After the fire. I went through some kind of fierce existential cleanse. I guess standing there on the street, watching the 6th floor go up in smoke, was a strange gift. I had my guitar, my two laptops that have EVERYTHING I cherish on them, my camera, and suddenly I got a little dose of "wait a minute" I have everything I could ever possibly need. There was my husband walking down the street toward me, there was my livelihood at my feet.
Life WAS good. I got busy, the most major spring clean ever, of course along with professional fire cleaning crews. Every wall, every ceiling, every everything got the once over.I gave away every possession I could think of that I didn't ever need to see again. I washed my most beloved things by hand. The rest went to the dry cleaners...I scheduled the doctor's appointments I've been putting off, got my estate (ha, that sounds grand, but I promise it isn't) in order, tied up every loose end I could find....
And then, I snuck away to Paris to work. Same theory. guitar, laptop, camera. What else did I need? But Wow. Cleaning house lets in the good stuff.
my fave spot
It's very intense getting back to "real life." So much still coming to the surface about my time with my mother. I wrote a little guest blog post to celebrate the premier of a film about Alzheimer's told exclusively from the perspective of the Patient! Wow. Check this out: You're Looking at me Like I Live Here and I Don'
And finally, a moment for Adrienne Rich. She inspired me so deeply. My mother and I shared her books back and forth over the years. I happened to have brought just this one poem with me to Paris, tucked in to my notebook at the last minute. Strange that.
It will not be simple, it will not be long
it will take little time, it will take all your thought
it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath
it will be short, it will not be simple
it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart
it will not be long, it will occupy your thought
as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied
it will take all your flesh, it will not be simple
You are coming into us who cannot withstand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you
you are taking parts of us into places never planned
you are going far away with pieces of our loves
it will be short, it will take all your breath
it will not be simple, it will become your will
Adrienne Rich 1991