Orange to Avignon

Oh Geeze!

So, I haven’t been writing. It’s like this, and a little like that, and well, I just haven’t done it. I’ve either eaten too much cheese, or got high on lavender, or just can’t keep my eyes open to write down what’s really been happening.

My days are filled with the delight of a child not my own. Who has accepted me into her world in a way I never thought was possible. Living in community with close friends is a privilege and a blessing that comes in all forms. Keep in mind that “Ram does everything for the best.” Whatever that means, you meaning making machines. And I don’t want no superficial conversations so let’s get Real and lay our hearts out on the table.

Tart with corgette and goat cheese.

Tabouli salad made with quinoa, corgette, tomato, onion, grated carrot, and a little sel de mere.

Potatoes of the red variety cooked for 30 minutes and then left in the pot with the lid on but the heat off for an hour (because we forgot about them). Serve with butter and sel de mere.

Try mint tea with raw sugar instead of honey.

Ask for help and forgiveness although some people don’t take apologies as anything, they need action.

I like to be listened to.

If I’ve forgotten my manners or how to breathe, I simply have to start someplace, and authentically telling someone I love them is a good place to start.

I love you.

Today we went to Orange and Avignon.

Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse, l'on y danse
Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse tous en rond

Walked through the Pope’s room in the old chapel, with blue and gold fresco on the walls. Held my breath. Climbed a tower in the Pope’s chapel this afternoon and felt like Rapunzel, just with shorter hair.

The French. There's something about the way the like their cheese, their bread, their wine, and their art. I just don't have the vocabulary or the patience, at midnight, to try and describe it all with eloquence and and reverie so I'll leave you with the taste of an this evening, and outing to an artist's exhibition of original art to benefit a local charity:

"Magda, what kind of shoes are you going to wear this evening?" I called to my friend from the bottom of the stairs.
"High hells!" She tell me.
Okay, I think, I will too. Every girl gets a better idea about the kind of evening by the kind of shoes one wears. I run back upstairs and slip on my grey pumps I "borrowed" from a friend before I left the states. I say borrowed because she doesn't actually know I have them, until now.
We load into the car, three adults and one baby a year and a half old. On the 30 minute drive we try and keep her awake by playing music and clapping, tapping on the roof and singing songs. If she naps now she won't go to sleep until far too late—the things I'm learning about being a parent is incredible.

We arrive. We know it's the spot because people are pouring out into the side walk. The place is an open garage next to a restaurant in the train station district. Funky red and black eclectic decor yields an artsy crowd and I feel I can fit in amongst this type. Cigarette smoke makes my nose tingle and perfume spices the evening air. After observing from the street for a while, we push our way through the crowd and see our friends at the back. Making our way around to where they stand we find a corner in the crowded room to try homemade patte, quiche, torte, and for dessert, a French specialty, a cherry cake made with whole cherries. The wine was free and so was the live music with a great brass section. There's nothing that looks better on stage than a good saxophone player.

The best part about the evening was that each artist had several smaller renditions of their larger works for sale for 10euros each. Even though I didn't get my hands on an original, I'm inspired to have an opening for all of my artist friend back home. Look out Prescott, Arizona because you don't know what's comin' your way!

6 eggs, separated and whites beaten until firm.
12 ounces (340 g) bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped and melted in double boiler.
12 tablespoons (6 ounces, 170 g) unsalted butter cubed, to add to the chocolate after removed from heat.
1/4 cup sugar, half added to egg yolks and half to egg whites after being beaten. Then beat eggs again.
1/3 cup (80 ml) rum or other liquor.  
9" pan, greased.
Preheat oven to 325ºF (165ºC), bake for 40-45 minutes, and you'll get something that looks like this and tastes like you wouldn't believe. Serve with fresh strawberries and or water melon and eat for dinner!

On Closure

I’ve been working with the concept of closure. It started with my writing professors—one of them keeps telling me I’m sloppy with my ending, I need to pay closer attention, and finish strong, I can’t just leave my readers hanging without hope or something to hold onto, to transition them away. (My words)

I’ve been thinking lately though, that closure is not finite, for me nothing really ends. There are periods of transition, sure, but ending, finish, final, closure—there always seems to be something that leads into the next thing. My yoga teacher says, “Finish one thing the way you want to start the next.” I’m not sure I know how to do this.

But I do know that death is the only real closure I get in this lifetime. It’s not something to be feared or to worry about; the notion of death is simply a transition time, for the next thing, moving forward.

After a glass of wine with mom the other evening, and having our conversation lead to God and death and children as it does occasionally, she helped me to realize that perhaps the karma we incur in this life is not really for later in this life, or even in the next “life,” but rather it’s a protective force in the times of transition between life and death. It’s in the bardo that we need our karmic points the most. The Tibetan word, bardo, literally means interval or gap—I came to the conclusion that it’s important to gain merit (good karma) in order to fend off lingering daemons we may encounter during this period of transition, this gap called death.  

I do not want any daemons from this life in the next, that’s why this closure must start with paying off my library fines. $19.57.

March 29th

Heading West on I-40 towards the Grand Canyon—

In pairs they pulled the dawn behind them, wings stretched out. In pairs they flew, bringing the light over the tree tops. Some would call them ordinary but they are a rarified bird indeed; Saturn’s emissary coupling in the predawn glow. “The glow,” she said, “can sometimes be seen, depending on where you stand, on the Western tips before the sun is seen in the sky... don’t miss it.”