La Quincaillerie‏

Marcel Proust once said, 'The door of memory is opened by the taste of a Madeline
cookie.' He, of course, was referring to his mom being in the kitchen baking and
the smells that that awakened in him... but for me, it was seeing the weathered
facade of a hardware store (Quincaillerie)... as I ventured down Notre Dame St. West
in an old part of town... and I thought of what that French novelist said a century
ago and how apropos to here and now.

As a young boy, my formative years were spent in a quiet, safe neighborhood in
a borough in the city of Montreal, now known as Villeray–Saint-Michel–Parc-Extension.
Until the late Nineteenth century, the area was predominately rural and dotted
with farms. The inauguration of the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1878 and the arrival
of electric streetcars in 1892 permitted the growth of Villeray. It was also in this
era that the Italian immigrant community chose the neighbourhood as their preferred
location.

My grandfather chose a little corner that had these beautiful tree-lined streets
and mom-and-pop stores. The main street, in our quaint section of town, was right
around the corner from where we lived. There was a linen and clothing store run
by an old, Italian couple, who my mother, until this day, is very friendly with, albeit
with the widow. They have traveled together extensively, from Europe to the French
Riviera, from Monte Carlo to a cruise in the Caribbean. The friends you made back
then were rooted in a strong sense of belonging and lasted a lifetime.
There was a grocery store that delivered (hard to believe in 2013) with a special
bike that had a box saddled to the front wheelbase... for the ones in the vicinity,
and a van for distanced carting. There was a barbershop, and a bakery where
enticing aromas emanated every morning. In the midst of all that secure feeling
of being home was a hardware store.

Quincaillerie Tillemont was situated where my lane ended to meet with that main
street. My grandfather being a do-it-yourselfer, long before it became a phenomenon
and spawned a network, was a frequent visitor. He and the owner, a man named
Jean Bordeaux (because back then the owners still fiddled about their stores, greeted
and cordially assisted the customers), who was a gentle old Frenchman, had a special
relationship. You sensed theirs was a kinship based on mutual respect of two men
who knew their trade and craft... of hard work, and of what that entailed, along with
the necessary tools needed for a job well done. The facade had large weathered
steel frame windows that contained tools, and samples of the wares you should expect
to find on the inside.

'We come together in unity to play a grand symphony of cosmic consciousness in the
divine meditation of our souls' manifestation as being one.' ~ ©Frank Borsellino

Namaste ±
www.fromwhereisit.co

'Ladies' Night @ Table51'

Ladies & Gentlemen,

I know this may seem out-of-character, so sudden after a dinner party and review...
'Ferragosto', to return with yet another 'Moment in the pantheon' of life's journey. But
that same night, in August, on the way home from Alexandre & Fils, 'The Photographer',
who is our George Clooney, turned to me and said, "Frank, I like the Bove sisters, and
Ms Steele... let's have a dinner at that place you mentioned in Laval 'Table51'. Not too
far off, maybe in a couple of weeks... a more intimate soiree. Invite Cettina and a few
others." After several days, I thought about what he said and began to put the cogs
in motion.

'In the setting sun the striking skyline glitters, alight with promise, dripping with
possibilities.' ~ Andrew Morton

Do you ever sit and think; what if? What if you had never said the first hello… Or
what if your paths never crossed? What if you kept your mouth shut and just let
things pass? What if you had just five more minutes? What if you could turn back
time and make it all stand still… where would your life be? Better? Worse? Less
confused? More confused? Happier? Sadder? I have lived a life without regrets...
as for not saying what is on my mind... not in this lifetime!

Once again… the ladies who came veterans and newcomers alike, put a bounce
in my step and a smile on my face... and inspiration made an appearance… and
turned an impromptu, intimate soiree into 'Ladies' Night @ Table51'. Actually, one
of the women at the dinner christened the name. But I'll get to that later... since
this is a first at this restaurant... I will take a moment to familiarize you with it.

Forget the fact that you're at a mall in Laval... the men behind 'Table51' George
and Jimmy Kosmas, and Peter Tolias have succeeded in rewriting the rules of fine
dining by building this spectacular ode to good food on the North Shore... imagine
a hotspot similar to 'Globe, Buonanotte or Kabana'. Since opening in December
2009 the partners have worked to keep the stellar quality of the food and service
at its peak. Joined by Executive Chef Alex Rolland (who hails from Globe), they have
created a fun, fresh and innovative menu.

"Montrealers know food and know good restaurants, and are not going to forgive
you," Tolias said. "We know we don't get a second chance to make a first impression."

The restaurant strikes a balance between style and comfort, boldness and familiarity,
festivity and intimacy. In this elegant yet comfortable eatery that seats 180, you can
roll up to the bar and catch your favorite sports team over one of many beers on tap.
Enjoy a business power lunch, linger over an intimate dinner with your paramour, or
simply take a break from shopping with some girlfriends over a glass of wine. In this
busy, yet intimate restaurant, everything is prepared 'à la minute'. "There's nothing
frozen here but shrimp and ice-cream," Tolias said.

After a slow start, which is becoming the norm, the table was complete with seven
delicious ladies, a distinguished gentleman and me. The instigator, my friend Luigi,
had a last minute engagement and did not come to his own party. The distinguished
gentleman said he was happy to be the only other man in the midst of my Harem... of
which three were newcomers.

The wine arrived, not soon enough, a 'Sterling Vintner's Collection' from California…
a full-bodied, balanced cabernet with classic aromas of cassis and blackberry. We
started with a Hummus and Guacamole accompanied by Yukon chips and house-made
sesame crackers. Zucchini Rolls stuffed with goat cheese and drizzled with a tomato
lentil vinaigrette. They disappeared in no time... and I kept asking for seconds... and
thirds.
They took simple, fun comfort food and added their own twist... made it special. Bacon
and cheddar 'croquettes' with chipotle mayo. Everyone is doing a mini-burger, but not
like these guys. Mini Mak with a perlimpinpin sauce… all natural, juicy and even the
fresh bun is sweet and soft to the palate. Fresh-cut jumpo wings with a 'Table51' sauce,
carrots and celery... and of course a house salad.
For one of the mains... the Roasted Salmon with Pinot Grigio, maldon sea salt and seasonal
vegetables, with a carrot sauce. But the dish on most plates was the 'Braised Beef' (no
knife required) in red wine with herb-roasted root vegetables. I think it's the most tender,
mouth-watering piece of meat I have ever had (no pun intended). Unbelievable!

The ladies were getting acquainted... and I smiled... André aka Mr. Patterson, the
distinguished gentleman, late 50s' looks 48. I have known André almost as long as
Bombshell (her uncle)... a very smart man, who runs a multinational and found a way
for it to work for him instead of him working for it… Like I said... very smart. His lovely
daughter, Stefanie… who made her first appearance at 'Ferragosto'. Of course 'My Muse'
who is always delicious... and the delightful Wendy, whose dress was Va! Va! Voom!
One half of the Bove Sisters, Antonella (who christened the soirée) ... made a happy
enclave on one side. To my right the lovely Virginia, who I had not seen in a while... so
we did a lot of catching up. I have known her practically since infancy. Another beautiful
lady I had not seen in ages, Nikki Dahlin', who brought along another beautiful soul.
Joanne, who to my astonishment, is the ex-sister-in-law of my old partner when I owned
and operated 'Le Bistro des Bavards', back in my youth in the early 1980s'. I almost fell
off my chair. Another enchanting factor of the evening was a night of reminiscences.

The distinguished gentleman would have been content with these fine five ladies... but
lo and behold, by the time the main dishes arrived so did another trio of delicious dames
(love saying that). My Poppy Montgomery (Toni), who came with her two girlfriends, Julia
and Melina another sister combo. And I smiled...

'The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and,
when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in
the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and
have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with
us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting
impressions.' ~ Oscar Wilde

Life is short... Live your dream... Share your passion... A la prossima!

Namaste ±
Your Cruise Director
www.fromwhereisit.co
September 6, 2013

A Cabin in the Rain

I take my girlfriend Kate to a secluded cabin for the weekend to score, but when four strangers burst in during a rainstorm, plans change quickly.
It was a dark and stormy night. The generator was spluttering away outside the cabin as the rain lashed against the roof. Inside, the warm glow of a few table lamps and a small warm fire bathed the single large room. Near the far wall was an old warm looking four poster bed draped in soft old red covers. The other half of the small cabin was dedicated to a cozy living room. A few old sofas lay in the flickering light around a large shaggy carpet spread in front of the stone fireplace. With the logs crackling and the flames dancing it would warm everything with in reach. The cabin was a great place to escape to from a busy life in the city. I had brought my new girlfriend Kate up here for a long weekend hoping to score. The walking in the woods, the quiet seclusion, plus a bottle of red wine or two, usually has the desired effect and ends up with the old bed creaking and shaking as I impale myself gloriously into some hot young wet nymph. The storm had rolled in quite suddenly while we were out on a walk to the lake. Kate had been going on about something to do with her work while I followed her up a hill admiring the way her ass muscles flexed and relaxed as her feet navigated the unsteady terrain ahead of her. With her tight 5ft 4in. body and long blonde hair she looked like some sort of woodland elf out here except that her generous C-cup breasts made her instead into the most delicious sexual object known to man.
All I had thought about since first meeting Kate was what she would look like straddling my lap as she bounced herself up and down upon my swollen shaft. Luckily we were not too far from the cabin when the rain started but no amount of running was going to stop us from getting a soaking. We jogged back together laughing in the rain, splashing in little puddles that were beginning to form. Kate's shirt was getting increasingly wet and was sticking tightly to her voluptuous body. While I had managed not to stare thus far it was getting harder and harder as her bulging erotic outline became more clearly defined. We were only a minute or two away from the cabin when the air started to get much cooler and quite quickly. The rain then came in earnest and started dropping thousands of fat cold rain drops onto us. In the darkening light we could see the warm glow of the cabin lights in the clearing just up ahead and ran full speed toward it as the storm unleashed onto us. Crashing through the door laughing I turned to catch Kate as she came laughing in behind me, briefly feeling the press of her body against mine, the slight twitch between my legs noting it too. Turning back I pushed the door closed against the rain and wind which was now whipping up outside. As I turned back around …time seemed to fall into slow motion. Dripping wet from head to toe and gently wringing out her hair was an apparition of beauty. Her soaked t-shirt was slightly see through and clung to those perfect breasts. Her nipples looked like they were piercing the very fabric of her shirt as her chest heaved, catching breath. Bathed in the soft light of the cabin she was a sight to behold. "Ahem?" she coughed.

Fan Flirtation

The fan itself may not be as old as time, but flirtation certainly must be.
Was Adam enticed to eat the apple when Eve's flirtatious eyes fluttered above
a palm frond, gently wafting a cooling breeze in the sunlit Garden of Eden?
Practical, ceremonial or decorative - fans were in use more than 3000 years
ago and the form has changed, but surprisingly little, over those thousands
of years. Fans of a simple design were discovered in 1922 inside Tutankhamen's
tomb. A fixed palmate screen fan, mounted on a long handle and wafted by
Cleopatra's slaves, an ancient Chinese hand fan made of beaten gold, an
extravagant peacock feather fan from Asia 500 years BC - all would be instantly
recognisable as symbols of luxury and rank but with a practical purpose too.'
~ Henry Gillard Glindoni (1852 - 1913 ) British

Riding on a Carrousel

Riding on a Carrousel, face towards the wind ... going 'round in circles,
coming back again. Grabbing for the brass ring, just when it's in sight...
lights are shinning all around ... maybe some too bright.
Sometimes as you feel in life, going 'round and 'round for like this happy
Carrousel it has it's ups and downs. The music plays so gaily, sometimes it's
way too loud, enjoying the excitement... you're caught up in the crowd.
You've come again full circle, you think you have returned ...now in search
of another ticket ....more lessons to be learned.
You hope this ride will last forever, you know it never will ... too soon
your time is over ... the motion ever still. The music quickly ceases, so
silent as the night, your vision slowly dims .....the lights are not so bright.
You look within your pocket, no ticket to be found...with sadness, slowly
walk away .. as quiet as it's sound.
In life just like the Carrousel..... there's not another ride ... never is
in black and white, real life and dreams collide. You turn to take, just one
last look ...to ride it one last time. The lights are on for others now...
you understand this rhyme?
You had your fun, you rode it well ..... you know it's now their turn. The
music comes alive again ....the lights now brightly burn.
You thought you had the brass ring ..... held tightly in your hand but it
no longer glimmers ....will never shine again.
It now is realized what you've learned .... the lessons you have found in
life there's many ups and downs ....but only one go round. ~ Ms. Isabella

Theory of Imprisonment

'A human being is a part of the whole, called by us Universe,
a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his
thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest-a kind
of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind
of prison, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection
for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free from this
prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living
creatures and the whole nature in its beauty.' ~ Albert Einstein

A Sheltered Life

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book ('Lady Chatterley's Lover', for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness.
The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. . . ~ Anaïs Nin