Hidden In France

Swamped

We're just back from a 3 day visit (my first) to New Orleans.  The main purpose of the trip was to  check out Tulane University for our son, although halfway through the visit he decided he didn't want to miss the big U.S.C. admitted student reception after all and he took an earlier plane back to Los Angeles, leaving us in New Orleans with the realization he most likely was not going to attend Tulane despite the very generous scholarship that had made it a winner in my wallet heart.  

New Orleans was so different from L.A. Our hotel was charming and old world, the food surprising in content and aspect and not all that bad (crawfish, andouille sausage, collar green and jambalaya are all words I learned on the trip.)  I was fascinated by all these white tourists letting loose, dancing terribly off beat in the streets and walking around nursing alcohol rather than the usual starbuck. I guess people will travel great distances to Vegas and New Orleans for the privilege of becoming ambulatory drunk.

I don't really drink and walk, but I should have considering my extremely poor choice of shoes. Closed-toe danskin clogs are a terrible, terrible choice in 87 degree, humid Louisiana. 

After my son ditched us, we decided it was time to explore the bayou, what else did we have to lose?  I loved it. It was at once spooky and stunning, Big Fish and O Brother Where art Thou suffused into one. We pet baby alligators and took a boat driven by a massive 14 year old named ZZ.  The fact that he carried a knife the size of a baguette was supposed to reassure me but somehow failed to. I though it was funny that he spent the whole trip enquiring about what life in the Los Angeles jungle was like. To him, that was exotic.

On the way back, our plane was delayed because of the weather (note to self: never, ever fly into or out of Dallas airport in April EVER again) and once we did take off, eventually, five hours later, the turbulence were so awful that one member of the family saw a week-long constipation abruptly turn to its violent opposite, and had absolutely no choice but to climb over the flight attendants's joined hands (in prayer, I kid you not) and spend the most vicious minutes of the turbulence hanging on for dear life in a bathroom that no doubt had to be condemned after that.

 

Voila, this was my trip.  Now I'm safely back home ready to let les bon temps rouler at last.

Nature with the capital N.

My home in Los Angeles is an oasis of nature. There is an immense 300 year old oak right across my window as I write. My front and back yards are lush gardens, birds are making nests as i speak, squirrels scurry about, the dog roams freely and the cat rolls in the dirt to his heart's content.  Right outside my window there is a bed of carrots and very soon there will be tomatoes. I love nature! I'm a nature enthusiast. Only I have to make sure I don't smell or listen too closely.  When I do listen, what I hear is the hum of thousands of cars zooming by, and when i do smell there is that familiar smog and exhaust pipe scent I am now resigned to.  Some nature I live in! I can drive five minutes and have the embarrassing choice of 3 targets, 2 trader Joe', 2 giant malls, at least 6 vons and ralphs, 1 best buys, 1 kmart, and a plethora of streets and freeways on red alert. 

But this is all right with me. The truth is nature, real nature, Nature with the capital N is a little bit scary to me.  

Now imagine a remote spot in the middle of Vermont. Imagine one hundred acres of pastures and forests. Imagine a pond.  Imagine a view as wide and far as the eye can see. On that property, a simple but charming house. Imagine that the only sound for miles is the sound of leaves rustled by the wind, and in the summer, the noise of crickets. Heavely, no?

Now imagine that same remote spot in the snow of winter. Imagine the solitude.  The immense silence. For months.  Now I'm scared!

Well Nadia of la Porte Rouge isn't.  I have mentioned to you before the strange, strange way she and I have been,in a way connected.  Through a post I wrote about her years ago she discovered my blog and we became friends. Meanwhile she had a Big dream.  She dreamt of moving to Vermont and live in precisely the spot i just described.  

The rest is history.

images via la porte rouge.

Émilie Simon chante

Look at this intriguing and beautiful video of French singer Émilie Simon that my friend the artist Isabelle Bryer just shared with me.

I love it when I wake up feeling blah on a Monday morning, wondering if that's all there is to life, and then an email, a blog post, something in the morning paper jumps start my inspiration.

 

Isn't she cute?

 

Welcome April!

The  month of March was an absolute whirlwind of changes.  I had to take action, make decisions. There were reasons to be sad, reasons to be afraid and reasons to celebrate. I had to think fast, lay low, plan ahead, put a pillow over my head.  I had to follow my gut, stay calm, do with little sleep.  I had to be pushy, be patient, be reasonable and unreasonable. I had to take a few blows and return some.  I still had to write, clean, cook, shop, and on occasion make an ass of myself and accidentally fall into the pool but my mind really wasn't into it.

Among the wonderful things that happened: my kid was accepted at 10 out of 15 universities he applied to. Pride and Joy in the mail box all month long.  This was much needed recognition of his ambition and intellect, because it doesn't matter how wonderful we think he is, until a university throws money at him to lure him into going there, how could he be sure? Among the not so good things that happened, he did not get accepted at his first choice school. Although, silver lining at least for me, he might now go to a California school where I can stop by his dorm and make his bed on occasion,hehe. But I'm trying my best not to push him in one direction or another.  It's not about me.  Or shouldn't be. Okay it does feel A LOT about me. I'm so not ready to let go.  

Good thing: Nadia and I are now an item.  Haha, that's a hell of a teaser isn't it? That's all I'll say for now. I'll tell you the details of the story later. I'm hugely excited about this little secret of ours. Sometimes  when I think about it I have to shake my head in disbelief. You'll see, you'll see.  

Really disheartening thing: I thought my novel would come out this month: it won't. It's still riddled with typos something awful. Typos are like slugs in my vegetable garden, they keep coming and coming and there seems to be no end to them. I'm tempted to use a flame thrower over the whole thing (the book and the garden.)

Great thing: I lost four pounds!  Yeahhhh!  Anxiety and stress really suit me.