I am… I am but the star dust that tumbles I am but the twig that snaps beneath your umbels…

Archive for January, 2015

Song of Four Fairies

Song of Four Fairies

They spring from fountains and from scared groves/And holy stream that flow… So wrote the poet Homer.

Watercolor by Anastasia Traina ~ 2015 ~


The Holiday Wreath Preview Part 3

Watercolor by Anastasia Traina ~2015

Watercolor by Anastasia Traina ~2015


A Feverish Wish!

A Feverish Wish!

Somewhere, betwixt REM sleep and a night vision, where the Wild Things are truly wild, I found myself running from an unseen monster, and then blindly I made a right turn… only to stumble upon a desolate but blustery beach where the sea was raging and wild. Suddenly, that invisible demon that had been chasing me was not so terrifying anymore as I faced the natural elements. I rapidly became aware that the wind was too much for me and I was fighting a losing battle as it swept me dangerously close to the open jaws of its feral waves.  With a pounding heart, I woke…to the first day of a New Year, Thursday 5:04 am, January 1, 2015.

I, like a blaze, sat up in my bed for the second time in 48 hours after being struck down by a skull-cracking headache mixed in with the rough seas of nausea. I, albeit faintly, heard through the tiny opening in my window the wind echoing the distant roar of a freight train passing. I pondered what a befitting end to a rather unfathomable and breathtaking year.  A year filled with deadly blows and remarkable moments…

Yes, deadly blows and remarkable moments, I pondered, as the morning sun rose and the sweet song of the tufted titmouse sung me gently back to a remarkable moment I had just last night.  My son Liam and I had a brief but ever so wondrous conversation; he had just finished reading Albert Camus’ novel, The Stranger, a novel I had read so long ago that I hardly remembered it.  A time when I lived in Paris and fancied myself an existentialist.  As I listened to the gentle rhythms of his voice, I marveled at the man he’s become as he explained to me how he was blown away by Albert Camus’ character Meursault’s description of his mother in just one line, this line…I was looking at the countryside around me. Seeing the rows of cypress trees leading up to the hills next to the sky, and the houses standing out here and there against that red and green earth, I was able to understand Maman better.  I found a little lump of pride forming in my throat and an empathic tear in my eye as he told me, like Camus, he too believed that the world is absurd, but not unworthy of living.

Soon the damping fever overtook me and I found that I had time traveled on the tender lullaby of his words back to my own time of finding existentialism… Paris, and all the people that had taught me about remarkable moments, the absurdity of life, and the worthiness of living.  Back to Sammy’s rocky beaches of empathy, Maman and Papa George’s lavender scented sheets and strawberry patches of love, Jean Michel’s under the moonlit park bench philosophy, Nathalie’s cozy maid’s room of great sympathy and fun, Fabienne and Suzanne’s warm, like a croque-monsieur, encouragement and kindness, Jane’s brilliant over tisane conversations, Ku’s hot and soupy tenderness, Charlotte’s backgammon and Jul time joy, Jean Louie’s potato fondue, glorious mountains and serene care, Jill’s mad, mad, mad driving, Frank’s magical eye and tree worshiping…and in my febrile imagination it is yesterday, and all the wizards and enchantresses of my past are so very vibrant with their magical gifts that they had shared with me.

Unexpectedly, I half-awoke from my brief reverie back in time to Liam showing me an awe-inspiring picture of the moon he had taken with his iPhone through a telescope at his friend Kathryn’s house… and as he spoke of great romantic notions, I drifted between now and then, and I thought on how my friends of that time are like brilliant fading stars for they all but have disappeared as it has been many years since they have shared my daily life. Still, I take great comfort in the fact that these wondrous beings, these miraculous bits of star dust, are living and thriving somewhere on this great planet, and most importantly each one of them makes up a tiny part of me…

It is getting late now and the year of deadly blows and remarkable moments is coming to an end as the Sandman drops his last bit of the seashore on my already heavy lids, and Liam sweetly says, ”Goodnight Mom,”  and…

Suddenly, I am swept up by untarnished dreams of the funeral pyre of the deadly blows, not exactly where I wanted to be yet it is the absurdity of a life worth living… and I dream of the aching disappearances of my magical beings in a year gone by… Claus, a gentle man as solid as an oak, Phil, the great seeker of truth with an ever so fragile heart, Aude, the wise and generous woman of words, Lily, the wondrous adventurer, and Ed, the courageous…

And it occurs to me that I’m not afraid of monsters chasing me or feral waves about to o’retake me or even deadly blows but that people do disappear, even magical ones… and then I wake with a pounding heart and I remember these wondrous beings whom ever so brilliantly passed through my life, just like my brief encounter with existentialism, they left in their wake such remarkable moments and they as tiny bits of miraculous star dust have seared my heart and inspired my path.  They are and always will be essential to who I am…

It is now New Year’s Day, 3:50 pm, and my fever has broke and I would like to begin my new year by saying how very grateful I am that you all are in my life, and my one wish for this coming year is that you have many, many remarkable moments.

Photo by Liam Cohen