Wild Thing

I have really had my brain full recently. This has been one of the most therapeutic few weeks for me and I am feeling really incredible, after feeling really crappy. Again, I think it's the Spring thing, the rebirth thing, but for me it is also silently, quietly a reminder of 3 major springtime losses that I have had in my life, that I have never been able to grieve properly, or is that what I am doing now, this Spring in Lyon that feels so intense?

The loss of Michael, my closest friend in Philadelphia, who really got me and loved me the way I was, who whistled outside my window on summer nights, beckoning me to go out and be wild. He was stabbed to death on South Street the night before he took his architectural boards. He was a John Doe at the morgue because he didn't have his wallet on him. He was mad at me because I had left him behind and moved to New York. He would barely speak to me. He never forgave me, even though I tried to break through. The loss of Manny, my big brother in the city, Cajun boy, amazing chef who smoked cigars, shared my passion for France in a car, taught me about foie gras and Monbazillac, defended my broken heart (post Jean-Luc.) He drowned, scuba diving. He had just fallen in love. We had talked the week before. And, the illness of Halliday, my beautiful older daughter, which left scars on my life that will never go away, and on hers. Spring just feels so painful yet beautiful to me.

At 2 in the morning, when I could not sleep because I was so flipping angry at another male friend of mine (that, an entirely other story) and mostly angry at myself, again, I began making sense of all of these crazy feelings.

I am tired of being treated like I am invisible. I am tired of trying to get the attention of people who are too busy to be present. I am weary of those who cannot talk about what's really going on, or think deeply. I am sick of hearing myself talk. I am embracing the amazing young girl that I was and am trying so hard to be proud of my inner wildness and my unbridled creative spirit that has often been criticized, condemned. I am trying not to criticize myself. I am trying to look at the whole picture and not stumble into superficial holes. I want to tell the truth about a lot of things. I want to speak my mind even though it's just my mind. I am finished with my old story and am starting a new one, but I am reintroducing a character that I was told to leave behind, because she was so challenging, so untamable. I know that is the only way I can go forward and write my next chapter. I must wear myself like a badge of honor. Manny and Michael loved me as I was, crazy, wild, raw, emotional, so deeply sensitive, spontaneous, vulnerable, dependable, true...and selfishly, I feel such a loss without them in this world. My springtime loss, a deep hole I am trying to fill with reflection.

At 2 in the morning, I read my weekly horoscope. Here's what it said:

"He who cannot howl
will not find his pack."

{Charles Simic}

Joyeux Anniversaire

The loveliest 11 year old I have ever met!

L'absence n'est-elle pas, pour qui aime,

la plus certaine, la plus efficace, la plus vivace, la plus

indestructible, la plus fidèle des présences?

{Marcel Proust}

En Exile de la Presqu'ile

We are in exile (does that mean "out of the island"?) from the "almost island," the Manhattan of Lyon, the 2nd arrondisement, 69002. I rented our apartment to a friend from New York for a few days and now am in forced exile in the country. Poor me, going from one amazing, chic city apartment to one bucolic, peaceful hamlet, with only 48 minutes in between. What's remarkable though is the difference in me. I feel like I am equally country girl and city girl, split in two.

I am sitting on an old stone foundation, crossed legged, in my gym clothes (from 2 days ago) and my favorite Vega sneakers. Haven't taken a shower, brushed my hair or put on lip gloss in 24 hours. Forget why I even do this. Hmmmm. I'm listening to the Charolais cows mooing and the echoes of that in the valley below, the trickle of water, a spring perhaps, the birds singing happily, a bee pollinating clover. Things zoom by, insects, lizards peep their heads out of stone walls and run quickly in the last rays of the sun. I can see miles away, nothing but open farmland, cultivated in patchwork green, mountains in the background, a magical forest on one side, rolling fields on the other. I am too lucky. C'est trop beau.

I haven't accomplished much today, or rather feel that way. We're sort of on vacation (I'm never on vacation—workaholic that I am,) but I did make vegetable soup, bring loads of logs inside, light a fire, keep it going all day, check emails and make web changes, call an electrician, text an old boyfriend, make pasta for the girls, gossip about men with Flo. I get into a different rhythm here and I love it—but I do feel less productive. I am out of contact even though I have a cell, landline and the most absurdly slow internet possible. We played tennis this morning and jogged, forgot that. It felt so good to be outside, I love to be outside. And now, trying to soak in those last remaining rays of warmth, I realize, this is my home. This house is so comforting to me, just the way my house in Red Hook has been for 16 years. I feel safe here. I feel blessed with all that I have in my life.

Things to get at the épicerie in Larajasse: chevre, lardons, du lait frais, de l'ail, oignons, les fraises (garrigettes) et un bouteille d'eau.

Le soleil, le soleil

Had the most wonderful time at Cyril's the other night, the Bistrot du Boulevard, our Thursday night hang out. It's the neighborhood restaurant that you always dream of having in your neighborhood. In my case, it's not in my neighborhood, but rather in my friends' neighborhood, kind of the way Bolgen + Moi was when I lived in the Hudson Valley. Wow, just love having a place to call mine, where I walk in and people know me, yet it's filled with everything new and the possibility of hearing many life stories, of telling your own once again, of being heard, of making yourself understood. I've been telling my story a lot lately and it feels really good.

I am here

I feel like jumping up and down, it is so gorgeous today!

Silence Speaks Louder Than Words

Where I come from, silence has a very loud message...disapproval, so no wonder I have the hardest time listening to silence. I attribute all kinds of bad judgements to it—suddenly, I am the kid in trouble, feeling desperate to win back approval, whatever the price (cher;) These days, I have been hearing a lot of silence and my reaction has been different. Yes, I've run thru the litany of self-deprecating insults already. I've felt sad, I've felt insulted, I've felt wronged, misunderstood, ashamed, embarassed, shocked. I swear, I have felt it all at the same time, but the resounding feeling, the feeling I woke up with yesterday, today is this:
I feel free. You gotta love it! Embrace the silence!