de l'encre au bout des doigts

She came into our live almost by mistake.
We were reluctantly looking for someone to watch our kids. She was apprehensive and frustrated she needed the money. One little note in the boulangerie, one phone call.
We chatted.
She came round.

I thought she looked nice. Nice enough, and that she didn’t know that. She barely looked into our eyes, yet she seemed eager and filled with life and possibilities. We needed to know that our kids would be well taken care of. She needed to believe she was worth something. That the corporate bosses, the ones that refused to give her regular hours, were wrong. That’s why she needed a second job. Corporates. People who fill charts and save money, and reports, and forget about the humans.

I’d worked for them. Not the same, but still, men in suits. I knew.
I might have to wear a suit again. I know.

We gave it a try. One week, then one month. And we were both glad. Our kids love her. I think she loves them. Or the idea of them.
No. Really.
She saw herself through their eyes, and saw that she was worth something. That she was someone.

I don’t care about my microwave.

Children, the way they see you, the way you see yourself reflected in them, they don’t lie. There’s no shield. It may be too much, too much truth, but it’s real. And all she saw was beauty. Beauty and trust. More than spoken words, we trusted her with action, with freedom. We still do. Freedom to stand her ground and make her place. Freedom for minor punishment (and who are we to complain if she turns the TV off), freedom for light rewards.
Aurore got lip gloss.
We always talked and she knew that as long as we did, we would support her, or maybe tell her where the line was at some point.

So there she is.

She came into our home and filled it with peace. I know I can work, and that my children are happy, content, well taken care of. And I see the light in her, the life and confidence slowly seeping through, finding a pace. I found a scolarship she said, I can go back to school. The school is near your kids’, so I can still pick them up. Please. That would be nice.

Microwaves can be replaced. She cannot.

I saw her face find inner peace, her hands be more confident as she talked. I saw the joy glowing again.
We dont talk much. It’s all about daily life. But I see. She has plans. She does not stand still anymore, she looks at me with her eyes and with her smile and we see each other.
That is precious. I do not have many friends, many collegues whom I see, and who see me.

So, there is a new person in my life, in my family. Someone I feel responsible for. When my job ends, July 3rd, it will have consequences. Everything we do touches unknow shadows.

There is a line of salt surrounding us. It’s not just the sea, or our tears. (Of joy, sorrow, confusion. Take your pick). BSG tought me that. About the lines of salt, about crossing them, and about it sticking to our shoes wherever we go afterwards. Invisible for for us, and for the wise. You cross it, or you don’t, or you play with it and wonder. It’s OK. Really, things are.

So there it is, this blog. I haven’t made a decision about it yet. But well, I guess it’s OK if once a month I let my mind wonder throught the keyboard. The rest will come long fine.

I may post some crap in future days, but hey, my friend, see you next month. I’m sure it’ll be grand.