a childhood memory
a childhood memory of Alain Le Boucher
Sigmund Freud 1921 - Photo Mary Evans
I might as well start my memoirs at the beginning: the story is well known in the family.
The three of us are in the house in Toulon in the mid-1950s. On the living room carpet, I play with nails. Far above me, Mom and Dad are talking. Grown-ups sitting in their huge armchairs. The new house is so modern that a socket is embedded in the living room floor. Practical for the vacuum cleaner.
There are small nails, and two large nails. There is also the funny flap. Click-clack, click-clack… My curious mind wonders: will the nail go into the holes?
In the armchairs, suddenly there is a kind of silence. Dad:
- It’s nothing; the carpet is insulating, and it’s only 110 volts, he’ll learn…
- Are you sure?
- We’re here; it’s safe, I tell you.
This blog is proof that it was safe. On the other hand, after this first dose of electricity it seems that I couldn’t do without it.
Le Grand Léjon. The open sea reaches the first white strip
For the light, it’s the same: in Brittany, at Grandpa and Grandma’s, the room overlooks the open sea. In addition to the stars, when the weather is clear, you can see the flashes of the lighthouses of Paimpol Bay.
A former pilot, my grandfather taught me to count the seconds between the flashes. The rhythm of the lighthouses names the dangers they signal. Perched on these nasty pebbles, the lights transformed the killers into good-natured landmarks for sailors.
the old lantern of the Héaux lighthouse in Bréhat
Then… I am a rickety teenager, quite annoying, and legally desperate.
Chance wanted me to have half an artist’s head, and the other half quite scientific. To cement it all together, I was lucky enough to inherit a very useful dose of this unconsciousness that we call optimism.
Thus equipped, I had everything I needed to embark on the adventure that I thank you for browsing with me.
