Monday, July 12, 2010


It is *still* hot in Belgium.  A true joy for me.  We've had two weeks of gorgeously tropical weather and while I am in heaven, most of the natives are with every other breath telling me they may fall over and melt any second.  It's marvellous.  The whole weekend has been rather blissful in fact.

Saturday I was granted a surprise entry into Les Ardentes.  Though I am not a big Ben Harper fan, I must say the man is a hell of a musician, as are all members of his touring band.  The last half hour of his set (the crowd called him out for an encore,) put my hairs on end, it was that good.  After meeting him on the street in Liège the day before, and then seeing his performance the next day, Boyfriend now has a little "Ben" on the brain, and is trying to find a proper concert of his to attend.  After Ben's set was done we made our way to other parts of the festival to dance like crazy people to drum & bass and it was there I discovered that the universe had conspired to undress me.  My shirt would not stay put, with straps falling down regularly, frequently posing the real risk of boob-exposure.  My pants, which normally sit on my hips took the hot weather badly and joined forces with the weight of my pocketed cellphone and keys in downwardly oriented retaliation.  I'm sure about half the room saw my already low-rise underwear peeking out at some point or another as my pants tried to creep their way off of me.  It was a fashionable but disastrous ensemble.  It might have frustrated me if it weren't so funny how much a part of my dancing that evening involved trying to keep my clothes from abandoning and exposing me.  Dignity?  Haha!  What dignity?

Sunday we took the car and a blanket to a little-known place by the river Ourthe to relish the sunshine and possibly to venture into the water, and discovered that the place is now known.  There was a scouting event going on, with little people rock-climbing and learning archery and occasionally chanting things in unison.  There were a few other small groups of people in the river or sunning on the banks.  Alright too though.  We found a place where we weren't too close to anyone, put a blanket down and I proceeded to do my very best impression of a solar-panel, while marvelling at the tiny communities of ants, beatles and other minute life that went about their business in the grass just off the border of the blanket.

Popsicles are never better tasting than in 30 degree weather, and so naturally, we had to stop and get some on the way back.  They are always so much better than when the mercury is above 30.

At home, my linguine carbonara and I had a battle of wills, which I won in the end.  I have a great deal of difficulty taking in enough solid food when it's hot.  Boyfriend worries about it more than I do, since I know that a significant portion of my nutrition just shifts over to liquids rather than solids in weather like this.  At any rate, the heat is rare enough here, and the large quantities of cold milk that I drink on days like these should make up for most of the solid food I'm missing.  What?  Milk has carbs, proteins, and fats.  Combined with my other summer love (cold fruits) I'm *totally* covering all the nutritional bases, aren't I?  (shhh.)

Strangely, in the midst of all the heat and lazy joy, things have managed to roll along productively here on the home-front.  This weekend has seen new plants sprouted and watered on the roof, the re-ordering of things in the alcove-of-doom, vigorous and meticulous efforts in the organization and cleaning of things, and several moments where I and my caulking gun reaffirmed to the world what an awesome team we are.  All of these things passed as though they were but a wisp of breath, a heat-induced hallucination.  None of the work about the house that was done this weekend actually feels as though it was done by me, (other than that I feel my minor pride at my acheivements,) or that it was difficult.  It is as though little house-ninjas did all the work while I was out enjoying my weekend.  How perfect.

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