed the lot and I saw her, she had been washed and was a shiny black
beacon amidst a sea of colour. Luciani had many cars in that lot but only
my little black diamond shone. The smile on my face was so pronounced it
was going to slice my cheek - through and through. I stopped and took a
moment to let this exciting event in the life of any young man or woman
to completely envelop me, because I couldn't believe this was my car.

Mr. Luciani says, "Now, son, be very careful. A convertible is not like
a hardtop, if you roll over, you'll get crushed."

As he began to show me the temperature cage, the lever that opens the
bonnet, the hidden key slot for the trunk, etc. I interrupt him and say,
"I don't care, I'll eventually read the manual and figure those things out."

"I understand, son."

"How do I put down the top?"

He went through the motions of reciting the instructions and pointing to
the lever to unhook the ragtop, while I’m settling in comfortably. I turn
the key and . . . voila. The engine came to life and it was like music to
my ears. The purring sound of that little Italian 'macchina' was like Angels
hymning.

The first stop was a friend who lived across the river. Crossing the
bridge, with the wind in your hair, was very exhilarating. Being on an
open road was a profound liberation of the spirit.

My friend's dad is an avid car collector, mostly antiques though, but
one look at that little gem, and he loved me for the next 25 years. Every
time I went to pick her up, he'd take it for a spin, like he was reliving
his adolescence, while my friend and I sat around the house waiting. She
was half French-Canadian but had the soul of an Italian and so christened
her 'Genevieve', and the name stuck for the next several years.

I, Grand Piano

As the spotlight bounced off the black-lacquered sheen, from the top
of my back, Madam came out of left stage and placed her soft posterior
gently on the bench. She caressed the softwood of the surface, then lifted
the cover to reveal my beautiful, glistening ivory black and white keys.

She glided her hands from side to side and admired my delicate craftsmanship.
She looked beneath this massive case of strings and hammers at the three
legs, curves and sturdy brass feet. Noticed the cashmere spread draped
across the back-end of my nine-foot frame, with the candelabra, which still
hadn't been lit.

There was ninety minutes to the start of the concerto. As Madam verified
the tone and rhythm, I felt a sense of relief engulf me. That piano tuner,
earlier in the day, after I had been transported from our previous engagement,
had hands like sandpaper. With enough cuts and bruises that constantly scratched
my sensitive keys. Ivory, is not meant to be struck so forcefully, except
maybe by Madam.

I knew she would start with Mozart or maybe even Chopin, she enjoyed
the classics. I personally had a soft spot for that new music, Jazz. I
enjoyed that little place we played at last week, 'The Blue Note Café',
instead of this grand Concert Hall. I liked Louie, the upright base and
Sheila, the saxophone, they really knew how to liven up a room. The crowd
swayed and grooved to the sounds that we, as a trio, produced. I hadn't
seen Madam this alive in a long time. I even felt her swish her tiny
derriere on the bench. It was very exhilarating.

This vast auditorium is very imposing, even though I feel I'm dominating
this backdrop tableau very adequately. I’ve been here before, not this
particular place, but this sort of venue. This was a major factor in
European musical life since the early 18th century. I’m a descendant
and amalgam of different instruments and I consist of strings and hammers,
and I feel the felt that covers those hammers, very warmly. I enjoy
the way Madam allows them to fall to deaden the sound as soon as her
fingers release the keys.

My keyboard mechanism enables me to vary notes dynamically with crisp
brilliance, loudness and softness, encompassing a wide range. My beautiful
brass foot pedals allows me to increase, diminish, or sustain the sound,
which gives me that forceful sonority. My soundboard serves the function
to resonate and project.

Madam is really enjoying this session and I love to see her happy. When
she's feeling this way it perpetuates her sensuousness as the tips of her
fingers gently careen from one key to the next.

Family Heirloom

In 1924, my grandfather, being a proud Italian citizen, begins
his military service. It is between the wars, and so his duties
keep him out of harm's way. The commander of his regiment is Lt.
Victor Emmanuel II, son of the reigning King of Italy. On a routine
day of tank manoeuvres, the Lt. is sitting atop the steel beast
directing the helmsman which way to steer.

Unfortunately, the driver, being ill-equipped to handle this
behemoth machine, takes a sudden right turn and the Prince tumbles
to the ground in the path of the tank's continuous tracks. Grandfather's
instincts overtook his cerebral, and in fear for the Prince's life
of being crushed, bolts in to rescue him. After thrusting him out
of the tank's trajectory with such intensely, he now feared having
injured the heir.

As they slowly stand and dust themselves off, the Prince turns and
embraces my grandfather, while whispering out of any bystander's range,

"Grazie!"

He is taken away to the infirmary and not seen for some time.

Several days pass and my grandfather receives an emissary from
King Victor Emmanuel I. He hands my grandfather a box with a note
which carried the royal crest emblazoned on it. The king was thanking
my grandfather for having saved his son's life, and to accept this
little token of his gratitude. My grandfather opens the box and
it's a Patek Philippe watch.

Since 1844, Antoine Norbert de Patek and Jean-Adrien Philippe
created the first timepieces with stem winding and hands setting
mechanism. In the mid-1920s' it creates its first wristwatch with
split-seconds chronographs and perpetual calendar. A first among
Swiss manufacturers and the watch is a thing of beauty, which has
ever since, been associated with the rich, newly minted
industrialists and of course European royalty.

On my 18th birthday, he tells me this story and hands me this
watch and says, "Today you're on the cusp of manhood. Here is the
beacon which will guide you on your journey."

He says as he hands it to me, still the original box, and continues. . .

"Keep it safe, which is why I wanted you to know the history it
carries with it."

I opened the box, and there was this classic piece of exceptional
craftsmanship, a silver Patek Philippe.

"It's a beautiful piece?"

It had a black ostrich leather strap, very large numbers, with an
old world style fonts. The second hand moved with perfect synchronicity.
It was sleek, classic and when you had it on, you felt like royalty.

"It's absolutely beautiful Grandpa. I shall cherish it forever."

After the passing of my grandfather, the watch has been kept in the
safety-box at the bank. I don’t know its worth - should probably get
it appraised.

One day, in the distant future, on my brother's son's twenty fifth
birthday or when he graduates from university, I will sit him down and
after telling him the story of the man he never met, pass on the watch.

Diana Krall Cast a Spell. . . . .‏

Diana Krall invited her audience into the living room of her
childhood home in Nanaimo, B.C. and, alone at the grand piano
with only her dad's gramophone as a prop for company, played
the music she loved as a girl.

It was an intimate show Sunday night at Théâtre Maisonneuve,
as Krall put a sold-out hall at ease with standards and surprised
with some not-so-standards of the Great American Songbook.

Opening with Peel Me a Grape, she soon launched into a medley
of Fats Waller tunes, stamping her black stiletto heels as she
pounded away at the keyboard, boogie-woogie style, tossing her
blond curls to the rhythm.

Form-fitting, sleeveless black dress aside, it was a far cry
from that old Chrysler ad and The Look of Love, more a return to
the roots of Krall's 1995 fest debut when she proved her love for
Nat King Cole.

In between songs, she talked fondly of learning her chops from
Jimmy Rowles and jamming in Oscar Peterson's basement, recalled
how she was a disaster on third clarinet in her high-school band,
and reminisced about listening to jazz on her father's reel-to-reel
tape player and 78-rpm records.
If the audience didn't always get her jazz references, Krall
forgave them. "Thanks for listening to songs you might not have
heard before", she said after introducing something by Bix
Beiderbecke and getting no response.

No matter. Whether it was a familiar tune like Don't Fence Me
In or an unfamiliar one like the vintage ode to dope, Reefer Song
(loved that one), Krall's performance – her first full-length
solo concert ever – pulled the crowd into her world.

She closed her 15-song, 80-minute uninterrupted set with a
lovely but obscure 1938 movie tune called As Long As I Love and
came back for a three-song encore playing a ukulele. Why? Because
her childhood hero, Groucho Marx, played one.
She and her husband, Elvis Costello play the instrument in
bed, she explained, before softly strumming All I Do Is Dream
of You and encouraging her fans to sing along. Few knew the
words.

Then it was back to the piano for Krall's own Departure Bay
and, as an adieu, a Prairie Lullaby for her twin boys, Dexter
and Frank. Sweet dreams, all.

* From Where I Sit! *
June 26, 2011