Monday, June 03, 2013
Sunday, June 02, 2013
Luck and a deck of cards.
June 1, Petersburg.
Another river nearby, and the chance to cool off again.
It's hotter than yesterday, ripe for a storm. Garage sales again, and better luck although we didn't find much but were given free things at each three sales we stopped at (an old Pentax camera, a deck of cards in a leather pouch, rain ponchos and garden gloves). The law of series once conveniently demonstrated.
Another river nearby, and the chance to cool off again.
It's hotter than yesterday, ripe for a storm. Garage sales again, and better luck although we didn't find much but were given free things at each three sales we stopped at (an old Pentax camera, a deck of cards in a leather pouch, rain ponchos and garden gloves). The law of series once conveniently demonstrated.
Early call.
May 31, Cumberland.
A five in the morning call and a short jump, so we're on the lot early (this is a new town, at least for us) and we're off to roam garage sales at eight o'clock, only to return empty handed. The Shriners, our sponsor here, gave the kids a train ride around the lot, but it had to go back and forth on only half the tracks because of the electric cables stretched across the way here and there. The train traveled along a river and I took Dylan and Nicolas there to cool off.
A five in the morning call and a short jump, so we're on the lot early (this is a new town, at least for us) and we're off to roam garage sales at eight o'clock, only to return empty handed. The Shriners, our sponsor here, gave the kids a train ride around the lot, but it had to go back and forth on only half the tracks because of the electric cables stretched across the way here and there. The train traveled along a river and I took Dylan and Nicolas there to cool off.
The joy of the Joels.
May 29, Mannington.
I went to see my friend Joel and was enthralled by another lovely soul, his seven-year-old son.
Joel underwent a liver transplant last October and has been recuperating, complications and drugs and drug withdrawal making life difficult but, life itself, after so many years waiting and getting sicker and weaker, Joel is alive, he made it, and his life has touched so many of us that there is literally an army of Joel's friends out there, and I am proud of counting myself one.
It was so nice to see him again, and see him getting back into life, his humor and wit intact, hah!, it's always so good to see Joel.
I went to see my friend Joel and was enthralled by another lovely soul, his seven-year-old son.
Joel underwent a liver transplant last October and has been recuperating, complications and drugs and drug withdrawal making life difficult but, life itself, after so many years waiting and getting sicker and weaker, Joel is alive, he made it, and his life has touched so many of us that there is literally an army of Joel's friends out there, and I am proud of counting myself one.
It was so nice to see him again, and see him getting back into life, his humor and wit intact, hah!, it's always so good to see Joel.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Summer school.
May 28, Waynesburg.
First day of practice again for the boys, splits and jumps, after a summer school morning of reading and math.
First day of practice again for the boys, splits and jumps, after a summer school morning of reading and math.
Chauffeured no more.
May 26, Zoar.
Jacob drive the motor home for the last time this morning, to round up his week.
Jacob drive the motor home for the last time this morning, to round up his week.
Beautiful country.
Beautiful rolling hills of the Swiss-like valleys of central Ohio, I only wish the Amish-dependent tourism industry were not as blatant.
Back again.
May 24, Millersburg, Ohio (676 miles, Skyview Ranch.)
We're back at the circus.
I picked the kids up at West Boulevard Elementary School a little before the bell and we hit the road running, stopping only once for gas. Smooth travels, it is ten thirty and we just got here, up a dirt steep and curvy dirt road into this Christian retreat place that saved the show today as the lot was flooded and there was nowhere else to go.
We're back at the circus.
I picked the kids up at West Boulevard Elementary School a little before the bell and we hit the road running, stopping only once for gas. Smooth travels, it is ten thirty and we just got here, up a dirt steep and curvy dirt road into this Christian retreat place that saved the show today as the lot was flooded and there was nowhere else to go.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
In this very room.
Columbia, May 15.
My friend Sally came to talk to Dylan's class today, and she blew me away - and all eighteen kids.
Sally went to school at West in the fifties, shortly after it opened, and was in first grade in Dylan's very first grade room. She gave each kid a story-telling cloth and they listened to her telling stories from when she was in first grade, in this very school, in this very room. They wore their story-telling cloth as they then each told a story to the class (Dylan translated a story we had read the night before in French; a boy was a cowboy and used his cloth as a lasso, rehearsing in the back of the room, then theatrically swiping all the art supplies off the nearest table.)
In this very school, in this very room.
Her performance ended with a guess. We walked out to the front of the school to try to guess which tree it was that Sally had help plant when she was in fourth grade, in 1958. It was barely taller then they were now, she told them, before leading them to the biggest, tallest tree in the front yard, a regal oak towering over the school. She read them a poem then, with Dylan in her lap. Again I felt grateful and humbled; for such a friend, for the school, for them to have allowed her to come in and share her art and passion, for being here.
In this very school, in this very room. This very tree.
The kids were enchanted, or maybe it was just the mid-day sun fire in their eyes, and the power of stories.
My friend Sally came to talk to Dylan's class today, and she blew me away - and all eighteen kids.
Sally went to school at West in the fifties, shortly after it opened, and was in first grade in Dylan's very first grade room. She gave each kid a story-telling cloth and they listened to her telling stories from when she was in first grade, in this very school, in this very room. They wore their story-telling cloth as they then each told a story to the class (Dylan translated a story we had read the night before in French; a boy was a cowboy and used his cloth as a lasso, rehearsing in the back of the room, then theatrically swiping all the art supplies off the nearest table.)
In this very school, in this very room.
Her performance ended with a guess. We walked out to the front of the school to try to guess which tree it was that Sally had help plant when she was in fourth grade, in 1958. It was barely taller then they were now, she told them, before leading them to the biggest, tallest tree in the front yard, a regal oak towering over the school. She read them a poem then, with Dylan in her lap. Again I felt grateful and humbled; for such a friend, for the school, for them to have allowed her to come in and share her art and passion, for being here.
In this very school, in this very room. This very tree.
The kids were enchanted, or maybe it was just the mid-day sun fire in their eyes, and the power of stories.
West Boulevard Elementary School.
Columbia, May 12.
I am now part of the PTA at my kids' school and it makes me feel so strange, as if I were suddenly an American, after all these years lived here but not quite here maybe. The PTA! I volunteered to be chair of the outdoor classroom (I've been busy in the garden, some twenty years of repressed gardening unleashed) and added a student activities co-chairmanship when it turned out the outdoor classroom only gets to meet twice a year. I can't wait for next year.
West Elementary School has done such a top job with my kids it will be difficult to repay the debt we owe its staff and teachers. I am grateful and in many ways humbled to be a part of truly one of the best schools in the nation.
I am now part of the PTA at my kids' school and it makes me feel so strange, as if I were suddenly an American, after all these years lived here but not quite here maybe. The PTA! I volunteered to be chair of the outdoor classroom (I've been busy in the garden, some twenty years of repressed gardening unleashed) and added a student activities co-chairmanship when it turned out the outdoor classroom only gets to meet twice a year. I can't wait for next year.
West Elementary School has done such a top job with my kids it will be difficult to repay the debt we owe its staff and teachers. I am grateful and in many ways humbled to be a part of truly one of the best schools in the nation.
Monday, May 06, 2013
Illinois and Jacob.
May 5, Mount Zion.
Those Illinois roads, all flat and straight. One last day with Jacob driving us, chatting with him.
More rain.
We're leaving after the first show; it is a four-hour drive back to Columbia. School is out in three weeks and it will be here too soon and not soon enough.
Those Illinois roads, all flat and straight. One last day with Jacob driving us, chatting with him.
More rain.
We're leaving after the first show; it is a four-hour drive back to Columbia. School is out in three weeks and it will be here too soon and not soon enough.
Gravel lot.
May 4, Arthur.
And thankful for that gravel as it hasn't stopped raining yet.
I remember this little touristy Amish town fondly, walking around to the cheese shop, Vickie and Lucky Eddie still here and we crossed paths. It is a lovely town in the middle of nowhere.
This time I walked around in the rain looking up, intent on identifying all those spring-beauty-clad trees. I've always loved trees and as I am now working hard to put down roots, literally and not, I've fallen in love with them all over again.
And thankful for that gravel as it hasn't stopped raining yet.
I remember this little touristy Amish town fondly, walking around to the cheese shop, Vickie and Lucky Eddie still here and we crossed paths. It is a lovely town in the middle of nowhere.
This time I walked around in the rain looking up, intent on identifying all those spring-beauty-clad trees. I've always loved trees and as I am now working hard to put down roots, literally and not, I've fallen in love with them all over again.
Back again.
May 3, Vandalia.
I picked up the kids after school and we headed down I-70 to the circus one last time before summer.
The endless heavy rains of winter storm Achiles make for a trying trip. They were calling for snow this morning but we dodged it and got more rain. I managed to plant all my trees before it started coming down yesterday but not quite; the two apple trees (Fuji, Granny Smith) and the one peach tree (something big and juicy) I had ordered from a nursery in Louisiana, Missouri, arrived just as it was beginning to drizzle, so I ended up covered in mud.
And back for more.
I picked up the kids after school and we headed down I-70 to the circus one last time before summer.
The endless heavy rains of winter storm Achiles make for a trying trip. They were calling for snow this morning but we dodged it and got more rain. I managed to plant all my trees before it started coming down yesterday but not quite; the two apple trees (Fuji, Granny Smith) and the one peach tree (something big and juicy) I had ordered from a nursery in Louisiana, Missouri, arrived just as it was beginning to drizzle, so I ended up covered in mud.
And back for more.
Rain.
April 28, DeSoto.
Sitting on a parking lot for more than an hour with Jacob, waiting for the circus to find another lot, rain and more rain and we're been here before and they know the damage we'll do to a nice grassy lot if it's wet. Finally we just move down the street in this athletic fields complex to a concrete area and trailer homes are parked on the curb. We are last in the caravan so there's no electricity for us; the cable won't reach.
I leave after the first show to get home to Columbia before dark.
The rolling hills of Missouri are beautiful in the spring birth.
Sitting on a parking lot for more than an hour with Jacob, waiting for the circus to find another lot, rain and more rain and we're been here before and they know the damage we'll do to a nice grassy lot if it's wet. Finally we just move down the street in this athletic fields complex to a concrete area and trailer homes are parked on the curb. We are last in the caravan so there's no electricity for us; the cable won't reach.
I leave after the first show to get home to Columbia before dark.
The rolling hills of Missouri are beautiful in the spring birth.
Belonging.
April 27, Potosi.
So we're back at the circus, barely moved into our house in Columbia and out again.
I will have to learn to negotiate this road of double homes, here but not quite, settled into town life but not entirely.
One foot in, one foot out, the story of my life.
So we're back at the circus, barely moved into our house in Columbia and out again.
I will have to learn to negotiate this road of double homes, here but not quite, settled into town life but not entirely.
One foot in, one foot out, the story of my life.
Chauffeur Jacob.
April 27, Potosi.
Fridman has hired Jacob to drive our motor home since I left it at the circus after spring break, and this morning he came over and drove it still, for the kids' car seats are at home in Columbia and I need to hold on to them during the drive.
Jacob told me his big news: he has a girlfriend. They met in Newport, Arkansas, exactly ten days ago, he said, when she had her Dad came to the show. He handed his phone to show me a picture of her: his screen shot. I have not known Jacob to have a girl friend since he started working at Kelly Miller in February of 2011.
I'm very shy, he says.
Fridman has hired Jacob to drive our motor home since I left it at the circus after spring break, and this morning he came over and drove it still, for the kids' car seats are at home in Columbia and I need to hold on to them during the drive.
Jacob told me his big news: he has a girlfriend. They met in Newport, Arkansas, exactly ten days ago, he said, when she had her Dad came to the show. He handed his phone to show me a picture of her: his screen shot. I have not known Jacob to have a girl friend since he started working at Kelly Miller in February of 2011.
I'm very shy, he says.
Welcome to the mud show.
April 26, Farmington.
We made it by mid-afternoon with rain all the way and the lot is all mud.
Welcome home.
We made it by mid-afternoon with rain all the way and the lot is all mud.
Welcome home.
Dad.
April 25, Columbia.
We're going to the circus.
Fridman is somewhere along I-70 as I write, on his way here from Farmington, south of Saint-Louis, and we'll go tomorrow mid-day, picking up the kids from school early before hitting the road for a little more than a three hour drive back to the circus (Today was a travel day at Kelly Miller, and nothing happened on the road to delay arrival, so Fridman was able to leave.)
This week, for no reason I know of other than maybe he's getting more comfortable among his classmates, or maybe just because chance is what makes the world go round, Dylan told his friend at school about his Dad and the circus, and they went online and found photos and videos of him and now he's proud as can be because they all think it's so cool, Dylan's Dad walking upside down thirty-five feet up in the air like that.
Dad is home, and the circus is so close we can visit.
Summer is around the corner.
We're going to the circus.
Fridman is somewhere along I-70 as I write, on his way here from Farmington, south of Saint-Louis, and we'll go tomorrow mid-day, picking up the kids from school early before hitting the road for a little more than a three hour drive back to the circus (Today was a travel day at Kelly Miller, and nothing happened on the road to delay arrival, so Fridman was able to leave.)
This week, for no reason I know of other than maybe he's getting more comfortable among his classmates, or maybe just because chance is what makes the world go round, Dylan told his friend at school about his Dad and the circus, and they went online and found photos and videos of him and now he's proud as can be because they all think it's so cool, Dylan's Dad walking upside down thirty-five feet up in the air like that.
Dad is home, and the circus is so close we can visit.
Summer is around the corner.
One morning.
April 7, Columbia.
The morning is lovely, fresh warm and sunny, a cup of coffee on the porch, reading a short story called Valentine in The New Yorker magazine.
The boys are still asleep, the house is quiet and the street all but empty, peaceful and precious moment.
It is not always easy with the kids, Dylan especially. It is hard sometimes to be Mom and Dad all at once, and nobody to talk to about it, or anything else.
The moment is lovely and soon it will be gone
The morning is lovely, fresh warm and sunny, a cup of coffee on the porch, reading a short story called Valentine in The New Yorker magazine.
The boys are still asleep, the house is quiet and the street all but empty, peaceful and precious moment.
It is not always easy with the kids, Dylan especially. It is hard sometimes to be Mom and Dad all at once, and nobody to talk to about it, or anything else.
The moment is lovely and soon it will be gone
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Travel day.
March 27, Frisco.
Travel day, easy after driving from Columbia, and no major incidents.
This will be our last traveling with the circus this time around, as we leave on Monday and Kelly Miller will be here for four days, with shows on Friday and Saturday and the traditional day off for Easter on Sunday.
The kids ran outside to play with the Rosales twins.
It's sunny and windy and warmer and I love it.
Travel day, easy after driving from Columbia, and no major incidents.
This will be our last traveling with the circus this time around, as we leave on Monday and Kelly Miller will be here for four days, with shows on Friday and Saturday and the traditional day off for Easter on Sunday.
The kids ran outside to play with the Rosales twins.
It's sunny and windy and warmer and I love it.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Video games.
March 25, Shepherd.
Dylan and Nicolas spend hours playing video games with Nathan. We're home.
Dylan and Nicolas spend hours playing video games with Nathan. We're home.
We're green.
March 25, Magnolia, Texas (833 miles, Magnolia Educational Center.)
We made it.
We had a rough start on Friday, turned around to spend the night back at the house, the trailer coming apart on the road before a flat tire threatened to land us into the ditch, all before we had reached Jefferson City, twenty-five miles away. We were intent on getting away before yet-another winter storm hit, but in the end did not see any more of it than drizzle.
We made it, and I still get a jolt each time I look into in my rear-view mirror, the blue of the sky.
And the green, spring happening.
We made it, we left again on Saturday morning and drove all day, ebbing drizzle nearly all the way along and drenching rain just before Hugo, and never before had I been so happy to see the town, Castro there waiting for us at winter quarters, and I could finally unclench my hands from the steering wheel and my eyes from the rear-view mirrors.
Feeling safe with Castro on board I drove on down today, highway 19 stretching for miles of straight undulation ahead of us, pine trees and ever more green gracing us with spring blooming. We made it by the afternoon, right before the first show's finale.
We're home.
We made it.
We had a rough start on Friday, turned around to spend the night back at the house, the trailer coming apart on the road before a flat tire threatened to land us into the ditch, all before we had reached Jefferson City, twenty-five miles away. We were intent on getting away before yet-another winter storm hit, but in the end did not see any more of it than drizzle.
We made it, and I still get a jolt each time I look into in my rear-view mirror, the blue of the sky.
And the green, spring happening.
We made it, we left again on Saturday morning and drove all day, ebbing drizzle nearly all the way along and drenching rain just before Hugo, and never before had I been so happy to see the town, Castro there waiting for us at winter quarters, and I could finally unclench my hands from the steering wheel and my eyes from the rear-view mirrors.
Feeling safe with Castro on board I drove on down today, highway 19 stretching for miles of straight undulation ahead of us, pine trees and ever more green gracing us with spring blooming. We made it by the afternoon, right before the first show's finale.
We're home.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
News, good news.
March 10, Columbia.
I am thrilled to report that my Double Take series picture of Sara and Gigi has been picked by the Vienna International Photo Awards non-profit organization as today's Photo of the Day and can be viewed on their Facebook page.
Other thrillers: Zuzu came back after disappearing for three weeks. She was apparently living in the burned-out house down the street; both the Cat Lady next door to the house and its owner told me they had seen her there. We had put flyers on neighborhood homes' doors, I had gone and sought her out once I learned she was camped in the house, to no avail.
I believe it is Wishbone who brought her home. I let him out on Friday for the first time since Zuzu had gone, and that night when I opened the front door to go look for him there they were, both of them.
I couldn't stop smiling, even though Nicolas was home sick all day and has had a bad dry cough I'm beginning to be worried about.
I am thrilled to report that my Double Take series picture of Sara and Gigi has been picked by the Vienna International Photo Awards non-profit organization as today's Photo of the Day and can be viewed on their Facebook page.
Other thrillers: Zuzu came back after disappearing for three weeks. She was apparently living in the burned-out house down the street; both the Cat Lady next door to the house and its owner told me they had seen her there. We had put flyers on neighborhood homes' doors, I had gone and sought her out once I learned she was camped in the house, to no avail.
I believe it is Wishbone who brought her home. I let him out on Friday for the first time since Zuzu had gone, and that night when I opened the front door to go look for him there they were, both of them.
I couldn't stop smiling, even though Nicolas was home sick all day and has had a bad dry cough I'm beginning to be worried about.
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Here now.
January 28, Columbia.
Fridman left tonight to go back to Hugo and start the 2013 Kelly Miller Circus season without us.
It's all I can do not to cry my heart out in front of my kids.
We have been in Columbia since the end of the year, slowly, painfully moving in a new house, and I hate living in a house, all the dead space, it's a small house but there is all that space bearing down on my sudden solitude, and I'm lost. But the kids love their school and need it badly, and so this is our new life, the three of us here, far far away from everything they've known since they were born, a city life like any other, the three of us shedding our circus selves and it's hard to be sad for long with kids for they just go on and they're happy and their Dad is leaving but they run around chasing each other and being screaming silly, but here, drive safe, I don't say I love you, and they drive off, Fridman and Marcos, our friend Marcos came over, they picked up new seat wagons in northern Missouri for the circus and stopped here on the way, our last week end together before the big plunge, the solitude of not being part of the circus ring, the big ring of trailers and people tied together for good and bad day in and day out here and tomorrow gone there, now I'm here, and they're there.
Fridman left tonight to go back to Hugo and start the 2013 Kelly Miller Circus season without us.
It's all I can do not to cry my heart out in front of my kids.
We have been in Columbia since the end of the year, slowly, painfully moving in a new house, and I hate living in a house, all the dead space, it's a small house but there is all that space bearing down on my sudden solitude, and I'm lost. But the kids love their school and need it badly, and so this is our new life, the three of us here, far far away from everything they've known since they were born, a city life like any other, the three of us shedding our circus selves and it's hard to be sad for long with kids for they just go on and they're happy and their Dad is leaving but they run around chasing each other and being screaming silly, but here, drive safe, I don't say I love you, and they drive off, Fridman and Marcos, our friend Marcos came over, they picked up new seat wagons in northern Missouri for the circus and stopped here on the way, our last week end together before the big plunge, the solitude of not being part of the circus ring, the big ring of trailers and people tied together for good and bad day in and day out here and tomorrow gone there, now I'm here, and they're there.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Saturday, December 01, 2012
Housebounds.
December 1, Hugo.
I had forgotten how draining a child's illness is, how it leaves you feeling as if it were you who had just come out of the dark hours of the pain, emptied and exhausted, even when the illness is such a mundane one as gastroenteritis, better known as stomach flu.
This particular strain hit Nicolas very hard and left him and I actual prisoners of the house as, on top of throwing up with sobering regularity, he couldn't control his bowels and the diapers I ended up having him put on (tight but they fit, thanks Tatiana) had to be changed it seemed every instant. So what started as a lazy day with a kid at home with a little stomach ache quickly turned into hours stretching into long, painful hours and I watched my son groan and whimper, and made the ultimately unnecessary trips to the emergency room, luckily just down the street, but where else can you go to at ten at night when suddenly there is blood in his stools and you're not sure it's OK?
Tonight he is finally better, and I'm a wreck.
I had forgotten how draining a child's illness is, how it leaves you feeling as if it were you who had just come out of the dark hours of the pain, emptied and exhausted, even when the illness is such a mundane one as gastroenteritis, better known as stomach flu.
This particular strain hit Nicolas very hard and left him and I actual prisoners of the house as, on top of throwing up with sobering regularity, he couldn't control his bowels and the diapers I ended up having him put on (tight but they fit, thanks Tatiana) had to be changed it seemed every instant. So what started as a lazy day with a kid at home with a little stomach ache quickly turned into hours stretching into long, painful hours and I watched my son groan and whimper, and made the ultimately unnecessary trips to the emergency room, luckily just down the street, but where else can you go to at ten at night when suddenly there is blood in his stools and you're not sure it's OK?
Tonight he is finally better, and I'm a wreck.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Sick day.
November 30, Hugo.
Sick child (but not so sick, yet,) grey sky, a cozy day.
And maybe a watchful, quiet tea.
Sick child (but not so sick, yet,) grey sky, a cozy day.
And maybe a watchful, quiet tea.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
She was. My friend. She is.
November 26, Hugo.
She was the last one.
The last one, the past I hadn't found, the last one in my jumble of memories and days gone, the last one the past and the one friend, the quirky soul mate of my dissipated youth, the sister I didn't have, maybe, or want, the warped wished-for mirror of my dreams.
She was the zany one, Zorha, she was my friend, my friend for those golden years of innocence long lost, childhood still clinging, the faint strong perfume of childhood still in secret rooms , secret crushes like little girls, giggles and fears, insecurities and bold looks, crazy hair and madder outfits, books for your true self, in love with the music and the musicians, the buskers of Paris circa 1986, and that cafe, Le Mazet, there was an article about it in The New York Times this winter, a girl spending her youth there the way we did who became a rather famous writer (a writer!), we were obsessively going to the movies, but mostly I went to the movies alone because I liked it better that way, years of enchantment savored later, but there was the music and no worries other than being a girl of twenty in Paris wishing she was pretty like Zorha and mesmerizing like Zorha, my wish mirror, my twin, my heart on my sleeve.
She had disappeared from my life the way she had come in, bolting, and in the years going by I looked her out but she remained elusive, someone had heard of her but that was a long time ago, the last time I saw her she was already a stranger and then she vanished, and then years of wondering, sometime, in the dark hours of the morning, where she was, how she was.
Why yesterday, one last time, turning on the computer late at night on an itch, and she appeared on the screen, the social media resurrection so common, yet such joy.
She was the zany light one and now here I am overwhelmed by raw admiration, not only for her professional achievements, she is a lecturer in American foreign policy at Kings College in London, but also for her strength in the face of a crushing illness, but then there is no surprise because she was a force of life always, her bursting youthfulness turned into iron will as she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at thirty-five, slapped blind out of an ordinary day, sitting down for dinner on the patio. It may have cost her her marriage but she battled and raged on, and she is telling me about this on the phone after we found each other again and I can't speak, I am filled with awe, and thankful for such a woman to be back in my life, because there she is, a rare occurrence of a total remission from MS, after ten years of fighting and not resigning herself to the disease, raging on, ups and deep dark valleys, and I can't believe she is back for me, and how she could be all that, and my nineteen-year-old pal.
For she is nineteen, always will be, in my memory, the way time works when it stops, the way life works when you can't see it unfolding, she is nineteen and laughing and swinging her bag full of books and keys and scarves, her wrists full of bangles, her hair full of tangles, on the Paris cobblestones if my youth.
My youth gone, the longing creeping in, the idiot wheel of life, and Zorha, here at last, teaching me a lesson, her life lightning past my certitudes, and opening a well of gratitude for such valor. We were nineteen and silly, we are middle-aged now and she is a testament of the possible and I am humbled, and giddily thankful, oh yes.
She was the last one.
The last one, the past I hadn't found, the last one in my jumble of memories and days gone, the last one the past and the one friend, the quirky soul mate of my dissipated youth, the sister I didn't have, maybe, or want, the warped wished-for mirror of my dreams.
She was the zany one, Zorha, she was my friend, my friend for those golden years of innocence long lost, childhood still clinging, the faint strong perfume of childhood still in secret rooms , secret crushes like little girls, giggles and fears, insecurities and bold looks, crazy hair and madder outfits, books for your true self, in love with the music and the musicians, the buskers of Paris circa 1986, and that cafe, Le Mazet, there was an article about it in The New York Times this winter, a girl spending her youth there the way we did who became a rather famous writer (a writer!), we were obsessively going to the movies, but mostly I went to the movies alone because I liked it better that way, years of enchantment savored later, but there was the music and no worries other than being a girl of twenty in Paris wishing she was pretty like Zorha and mesmerizing like Zorha, my wish mirror, my twin, my heart on my sleeve.
She had disappeared from my life the way she had come in, bolting, and in the years going by I looked her out but she remained elusive, someone had heard of her but that was a long time ago, the last time I saw her she was already a stranger and then she vanished, and then years of wondering, sometime, in the dark hours of the morning, where she was, how she was.
Why yesterday, one last time, turning on the computer late at night on an itch, and she appeared on the screen, the social media resurrection so common, yet such joy.
She was the zany light one and now here I am overwhelmed by raw admiration, not only for her professional achievements, she is a lecturer in American foreign policy at Kings College in London, but also for her strength in the face of a crushing illness, but then there is no surprise because she was a force of life always, her bursting youthfulness turned into iron will as she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at thirty-five, slapped blind out of an ordinary day, sitting down for dinner on the patio. It may have cost her her marriage but she battled and raged on, and she is telling me about this on the phone after we found each other again and I can't speak, I am filled with awe, and thankful for such a woman to be back in my life, because there she is, a rare occurrence of a total remission from MS, after ten years of fighting and not resigning herself to the disease, raging on, ups and deep dark valleys, and I can't believe she is back for me, and how she could be all that, and my nineteen-year-old pal.
For she is nineteen, always will be, in my memory, the way time works when it stops, the way life works when you can't see it unfolding, she is nineteen and laughing and swinging her bag full of books and keys and scarves, her wrists full of bangles, her hair full of tangles, on the Paris cobblestones if my youth.
My youth gone, the longing creeping in, the idiot wheel of life, and Zorha, here at last, teaching me a lesson, her life lightning past my certitudes, and opening a well of gratitude for such valor. We were nineteen and silly, we are middle-aged now and she is a testament of the possible and I am humbled, and giddily thankful, oh yes.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Dream (again.)
November 25, Hugo.
Dylan as we were reading before bed tonight: "Mom, I want to learn lots of stuff, so I can be president."
Dylan as we were reading before bed tonight: "Mom, I want to learn lots of stuff, so I can be president."
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Dream.
November 24, Hugo.
Dylan as I tucked him into bed tonight: "Mom, maybe life, it's just a big dream."
Dylan as I tucked him into bed tonight: "Mom, maybe life, it's just a big dream."
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
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