House of Nani

Malgre le chant

2011-09-19T09:39:00.000-07:00

Not always seen, but always heard. Your kind voice humming a soft harmony. Whether you were in the kitchen alone making succulent soups or in the midst of us all, a hymn danced on your lips, a smile in your eyes, a sweet constant in the air. The comforting resonance around our family.

You left us long ago, retreating into the recesses of a mind thick with memories and delusion, still you sang, with sound waves tangled in a mesh of fragmented desire and hope. A restless and muffled melody.

Distracted by bits of string and buttons, your mind dimmed, became the thief of your song.

Your precious music twirled and twisted, sank through a sieve into blankness.

Your breath inward, your voice silent.

On TonTon’s knee the warmth of your hand always.

Jeannine Condoret 1926 - 2011

a travers les larmes....

2010-08-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

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.....

2010-05-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

I turned 40 this month. It was the hardest birthday. Silly I know, but the truth all the same. Why? Because after all of these years of looking into the mirror, I never saw myself...until now. And what I saw I defined by all of the things I do not have, a husband, a child. But it has taken me a couple of weeks since to see beyond to the things I do.

So on this day I was taken to Pinehurst by The Rock Star. It is a nearby golf resort town and beautiful. The weather was hot and steamy, just the way I like it. The sun shown. We spent the night in the most beautiful resort, and had dinner in a fine place. "Happy Birthday" was written in chocolate on my plate. We walked through the town for morning brunch. There is greatness here too. In the efforts of a man that tries his best. In the beauty of that place. In my mind, if I let it in.

I won't say much more about that. What is another year's passing afterall? Not much when we look at the lifetime. I wrote this earlier in April, when I was over-run with dread. I still wonder about those flowers in the wind, but I am not so sad to see them swaying now. Living or Dying, it is our choice.

La quarantième

C'est un chocolate qui se fond trop vite sure la longue
...un rêve qui blêmit,
et fait rêver encore.
Les fleurs de pavots qui tourne dans le vent et rit: "vit! meurt. vit! meurt."
Les coeillir ou les laisser danser?

......n'importe, cela ne change rien.....

-nat April 17

April 1st.

2010-04-01T04:18:00.000-07:00

Today I was going to write some amazing, crazy situation or happening from my life - and then make it an April Fool's. But then I started to think about all those things I would like for myself that just aren't so. Or where I would like to be at this point in my years, that I am not. And it was all too triste for me to try to play a trick. When my life seems to have played a trick on me.

Maybe it is just me, still trying to shake off this apathy. I cannot complain about all those things I do not have. Or all those wishes that seem to be floating, fruitlessly around me....next month is going to be a corner stone, only I can step up to it.

The Spring is showing its courage, bursting alive all around me...despite the winter's cold, the flowers do not give up.....neither will I!

BellNa colloquiallism # 73

2010-03-18T04:41:00.000-07:00

"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

2010-03-12T04:57:00.000-08:00

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....

2010-03-06T06:32:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-02-26T04:38:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-23T17:48:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-02-20T17:54:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-10T04:45:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-06T19:04:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-04T19:37:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-02T17:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-31T07:09:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-29T18:03:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-12T04:27:00.001-08:00

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.

oh beautiful place, won't you remember me....

2009-08-26T04:44:00.000-07:00

The sun was shining and the heat was on. This summer would give me one week at the beach with The Rock Star. On the jet ski we went, we zipped here and we zipped there and sometimes we met a sand bar or two, only to step out and push our way back to deeper waters. This day would be Cape Lookout - a beautiful light house whose general direction we sped towards only to turn a sandy corner and to see it suddenly looming and old and stoic and straight. The little bay there was like a pond and the swimming was, despite the tourists, calming and warm. It was a beautiful historical spot and one I'd never been to.

As we headed home, sunburned and sticky, The Rock Star weaved around the grassy sound and oyster ridges. Constantly trying to discern between the shady waves that meant deep water and the creamy shapes that meant shallow trouble - we stayed distracted and alert.

Almost before we could understand what we were seeing we came upon the three tall shadows dancing on a little island nestled in the grassy paths. They wavered in the dying heat and our tired eyes became alive with the vision.

These three horses seemed to be floating on a layer of oyster shells, chewing the ground, delicately crunching the sharp bits beneath them. They did not mind us, and even as we beached ourselves in our scramble to get closer to them, they did not mind us. I stepped upon the island too and there I was, so close that I could hear their grunting and crunching and stepping. Their long manes swept the ground beneath them, uneven and untidy like happy children who run home laughing with Fall leaves in their hair. I could almost touch them and they were so carefree.

Even as we pushed and heaved to get out off the sand bar, their long necks stayed curved downward in a quiet, sleepy way. Our life, our struggle, even our joy, did not matter in the least to them. They lived with the sea, like the egrets that lazily watched as our loud motor sped by or the dolphins that surfaced almost within reach as the jet ski skidded on the surface noisily, their grey supple bodies perfection in comparison with the waverunner's manmade curves.

We were just two people passing through that hazy beauty all around us that day, we did not enhance it, it was bigger than we were and it didn't need us, strands of them blew by, glimpses, gifted memories that stuck to us long after we had passed.

Behind us remained those three sleepy, brown ghosts, beautiful and wavering in a setting sun or floating on an ending summer; horses dreamily galloping through the green and the brown and the brown and the green.......

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found?

2009-07-31T04:18:00.000-07:00

Atlantis is an amazing resort. Ten plus water features, Ten marine exhibits and a dozen or so restaurants, not to mention the private beaches and sea ports. Once here, you never have to leave this man-made paradise. It is sucessful in making you believe there is nothing beyond its boundaries.....

But there is.

I am admittedly more than a little disappointed with myself that I didn't give enough attention to the true paradise:

Places like the "fish fry" a long row of small, open air shacks, painted in bright colors, here the natives will serve all types of seafood prepared for you all day and well into the night or the long tented flea market building that is packed so FULL of t-shirts, carved objects and jewelry that the air seems to literally hold you in place......until you buy something.

The Bahamians have the best smiles, they want nothing more than to share their island with the tourists, they are proud and welcoming....I might be remembering: our taxi driver with a bit of nostalgia as he drove up to this huge resort when we first arrived - knowing that he would be leaving us there at the feet of Atlantis, like its namesake, a world under water, out of reach, fantastical, fabricated....

I might be remembering, only now that I am home, having glimpsed out of the window of the bus that took me to the airport, the real place, as I should have experienced it, as it was before the big resort that sprouted out of the sea to cast it shadow on the simple...

I didn't look back, though I should have....

Sun is Shinin', the weather is sweet; make you want to move your dancin' feet...

2009-07-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

A week away was just what I needed. Sometimes you don't realize how overwhelmed you really are until you are slouched in a lounge chair, staring up at the palm trees swaying in the wind, while the hot Bahamian sun beats itself into your skin...until you fall into a stupor of heat and sultry breeze.

The soft, constant lapping of the carribean sea fades as you breathe slower and every stress, every worry, every sadness you might have felt before vacation seeps out of sight, and all that was ever painful is carried away by the gecko at your feet that scampers, frightened, under the sea grape leaves . ...

This was me. I didn't know where to start, jump in the pool or jump into my book, finally I slept, jumping into nothingness or it jumping into me.

This is really an amazing place. Check out Lovely Obscurities for the beauty and intangibles and for the wonderful food and groovy sensations to Cassis et Cacao .

Rather I want to write about my friendship with T.T. here. Though one friendship had to slip away across the pond in order to make this one grow, I am grateful for the gift within the loss.

Now Nani can be, at times, shall we say, spaced out. It is a constant struggle to stay in orbit for me, and so tiresome - so sometimes I take brief sojourns from myself.

T.T. , my friend, my travel companion this week, understands my lapses, sighs but smiles at my dazes and yells out to me "BON VOYAGE! Enjoy the ride", "Say hello to the man on the moon for me!":

When I purposefully turn off the wireless and then fight with the computer for twenty minutes trying to pull up websites that can't be found...until she nudges me and reminds me that I need the wireless on....yeah, I knew that.

When several sentences in, poolside, she realizes that though looking right at her, unfocused, I am not listening to a word she is staying...so she clears her throat and starts again....but I heard some of the things you said....

When I have to go back to the hotel room again and again to get the eyeglasses that try as I might to find, I will not, as they are perched in my nest of hair, on top of my head...she shakes her head and smiles at me....I have too much hair, and those glasses are itty bitty anyway!

When she gently reminds me that I am in the Bahamas, that I have a beautiful bounty of life to blog about and that I need to feed my soul and write and write and write...but this book is so damn good I can't put it down!

Sometimes it isn't so much about where you are but about who you're with that makes the rest so good.

thank you my dear friend....

thank you T.T. !!!!

2009-07-14T19:03:00.000-07:00

Bonjour Nani.....

So here I am agonizing for weeks as to what my first blog post will be about. Suddenly everywhere I went, every tiny most silly experience became spice for this place and little stories began to formulate themselves in my mind..... But nothing really felt right to start with. And my fear of just starting something new, kept bubbling up from this over-thinking mess I was letting myself believe was my creative thinking, but I wasn't creating.

Walking early one morning, Justin keeping a fast beat for me with "Love Stoned", pushing my body while the air was still cool and the days' happenings hadn't yet happened, it came to me. The monster had not fully awakened and I was in my own dream state as my muscles warmed up and the familiar ache took over. So simple, I realized, I will blog about this very thing: this blog world and why I want to live in it a little.

First, the how: My most beautiful, inspiring sister friend Belle of http://belleanddutch.blogspot.com/ mentioned to me that I should check out some cool blogs she had discovered. I should disclose that we both work in the same office. A particularly DRY and uninspired span of months has overtaken us in this place and we look forward to more of the same for at least the foreseeable future, so what can I say, we look for a little harmless distraction at times.

The why: These blogs offer a most wonderful thing: escape. After a very short time I found myself looking forward to checking out their next post. To follow a bit of drama, silliness, even just plain life. It was never a long narrative, just a blurp of funny, sad, crazy living. A short burst of "get away" in my day.....I thought I could do this.....why just be an observer, a reader, why not be the writer, be the written?

Hell Yes! So, I am not getting married, nor am I having a baby or surviving a tragedy or being inspiring through illness. No great revelation to be found here or awe instilling breakthrough to convey...but what I do have are my small moments, joys that are huge to me and significant too, and there are thousands of them. Because I love to laugh and so I vow (yes pookie, I do vow) to find more and more of the most happy, crazy times. Because they are all over us. When you just have to laugh at it, at them, at yourself. Then laugh all over again as you are typing away and re-living it, even through the tears sometimes......because every day has a thousand of them, and a small escape in each....

House of Folie, for the Nani friend - too funny not to have her own place.

Lovely Obscurities for my passion for reading and the artful things, different but no less significant escapes for me, in photography, a beautiful flower growing in my yard or a sound that feeds me in ways only someone that listens can know.

Cassis et Cacao for the things that are tangible, foolish but necessary, like a piece of chocolate that has the sweetest melting when I am most tired or a lotion with a name like "apricot and cilantro by the sea" that I might find in a magazine and that makes me pause with gladness for just one second.

These things are House of Nani and Nani is me.