a travers les larmes....

   A few years ago, L'Architecte and I spent the day in Liberty, NC, at the large flee market there.  For those who have never been it is a giant production.  A vast, grassy pasture, with row upon row of tents and tables, vendors selling treasures and junk, antiques or crafts.  He loved the place.  He was constantly searching for old carpentry and building tools to add to his collection.

I remember this day was particularly clear and warm.  He was meticulous in this search.  Every tool he came upon he gingerly picked up in his shaking hands and studied, often trying to explain to me why it was designed in such a way, and how each piece's form lent to its function.  My uncle's passion was contagious.  One couldn't help but be enthralled when he began to speak about all that a tool could create!  He was so passionate about precision, the fine line, the perfect angle.  In his mind's eye he saw the potential for beauty.  At his fingertips he saw the possibilities were endless.  And at his fingertips, they truly were endless....

Working with him in F, I was lucky enough to see firsthand the passion breathing life into house after house after house.  He loved the farm animals in this place and the tall trees and the high ceilings and the fine lines angled perfectly in order to bring in the most sunlight.

He loved sharing his vision to create a place of rest and of pleasure, to create refuge at once functional and comfortable for the countless folks he designed for.  He loved to create a home.

But it wasn't only the architect driven by his life's task that I knew, but a gentle man.  A man who molded beautiful, creative pieces such as the gorgeous wooden frames that would house his beloved wife's paintings or a graceful rocker in the shape of a lone swan meant to gently sway a grandchild to sleep.  He poured his soul into so many fantastic projects he never spoke of.  He designed so many buildings with a humble yet insatiable yearning for precision and the accurate reach.

I knew him to live his personal day to day life in this way also.  Never to complain or to be slowed by imperfection, but to forge ahead to create, and to produce the beauty he was always seeing in his thoughts, in the project yet to build, in the house yet to live in.  Unwavering in his devotion to his craft and to an ethical, straight line.

No doubt, if it had been left up to him, his body would have been of a sturdier design, more rigidly strong and impervious to disease.  But it was not meant to be.  And as his health declined and his body haulted him, his mind grew with more and more ideas, only to fade away, as he stumbled over them time and again, no longer able to give them life, he shed each one and it was a gracious and slow letting go.

Coming home from that afternoon in Liberty, I still remember him.  The windows of his little, grey pick-up truck are open and his black hair is desheveled in the passing breezes.  Both hands on the steering wheel, he drives quickly home, staring straight ahead..."I have an idea" he tells me and I can barely hear the words as they bounce into the wind.

8/8/10 - le dimanche dernier, pleint de chagrin, et malgre tout, de lumiere aussi.....

BellNa colloquiallism # 73

"There ain't no birds up in here!"

Because one day we will all be old and forgetful. 

Staring up into a very blue winter sky with the big North Carolina crows CAW-ing! CAW -ing!   I wonder out loud about the melancholy their sound produces within my heart on this particular day.  Belle reflects, "will these memories come back to us vividly one day?"  One day when we struggle to remember our youthful thoughts, blowing in the breeze of our minds like fabric shredded in the wind, a piece of something impossible to grasp.....

Yes, Belle and I think: we will be sitting, hunched over in a cushioned chair, in some sort of stark building - I will cry out - "Look at the birds, so many of them in this sky, piercing my heart with their cry!?"

Prompting the care givers to exclaim "Missy!  There ain't no birds up in here!"

But there are, there are, there are.....

Cappy's story

There once was an orange tabby cat.  His name was Cappy and he lived in the downtown streets of Raleigh.  He could be seen zigging and zagging through the parked cars that lined the residences there, he seemed to look both ways before crossing the road, cause he was savvy that way.  Staying away from the tall buildings where there was more traffic and danger, he walked the sidewalks with a relaxed saunter, cause he owned the world.

Cappy spent many cold winter nights balled up in a dark crawl space or huddled under someone's porch furniture.  In the darkest hours of the night he would sometimes see a taxi drop off two lovers, too engaged in an argument as they walked up and into their house, to see his hopeful gaze.   He didn't bother to make a sound, he was rarely noticed anyway.  But, other times, older ladies draped in a lonely sorrow only he could see, would call him to them, give him bits of tuna and a stroke on the head.

With the coldest, most bitter rain, he would sit by a vehicle's tire, a warmth would still be lingering around it from a long commute home, it would give it up to him kindly and the wheel comforted him.  As the rain turned to snow he would watch other cats called into their homes where they might roll by a fire.  He resigned himself to vague memories where he might have stretched himself on a soft rug for a moment.

Just before dawn he would witness the awakenings of a busy world.  Car doors slamming, sometimes children yelling out, the quiet monstrous buzzing of the trash trucks approaching.  The birds starting to rustle.  The birds calling.  The fog of night would begin to shift and sway like strange spirits come to play in the breeze.  It would dance in his olfactory sense and he would feel a deep yearning instinct.

Spring!  Enduring a winter alone, warmer days descended upon him like the warmest of blankets. These were the days when his soul was so satiated he was content to just sit and watch the birds rejoice.  Twisting himself on the warm brick walkways, he joined a clear blue sky and it joined him.  After cooling rains he would walk through the steaming grass between houses, the smell of promised heat and musk rising, a cat or two watching from inside window frames, wishing for his freedom.   He purred softly, low, low, low in his head, humming sweetly. 

Such is life for all of us.  Winter comes in all sorts of ways, settles in our heart far longer than we think we can bear.  But a Spring is always ours for the taking, should we also choose to hum it into our veins it will warm us....

Cappy was captured!  Taken out of the City and plunked down into the Country.  More to follow....

This morning I just want to appreciate the beautiful sunlight.   The days are getting warmer and longer and I do hope that we have seen the last of the white stuff.  The sky here is the most amazing blue with not a cloud to be seen.  As soon as The Rock Star wakes up to get on yet another conference call, I will head out into the light.  Do my morning walk and clear my head.  Last night I watched one of those live morning feeds we had recorded.  A small Maine port town slowly waking.  The sea gulls were crying stubbornly while the boats were caught in silhouette of a rising sun.  And they sluggishly shuffled around on the docks cleaning and scrubbing their way to a big catch.  There are no sea gulls here but I hear the crows already - screaming their way into a new day, they are annoying and insistent.

Fun in the Grey Gardens - Ah-Ha!

This is how I knew that Belle was a Grey Garden Girl.  This morning it was snowing - well, random flurries actually and we were chatting about having to work in the blizzard.  "Don't forget your panty hose!" I said.  And without skipping a beat she replied "I shan't, and I'll be wearing them on my head!"  This exchange in our best eccentric, nantucket drawl dahling!

May we all in the end, feed the racoons, break into random dances of joy and surround ourselves with lush, comforting, gardens of our own creation.....la, la, la!


But oh yeah, minus the garbage.....

Triste est Belle

This is the view from a certain rental house in Ocracoke. A vacation rental like all the others, but this one rented on a certain September weekend, with dear friends, during the waning days of summer, a summer like many that came before though none after. From my bedroom I noticed them. The egrets that came to rest en masse on the fading green marshes. As still as ghosts they peppered my view and I remembered them as beautiful, simply. Looking backwards, as memories overwhelmed, so fragile, those that had come and were yet to come, still, yet restless to live, still.
We were on our way out to the beach, getting ready and busy. Barely giving time to catch their watching. I glanced out and saw them and quickly took this picture. These thoughts of ephemeral joy far from my mind that day. There were no words for passing souls and goodbyes, I had no reason to gasp, though the breath was there already caught deep inside my heart - ready to burst out just a few days after this photo was taken. And then again just a few weeks later.....
Yes, I recall that life can change in one instant. A desolation can descend and make shreddings of the foliage of our lives, we've only to turn our heads to glimpse what was before, just there, on a cloudy, changling day. The feathers of an egret, moving slightly in the breeze, sharp eyes looking here then there. Making a terrifying memory restful if we let it. A bird of summer perched near us for a moment, bringing hope with their beauty. Should we pause to watch them finally fly away, we feel peace in their leaving.


C'était un weekend innocent, plein de joie, avec ma copine chérie. Peut âpres avoir pris cette photo - ca maman c'est endormit un soir, mais ne s'est plus réveillé.....

Dance!

Had an evening out with some friends and we went to the ballet in Raleigh!  The performance was Cinderella and was just perfect.  The Carolina Ballet http://www.carolinaballet.com/  is a great company that has grown in the last dozen years or so.  The performance could have been cutesy and done, but instead was a fresh and beautiful version of this classic.  We had great seats - almost front and center.  It amazed me most of all how quiet these dancers were.  How all we heard was occasionally their feet coming back to land on the ground again.  They seemed to float on the air they were so graceful and free.  I can't even get through one yoga class without grunting so loud the instructor calls attention to it.  They perform these amazing feats of flexibility and pose without so much as a whisper.  In addition, the music was live and performed by the resident Pianist Tetyana Ryabchikova - he played for over an hour and it was flawless!

After the performance we got an extra.  A dark interpretation of one of my favorites - Barbers' Adagio for Strings.  Each note of this piece is so sharp in its sadness, so heavy with hopelessness that it was a struggle for me not to allow the tears to run down my cheeks.  Every time I hear this music I am moved by its beauty and melacholy.  The performance was the struggle of one woman among five men, as she moved from the arms of one to the other.  But the music, for me, filled the room with a thick swelling of suffering and blanketed me with such melancholy - it eclipsed what I was seeing. 

I think Adagio for Strings is the sound of a soul dying - it is so pure in its release of each note, it is not of this world.

Falls of New Hope

Lately I've been thinking a lot about a handful childhood memories. I find a lot of comfort in these as they not only recall good family times, but also help me look forward to the coming summer. My favorite season. In light of this dreary coldness we've been having, the anticipation sustains me.


When I was growing up we lived in a rural residential community, there were only a few homes on this farm land and the homesites were large. The roads were not paved but dusty and wide. The surroundings were oftentimes corn field rows....Oftentimes at dusk during the hottest months we would go out for walks, being European we would not have dinner until late - 9 or so....so as the sun waned we would set out to take advantage of the cooling temperatures. My sister, brother, mother and I. I loved those walks, at five, six, seven, my universe seemed so wonderous. Right off of the road we could reach the prickly blackberry trees, we loved to eat those "mure" as we called them.....I remember that the air was thick and heavy and eating that sweetness made us all the more sluggish but excited too. It was always so disappointing to have to return home for dinner.

At the center of the neighborhood was a park, there was an old large gate there that was tall and rounded. I can't remember that gate ever being closed. Inside was a creek and small waterfall, huge boulders and meandering paths. Fino and I would spend hours and hours of those hot summer days looking for crayfish under the rocks. We would walk alone on those huge dirt roads, miles it seemed, during the day, perfectly safe and without a care. Our mixed breed dog "Dixie" pushing us away from any snakes that might be sunning themselves ahead of us. Dixie was the smartest dog, named after the Dixie Land my mom was so grateful to be living in. Dixie only answered to French and was completely, utterly and wholeheartedly in love with my mother. During those beautiful sunny days, it was hard to imagine that that sweet creature would die four years later , at my mother's side, eyes in love still until the light went out in them, struggling to overcome some poison she had consumed along the way somewhere.

Our home had large upper and lower wooden porches. On those summer evenings, after our bathes, my brother and I would run up and down those porches naked, with just a towel around our shoulders. Humid and droopy capes that we believed would take the next step into the sky. Our favorite play things were the grass and rocks and creek and trees that surrounded us. We loved being outside and though isolated, we had each other and our imagination had no limits.

Once a few years ago I returned to this neighborhood. There were more homes, the roads were paved, the cornfields and old farm buildings in the distance were gone. Many years of living and life were etched into my soul by then. My experience shrank the universe of that neighborhood, and though I looked around every corner, the wonder was gone......but just as it should be, Fino and Nani are in the past there still somewhere, cool water running over our small feet, turning over rocks, eating the berries,laughing at the crickets we chased, a vibrant and kind dog by our side, ghosts of a beautiful life beginning. I see them still, alive behind my eyes whenever I care to look and turn inward to watch the children still dancing there.....

Never Alone

I wanted to talk about friendship and sisterhood.  According to Webster online dictionary, friendship is explained as: "affection arising from mutual esteem and good will".  From the same source, a sister is someone:  "closely allied to, or associated with, another person".

We all need a factual, dry definition of things, but I am going to try here to write about the human truth of what friendship and sisterhood means to me.  And how both are in my heart together.

At times we have losses or personal tragedies that bring us to our knees.  We've all had these devastating moments.  Sometimes life does not make sense and seems to drain from us all the best  without giving anything back.  So these times have happened to me.  But there were blessings in these times.  The friends in my life, those in the guise of my sister girls, or my sweet sister cousins or my dear blood sister - like an extension of myself,  take in with arms extended some of the pain, so that I can breathe easier and live lighter and more free.

These dear friends to me are all sisters ( et ma soeur aussi ).  I know that at any time I can call on them.  Should I want them to just listen to my words, or my sobs, I have nothing to do but to seek them out.  In turn I would listen out for them always, should they call out to me.

They are the ever present, when the moments are the most difficult and when they are the most joyful.  Sometimes darting in out and out of my life, but always near me in spirit.

Life is good when at the end of the day you know you are loved. 

These wonderful, strong women will be along side me without judgement during the pursuit of my craziest dreams.......

Stoop to clean up the most shattered of heartbreaks for me. 

Twirl to happily dance to my most frenzied melodies. 

Patient in their stillness during my most sorrow filled harmonies.

Thank you sisters - you know who you are! 

Yoga Night

I really am a novice at this, but the few times that I've done, it was incredibly relaxing for me and this is another important component of my happiness year.....so off I went tonight to get my calm on.  Twice a week I go to a retirement community's wellness center for this basic yoga class.  Last week I was stuck under the one ceiling light they keep on in the room, so this week I was determined to get a better spot.   I rushed in first and found a place in the middle of the room, perfect.  I grabbed my mat, my pad, my two blocks, my blanket and my belt - whew, threw off my tattered unc sweatshirt and sat facing the mirror.  Cross legged, shoulders back, I thought that was a yoga-ish pose while I waited for class to begin.  On either side of me were women approx. in their 70s.  So hard not to be self conscious.   Instructor likes to start off with belly breathing, we lie down, pillow up, and breathe with focus on our bellies enlarging and pushing in.  Picture a puppy in deep sleep......with his paw palms up of course.  The lady to my right was the sweetest thing, with the worst coordination.  She laughed at herself though, made the strangest jokes and he often had to tell her to sssshhhhh!  At some point during downward dog I realized I had terrible gas.  Fart in sanskrit is yoga.  Anyway, I thought I should try to silently allow myself to pass it but then thought better of THAT idea....needless to say I created a few of my own contortions in order to avoid anything unpleasant happening.  Next to me I notice the old lady shaking her head, I get nervous but then realize that she is only perplexed because she cannot hold her left leg bent while turning to her right with her hands behind her back and her diaphram lifted as her hips remain square.  Don't forget to breathe! Then during warrior pose my iphone begins to vibrate across the floor, I am throwing the javelin intently, my arms are poised, I will not look down or acknowledge the evil technology that has put us all in this mess.  All of our stress comes from our core, the more tightly we hold our ribs together, the higher our blood pressure, the more our muscles become tense and unhappy.  It's a fact.  I must allow a river of peace to run through me and exhale the toxins out.  I bring my head down towards my knees.  Smell my feet.  Namaste.

the long and winding road

I decided at about 4:45pm to walk home. The sun was shining and the snow was melting. I remembered that Belle had a beautiful pair of blue, rubber boots in her office. Since she loves me, I knew they were mine to take. The fit was perfect.

I set off, me and my grey satin trench coat and my bright blue boots. I cut across a stark pasture, my steps creating the first marks on the shiny white sheet that spread out before me.

I came across this tree, the sun was shining off of its branches so wildly that it looked like each limb was crazily reaching out to the heavens, screaming, it seemed, "it's cold!" .

Around the bend as I kept on, I met a lady walking her two dogs. One of which was a little old thing, head lowered, munching on chunks of ice. The other was a pure, muscled and huge pit bull - Jaxon. "Does he ever intimidate" I asked her, thinking I knew the answer. She did not disappoint. Jaxon had the most massive head I had ever seen on an animal. His jaws so huge that it looked as if he had packed his cheeks with oranges. His legs were thick and defined with big knobbly joints. And all he wanted to do in his life at that moment was jump on me and give me kisses.

It reminded me of how truly you can never know a thing by simply looking at it, not one thing. Jaxon was as sweet as he could be, just as he was pulling the lady every which way, his leash barely containing him, looking like he could devour you.....I said my goodbyes and started on my way, turning back for a moment, Jaxon was watching me go, smiling, cheek to cheek.

9am next day, 4 inches later. The only sound is the sleet pattering still on the trees and the house, the wind whips around the dusty snow on top, the snow that hasn't yet been flattened by the sleet....

not a peep from the birds, it is so cold. My iron heron hybrid watches curiously and eternally stoic but silent. My japanese maple sleeps through it all patiently.

maybe, maybe not

this is my yard. It is 9pm, they say this is the big one, the perfect storm. It will snow for 16 hours without ceasing. We will have 15-25 inches before it turns to sleet and ice...we shall see....

Right now, it is cold, flurries are constant and coming down fast. A nice thin blanket of snow is starting to cover the world, or at least my little corner of it.....

My Resolution, my Reality

Ok, it is one month into the new year. What is going to be different this time? No more pattern of the same statements: wishes spewed out as the old year passes away. Notions that I can't quite grasp, fleeting as the thoughts that pushed them forward. Or a noble idea I release to another years' universe like a sigh that escapes me and that means so much yet means nothing at all....

This is what will be different. I am shaking off this apathy, as it sits like a heavy, stinking coat that weighs much too heavy on my shoulders. I will free myself of last years' grief and goodbyes.

I will embrace 2010 close to me and smell its roses and gum drops, feel its sun rays and moon lights. Live each of its moments.

In the tears, and in the joy, in the sickness, and in the dance, in the exuberance and in the calm, in the whispers and in the shouts - I will extract the good and the precious.

And it will all be precious. Every day will be my pursuit of happiness......here, for the world to see.