A sleep-deprived friend sent me an e-mail explaining Daylight Saving Time is like cutting one end of a blanket, sewing it to the other end of that blanket, and thinking they now have a longer blanket.
I was out having lunch at Sawaddee Thai Restaurant in Sherwood Park. The food is wonderful. The service is excellent and I recommend visiting next time you feel like an authentic Thai meal.
As a colleague and I were enjoying a tasty lunch, beside us there was a birthday party for a grandmother, celebrating with her children and gradchildren. They had a tempting looking birthday cake. As is the custom, thepartygoershad placed many candles on the cake with 2 numbers in the middle: 39.
It was a playful way to show that although she was 93 in physical age, mentally she was energetic, youthful and vibrant. Everyone enjoyed the number reversal and there was much laughter.
I turned 81 a few weeks later, and here I was out having lunch with the same colleague for Sushi at another wonderful restaurant, Teppan Taro, again in Sherwood Park. The coffee was excellent and I observed the waitress keeping coming back to fill up my colleague’s cup of coffee to the point I was afraid he would turn into a coffee pot…
We were all in good spirits as I said to my colleague “You winked at the waitress!”
“Did I?” was his answer, looking very surprised.
“Yes, you did!”
He then proceeded to explain that it was a subconscious habit when very happy.
“Ah,” was my response, “How come then you never winked at me?”
When the waitress came back to our table to re-fill his coffee cup, my colleague looked at me winking furiously and then with eyes wide open to not wink,looking at the waitress asked:
“Did I wink at you?”
“Did you?” said the waitress.
I replied “Yes, he did!”
The waitress then said “I did not notice” and walking away said, “I am used to it!”
At the end of the enjoyable and excellent Japanese meal, and ordering some dessert, I was thinking of those candles on that birthday cake, and with a big smile, in playful fashion, I informed our good-natured waitress: “Today is my 18th birthday!”
Without missing a beat she winked at me and said: “You don’t look a day over 16!”
She really made my day and got a very good tip!
I am sending my new book to the publisher today!
Although it has been sitting in my fridge for four years now, I decided that I would uncork the bottle of champagne only once the book has been published.
Oh yes, you will hear about it. (both the cork popping and when the book is here!)
I will keep you posted.
It was clear to me that a particular molar of mine wanted to part ways with me.
Suddenly wobbling on my jaw bone, it made protests every time I wanted to chew something. So I made an appointment with my Dentist for the following Monday to have it addressed.
On Sunday evening while eating soup (the only food that the unruly molar would allow us to eat), I could feel something in my mouth that was not expected or usual. It felt as though there were a candy or something harder than soup in there. Upon investigation, much to my surprise, it was the molar! Complete and in one piece, I examined it and was able to detect one small cavity.
Problem now rectified, I contacted my dentist to cancel the emergency appointment. Next, I cleaned the extracted molar and prepared it for it’s next purpose. Having come from the Congo, I had never experienced or even heard of the Tooth Fairy. That night was the night for me to have that experience for myself. I put the tooth under my pillow, as was explained to me was part of the ritual.
My friend, the one who was guiding me through this tradition, had told me that by placing it under my pillow I could have a dream that would explain to me how to get whatever I wanted to have.
It’s been four nights now, and still nothing. I’ve decided now that it is time to move on to the next part of this strange ritual, can somebody please email me the address to the Tooth Fairy Complaint Department?
I look forward to hearing from you all, and will also update you if there are any changes to my dreams, money under my pillow, or a reply from the complaint department.
This year, my birthday turned into a sumptuous three-day event.
On Saturday, a delegation of the Hypnosis classes came to meet me at the office with two gifts and a bottle of sparkling (non-alcoholic) apple and raspberry cider and an incredible birthday cake that was so good I had to enjoy a second helping.
Friends joined me for supper at a restaurant on Sunday. Since they thoughtfully offered to give me a ride, I indulged with an BIG class of rosé wine. Mmmmmm.
On Monday, another friend offered me a ride to the McDonald hotel in Edmonton to enjoy a late lunch... I suppose we could call it a “lupper” (lunch/supper). It was a gorgeous afternoon - sitting in the shade on the terrace of this exclusive hotel, the view is beautiful as we could see the valley and the North Saskatchewan River.
At the end of the meal, my friend decided to pay the waitress while casually enjoying what was left in her glass of wine at her leisure, truly savouring the moment. As she kept waving her hand at a fly that insisted bothering her, all of a sudden I saw the fly flying on its back at full speed - first in a small loop followed immediately by a much larger loop and landed on its back, at full speed, right in what remained of my friend’s glass of wine.
I am leaving the expression on my friend’s face to your imagination.
It was in 1959.
At the country’s independence from Belgian Congo to what is now République Démocratique du Congo, the black people and their new army became literally crazy, wrecking and taking everything, taking white people hostage, torturing them, killing them, and more.
Today, many events are coming to mind as I do remember running for our lives as well as helping others save their life, or to be more to the point, helping them save their skin.
Maurice and I came to Canada by choice, paying our way with our own money. What for? To live.
I lost everything, including my country, except one thing: I kept my life.
Thanksgiving has always been very special to us. It should be special to all of you too.
Thank you Canada, and Happy Thanksgiving day to you all!
Ever wonder where that name comes from?
In the good old days, the bread was kept in a bread box until it was either eaten or had become stale and ready to be discarded. This was called ‘lost bread’ or in French, 'pain perdu'.
So here is what we did to save the bread.
Depending on ones preferred taste, we would beat 2-3 eggs, add a pinch of cinnamon, and a generous teaspoon of sugar. Then we would add a splash of milk to fill our container of mix to ¾ to 1 litre, depending on the number of slices you wanted to save.
In a pie plate, we would put one slice of bread at a time and pour the mixture onto the slice so that it would absorb the mixture. When it became nicely soaked, we would pick it up, let it drain off the excess, and fry it with butter in a frying pan on medium low until golden brown. Then turn it over and fry the other side.
So the delicious pain perdu (lost bread) were eaten covered with butter and sugar to taste.
I’m from Belgium and I still cant figure why you call this ‘French’ toast. Is this from Quebec?
P.S. - Still have leftover liquid? Add some flour to obtain the right consistency and make some very nice crepes! By flambéing them 'au rum' , you are making very delicious "crêpes Suzettes"!
I had sent this picture of me with my new vehicle to my sisters, along with the comments from the person who took the picture:
“Here is a 'Canadian' hot rod picture. I say they have a Canadian feel because most car pictures have a bikini clad woman leaning on the car rather than one in parka with big boots and gloves."
And here is what one of my sisters sent back to me...
Tired of having to keep asking my husband to do something in the yard, I asked him how come if a girlfriend will ask him to do something in the yard, he would do it right away, but when I ask him to do something, it takes him days, and sometimes weeks, to do it.
When a girlfriend asks to do some chores, he would do it right away, knowing that it is the only chore she needs to have done. However, when I ask him to do something, he already knows another chore will need to be done as soon as he finishes the one I asked him to do.
I had told that story to students during a coffee break and one decided to ask the same question to her husband. And his answer was? The tone of voice!
We are April 12.
This is Spring time and to our great pleasure the geese are back for a good three weeks now, honking loudly, a prelude to Summer and warmer weather.
The ducks landed here about a week later.
For us, this time of the year usually also means sunny and windy weather, with wind gusting to 50 km - 70 km/hour.
Yesterday afternoon, I watched two ducks flying off the neighbour's ditch full of water, flying into the head wind as hard and fast as they could, hardly advancing.
Then, all of a sudden turning around and flying fast in the tail wind, passing at the speed of bullets, and with a big splash landing back into the ditch full of water.
This must have been lots of fun because the two ducks did that several times, obviously enjoying the tail wind!
I established a strong relationship with Subby, (as I call my subconscious mind) and this for many decades now.
Entering an hypnotic trance as I fall asleep, I ask a question and when properly phrased get a clear answer from Subby as I wake up in the morning.
Overwhelmed with my work piling up at home as well as at the office, not on time with anything and not knowing where to turn, I asked Subby:
Question: Subby, what can I do? My work is piling up. What can I do to get the pleasure to have everything completed on time?
Answer: What do you expect? You keep focussing on the work piling up, and it does!
I should have know better, don't I ?
One day, a Congolese man picked up a pair of reading glasses his boss had left laying on a table, wondering what this was all about.
Not knowing that white people sometimes cannot see clearly without corrective glasses, the black man put the glasses on.
As he had 20/20 vision, he was shocked to see everything was blurred.
How can anybody possibly see clearly with glasses like that? A person wearing glasses must be very smart to be able to see with eye glasses.
Conclusion: Wearing corrective glasses became the symbol of being highly intellectual and above intelligence.
I had told that story to my husband's Health Care Professional, knowing that he would understand the story since he was from South Soudan.
This was a good five weeks ago.
We were talking about the difference between helping and enabling at lunch today. I also explained how I had called my husband's bluff that morning, as he was pretending he could not button up his shirt cuffs.
As I was leaving the table to go to the office, and knowing how much we like to laugh, pointing at me, the Care Giver said to my husband:
"Look at Anny's smile! She is smart: she is wearing glasses!"
I was in an upscale Ladies' clothing store the other day as two hip ladies greeted me at the door and proceeded to show me what was in their store.
Noticing all the dresses were sleeveless, I explained I wanted a little black dress with sleeves, and added: "You are mostly catering to young ladies, don't you?"
To what one of the hip ladies answered: "Yes. My grandmother also likes to have sleeves to anything she wears."
This reminds me a young client who came to quit smoking almost 20 years ago. One could tell the young client had dropped out of school, the job market being excellent.
As he made himself comfortable in my recliner, already "gone", the young, good-hearted client candidly said: "Boy, are you ever expensive - but you must be the best since you are the oldest on the block."
We were in a grocery store the other day. As my husband started to speak to a teenager who was stocking the magazine shelves, the teenager looked at my husband as though he was coming from the moon.
And I thought: "Maurice, don't you know young people don't talk any more. You have to text them!"
It was 1987.
An ad in the Classified section of the local newspaper section in North Bay, Ontario, where we lived read, quite simply: "Cadillac for sale - $50.00"
Puzzled, two students of the North Bay university, both having $25.00 to spare, responded to the ad and much to their surprise, ended up buying the car - a two year old Cadillac in mint condition, with absolutely no liens or payments attached to it - for $50.00!
So what was the story behind their good fortune and luck?
In a bitter dispute, the former husband in the divorce paper had ordered his former wife to sell the Cadillac and give the money to his mistress. And she did, handing over the $50.00 she sold the car for.
This landed in my Inbox the other day.
As I asked for permission to put it on my blog, here is what Lou answered:
…. As for the blurb you are welcome to use it. I wrote that myself after gleaning all the facts from various sources. I don’t think I need to be credited for it.
So, here it is!
::: If you don’t think your life is going anywhere, consider this:
At our latitude the Earth spins @ 800 km/h, the Earth orbits the Sun @ 107 000 km/h
The Solar System orbits the center of the Galaxy @ 70 000 km/h, the Milky Way moves @ 792 000 km/h.
The Galaxy Cluster the Milky Way is in rotates around the center of the Universe @ 2 100 000 km/h.
That’s a total of over 3 million km/h or 850 kilometers per second, 1000x the speed of a .50 calibre sniper bullet.
You’re going places baby! :::
As I was treated to an enjoyable visit to winery country in Hungary, I had the honour of spending the night in an old winery renovated as a little country inn. The inn keepers had vacated their very clean and cozy bedroom to allow me a single room with all the amenities.
It is usual in Europe to have the toilet in a very private little room, separated from the rest of the room, and this one was no exception. Behind the door was this toilet. Installing it there was an example of ingenuity, with a sink to wash your hands, and a little window for aeration. A very clean and private place. Looking at it, I understood how come French people call the latrine “Le trône” (the throne in French).
Getting up from toilet, I banged my head on the ceiling and carefully got down to check a gadget on the side of the toilet. (Simply click on the picture to enlarge it to have the gadget in full view). Carefully maneuvering the handle in two different positions, wondering how that could flush anything, I discovered the flushing button to push on the top of the water tank.
Keeping at a safe distance, as I was maneuvering the handle at the side of the toilet, I remembered a friend explaining that in some hotels in Japan, one could find two buttons to push on the toilets: one to clean men’s bottoms, and one to clean women’s bottoms. Apparently the spray is a little different.
I can well imagine my reaction had I activated the gadget while still sitting on the toilet, a gush of ice cold water hitting my “derrière”. I would have hit the ceiling, that is for sure!
Back in Canada, as I was explaining my discovery during lunch, my friend explained she saw one like that a few years ago while vacationing in Mexico. There was one like that in one of her friends’ hotel room. After having used the facility, very adventurous in nature, and wondering what this was all about, face almost right into the toilet to check things out, she activated the gadget and got everything sprayed right into her face….
We had an interesting conversation at breakfast this morning.
I was complaining to Maurice I had no idea about putting oil and/or gas in any of the equipment we have: brush cutter, chainsaws, gas lawnmower, riding gas lawnmower, and much, much more.
To accommodate me, Maurice started a complicated explanation about a two cycle and a four cycle engine, going well over my head.
And then, the light came on and I said:
“Oh, I got it! When there is only one hole, you pour in the oil mixed with the gas, and when there are two holes, you put gas in one hole and the oil in the hole with the dipstick . You don’t have to be Einstein to figure that one out!”
Having obtained all the necessary information to conduct a successful hypnotherapy session I invited my client to sit in the recliner.
Reviewing my notes as she made herself comfortable in the recliner my clients nicknamed “The Magic Chair”, I confirmed I noticed she was 15 years younger than her youngest sibling and said:
“So, you were the accident?”
To what she replied with a great smile: “Not at all. I was the pleasure!”
We hear and read about elections. Elections here, and there, and everywhere, and this reminds me of an election in Congo Brazzaville, a former French colony.
I do not remember if this happened just before or just after Belgian Congo became Zaire (now République Démocratique du Congo). All I know is that we were still there when the election across the mighty Congo River took place.
Since the majority of voters were illiterate the leaders of the various political parties decided to use symbols to identify their party. All I remember is one having chosen a Lion, and one having chosen a Bicycle.
The rumour started to spread that when voting for the Bicycle Party, one gets a free bicycle, and the Bicycle Party won the election.
Ah, not in your backyard! Wherever you are, this does not happen in your country, or does it? Think again….
When it is time to vote, who will or did you vote for? Did or will you elect the party you perceive will fill your pocket free of charge, or did or will you vote for the good of your community and the good of your country as a whole?
What are you voting for? What did you vote for? Think again….
Here is a comment I received from a man who struggled for ten years at saving his marriage:
Looking at “what is in it for me” when voting applies also to choosing a partner, oblivious of how that person will be later in life. I am now realizing that by looking for a partner who will fill our immediate desire, just like when voting for short term gain, is simply not looking further that the length of our nose.
Dear Friend and Colleague,
Feeling stuck and unable to move forward, you contacted me wondering what to do so you could get on with your life.
As promised, here is a simple and effective exercise I learned from a healer and friend several decades ago. You may record it to monitor yourself through it, and remember my choice of words is directly related to the ease of pronunciation….
First, sit in a chair with a straight back.
Now, as you take a slow deep breath, and exhale, put yourself in a hypnotic trance to heighten your state of awareness.
You know how to do that!
And now, as you take a slow deep breath, and exhale, become aware of your Light, your spark of Life. It is like a mini sun in your chest. Some people can see it, some people can feel it, some people simply know it is there. That Light of yours, that mini sun in your chest, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine in all its might and extend itself at one arm’s length above you, beneath you, at each side of you, in front of you and behind you and claim dominion over your space by mentally stating “This my body, this is my space, only Light can come to me, only Light can come from me, only my Light can be here”.
And then, as you take another slow deep breath, and exhale, check your aura, the energy field around you and become aware of emotional hooks stuck in your aura, your energy field.
Unhook every emotional hook stuck in your energy field, keeping you stuck in the situation you are in now, and set yourself free of it all. In your mind see them as bungee straps with a hook on each side. As you unhook them, in your mind, see them returning to their rightful owners.
You will instinctively know who put their emotional hooks on you, and some others you won’t.
Then check for emotional hooks you put in others’ energy field, and retrieve your hooks, setting others free the way you set yourself…. That is right!
Um, Hum ….
Once done, gather your hooks, put them in a box and seal it.
As you know, there is a lot of energy invested in these emotional hooks. In your mind, write on the side of the box:
To be transformed into self trust, self esteem, awareness of my abilities and strength, enjoying peace of mind (or whatever you want to have that energy transformed into).
Once having given precise directions to the energy, in your mind, send the sealed box to the sun to be burned up, consumed and transformed into what you want.
Pay attention to a very powerful feeling in your chest as the energy has been shifted, and breathe it in, breathe it in, impregnating every cell in your body.
Now, as you relax more and more, become aware of your aura again, the energy field around you and repair your aura, rearrange it so it is smooth, even and nice. If some places are torn, in your mind, sew them back with gold thread.
And now, as you are feeling free to move forward, contemplate what you want the pleasure to experience and achieve, and in your mind “be there” and breathe in deeply as if you wanted to swallow what you are contemplating, and as you breathe out, smile at that awareness.
And now,as you take another deep breath, and exhale, let your relaxed mind drift away to very pleasant scenes in your imagination.
I know of a Real Estate Agent who is presently dealing with 4 members of the same family. As I am observing the situation, it reminded me of a time when some years ago I was Real Estate Agent in the fair city of North Bay, in Northern Ontario, here in Canada.
Dealing with Italians has left me with some of my fondest memories of my years as a Real Estate Agent.
A young couple was engaged to be married. They were both born in Canada from Italian parents who had emigrated to Canada, and as dowry, the mother of the bride was to buy a house to her daughter. I found myself having to sell a house to the young couple, her parents and for good measure to his parents too. A total of 6 people.
A maximum price was set and I proceeded to show the young couple every house in the set price range. North Bay at the time had a population of 80,000. Talk about “spinning wheels” as it is called in the trade….
With each viewing of a house much discussion went on since not only did they want a house they liked, but they had to figure out if her mother would like it too and if the choice was also acceptable to his mother.
We found the house they both liked and now, I had to sell the house to both sets of parents to conform to their cultural tradition.
First, the parents of the groom to make things look honorable.
Then the parents of the bride.
Needles to explain I each time showed three houses in the set price range: the choice one was the third one who looked very good in comparison to the two first ones I had decided to show as comparison. The Italian mother of the bride could hardly speak English and kept saying with a tone of sorrow “Me-No-Money” to everything.
And now came the time to write the offer to purchase the house. The young couple was sitting on pins and needles, did not move and said absolutely nothing as I was filling out the documents. “Me-No-Money’s” husband was very cautiously translating my questions to his wife and then translating her answers back to me.
When I asked the mother how she wanted to pay for the house “Me-No-Money” understood me perfectly and answered, very matter of the fact, “Oh, CASH”.
Another time, I had clients who wanted to buy a house in a certain part of the city. As I drove in that area to scout the neighborhood I saw a recently built spacious and beautiful duplex, truly the best and nicest house in that old part of North Bay.
The Italian who built the duplex was living with his family on the right side of the duplex It was beautifully built, with marble, arches and columns, and appointed with the very best of everything on the first floor. It was obviously a work of love and pride. That part of the house was for show. They lived in the basement to make sure the first floor was sparkling clean and impressive at all times should someone drop in or invited guests would come over for a visit.
The clients fell in love with the house the minute they saw it and walked in to check things out. It was exactly what they were looking for.
And now was the time to present the written offer to the Italian owners of that side of the duplex. I was led to the “everyday” kitchen in the basement. I was seated at the very large round kitchen table, with the lady of the house sitting on my right, the husband across from us and their three young adult children sitting on a bench along the wall at my right.
The ambiance was tense.
I read the offer out loud; giving one of the young adult the time to translate in Italian to his mother what I had read. I then explained their house was truly beautiful and that the offer was top price for their side of the duplex, no room for bargaining.
And then, the lady of the house started to cry. As the tears were flowing, she explained to me in broken English that she was giving her beautiful house away at such a low price.
We all carefully stayed quiet, all of us, as she lamented, her husband and her three children holding their breath. And then, she took a deep breath, grabbed the pen and signed the document. Staying silent, I then gave the document to her husband who was starting to breathe again, and the moment the document accepting the offer was signed, here came a big claim of victory. Now was the time to celebrate a very good sale.
Talk about rejoicing! The mother said something to one of her children who opened the door to the root cellar and came back with a bottle of homemade red wine and a nice big homemade Italian sausage.
As they uncorked the bottle of wine, I could tell from the aroma that wine was high octane stuff. Wanting to stay sober and go back to the office with the accepted offer as soon as I could, I explained with much conviction that as much as I would have loved celebrate with them, I would get fired if I was found drinking on the job.
That evening, I went back home with an excellent bottle of homemade red wine and a big, delicious garlicky Italian sausage.
Having decided to ask Hypnotism Training Institute of Alberta graduates to kindly forward me their favourite cooking recipes to post on my blog, I woke up with the following thoughts:
Some time ago, a cartoon in a French magazine showed a young mother, hands on her hips, telling her young boy still in a highchair:
“Dans quelques années tu venteras ma cuisine à une malheureuse. Et maintenant, mange et tais toi!”
“In a few years you will be bragging about my cooking to a disheartened woman. So now, just shut up and eat!”
A mother’s cooking is the memory around a feeling, rather than the taste of the food.
Cristofano Allori, Judith with the Head of Holofernes (1613)
Over the ages, an interest developed about women who saved their city or country by cutting the head of a tyrant ruler while asleep or overcome with drink and passed out.
To this day these heroines are the subject of great admiration. One of them is Judith who, according to the many stories written about her, in biblical times beheaded Holofernes in his drunken stupor with two blows of his own sword.
I had told the story to Maurice while we were dating.
Forty years later, listening to all the women complaining about their husbands as they were taking a palmistry course here in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, Maurice asked:
“And what do you do about it?”
“What can we do?” were the answers.
“Well” said Maurice, “do you know what my wife did? I was rather rough in the first months of our marriage and one evening Anny said: Maurice, you are taller than me and much stronger than me, but remember you sleep sometimes, you know“.
Yes, Maurice still remembers.
After having published Bonanna nayo Mundele, I received the following e-mail from Patrick who I pushed in a stroller a little over 50 years ago while living in Léopoldville (Léo for short) now Kinshasa, in what used to be Belgian Congo
“I’ll admit I have to rely on my elders for anything related to lingala. My memories are limited to what would have attracted a 2-3 yr old boy in Léo – Rick bringing a croc in the back of his pick-up, the toys I got for Saint Nicolas, etc.”
Maurice was working at the family run rock quarry, a setup similar to an open-pit iron ore mine here in Canada. The quarry was on Mimosa Island in Kinsuka and linked to the mainland by a bridge. Many of the 100 to 110 men working at the quarry would bathe in the mighty Congo river after work and many fishermen would throw their net there too. The safest place was upstream of the bridge between the island and the mainland where the water would come to their knees by the end of the dry season and very deep by the end of the rainy season. Spotting a crocodile in that area happened once in a while, hence the request to have them killed three to four times a year.
A crocodile was also referred to as croc or a croco. Rick was one of Maurice’s brothers who worked there too and was asked to kill a gandu (crocodile in Lingala) when Maurice was not around.
One Saturday afternoon, I arrived as fishermen were ready to take home a young crocodile that Monsieur Maurice had killed at their request… and Maurice decided to show the croco to my mother with the intent to soften her at the idea that he would marry me.
Take note that my mother, who hated her first name, had me at 19 and was very annoyed that a man 10 years younger than her would call her mother.
That is fine, maman, was my reply, he will call you Georgina. This did not go over very well….
That Saturday afternoon, no matter what I said, Maurice wanted to show off a crocodile to my mother. The fishermen loaded the crocodile in the trunk of my father’s car, a full size four-door Ford with the promise to return it to them. It was 1956. In those days, the car trunks were huge and the three meter plus young crocodile fitted perfectly in the trunk when curled up. I remember looking at the ugly head, with one tooth on each side of the mouth sticking out the upper lip through what looked like a perfect button hole.
When we arrived at my parent’s place, Maurice all excited ran into the house, calling my mother by her married name, explaining he had something special to show her. She came out and went to the open car trunk, wondering what was going on, and when she saw the crocodile, all hell broke loose.
A crocodile, in our car, how dare. What was Maurice thinking he had the right to do so, and on and on. Mother was so angry at Maurice that he could not get into her house for two weeks and after that, Mother always looked at him sideways, with great suspicions, wondering what he would to next.
I was so in love I did not realize a set pattern: When I said no, Maurice thought yes, and when I said yes, Maurice thought no. Lately, with winter upon us, it was time to start the living room humidifier and Maurice asked me if he should clean it. I said no since he cleaned it thoroughly last winter. Did you guess? Yes, he cleaned it.
Anny Slegten's Hypnotic Blog
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Bonjour! Une de mes estampes été sélectionnée par un appel à candidature "grain de riz". Celle ci sera exposée de décembre à janvier 2016 à la galerie Monaïde à Paris. Vous allez la trouver sur : https://www.facebook.com/unseulgrainderiz/photos/a.244730415728553.1073741827.242920502576211/392904784244448/?&theater
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