Bernard Bone

realize last post was grumpier than usual...which is not to say didn't have nice week away from internet, in the middle of nowhere, drinking rose and eating pork.

went fishing at some point, caught 50 catfish, which Dacnar's mom threw into field because catfish are stinky ugly parasites (my inner child cried...though have killed many crabs without remorse, watching a fish asphyxiate is horrifying, let along 50 fish wriggling in a field). Was mildly happy to go for walks occasionally, and pick up fascinating french sport of petanque. (think bowling but you lauch the ball, and smash it on other balls...like old person version of marbles).

amidst all this, a weird story...dacnar's dad is mean trumpet player, with a red basketball head. He played a birthday party a couple of weeks ago with an accordian player named Bernard Bone (I kid you NOT). Since then Bernard, who is very very "sympa," (translate 'nice'), drops by every now and then, given that his mistress has a house down the street. While the memories rest true and golden from the eve when they played till dawn, Bernard's notorious drunkenness, and pastis mooching habits have put him on a precarious relationship with dad and mom. Soooo, on Thursday evening, when Dacnar's dad saw good old Bone pulling up the driveway, he immediately signals the red alarm, pulls open the windows, and with nary a hello says:

"hey, we've got too many people in here, go away."
"But I'm just going to hang out here, by the window."
"no no no, go away...too many people"

So Bernard shuffles along, gets into his white car, and pulls out.

Background: the Bone is in bad times...his wife won't let him go home and his mistress won't let him in without cashola. So, Bone, the 60-year old drunken accordian player, likes to stop over in the latter half of afternoons, and repeat the unholy phrase " I don't know. I just don't know" over and over, while draining pastis after pastis. It doesn't make for good company, especially since it shortens the siesta of Dacnar's dad.

Anyways, Saturday, yesterday morning, D's dad, while reading the obits, which old people develop the habit of doing (like, we google, they obit-read), comes across the following notice: Bernard Bone, deceased, August 5, funeral August 9, 66 years old, from le Mans. Is it him? We look in the grey pages and there are two B Bones, one in Chateau du Loire (the house of his mistress...he bought the house), and the one in Le Mans. Is it the same Bone? Evidence would say yes, given that we know Bone is originally from le Mans.

However, no amount of pushing gets D's dad to phone...instead, the parents occupy themselves with packing their bags for vacation (they left this morning for Bretagne), and after a couple of minutes of speculation, they issue was pushed aside for the more agreeable subject of famous lighthouses and what was for lunch.

Is Bernard Bone dead? Were we the last to see him alive, and we shooed him away? Suicide or car accident? Who will be at the funeral? don't know

If he is, tonight we play the Initials B.B. (Gainsbourg) just in case. Everyman deserves a little Bardot at his wake.