Odds & Ends

A Journey Across France

2011-12-07T14:38:00.001-08:00

Some mornings I still wake up with little tears on my eyes.I’m missing France very much. I do feel lucky to wake up to the California mountainsand palm trees that have greeted me out my window in every house I’ve everlived in my home state.

However, on mornings such as this, I can’t help but givemyself over to how badly I’d like to open my window and find France waitingoutside. I'm not surprised that throughout history, it's landscapes and people have attracted so many artists and thinkers. It breeds creativity in it's breathing trees and dreamlike rivers.

I left Paris for home after nearly 3 brilliant weeks and hitAmerican soil on November 18^.

If you’ve beento France or live there, you know. The air smells like all the things that make it beautiful. All myfavorite things….Rose and Violet, Chocolate and rich coffee, wine and smoke,soil and wet stones. Something floral and something wood. It’s sweet.

I fell in love.

As soon as I got home I began a journal of my trip. Thisversion is edited…because if you tell a dream it won’t come true…and if I tellyou EVERYTHING there is nothing left for me…and why kill the mystery? However,I’ll give away some of the diary so you’ll understand why I say…if you meether, you’ll fall in love too.

I landed in Paris on November 2. It was my third visit toParis, but the first for my friend. We were equally excited to land and feelthe air a little cooler than in the suburbs of LA.

Our driver was very enthusiastic upon noticing my littletravel guitar in the midst of our baggage. In fact, he brought it with him tothe front seat and tuned it for me before playing us a little Neil Diamond. Heplayed us “Sweet Caroline” in a French accent, so I sang him “Escale” in anAmerican accent.

That first night we walked all over town, got lost, tookphotos of those fantastic art nouveau Metro signs. We sipped café au lait at alittle shop right next to our hotel and were surprised to find that there werekitties running about in the coffee shop. Animals aren’t as taboo inestablishments that serve food as they are in the US. It made me laugh to think that just a few weeksprior I was scolded by a fellow customer in a furniture store in Pasadena forbringing my little Papillion in with me. The store sold tiny bags of 2-year-oldHalloween candy, so this cranky middle-aged goiter had a fit. “Unsanitary” shecalled my little HoneyBear. I toldher that her attitude was unsanitary.

Anyway, we were so enchanted by walking the city at nightthat we ended up on the other side of town and even with the help of the map,we had to stop into a random hotel to ask for directions at the front desk. Theclerk informed us that we were a 45-minute walk from our hotel. This was okwith us. The air was brisk and sweet and the walk felt good. I remember an old man with very darkskin and very white hair who winked at us before shuffling into a red lit barcalled Diablo. I liked him. He seemed like a troublemaker.

I wanted to begin at the bones of the city, so the firstmorning in Paris, November 3, we hopped in a taxi and drove to the Catacombs. Asa fan of spooky things, I was very excited. Also…being only a few days pastHalloween, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day, it seemed fitting.

The history of the underground tunnels and how the rockbuilt the city in which all those people died is fascinating.

The long dim-lit hallways and markers of basic year andplace of death made me feel as if I was walking down a timeline of bonyhistorical meet and greets.

Some bones and skulls are positioned to make designs…heartsand crosses….however most are just stacked in piles taller than my head. Itested to see if they were stuck together. They were not. For a moment I accidently wielded afemur.

I found a stone from the wall for my Dad. For as long asI’ve been travelling, I’ve been collecting little stones and flowers astreasures from around the world for him. My brother does it too. Our father hasa piece of the Great Wall of China, The Coliseum in Rome, Westminster Abby, and many otherplaces.

I’m telling you this to explain a funny happening at the Catacombs…

As we walked amongst the bones, my friend picked up a slabof stone from the ground and handed it to me saying,

“You should give your Dad THIS!”

I took it and gasped, “I can’t do that!!”

She asked, “Why not?”

“Because”, I whispered, “it’s a piece of someone’s head!!!”

She had found a bit…and not a small bit…of skull. We put itback on the pile and scurried away.

I loved imaging who all those bones belonged to and whosesoul might be watching us from the pile.

We took the metro to Montmartre to see the Cemetery. Itseems rather small compared to Pere Lachaise, but it is a precious and crowded villageof graves nonetheless.

There is one enormous chocolate brown grave that almostlooks like a jukebox. I adore it. I wish I had written down who was buriedbeneath it. Another curious graveappears to be a cactus flipping the bird.

However, my favorite part of this cemetery was all the catsliving on the grounds, skulking around the premises. At night their eyes lightup and they add to the spooky vibe. The moon nearly full, and the kitties withtheir glowing green eyes made for some amazing photos. When the hand held bell rang we had torun to the gates before they closed…although I wouldn’t have minded a nightspent in the cemetery. There is no more peaceful a place than to be surroundedby so many people who have been loved.

From there we walked to Moulin Rouge to take the famousphoto of the windmill. I’ve seenthe shows and the building a few times but it still is every bit as inspiringas the first time. I’ve always liked the significance and general aesthetic ofwindmills, so I can’t help but love this one. Its red wings invite you in.

However, we did not go in. Instead we walked 15 minutes to LeGrand Hotel that stands near the beautiful golden-lit Opera.

It was out first meal in Paris, so we tried everything. Thetruth is, in general, I don’t eat meat or dairy, but to not try every flavor isto deny one whole sense. I just couldn’t do it. I ate a frog….probably a frogprince. He was delicious, poor bastard.

I like Le Grand Hotel. The local friends we made rolledtheir eyes at us for visiting an establishment that they deemed “touristy”, butwe felt awfully special under those beautiful frescoed ceilings.

It rained on the way back to the hotel and the goldenlighting made the drops look like flecks of gold. It is easy to see why Parisis considered such a romantic city. It’s as if it is illuminated by candlelight.

Back at the hotel I opened the bottle of Absinthe I boughtat the Catacombs gift shop. Skulls and Absinthe....what a fantastic day.

The next morning, Nov 4, we headed to Basilique Saint-Denis.

Right before we stepped inside I met a man from Kenya withhis little boy. I know a little Swahili…I mean a VERY little, but we spoke fora moment. Actually, we sang “Jambo Bwana.” I really like the blending ofcultures in the city.

Some of my favorite parts of Saint Denis were the littleanimals beneath the feet of the sarcophagus figures. These were animalsrepresentative of the personalities of the royalty or notable people heldinside, whose figures were carved in marble or stone on the outside.

I loved the delicate paintings on the knight’s chairs. Each onedifferent, but all with colors red, gold, teal and blue.

I’m intrigued by the decadent and tragic story of MarieAntoinette, so I really liked the fact that her remains were there…along with aless than modest…but still very beautiful sculpture of her. Actually she lookedmore like Molly Malone from the neck down.

Feathers and frosting, Champagne and diamonds, and then abeheading. I couldn’t have written it! She surely didn’t deserve the end, butit is one of my favorite bits of history.

I also enjoyed the statue of Beatrice de Bourbon. She lookslike a Beatrice.

Below in the crypt lies, among many things, the heart ofMarie Antoinette’s son, the boy who would have been Louis XVII.

This medieval gothic church and burial site of many royalsis really beautiful inside and out.

From Saint-Denis we visited Pere Lachaise.

It was already late when we got there because we walkedaround town for a bit first. Thecemetery was beautiful. We didn’t have much time before closing so we ran toJim Morrison’s grave…jumping the fence for a photo. We are doubtless not the first American’s to take ownershipand think we deserve to get close to him. Actually, no, that isn’t fair…the people who jumped the fence after uswere Italian. Everybody loves Jim Morrison enough to break the rules for him.

The gates were closing so we left soon after our photo shootwith Jim, but we knew we’d be back another day. I had to kiss Edith Piaf.

On November 5 we headed to Champs Elysees to do some shopping.We visited many stores....Fall/Winter is my favorite season for fashion, but our goal was to explore further than the main dragand reach La Duree (the big one was closed for renovation) for macaroons andthe original Chanel store on Rue Cambon.

Before we exited the metro station below, I heard music so Ifollowed it to find a 10-piece band playing French folk music…all songs I knew.I listened for a few numbers before heading up the steps. They were actuallyreally talented. Not your average subway performers.

Upon emerging, the first thing we saw was the Arc deTriomphe. I have giggled every time I’ve seen it…not out of disrespect, butbecause it appears in reference to its location, as if they were carrying it tosome other more aesthetically fitting part of the city or country (maybe toadorn a massive doorway) and it got too heavy….So they just dropped it in themiddle of the street, in the middle of the mall. “Guys, let’s just leave ithere.” I know that makes for abackwards time line and reversed perspective, but that is where my head goes,nonetheless.

I prayed that when I left the city a few days later, I wouldnot have to drive my rental car through, around, or anywhere near the Arc, asthe traffic looked absolutely terrifying.

I adore La Duree. It’s colors and flavors are perfectly feminineand beautiful. There are rows and rows of colored and decorated sweeties like agarden of pastries. Soft pink and pale green decorate the shop in Easter eggcolors with pops of bright pink and yellow.

My favorite are the macaroons flavored of rose, violet, andorange blossom. I also bought acandle that smells like firewood and candy and is dressed in a grey-purple potwith bright purple wax. Macaroon scented bubble bath for Mama with a littleglass macaroon on the lid made me feel like a princess buying a gift for thequeen.

And then on to Chanel. How inspiring to know the history andthen walk the halls of that store. The look for Fall-Winter is gothic romantic.I fell in love with a little art nouveau inspired firefly broach and a few ofthe new scents that I can’t find in the US.

This shop is so elegant with its simple black and white andit’s uniquely Chanel scent. I’ve always loved how all the make-up smells alittle bit like roses and every perfume has a consistent undertone so even ifit’s a new perfume, you know it’s Chanel. Everything about the brand feels timeless to me and I have so muchrespect for Coco with her artistic sense and inexhaustible work ethic.

We walked past all the beautiful shops and took photos ofour favorite window displays. Christian Louboutin took the cake. In the mock barbershopwindow display there was a mannequin head with a 3foot tall beehive adornedwith pumps.

It was a shame that my own heels were hurting my feet….Ineeded to buy some flats. ;)

The Arc at night is beautiful, but I was ready to show mygirlfriend the Eiffel Tower.

Its always breathtaking when I first see it. It looks like adrop of melted gold.

As we walked toward it, we passed a bush covered in littlered berries the same as ones that used to grow near my home when I was a little girl,(my Dad and I used to throw them at each other when we walked in the mornings),so I took a photo of the bush with the Tower in the background and thenplucked a few berries for Dad.

Poor little Tower…everyone always looking up her petticoat!

One of my favorite things in Paris is the old fashionedmerry-go-round. Not the one with the hot air balloon on top…but a littlefarther away. She is the oldest carousel in Paris and one of my favorites inthe world. There is something comforting to me about circles and spirals. A FarrisWheel, a merry-go-round, a windmill, all dance in ¾ like a waltz.I,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3. Like my favorite songs…and probably also the reason I like stripes.

We walked to the Trocadero to take that famous photo of theEiffel Tower where we caught the Tower light show. However, we got side trackedwhen I decided to climb the statues instead. It was very exciting up on thatone statue's shoulders and in another’s arms. How very long they’ve beensitting there…with no one to hold them. So I did. We are all good friends now.They’re very high up, those ladies.

We were exhausted that night.

The next morning, November 6, we headed to Versailles on theMetro. I had forgotten that there is a change over to the train. I have neverbeen so lost in my life! I don’t know how I got so turned around…the metrosystem is certainly different than NY but this was ridiculous. We got off in atown that was as silent as death and felt like we might never get home. Especiallybecause there was no attendant at the gate and we were out of tickets…andlocked out. Luckily, we are both small enough to squeeze through the ticketdoors without a ticket and we hopped the next anything to anywhere. To ourastonishment we had boarded the correct train to Versailles, but without a ticket,we were fined 50Euros…that should have been 100Euros but the ticket collectorfelt sorry for our story. How grateful I am to her.

That is something I have to take a moment for. I’ve beenlucky to have had the opportunity to travel and meet so many beautifulcultures, and there is something really special about the French. They areunbelievably welcoming and patient. No one scoffed at me trying to speak thelanguage and people just seemed to get more wonderful as we left Paris andbegan driving trough the country.

There was only one person on our entire trip who wentagainst the grain.

She was an attendant at the metro station near Saint-Denis.A plump woman in her 30s with a moustache and an attitude like all the peoplearound her were vermin she was simply used to. Upon our asking for assistancewith a broken kiosk, she slowly sauntered past us with lips pursed and eyebrowsraised over highly annoyed lids. No eye contact.

Other than moustach-ina, everyone was ready and willing tosing songs with me, give us directions, or exchange stories. I think the graceof the French is in their patience. Longer meals, time taken to address peoplewho enter their sphere, eye contact. I appreciate it very much. It makes me wantto travel even more so I can discover the qualities that make every culturebeautiful.

Unfortunately, because we got so lost, we didn’t get toVersailles until 2 hours before closing. Also, by the time we got our ticketswe were starving and ready for coffee and cigarettes, so we walked past thepalace and into the village. I’m so glad we did too, because it started thetrip to the Palace in a different way than I’ve seen it. It made me imaginewhat it would be like to live in the shadow of the Royal seat when it wasthriving. It isn’t like the palace in Paris that gets swallowed up by themagnificence of the rest of the area. The village near the Palace of Versaillesis still pretty rural and doesn’t seem to have changed much in the last 300years. I love it because it has preserved its history.

Walking through the streets one can find evidence of the 1800s,1700s, 1600s, 1500, etc.

We stopped at a patisserie at 2pm feeling a little funnybecause we were drinking coffee while everyone else was drinking wine. And I decided on the fluffiest andgirliest pastry I could find to nibble on the way to the palace. It was giant with purple with silver candy jewels and a rose crème filling.

I imagine living in the shadow of Versailles NOW is prettystrange. However, I don’t think many people venture into the village as tourists. We were respectful of that. We keptquiet and aware that we were walking through someone’s daily life.

Versailles, like the Tower, is astonishing to me every time.Because I like the story of Marie Antoinette, I always imagine what it musthave been like for her as a young teenager to drive up to those gates and intoa world that looks like an enormous Faberge egg.

The Hall Of Mirrors and Marie Antoinette’s room are myfavorites, and luckily we did get that far before it was time for closing.

Can you imagine waking up in that room? How dreamy…and howoverwhelming that must have been. Especially because the people of the court were allowed to watch theirroyals dress for the day at that time in Versailles to show an ownership of theroyals by the people. Even the birth of her children was available for viewingin that room.

I’ve never been to Austria, but I wonder what her homepalace was like. Based on the portrait of her mother in her room, I gather itwas rather grey-ish. Momma’s look doesn’t fit the color scheme of the rest of the room.

I love the detail work in the carvings and the tapestries. Ilove architecture. I love the frescoes, and the way that every room has it’sown color scheme.

I can’t imagine being chased as a sort of criminal throughmy own home. That must have been terrifying. Suddenly the garish and gorgeous workcommissioned by generations of self-elevating kings is nothing more than prisondécor.

We were sad to leave early. Next time we will go back forthe Petit Trianon and the

Queen’s little pretend peasant village.

On November 7 we visited The Louvre. We thought we mightjust stroll through and see a few choice favorites but we in fact stayed forthe whole day and saw every corner of the museum…including the service elevator,because we made friends with a woman on the museum staff. I'm so glad we stayed all day. There are so many wonderful pieces to see.

It is true that the Mona Lisa is alluring; it is also truethat it is smaller than you’d think. My favorite thing about it is its colors.Chocolate brown, sepia tones, and then a deep blue-green sky.

I like the fact that while everyone is staring at this smallportrait of a girl, behind them is The Wedding At Cana with its 50 life sizepeople. The first time I visited the Louvre, I bought the book explaining the history of THe Mona Lisa. Her fame makes more sense having read it.

One of my favorite paintings ever is “The Coronation ofNapoleon and Josephine” by Jacques-Louis David. I like to find all the peoplewho are looking at the observer. I like the three women talking behindJosephine. The clergy looks rather scary, but I like them too. The colors are so rich and the detail makes for such a vivid image. I can imagine I'm in the painting.

I also like Antoine Watteau’s “Pierrot (Gilles)” painting ofthe sad white clownish man. I wonder what makes him so sad.

There is so much to see at The Louvre Museum that I almostget desensitized. It’s as if I can’t take in that much at once and I don’t evenknow what I’m looking at anymore. How lucky to have an experience of too muchbeauty. I left feeling inspired to paint, draw or doodle.

On the subject of the building itself, it really isinteresting to me that so many people of power build monuments to themselves. Itold my friend that all the “N”s of Napoleon carved into the doors actuallystood for “Nalick”. Some people inpower still do it too. Perhaps there is some sort of psychology in it that saysthat others will respect you more if you have the means and pomp to buildyourself a palace and a shrine. However, I’m gladthese monuments and buildings are there. They are incredibly beautiful and thepsychology works on me. It makes me believe in Napoleon’s healthy sense of self-esteembeyond his triumphs. Maybe heneeded a retreat with Stewart Samlley of SNL. “Because, Napoleon, you’re goodenough, you’re smart enough, and doggonit, people like you.”

When we went outside it was raining again. It was beautiful.I think that’s why I love to travel in Fall or Spring. The rain.

The nightly search for delicious drinks found us at Le ChatNoir. Meow.

November 8 was our last day in Paris. We headed back to PereLachaise to see the rest of the cemetery. It really is enormous. I wanted Oscar Wilde the most…but he was being washed of hiskisses.

We wandered through the maze of blackened stone and flower-adornedsculptures and found Edith Piaf. Her stone is modest and small….as I hear shewas in life. I’m such a fan of Edith Piaf. My favorite song of hers is called“Je n’en connais pas la fin.” The song is about a town square and it’s littlefair and the music from the carousel that draws people from Italy and allaround.

If you’d like to hear the song, it’s on itunes…and JeffBuckley also does a version.

I was happy to find Modigliani and to marvel at some of theinteresting and a little bit scary stonework, but I was really excited to findSarah Berhardt.

When I was inthird grade, my teacher called me Sarah after her. I’m sure it was because Iwas a little day-dreamy and could come up with a very dramatic story if facedwith getting in trouble. Therefore, I was proud to sit with Sarah Bernhardt inher resting place in Pere Lachaise.

We walked for hours in the cemetery, saying prayers andleaving good thoughts and flowers with all the graves we took photos of. When we left it was raining hard and itwas time to pick up the rental car.

We were late getting the car and the rental place closed assoon as we got behind the wheel. So there was no asking for help when the GPSdidn’t work.

Driving in Paris is a crazy experience for a few reasons.

For one, I think the general rule is that you just closeyour eyes and go where you need to go. That’s not too different from LA, sothat was ok. Not a lot of attention paid to lanes. Oh…and the signs are on thesides of buildings, so in the rain…or even in the sun and on foot you don’tknow where you are till you get there. I did have to…or rather get to…driveunder the Arc de Triomphe. It was an experience I will never forget. I waspretty sure that was where I’d be using the insurance I bought on the rentalcar….but we made it. We made it all the way to the first roundabout to Rouen…andtook the wrong exit…and came back to the Arc to start over….and then took thewrong exit again….and then came back to the Arc to start over…Keep in mind wehad no GPS, it was night, and it was raining really hard. The map was of little use because itwas of all of Paris and the streets were so small we couldn’t see them.

So, I did what any grown up would do…I called my Mother.

It was morning in LA and she got online to help us. Wewere almost figuring it out…driving in traffic in the rain near the Obelisque…whenthere was a knock on my window. A police officer.

He didn’t make a big to-do. He knocked on the window of theperson in front of me so they would move over and let me out of traffic where Icould pull over. Two officers stood at my window and tried like crazy toconceal their laughter when I said, “Bonsoir. We’re lost. How do we get toRouen?”

“One”, said the older officer, “You need to get off yourcellular phone.”

“Desole.” I said meekly.

He continued, “And du, you are going the wrong direction.Get out of your car and I will point to you where to go.”

I said, “D’accord. Just let me put on my shoes.”
“Trois,” he rolled his eyes, “you need to keep on your shoes when you drive.”

“Desole…again.” I said in complete embarrassment.

I got out of the car and he pointed out where to go and toldme to stay West to Giverny, then to Rouen.

I was so grateful I could have hugged him.

The younger officer winked at my girlfriend and we wereoff....ready to explore parts of the country that were unknown to both of us.

We drove for hours and finally arrived in the town of Rouen.We knew we were close to the hotel but the street signs were sporadic and itwas so dark we couldn’t see them anyway.

So we pulled over at a McDonald’s….as you do…and found twocollege kids who helped us out. They were architecture students, so in additionto lighting our way, they also told us that the reason the buildings areblackened is not from fire but from pollution. How terrible that we have causedthat kind of damage.

With buildings like Notre Dame Rouen and Saint Ouen toweringabove, they must have a very interesting perspective on architecture. Thanks tothem, we found our hotel…otherwise we would still be driving in circles.

When we drove past St. Ouen, he was so beautiful that itstopped us in our tracks. We literally had to stop the car and stare for amoment.

We were relieved to pull into the parking garage of ourhotel…which is where I made good use of my rental car insurance while pullingaround a skinny corner in the garage.

November 9. Our hotel was right in the backyard of NotreDame Rouen, so the first order of the day was to go inside. There was a tinychild’s playhouse in the courtyard of the church, and I liked the look of thecontrast. Big to small, grey-black to primary colors, past and future.

The church features a giant stained glass circle window andsuch tiny details in the stonework that it looks like pencil sketches in thephotos.

There was a man sitting outside playing accordion againstthe backdrop of the church. I put a few euros in his case rememberingsomething Tim Hogan told me once a long time ago, “If he’s doing a good job orreally trying, always pay the street musician. The only thing that separatesyou from him is that you got lucky.” He's tight, you know. Karma.

The inside is as impressive as the outside. The perspectiveshot reminds me of a painting…rows and rows of white columns pointing toward acenter alter and gilded crucifix.

I lit a candle and said prayers for all my love ones as Iwalked around the massive church.

Although there was considerable damage to the church in a1944 bombing, much of it was spared…or rather survived…and looks as it didbefore attack. The virgin and child and the gothic architecture still standstall. And most interestingly, there lies a sarcophagus of King Richard TheLionheart who left his heart to the Rouen Cathedral when he died in 1199.

My favorite bit of the cathedral is the stairway and doorthat leads to the library. It reminds me of the movie “Labyrinth” when Sarah isin the world of the Goblin King “I turned the world upside-down, and I did itall for you!”

The famous half-timbered houses reminded me ofDisneyland. That is the luckything about living in the shadow of a Disney theme park. It gives you a tasteof places around the world and makes you want to travel. Every country I’ve visited still feelslike home to me. Especially France. That may be partly just me and my tastes,but it’s definitely a little bit of the Disneyland upbringing as well.

The town of Rouen is very cute. I liked it’s cobblestonestreets and the beautiful clock over the main archway....as well as the littlepastry shop.

The moon was getting fuller and brighter. I took her pictureover Saint Ouen.

We drove at night to Le Mont Saint Michel and checked intoRelais St. Michel where we were greeted by an adorable night-watchman calledLucien. He gave us a room with a gorgeous view of Mont Saint Michel. If youvisit Le Mont, I recommend staying at Relais St. Michel. It is so close you canwalk to Le Mont…which we did.

It was breathtaking to awaken to the sight of the islandfortress on November 10. We were so grateful to Mr. Julien the Night Watchmanfor giving us the room.

Mont St Michel has spent time as a monastery and later as aprison. Architecturally it contains buildings of many styles and ages and init’s upper story it holds a Romanesque minster with an enormously tall spire.

To reach the top you must climb the steps and walk up theskinny windy streets aligned with shops selling quiche, macaroons, andgargoyles.

At the top are the cloister and the great citadel. I chosethe tallest wall and sat atop it for a photo. This became a theme on the tripactually. I’d climb to the highest height for pictures. What a gorgeous view ofthe coast of Normandy.

I loved walking the streets of Mont Saint Michel. Some ofthe homes, which are still inhabited by people who work on Mont Saint Michel,look like miniatures made for a scene in a movie…as if they belong in Mr.(Monsieur) Rogers Medieval Neighborhood with a horse drawn cart instead of atrolley.

I’ve always liked the story of Saint Michael and I reallyenjoyed his winding medieval streets. It’s easy to get lost in another time on those streets.

The Saint Michael chapel is small and wonderful. It is jampacked with relics and statuary, giving it that Day Of The Dead look.

Back down at sea level, I took off my shoes to put my feetin the sand of the Normandy Coast. It was soft and warm against that freezingcold water, and it dried like clay.

We drove out early that day on our way to Amboise, stoppingat the old fashioned pump to fill up the tank.

Our hotel in Amboise was like a dream. Set on the LoireRiver, Le Choiseul on 36 Quai Charles Guinot is a tiny hidden jewel of achateau with only a few rooms and a gorgeous restaurant.

Our room was decorated in turquoise, red, and gold flowerswith a crystal chandelier and a wood paneled window that opened up onto aflower box and the great Chateau Royal…which we appeared to be in the back yardof.

We felt like Cinderella, so we in fact fell asleep watchingthe Disney classic and awoke to rolling hills and sweet garden air. I sat in thewindow to drink my coffee and simultaneously began recording a melody for a newsong with the tape recorder that I let rest in the flowerbed.

We loved Le Choiseul before we even saw the room. This wasall due to how warmly we were greeted by the staff at the front desk. JeanBatiste and his colleague Alina welcomed us with big smiles and a map ofAmboise. Jean Batiste was so animated and playful that we now remember Amboiseas much for him as for its castles and museums. He is the perfect face of LeChoiseul. They are lucky to have him and if you ever stay there, I hope you arelucky enough to be greeted by his inviting laughter and very helpfultips….(like, “The left lane is not the fast lane…it is the pass lane. You wereblocking traffic and that is why they flash you.”)

The moon in Amboise was very bright. I caught it in a photoshoot. Smile Petit Lune!

Amboise is known for its flowers and greenery. It is calledthe “Garden of France” and it does indeed smell like flowers. It is in the LoireValley, which is known for it’s Chateaus, it’s ties to Da Vinci (who’s buriedat Chateau Amboise) and it’s ties to Saint Joan Of Arc (who inspired KingCharles II to fight on in the Chateau Chenonceaux.

On November 11 after coffee and jotting down song ideas, weasked Jean Batiste his recommendations for much to do and less time to do itin. He suggested Chenonceaux over Chambord because although it is smaller,there is more to see inside as it is completely decorated with originalfurnishings.

It was a good suggestion. Chenonceaux is very dreamy. It isRenaissance and built over the river Cher.

When you approach the castle it feels just as approaching acastle should feel. You walk a path between two long rows of trees and slowlythe Chateau appears, half welcoming and still a little forbidding, mirrored bythe water on each side to make it look even bigger. In reality it is not enormous.It is however, very suitable to a woman’s tastes. In fact, it was the favoriteof many women throughout history and it was enhanced and added to bymistresses, queens, princesses, and regents.

The most interesting of these women to me were Catherine deMedici and Madame Louise Dupin.

Catherine de Medici held Chenonceaux from 1559, when herhusband King Henry II died, until her own death in 1589. Catherine added thebeautiful gardens and used to throw lavish parties…including one that featuredthe first fireworks display in France in celebration of her son Francis II’sascension to the throne.

In the early 1700s after the Chateau had been in the handsof the very depressed (and rightly so…her husband was assassinated) Louise deLorraine-Vaudemont, wife of King Henry III (Louise de L-V, as a side note,stayed in mourning until her death and she had her room painted black with skullsand crossbones stitched into her tapestries. It still stands that way,) it wasfrequently abandoned for the next 100 years. Madame Louise Dupin and herhusband, a squire called Claude Dupin enlivened the chateau. Madame Dupinentertained Enlightenment leaders like Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Rousseau andVoltaire. (Madame Louise Dupin is actually the grandmother of writer GeorgeSand.) Louise also saved Chanenceau from being destroyed during the Frenchrevolution because it was the only bridge across the river for miles and milesand it was needed for commerce as well as travel.

I liked Madame Louise’s portrait. It was said that she wasvery beautiful and I agree.

I also enjoyed a painting commissioned by Francis I of “TheThree Graces” which were actually his 3 successive mistresses…and sisters.What…a cad.

I love the story of the Great Hall of Chenonceau. First ofall, it was in fact itself the bridge over the Cher. But most interestingly, itwas used as an infirmary for soldiers during WWI. Beds were lined up against the walls, watched over bycarvings of famous people of the past, and men would fish out the windows. Canyou imagine that your refuge and place of recovery from war is a castle on thewater? You’d think you were hallucinating.

I also admired the kitchen rooms of the castle. They aredecorated with all of the utensils of the time. Brass pots line the walls, cuttingtools are on display, and a big black stove sits in the center of oneroom. It’s easy to imagine thestaff bustling in and out of those rooms with warm bread and cooked meats forparties.

Of all the castles and cathedrals we visited, Chenonceau wasthe most feminine. It is certainly this way because it was run and funded by somany women (there is even a “Bedroom of the Five Queens.”) Even it’s littlegarden and farm look ladylike. I could have wandered around all day, but we hadplans for dinner back at our little chateau.

For dinner I ordered deer with sweet potato and gingerbreadcrumbs. Shredded rabbit was out of the question because it was literallytranslated to English as “shredded rabbit” and my theory on food is sometimesyou just don’t need that much information.

My dinner was delightful and my wine was even better. Idon’t remember what it was exactly, but it was dark and a little smoky. The further south we got, the more Iliked the wine.

The real story of this meal was the “cheese cart.” We were very careful not to be rude,finicky, or timid, so we tried every cheese our waiter recommended…even if ouranimal instincts and sense of smell warned us against one in particular. I’mgoing to save the details for the personal diary, but it was absolutely themost hilarious meal in France, and thank God for Jean Batiste who was goodenough to assure us that it wasn’t that we American girls were suffering from anunder-developed palate. He in fact would never have tasted that cheese afterhaving smelled it once long ago. We were pionniers de fromage!

Another silly moment at dinner…a few glasses of wine in, mygirlfriend asked me to place the accent of the people sitting behind us. I lovethe accents when I’m touring so sometimes I can name them pretty well. I was thinking Savannah or Charlestonbut I couldn’t place it so I said confidently…

“I’m thinking South America.” (Mind you, I was three sheetsand two glasses to the wind)

She narrowed her gaze at them. “Really? But they’re,like…REALLY white.”

“No, I mean South OF America,” I tried to correct myself,laughing.

She looked more confused…like maybe she gives me too muchcredit.

“Like…Cuba?” She mused.

“I mean IN the South IN the United States of America,” I waslaughing so hard I was crying because this couple was so obviously Southern,but my sweet friend was determined to believe I knew what I was talking about.What a beautiful gift to have a friend like that.

I forgot to mention that before dinner, we stopped at the DaVinci museum down the street from our hotel. That meant we got to walk the narrow streets of Amboise,through the little market town, and past a gorgeous little chocolate shop wherewe collected goodies marked with images of Leonardo Da Vinci.

His museum is predominately outdoors, save for the ClosLuce…the mansion where Leonardo lived and worked…. and is spread out over alarge park. Walking through the park one can view…and even climb on…some of hisinventions built to life size. I am sure that when they are blooming, thegardens, built from plant life studied by Da Vinci, are really lovely.

I wonder if a genius like Da Vinci ever had moments of self-doubtor if he wondered if he was crazy with all those thoughts and ideas. And if enough people had told him whenhe was a child to pipe down and just draw stick figures like every one else,would we be as developed as we are now in art and architecture and medicine? It’s incredible how much the mind iscapable of, and what I admire most about Da Vinci is his unlimited imagination.The same thing that allows my nephew to draw a portrait of all of us on a farmhe’s never been to or seen, also turns out a Leonardo Da Vinci or a Steve Jobs.How dare I ever tell my imagination to pipe down and let me “work”. I’m uselesswithout her.

I bought a book of Da Vinci thoughts and quotes. I’m sure Iwill learn very much from His Beardedness the Genius.

On the morning of November 12, we left our little chateaufor a visit to the real Chateau d’Amboise. We were pleased to walk through the town again and up thegreat steps into the courtyard of the Castle. The castle is a little bit Gothic and a little bitRenaissance in design because it was developed over time.

The first thing I saw upon entering was the little Chapel ofSaint Hubert. The chapel is quite tiny and features stained glass windows that light and color the whole room.

However, the most exciting thing in the chapel is the gravewhere it is said Leonardo Da Vinci is buried. Of course, this may not be true,but just in case it is, I curled up on his grave to tell himsecrets.

Leonardo came as a guest of King Francis I in 1515 and livedat the nearby Clos Luce, which was connected to the castle by an undergroundpassageway.

Chateau d’Amboise overlooks the Loire River and it wassomething like a royal nursery. Francis I was raised there, as well as thechildren of Henry II and his wife Catherine de’ Medici, including Mary Queen ofScots.

It has a pretty bloody history as well. In the 1500’s, duringthe French Wars of Religion, a political conspiracy was cracked and thencovered by the hanging of 1200 Protestants. The bodies were hung from the wallsof the town and the castle itself, and eventually the smell of rotting corpses drovethe whole court away.

How sad that so much of our world history and wars were andstill are fueled by religion. Idon’t believe there is a God who would have condoned any of it. Butcher, maim, and cause pain in myname, so that you may all kneel and pray the same way. That sounds backwards tome. I believe in the God who created a valley that smells like flowers, a riverthat runs for millions of years, and great minds that build beautiful structureslived in by kings and commoners alike.

The castle went through a period of abandonment, waspartially demolished during the French Revolution, an assessment of engineeringunder Napoleon destroyed a great deal of it, and after a brief period of reconstructionin 1848 and again in 1873, it was further damaged by German invasion in 1940.

This beautiful castle has really been through a lot ofreinventing, and she now stands as an historic monument….and I kissed herKnight in Shining Armor, scribbled a short poem in front of her fireplace, andjumped the ropes to sit in her throne. Thus, royal children’s nursery itremains.

Smoking cigarettes and drinking that rich, never bitter,always delicious coffee is one of my favorite parts of my stay in France, so wedid just that on the street of Amboise in the shadow of the great Chateau asthe sun set.

From there we said a sad goodbye to Jean Batiste and Alinaand we began the drive to Sarlat-la-Caneda.

The drive to this little commune in the Dordogne departmentof Aquitaine was a long one. I believe this was also the night we pulled overin a little village on the wrong side of the road to take photos of the moon. We were visited by a police car as wesnapped photos. I’m sure we looked crazy, but they simply laughed at us andpointed the way back to the main road. It was a good thing we were stopped,because we were a little turned around, but obviously unafraid. By this point,France was our third girlfriend and we trusted her to lead the way.

As we drove I told my girlfriend a story I’ve been writing. It made the time fly by and soon we were sleepily pulling into the tinymedieval town in the Perigord Noir.

November 13 we awoke in Sarlat, a commune untouched bymodern hands. We stopped here fortwo reasons. One, I wanted to see a medieval commune untouched by modernhands…and Two, it lies close to both Chateau Beynac and Chateau Castelnaud. Itis a remarkable little quiet town. The whole area, including the Chateaus, hasbeen used for movies and stories and it’s easy to see why. It’s been perfectlypreserved and it bleeds antiquity, such that you almost have to use yourimagination to remember you’re living in 2011. It’s perfect!

On this first day in Sarlat, we followed the signs toChateau Castelnaud and from there we would visit Chateau Beynac. Beynac (forgirls who like fairytales) was used in the movie “Ever After”. Thus, I decidedit was a good day to wear my new sparkly Cinderella flats….to a medievalfortress now known for its artillery collection.

Unfortunately, the Chateau Castelnaud was closed for theseason, but the grounds, as well as the River Dordogne were wide open, so wewandered around and eventually landed on the water. I love to feel the water of another land on my feet. In fact, I try to go barefoot for aminute or two in every place in the world that I love. In New Orleans they have a saying thatif you walk barefoot in the city, a little piece of your soul will be leftthere. I did walk barefoot in NewOrleans, and I’ve gone on to apply the folklore to everywhere else. Thus, whenmy body goes to play strip poker with the worms, my soul will be going on a vacationaround the world.

I would have jumped in that water too, if it weren’t so cold…andthere weren’t too many people around to take clothes off.

The stone facing of Castelnaud looks like someone wrappedpaper over the exterior and then rubbed all around with a piece of charcoal.The streets wind so that it is impossible not to get lost...which was quitefun. I accidentally wandered intosomeone’s courtyard from a tiny little walkway. Their view of the river wasincredible. I felt bad for being on private property so I watered their plants....and from there actually made new friends.

Seeing a place like Castelnaud helps make sense of thenotion of a functioning Kingdom. It’s easier to fathom a city that is builtinto a castle like we see in movies or read in books, where carved from thesame rock and upon one giant mountain there is a whole court and populationbelow where the king sits. One can envision being a working class person and havingthe King himself bobble right past you in his carriage because that street ishis only option for getting back to his throne up on the hill.

Down at the water’s edge, I had a daydream of sailing up tothe fortress and climbing the hill to my home where I’d write poetry for theKing and water my own garden.

In reality Castelnaud was built as the rival of our nextdestination, Chateau Beynac, and during the Hundred Years War it was under allegianceto the Plantagenets…English throne, while Beynac was French and was oncecaptured by King Richard the Lionheart.

On the drive from Castelnaud to Beynac, we passed littlefarmhouses that looked like a scene out of a painting. There was golden grassand red-orange leaves surrounding grey and tan houses with ducks in the yard. Iwanted to knock on any door and ask to stay forever.

To our astonishment, Beynac was open. There were a few souvenirshops, but for the most part it looked like a normal town….500 years ago…withregular hard working people living in it.

Chateau Beynac was built in the 12^th century andit sits atop a limestone cliff on the north bank of the Dordogne River, on theopposite bank from Castelnaud.

On one side, it’s exterior wall rests on a sheer cliff facehundreds of feet above ground and water level. This is where I chose to perchfor my photo. I think my heart stopped for a moment, but such is the way withreaching a pinnacle…it was worth it. The view from where I sat showed me all of the town, the surroundingcastles, the gorgeous fall trees and the Dordogne River. Grey, blue, orange,yellow, green, brown, and white. Had I fallen, it would have been to fall intoa painting. Of course, my girlfriend brought me back to reality with, “Yeah ok,but what would I tell your parents? She fell into a painting? Please get down.You’re making me sweaty.”

There were actually a lot of places to perch at Beynac…andwe did a lot of just sitting and admiring the panoramic view of the valley. Itwas days like this when we felt like one with the land and sort of lost intime. These were the best moments.

Beynac has an unbelievable collection of medieval weaponsand artillery pieces. There are quivers, arrows, a trebuchet, a catapult, andcannons, to name a few frightening and awesome key pieces. There are alsolittle holes in the walls for blowing bombs or shooting arrows.

There is also a wishing well.

Before leaving the castle, I noticed that much of theexterior wall was built of protruding, misshapen stones, and no one was around,so I took off my Cinderella slippers and scaled the wall until the stones gottoo small for a California Girl or a medieval rival soldier to climb. However,I made it all the way to the top of the archway…and a fair distance up the walltoo, where I pocketed a little piece of limestone for my father. I was so proudand excited to brag to my adventure seeking, rock climber brothers…I scaled aMedieval Fortress…barefoot…in a silk skirt!

When we left Chateau Beynac it was dark and all the shopswere closed. We drove back into Sarlat and walked from our hotel into the cityto find wine.

We discovered a little place, where we drank wine and atefois gras. It was not the first time I’d tasted any of the things I’vementioned….except maybe for that one cheese…I’d have remembered that…but thisnight and on this trip fois gras was the only thing that my mostly vegandiet would not stand for. It was delicious and wonderfully prepared, but itmade me very sick. Still, Irecommend you try it if you ever have a chance. You might get lucky ;)

The next morning we awoke early. We had a plan to walk thecity before heading to dinner on the water of the Mediterranean and then toAvignon.

There exists a line drawn between where I cautiously let youin and where I politely shut you out. This story straddles that line. However,you must be wondering how two female best friends fared for 3 weeks in anothercountry with pretty much only each other. The truth is, we got along fine, butboth being strong willed and quick-witted little firecrackers, we did snap onceor twice. This scenario happenedtoward the end….

I awoke early to plot out the next few days. When she awokeand saw me with several maps open on the bed, she asked….

“How can I help you?” She was still half asleep and probably hoping I'd say I didn't need help.

I answered without even looking up or saying good morning,“In a minute. Just let me organize something for….(I trailed off)”

Finally I said, “Ok, I just need your help deciding on thelast few days. You ready?”

“Uh huh,” she replied. She was looking at my book of Da Vinci quotes and at facebookon her laptop at the same time.

I figured she could do 2 or more things at once, so Ibegan….

“We can hang around town today and leave late for Avignon,stopping in Montpellier for dinner. Or we can leave here early and visit thecaves full of stalactites and stalagmites before heading to Avignon. Or we cango straight to Avignon and then leave Avignon early for Nice on the 16^th,stopping in Grasse on the way to visit Fragonard and the other perfumeries.Either way we need to be in Nice on the afternoon of the 17^th tocatch our flight back to Paris….”

I looked up and could tell she was reading on her computer, so like acranky, antagonistic twit, I added, “….and I’m pregnant.”

She turned to me with fire in her eyes and retorted, “I’mLISTENING to you!”

I answered back with drippy fake sugar on my voice…as if Ihadn’t been kind of asking for it…

"I didn’t say you weren’t. I just…”

She cut me off and angrily rattled off, “We can go toAvignon today! We can stop in Nice and see the perfumery! We can go to Grasseand see the cave filled with bagpipes!! We can go to the water!! I heardEVERYTHING you said!!!”

I slammed my maps on the bed and headed for the shower,saying nothing when she asked, “Are we done talking then?”

I got into the shower and did the hypothetical conversationtrick where you say all the things you’d never be clever or ballsy or a bigenough bitch to say in real life…..

For example:

“There are 3 assholes in this room right now, and one of youhas to go!”

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be lost in Paris, whereyou’d have to learn the “Madame You Dropped This Gold Ring” trick to makeenough money to buy a plane ticket out of a paper bag!”

When I came out of the shower, we were silent for theduration of our getting ready. I was certainly being a brat, giving her the grown-upversion of the silent treatment where you pretend you are extremely busy withwhatever you are doing PLUS your own thoughts PLUS the state of the thread onthe towel and a thousand other things that don’t matter at all, and you huff alittle here and there to make your pissed off presence known.

Finally she asked in a calm voice, “Are you not speaking tome now?”

I answered snippily, “I’m just getting ready for the day.”

That’s when I realized I was lying and we both knew it.

I re-answered, “No, I AM not talking to you, because talkingto YOU means there’s a 95% chance I’m going to get yelled at, and only a STUPIDperson ASKS for it!!”

She retorted, “No, I just REACTED because YOU thought Iwasn’t LISTENING to you!”

And I fired back, “No! I KNOW you weren’t listening to me!Because the perfumeries are in GRASSE, we are LEAVING from Nice, and there isno such thing as a CAVE filled with FUCKING BAGPIPES!!”

That ended the argument. We laughed really hard, realizingthat we were wasting far too much time and energy by acting like two Halloweenkitties passing each other on a garden wall. Best friends again.

Sarlat is surrounded by wooded hills and it centers aroundan ancient abbey and a church, which eventually became the CathédraleSaint-Sacerdos de Sarlat. Its courtyard is dirt and stone in it’s foundation,and inside it is spacious and bright with light from the stained glass windows.I favored its pipe organ and it’s Stations of the Cross. The station featuringVeronica wiping the face of Jesus and capturing His image on the cloth is myfavorite.

The town of Sarlat-la-Caneda is really lovely. Many memoriesin that little town…but we had dinner in Montpellier and a bed in Avignon tolook forward to….and a long, beautiful drive in between.

Unfortunately, by the time we got to Montpellier, on thenight of the 14^th, the restaurant was closed and it was too dark toget to the water safely. Next time.

Instead we continued on to Avignon and checked into AubergeDe Cassagne just outside the city. Driving past the walls of the city ofAvignon, we knew there was something special inside. We were excited for avisit the next day.

I liked the hotel. It felt like a garden and it featured acurtained bed and yellow lighting. I fell asleep drinking Champagne and Absinthe and nibbling on chocolate fromAmboise. Pure heaven.

The shutters in our room were green and they opened onto agarden. I love the smell of the air in the South. Added to the violet, hearth,chocolate, and rose smell, there is the scent of water. A little salty and alittle stale like it’s been sitting in a wooden barrel. I adore it.

On the morning of November 15, we crossed town, through theprotective walls and into the city of Avignon.

We got lost (as is the theme) trying to find parking underthe famous Popes Palace. Actually, we got ourselves stuck on a narrow streetbecause someone who was in a hurry told us to “just go” and we followed herdirection into a dead end. A helpful construction worker had to aid us bycalling whomever it is one calls to get those middle-of-the-street metalroadblock posts lowered so we could pass. We ended up parking on the street, and even though we looked verycarefully for signs, we did end up getting a ticket. And yet, to be reprimandedby the law of a country I’d grown to really love, only made me feel more like achild of it’s violet scented, no-No-Parking-sign having streets. Add to thatthe probable speeding tickets, the ticket for not having a train pass, thedamage to the rental car, and I believe I am truly the troublesome adopted childof France...but it’s child nonetheless.

Walking into the Northern edge of Avignon that overlooks the RhoneRiver, you are greeted by a most austere and intimidating Palais du Pape. Itbefits its station as the home of a few medieval Popes and antipopes, as it isby far the most masculine of all the palaces we visited. It does indeed lordover its audience like a stern father, and yet it still remains somehowwelcoming in its strength and grace. The cutout in its center balcony doesn’t line up with the center windowin between the two front upside-down saber-tooth towers. I wonder if thatbothered any of the Popes who lived there. If any of them had OCD, itabsolutely did.

Our stay in Avignon was the highlight of our trip.Remembering it feels like some kind of faerie-tale come to life. As such, Ihesitate to tell every detail. I’d rather keep it for myself. However, becauseI chanced to meet someone who runs Avignon’s board of human relations, and Itold him that his town was like a secret I want to tell everyone…I shouldexplain a little bit about why Avignon is so magnificent.

First of all, its location on the Rhone makes it seem like afaerie land. Then once you are inside the walls that surround the city just likea medieval kingdom should, you find that despite the enormity of the famedPalais, the population surrounding it is rather small. It feels andfunctions like the close knit community that a parent would hope to find toraise children in. However, it’s also a bustling city filled with a museum, acarousel, a theatre, churches, tea parlors, cafes, restaurants, nightclubs, anda university. The people werewelcoming and warm wherever we went and there was music everywhere…including aman in the courtyard of the Palace who played Beatles tunes all day and intothe night.

AG Chocolatier was the home of the best chocolates I tastedon my entire journey. They were actually the best truffles I’ve evertasted…ever.

We were honored to meet a family and their friends who camefrom France, Italy, Chile, and the Ukraine. They treated us like family…andeverybody knew all the lyrics to “Hotel California” in English, so the languagebarrier met its match. We had a full-on music session. Thank you a thousand times to all of our new friends in Avignon.

Simply put, I fell in love. If you ever have a chance tovisit France, go to Avignon.

We actually stayed late on the night of the 16^th, so when we arrived in Nice on the 17^th, we had just enough time toshower, take a catnap, and head to the airport. Driving through the night andearly morning, I was very glad to have my AG Chocolatier Avignon truffles. Actually, I’m nibbling on a little lavender chocolate right now.

Leaving Avignon on November 17 was so difficult that onlyfits of exhausted laughter could get us through. My girlfriend was nervous during take-off so I imitated whatexactly I think would happen if I failed to follow that “no-smoking” rule. “I wonder” Iasked, “what would they do if I repeatedly failed to comply? I bet they'd kick meout over this ocean, with a pair of child’s floaties cause I’m like a child whorefuses to follow directions. Would I have to wave to you from the water belowas I float there in the water, floaties around my arms and neck and a cigarettein my mouth? Saying, 'This is total bullshit' between puffs?”

That night in Paris we wondered into a little tinyrestaurant in the corner at the end of an alley near Rue Cambon. It was solittle that everyone in the restaurant; chefs, wait staff, and diners, allspoke to each other over dinner. I don’t remember what we ate but I remember Isang “Complainte de la Butte” and a few of them sang along. I also remember aman dining alone as a customer but not alone as he was friends with the kitchenand floor staff. He was introduced to us by the chef as “The TypicalFrenchman”. He jovially asked usif we wanted to go home with him…which makes him a typical forward-man, butdoesn’t necessarily constitute typical French. He did however look like Maurice Chevalier, so maybe that’sit.

I wish I had written down the name of that little placebecause it was the perfect last supper in France. Quiet, friendly, and intimate. We walked back to our hoteland realized that since we’d been out of Paris, Christmastime had begun. Twinkling white lights now glitteredthe sidewalks and pictured in the windows were red ribbons around goldpackages. I know we are famous in the US for starting the Christmas season inOctober, but being in a country that doesn’t practice the Thanksgiving feast, madeit feel like we arrived right after Halloween and left right before Christmas.It made the trip seem much longer. I’m grateful for that.

The morning of the 18^th saw us up early so wecould walk down the street for one last café au lait and cigarette. We walkedfarther than we needed to so we could see the Eiffel Tower, the enormous Farris wheel,and the whole Place de la Concorde one more time. We ended up meeting somefriendly construction workers, who spoke no English…so I bought them coffeebecause good music, good food, and good drinks are universal languages.

As expected, we did in fact cry a little bit walking back toour hotel and again in the car on the way to the airport. We had learned a lotand made some beautiful memories, but it was time to go home.

I am so grateful to everyone who befriended us and welcomed us.

In closing, I think falling in love with a place is just likefalling in love with a person. To see them and find them attractive is to fancythem. But to know their history…good and bad, breathe their air, sing theirsongs, taste them, walk barefoot with them, feel lucky just to know them, andstill want more…that is love.

I fell in love with France and I can’t wait to go back formore.

AnNa November/December 2011

A new story...Part 2

2011-11-10T01:47:00.001-08:00

Continued from Part 1….

The girl and her love for that boy moved me. Shewould have been an easy one to judge. Beautiful and confident at first glance,she'd "Sweetie" you and you'd think she was being condescending.Maybe she even was... a little bit. On second glance, she was insecure at thattime. She knew she didn't really "have" that boy and it ate at her.

What I saw was something different. The boy wasjust a symbol of something else she was chasing. She didn't have herself.Didn't really know who she was...so her identity became...him. If she had him, she was somehow more worthy. Love existed too, but the ownership on both partswas the tie that bound. It was exploitative.

I'd been there, so it was easy to point a finger atall of us.

One night after he'd said those sweet things thatthe rest of us knew were wrapped around the fact that he was lying to her, shefell asleep outside under the stars..."patching things up" all nightwhile I slept in her bed. I awoke at 5AM and went outside to find her sleepingon a chaise lounge in the cold September air with construction workers hangingfrom the buildings on either side of hers. She was shivering, so I covered herup, smoothed her hair, and threw away the empty bag of gummy bears, withthoughts in my head of the so beautiful/so cleverly (whatever the word is forkeeping someone insecure) sentences she'd read me from his emails the nightbefore.

I went back inside and on a piece of hotel paperthat I still have, I started writing the words to my song "Shine." It started with, “There are times when the poets and porn stars align.”

As with most of my songs, as she and that poor,sad, controlling boy were my muse, I was writing it to myself as well. It wassuch a personal song that I never shared it with her. In fact, as life spedalong, we lost touch, and I still don't think she knows it's hers. I do knowhowever, that she is no longer chasing that boy who didn't deserve it, sheknows who she is now, and she probably wrinkles her nose and says"ugh" when she remembers him,...saying, "Good luck withthat" to whoever the new girl is. Maybe he's not that same snake-y dudeanymore either. I don't know. I'm a human...and a girl, so I judge...unfairlysometimes. Even though I've been the insecure girl trying to prove the boy ismine, I've been the snake-y one who builds enough hurt to make you break andenough sweetness to make you need my glue, and I've been the girl that let'sthe insecure beauty know she in fact does NOT own that boy. I know how manyfingers are pointing back at me.

Anyway, when my new friend woke up that morning wejetted off to take care of our days. I had a flight to catch at 2pm so I randown the street to the Sony building with my guitar held over my head...becauseI couldn't move very fast with it in it's heavy case and I had to get to thepresident’s office before my car arrived to take me to JFK.

I burst into the office and said, "Here's yournew single." (At the time, the goal was to write something for the radio.)

He loved it. He knew the story behind it toobecause he knew my new friend. I begged him to never tell a soul…to let thesong resonate with people as it applied to them individually…and he promised.

Within a month I'd produced “Shine” and was flyingacross the US playing it every day for radio stations. Everyone seemed to really likeit.
However, I noticed bits of its story and more disgustingly a very different spinon it was part of every interview. It took one of my loyal Sony reps to confirmthat the old president had told everyone on a conference call that"Shine" was about “celebrities and how fucked up they are.”
Manypromotional tools, invented not by Sony itself (Sony is a great company), butby this one angling, opportunistic man were being used to make a mockery of mysong, my friend, and my integrity as a writer.

I tried to be clever in interviews until I couldfinally have a meeting suggesting we be a little more clever with ourpromotional efforts. My promo staff at Sony was brilliant and dedicated andreally unbelievable supportive...just good people. I adore them still. Eventhey thought the fact that my interviews were becoming about celeb culture was reallydumb and totally contrary to who I am. (I'm all for killing time at the grocerystore checkout line but I don't really condone the voyeurism…Ok, unless it’sminor observation for humor’s sake. Chelsea Handler makes me laugh reallyhard.)

In the end, the boss told me I was sabotaging hispromotional efforts, and I simply wouldn’t bend to start letting him release collagevideos of starlet’s mugshots, and the rest of our team was shaking it’s head athim. I stood my ground, so he pulled the song and I said "Fuck it"...andas all my "Fuck it's" usually end up with me flying over an ocean, Iwent to Ireland and England and wrote the first of a book of poems I willpublish one day when I am braver. I also wrote for my eventual independentrecord "Broken Doll & Odds & Ends"...which took a lot offighting for and waiting for and did include "Shine" after allbecause people liked it and once it was mine again...finally, so did I.

The reason I'm telling this story now is that as I'mtouring through France for some inspiration, I’ve heard "Shine” play a fewtimes locally. It's funny, because I didn't realize…and don’t think that it was.... even released here, but it was playing in Paris in the Prada store, and againin a cute little cafe/bakery across from Notre Dame in Rouen.

But most excitingly, on the train to Montmartre a few days ago Imet a girl and her boyfriend...she was French and he was Canadian. She was avery lovely and smart girl, a repfor Gucci and a poet/songwriter in her off time. She told me"Shine" had been her anthem when her old boyfriend of 3 years wascheating on her. I teared up…(New boyfriend rolled his eyes.)

I was touched to see that the song had made the rounds even though therewas a time when all it meant to me was a reminder of a trying time when I hadto decide who I was as a writer lucky enough to have people listening to me…andwhat I was ok with.

It seems people got the message of the song even despite the anglingapproach to promotion. ..Which in the end I’m not mad at anymore. Throughoutthe history of business there has always been disagreements over how to getproducts to people. My job is to make things worthy of listening to, reading,looking at…things I’m proud of….

However, this is not the point. The point is that even though one littlesong was written only for one girl, who never knew it was hers, and then it wasfiled away under “things to move on from”, it managed to resonate with people Imay never meet. And stranger still, it resonates with me now, as my own anthem.

I could have written it to myself in 2011. I could have written to girlsI know…or don’t really know…now. I thought I was just being clever at 22, but 4years later, the poets and porn stars really do align. 5,000 years from nowthere will still be smart, beautiful people who will blind themselves to theirown worth in order to lose themselves in someone who seems pretty shiny. Andthere will always be shiny people who keep smart, beautiful girls/boys justbroken enough to need their particular brand of adhesive. I’d rather suffer thecut than mend it with strands of spider web.

This morning I am grateful to the poet/porn stars that make merediscover my ability to call bullshit where there’s bullshit. I’m sorry fortimes when I’ve been the bullshit, I’m sorry for craning my neck at car wrecksor playing along at the “upper hand” game. ..Especially when the shoulders thathold the arms are so heavy and the chest is so torn already. May the right handwin! I forfeit! I’m lefty anyway…I do my own thing…and that body can function just finewith one hand…and without me.

Many many songs later, I like Shine again. And I like that it is playingwhen I need to hear it…And I like that it is playing on a trip where I’mwriting for the next album after BrokenDoll&Odds&Ends has sold anunbelievable number of copies with no promotion at all. Thank YOU for that. My little travel guitar is gettingquite a workout in France.

Today’s adventure is a visit to Mont St. Michel…which I am currentlylooking at from my balcony. It’s really beautiful. I’m going to climb it…in mynew white and red Maxazria dress that looks like someone chopped me with amachete to the center…cause that’s how I roll. Enjoy your day…or evening…whereveryou’re reading this from.

“Shine on you crazydiamond” –Pink Floyd

A new story...In 2 parts.

2011-11-07T00:29:00.001-08:00

When I was in NY in 2007, I met a beautiful girl. She’s a singer. I’d never met her before but I liked her right away. She was unassuming and sweet. Self-deprecating in a way that held truth and hilarity…not that false modesty kind that happens with pretty girls who’s pretty is their flagstone and crutch.

This girl was in a relationship with a boy who I’d met before and have met again since. I mean, I’d met him personally a few times, but more significantly, I’ve met many like him. They are irresistible. Charismatic, beautiful…they get in. But they are also controlling in a way that makes time seem to pass on two planes. Real time and their time…they are masters at making you feel like it’s you. And somehow they can make you feel insignificant as they are simultaneously kissing your insecurities.

It’s is a strong or very stupid woman who can survive their love because in reality, whatever they do to hurt a woman is nothing compared to the ache in them that allows for their ability to justify their destructive and often times very lying behavior. And then they plan that trip, say that thing, sing your song, or simply make you laugh or cry in the way that reminds you of their inner goodness and you forget. Very strong or very stupid.

My new friend wasn’t stupid. Far from it. This guy was good. He turned a phrase or talked his way round something and even you’d be surprised to find that suddenly you were Mowgli looking into his eyes and singing along…”trust in me….just in me…”

To Be Continued… (I have to go see the Cimetire Du Pere Lachaise)

Bones

2011-10-25T02:23:00.000-07:00

Call me a wave and send me home

I'm low

A one man island

Stoned

I burned the kettle, called it black

I take it back

I wear the coat of someone strong

I hope they never find me out

The daemons come out at night

And I don't believe in dawn

Somebody's wasted on the pavement

And he's singing my song

Your raging seas will lead you home

When you make it hard to leave you alone

When we're all just bones

Well I hope you know

You were the best part

Dear milligrams and rosaries

Nobody fucks me up like me

And I'm still outnumbered in my head

But I believe I'm gonna roll this crooked world

I'll make her raise her corpsey eyes

But I don't know if I'm lying

When I say you'll be alright

I'm just as bruised and lost as you

That's why I'm hoping you'll find

Your raging seas will lead you home

When you make it hard to leave you alone

When we're all just bones

Well I hope you know

You were the best part

Wait, I thought I heard you say

Wait, no land's a one man stoned

And no island's alone

Cause your raging seas will lead you home

When you make it hard to leave you alone

When we're all just bones

Well I hope you know

You were the best part

(AnNa Oct. 2011)

Teach You To Die

2011-10-25T02:13:00.000-07:00

Plumage and eyes of brine

That’s what you left behind

You sing a serpent’s song

Ba ba ba ba

Now I’ve got this broken heart

With edges nice and sharp

And this won’t hurt me at all

Ba ba ba ba

Ooh ooh

That’ll teach you to lie, dear lover

Ooh ooh

I’ll teach you to die, dear lover

Cause I think you bleed

Sweeter than me

Ooh Ooh

I’m gonna kiss your lips

Down to your finger tips

But I’m gonna use my teeth

Ba ba ba ba

And once I’ve drained your liar’s lungs

I’m gonna sing your requiem

To show I loved you once

Ba ba ba ba

Ooh ooh

That’ll teach you to lie, dear lover

Ooh ooh

I’ll teach you to die, dear lover

Cause I think you bleed

Sweeter than me

Ooh Ooh

I heald his head in my lap cried

I drew the shape of a cross

He pointed fingers but found my trigger

And we were all better off

Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba…..

Ooh ooh

That’ll teach you to lie, dear lover

Ooh ooh

I’ll teach you to die, dear lover

Cause I think you bleed

Sweeter than me

Ooh Ooh

(AnNa Oct. 2011)

"Grand Jeté" or "On Jumping In With Both Feet"

2011-09-27T02:33:00.000-07:00

I was driving into the grocery store parking lot a few weeks back, looking to buy some batteries for my tape recorder. (Now that BrokenDoll&Odds&Ends has been released, I’m hard at work writing the next one.)

Meanwhile I was on the phone with my girlfriend. I was playing an “If They Married” game, as in…If Coco Chanel married Iggy Pop, she’d be Coco Pop….If Snoop Doggy Dogg married Winnie the Pooh, he’d be Snoop Doggy Dogg Pooh…if Ivana Trump married a harem of the following; Mr. Bean, King Oscar of Norway, Stephanie Meyer, and Anthony Weiner…she’d be Ivana Bean Oscar Meyer Weiner…..

…Y’know grown up stuff…..

I cut myself off and said, “We should just go to France.”
I’ve been a few times, she’s never been. We agreed it would be amazing, but we knew it was one of those things you just say, have a quick pipedream, and then keep working. Be rational. Don’t just jump in with both feet.

Recently I was with a friend in San Francisco. We were having tea and I voiced, “I want to swim in the bay.” Of course its freezing….I know that, but it just sounded so, wonderful. Besides, I didn’t have a bathing suit and I was going to be seeing a little concert and some other friends later….I get Halloween-kitty hair if I’m not careful.

Be rational. Don’t just jump in with both feet.

In school I often got in trouble for jumping in with both feet.

When I was in 6^th grade, my classmate Ashley, in a fit of preteen aggression, kicked the main water pipe on the field and sent an enormous geyser shooting 20 feet in the air. I didn’t miss a beat…I came running from the other side of the field and did a superman jump right through it. A gang of kids followed, sadly, only to be stopped short by our police-academy-dropout gym coach.

The funny thing is, when the middle aged principal took me aside in front of my gym class later that day, she said, “You know you could have slipped and gotten hurt or led others to do so.” I nodded meekly, and she smiled and said, “However…you’re meant to have fun, and if I was fast enough…and not the principal, I’d probably have done the same thing. If you promise you won’t tell anyone that I’m letting this slide, I won’t punish you.” I was shocked!

I put on a sad face and I kept that promise.

Of course, that beer bellied, turquoise-corduroy-hot-pants wearing, no-neck coach took it upon himself to give me a demerit and a “nobody likes a girl who jumps around like a stupid person” (clever, eh?) talk in front of the whole class, but it didn’t matter because everyone knew that I’d had the most fun of anyone on campus that day. I had jumped in with both feet. No regrets.

When I was 9 or 10 I began ballet dancing again after a few years away. I was like a lot of little girls in that I wanted to be a ballerina…princess/poet/vampire/forensic scientist/coroner/rock star ;), plus my grandma was a Broadway dancer and she was my idol.

I was en Pointe pretty quickly. I wasn’t the best at it, but it made my heart leap every time I laced up my shoes and I absolutely loved it. The movements felt like the wind blowing through the leaves. Like flying. I never wanted to stop. I walked around on my toes all day. (I still do actually. When I’m barefoot, my heels don’t touch the ground too often.)

Unfortunately, by the time I was 16, my family had moved. Between being too far away from the dance studio and starting a new school, dancing took a back seat. I promised myself I’d keep at the exercises until I had time and found a new studio, but I didn’t follow through.

Besides, during my last recital I moved wrong on my hyper-extended right foot, hurt myself, and ended that particular shoe’s career.

After that I simply never bought new shoes.

I’ve thought many times over the years that I’d like to dance again. I’d have to relearn everything. My posture needs work, ankles are weak, and I wear a toe ring now….

“Rational” would be letting that pastime stay past.

I wonder when it is that we stop just doing. When does what we feel rationally obligated to do eclipse what we WANT to do? It isn’t just money or time that holds us back….some things are cheap and making time is always possible for those soul needs, but we still shake our heads at ourselves. When does a kid stop believing he will grow up to be a ballerina? When did I stop jumping in with both feet?

Is it that we think, “people will see me look like a ‘stupid person?’” In the backs of our heads we must know that is malarkey because….the stupid-looking people are usually the ones showcasing their carelessness and fearlessness by doing fake lunges on the sand while everyone else jumps right in with both feet. (I dated that boy in high school, btw. My Mother once met up with us on a surfing trip and with one foot she pushed him over mid-lunge!)

Maybe it’s laziness. Maybe the first thing to go when we’re lazy is our own needs. I mean the soul’s needs. We make sure the boss, the partner, the kids, the co-workers have what they need (and often times it’s the bare minimum of what we COULD offer because we aren’t spiritually thriving) and then we tap out and watch B-list stars dance their way back into relevance until its time for bed.

Or if you’re like me, you can’t justify not working for more than a few hours or you feel guilty and go non-stop for 3 days until you crash. Then it isn’t as much laziness as exhaustion from a destructive all-or-nothing cycle of behavior. Either way, those free feeling just-do soul needs suffer.

Being in love helps to make the in-with-both-feet attitude awaken because you’re experiencing life for the first time through someone else’s eyes. Everything makes you want to jump. But I don’t want my sense of abandon to exist in another person. I want to have it already…for anyone else to enjoy when they’re with me. I want that from the people I’m around too. Be free with me because you are.

As I soldier along and slowly grow up, I see that in-with-both-feet is a bigger concept than literally jumping in Karen Randel’s Aunt’s pool with all my clothes on.

Sometimes it means not building a wall when I’m terrified that something might not follow the storyline of my daydreams. It actually means tearing it down even if it hurts because I can’t open my arms as wide or glow as bright behind walls. I’ll never know how strong I actually am until I jump over....and just feel it all and do everything I possibly can as long as it’s what my chest tells me to do.

Sometimes jumping in with both feet really smarts upon landing and can be very scary...like telling someone you love them when you know they don’t love you back because love felt and not shared is really a waste, or leaving home before you’re sure you’re ready.

I must have liked the in-with-both-feet feeling because I vividly remember a scene at the end of the movie Labyrinth when Sarah realizes to the Goblin King “You have no power over me”, and she jumps off the upside-down staircase room into nothingness. I used to mimic that scene and jump out of the tree in my Grandmother’s front yard. Sometimes it hurt my little feet with that terrible stabbing pain that starts at the heel and shoots up the ankles….but I always landed on my feet…or got back up on them. Self-consciousness, indecision, fear…had no power over me.

When it rains, I always run naked in it….or just stand for a few minutes.

When I get the urge to hug or kiss or laugh too loud, I’m going to.

If I love you, I will tell you without looking away.

If you burn me on purpose, you better believe I’m jumping the fuck out of your bullshit-tree!

When I have a song to sing I’m going to say what I mean.

When I want to go to Dineyland 15 minutes before closing just to go on Haunted Mansion, try and stop me! Rationality can kill the spirit if used without caution.

I knew that black San Francisco water was going to be cold. I knew it was going to ruin my dress. I knew there were people around who might think I was losing my head. I knew I didn’t have a towel….

I didn’t care. I ran in..then ran back out…it was painfully cold….then I jumped ALL the way in and had to tread water while singing “I left my heart in San Francisco” to keep from hyperventilating. My friend videotaped it. I did look ridiculous, but it felt wonderful.

All the good things were in that swim. Like falling in love or giving up all the things one can’t control and just feeling it all. Taking in those wonderful, delicious, honey-butter good things that the very air and earth have to offer. I made sweet love with Crissy Field (that’s a place…not a person)…and my friend took a dip too…and then even though it was freezing, we sat on the roof of my car and watched the sunset while Arcade Fire sang “Wake Up” on my stereo. Now I understand what that song means.

Of course there were and are things that smart upon landing. I lose my little flicker of light. Just because I jump doesn’t mean the person I’m holding hands with will jump too. It certainly doesn’t guarantee anyone will catch me. And usually that actually means it’s worth the pain of landing just to move on from that person…or thing….or situation.

Yes, losing light is a terrible thing, but I find it again. I’m a tough broad…

I swim in freezing cold water like it’s nothin', Dog!!!

When I got home from SF, my girlfriend and I headed to Barnes and Noble and each bought a cd and booklet of basic French.

On November 1^st we are going to France after all!!!

…And we will need to brush up on the language so we can effectively ask for the right ticket to CLIMB to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and a glass of real Absinthe and Champagne, and the right dress size in that Christian Lacroix dress I swear I’m going to buy as soon as I get to Paris.

I must have lost me for a moment there. I wasn’t gone for long. For those who love me I want to share that in-with-both-feet feeling. For those who like my light or need it, I want to glow like the full moon. For myself I want to be a big strong tower with no outer wall because I like feeling it all.

Last week as I wrote lyrics for a new song called “The Sweetest Taste”, I was watching TCM on silent. They were doing a dance movie special. Lots of ballet!

I remembered that my little ballet flats are worn to road kill from the last time I changed out of my fancy platform heels and danced in them all night. I went on line intending to buy some new flats.

I couldn’t help but peek at those beautifully classic looking Pointe shoes. Silky, graceful, strong…..

I chose a wide box toe and a flexible arch. My heart was racing! They sell some pretty cushy looking accessories 10 years later so I bought those too…and a pair of pink satin ribbons.

Work made the week fly by quickly and when the package arrived on my doorstep I opened my little slippers like it was Christmas morning. They felt just like I remembered. Strong but soft, feminine and sturdy. They smelled like Christmas too because that was the when the biggest performance of the year was held. I put them on right away and believe it or not I can still do a decently impressive relevé…for a songwriter.

I’m a beginner now. I’ll definitely only be able to do minor steps for a little while till my ankles are strong again, but I started the workouts tonight after a long writing session, and it made me feel like wind in trees again.

My goodness, my feet are sore. No regrets.

So imagine me baking coffee éclairs from my little French cookbook, wearing my apron and toe shoes, and strumming the guitar while they cool.

Jumping in with both feet….in ballet shoes no less. Il est merveilleux!

I Like You Too much

2011-09-24T15:28:00.000-07:00

I like Absinthe when
Soaked in brut Champagne
Even though it makes me do such naughty things
I'll have chocolate for breakfast and lunch
Hand rolled cigarettes
No I can't have just one

And I like you I like you I like you too much
So I'm giving you up
I like you I like you I like you I like you too much
So I'm giving you up
Ok maybe just once more, Love

Oh sweet heroin
I won't touch the stuff
I'm the type who'd be hard pressed to get enough
I have rolling veins and this needling hunch
I could shoot you like blue through a tattoo punch

We've got lightening souls
Let's electric fence
See what happens when intense meets more intense
And I know you taste like all the things I crave
But this can't be love
It's just the brut Champagne

But I like you I like you I like you too much

So I'm giving you up

I like you I like you I like you I like you too much

So I'm giving you up

Ok maybe just once more

Hazy Love

Daze me Love

Crazy drug

Every time you don't call

I get mean from withdrawal

Don't tease me

Your DT bleeds truth

I want you I want you

Oh my God am I falling in....

Love you I love you I love you I love you too much

Now I can't give you up

I love you I love you I love you I love you too much

Why would I give you up

Ok maybe just once more

Come on baby just once more

Come on just once more...

Even though you make me do such naughty things

On The Game Of Pool

2011-09-06T04:16:00.000-07:00

Tonight I played a game of pool. I don’t know who won because I was drinking something Belgian that I didn’t really like but that made me laugh so hard I nearly cried off all my fake-pretty.

Once I played a game of pool for many moons. I learned a lot of lessons. Some good. Some lessons I didn’t want.

I learned precision. I learned that I should plan a move before I make it. I learned that some people actually like the game that takes place upon that green table and some just like the game that goes on around it. This analogy works for business or relationships.

For example, imagine the seductively leaning girl who sizes up the balls like they are…well…balls. Grips the stick like its a….you know. Licks her lips and then…maybe makes a good play…maybe not…nobody remembers or cares. She’s not there for the game….Or not the POOL game.

I’m not that girl. I’ll tell you why later.

Or imagine the guy that shows the girl how to hold the stick by wrapping his arms around her from behind. I’m not that girl either…I’d always rather turn around and kiss my teacher than learn whatever directions he just crooned in my ear.

I learned that sometimes it’s not about landing my stripes in the pocket. Sometimes it’s about making it so that I put myself in the way of my very solid opponent so as to confuse him or force him to make a useless play. It’s very animal. I’ve seen my dog do it to a crow twice his size. Backing him into a corner, forcing that peacock-ing crow to notice…taking him down a feather!

I’m terrible at it. I’m no good at precision because I laugh and miss the ball entirely. Or I angle wrong and actually knock my opponent’s ball into the pocket for him. You’re welcome.

Sometimes I get lucky.

I don’t think anyone won the many-moons-long game. I think ultimately we just left the balls on the table. Went to join another game. Went to the bar. Went home and cried cause we’re such sore losers we couldn’t even finish the game for fear of the pain of losing it. We got mad instead and cursed the game even though we were still enjoying it somewhat. Or we got careless and shrugged and acted as if we weren’t interested even though we still were.

Business is a tough business. So is love.

I’ve been playing a game of pool from the moment I was born.

I’ve thought of this concept many times. Probably starting in high school when I would sneak into game rooms of the places I was performing at under age.

I’ve tried to write the concept of pool and the characters involved into a song….but I can never get around the balls. There’s just no poetic and pretty way to sing about them.

I digress…and…have no fear, am still being a lady. Let me explain.

As I see it, as soon as you are born you become an entity that affects the lives of others. Like pool balls on a pool table bumping into each other. Even the most neglected and seemingly unnoticed person has changed the course of someone’s life. Whoever carried you in her womb, wherever she is, will never be the same because of you. Bump.

You are probably someone’s first kiss. Bump.

When your first real boyfriend became the first person to ever break up with you…and you found out it was for that mean girl who left the traffic cones and a bitchy note on your parents front lawn because she hated you for no reason except that you hated her….And then she rejected him anyway. And then you finally spoke to her at a party 2 years later when your NEW boyfriend had just admitted to sleeping with everyone you know….and that “mean girl” was the one who hugged you and told you its ok to cry. And then that “mean girl” became such a good friend that you got to stand beside her on the alter 5 years later when she married the “first boy who ever dumped you”. And at the reception they played a song you wrote all those years ago. A song about how badly the groom hurt your feelings! But now it’s really funny! Bump. Bump. Bump.

Ok, that last one was obviously my story. And it’s true.

Here's another one like it.

A woman serves me hot cider outside of Sunday Mass when I’m around 4 years old. I really like her even though I’m shy.

11 years, 3 churches, 4 schools, and many hot ciders later, in a brand new town 30 minutes away, I’m the new girl. I see a boy across a fire pit at a party. He looks nervous. I like him immediately. We become close friends and I learn the story of his mother who passed away 9 years ago. He needs some good mother advice, so I bring him home to my mother…who is the best one I know.

My mother loves him immediately. Gives him advice. When she learns his last name, she asks him if his family went to St.----- Church years ago.

They did.

My mother asks me if I remember the woman who served the hot cider.

I do.

It was his mother.

As it turns out, the advice this boy needs is about what to do after high school. He is considering joining the army. He does join and I miss my friend terribly and we both go through a lot during and after the year he leaves.

He’s stationed at Ft. Bliss, Texas.

He calls me one night when I’m in the middle of writing a song to remind myself not to fall apart.

We both are a wreck, but we get each other through it.

I finish my song for him by morning and play it to him over the phone.

Two years later he is stationed in Kuwait and the song plays over a loud speaker and some of his fellow soldiers sing along. They don't know it's his song.

He doesn’t need it now, so it just makes him smile.

And seven years after that, I still get letters marked from Ft. Bliss, Kuwait, Korea, Iraq, and stations all over the world. These are letters from brave men and women who fight for freedom and appreciate that reminder that I wrote for my friend and myself when we were teenagers. I’m so lucky.

How many bumps was that?!

As I see it, we are all spherically unstable entities on a giant green felt table, and if you believe in fate, then someone somewhere indeed already knows which pocket you’re going to land in. However, getting there, will take the initial break and further turns of the cue, and most likely a whole lot of bouncing off of each other.

I happen to think that the universe plays pool like I do. With a load of movement and noise on the table, and a great deal of making the one hit the other so the other can get to the other one, but not a whole lot of thought put into the final ball-in-pocket outcome.

Especially if you consider that once the table is clear and all that’s left is the white ball…our universal soul?....the balls all come out again anyway.

I can hear them all, organized in their triangle, saying to each other, “Oh, it’s you again! And what effect will you have on my outcome in this round? Good game, everybody.”

Tonight I find myself thinking of all the people who have bounced me off to where I need to be next. Sometimes we roll together for a moment, sometimes for a while. Sometimes we hover near one another until someone else bumps one of us. Sometimes we meet again and again and again within the span of the game. Sometimes we never touch at all except through others, but the impact we have on each other is still as strong. Or maybe, we just end up in the same hole at the end.

And to sum up why I’m not the seductive poser girl when I’m at the table…

If I’m going to play God, I want to know the game I’m playing. I don’t much care what I look like as long as I’m doing my best to play it like I see it.

Anyway….

In my game, the most impactful bumps turn into music.

For better or worse, I love them for moving me along.

See ya in the next triangle!

Oh…Pale ale musings of an eye-hand uncoordinated bad breaker with fierce scratching skills.

What I mean to say is…Life is Balls!

Ain't It A Shame

2011-09-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Your mother she told you when you were young

"Somebody's gonna love you like I love you, Son"

Somebody's gonna bite down nails to the bone

Just to write it in blood

Just to set it in stone

When I saw you I

Knew that you were mine

When I left you knew the same

So ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never met before

A trophy’s your arm with a smile like a frown

And everybody knows my life is upside down

So I’ll tell them you’re just what I need

“My blue eyed bruise is just a muse and music’s what I bleed”

But I’ve got a gun loaded in my mouth

Spit-firing bitter poisonous syllables out

Like when you call me Honey and I get so mean

Cause I’m afraid you will never taste how sweet

When I saw you I

Knew that you were mine

When I left you knew the same

So ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never met before

Baby I know where you’ve been

Candles blown out for a man

Who can kiss with liar’s lips

With her scent still on his hands

But I didn’t cry did I?

What right had I to lie?

Did I?

Didn’t I just want to die?

But I, did I not tell the truth

When I knew

That I loved you

When I saw you I

Knew that you were mine

When I left you knew the same

So ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never

Ain’t it a shame, ain’t it a shame we never met before

About Princesses

2011-09-02T17:37:00.000-07:00

In the midst of a debilitating bout of writers block, I threw my hands up and drove to Disneyland. It's a quick drive from my house and I knew I'd find all the music and imagination I'd need to finally write a song after so many weeks of nothing but left brain-age.

Being a Southern California native (don't let the pale skin, non-blonde hair, and complete lack of boarding, bikini-wearing, or part-time-modeling talents fool ya! I'm a genuine LA/OC girl!) I've been to Disneyland a zillion times. I've been there in-utero, in a stroller, in a wheelchair, on a date, on drugs, while falling in love, while breaking up, while having a panic attack (As part of exposure therapy to get over a 2 year battle with anxiety disorder, in 2009 I faced agoraphobia, crowds, tight spaces, and the Tower Of Terror all in one day...and was once again a fearless badass by evening!)
I've made out with a cute boy on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride (and it was), I've snuck vodka shots on...most of the rides in Adventure Land, I've cried to the music on Pinocchio (When You Wish Upon A Star), I've stared at Walt's statue imagining what it must be like to have a mind like that, I've helped kids find their Mommas, I've given flat tires to adults who walk slow in a row in front of me, I pulled the sword from the stone!! I've performed at Disneyland as Anna Nalick only once, but I've been recognized several times in the last 2 years (and again the other day) as Ariel in street clothes, by little girls who are always ready to sing "Part Of Your World" with me. I get to be their Ariel. How lucky.
I remember being so scared of Splash Mountain when I was little that my Mom had to put lipstick on my lips to pacify my crying...only to get a lip print on her shirt when the ride took the big plunge into water and my face took a big plunge onto her back as she held my baby brother from flying out of his seat in front of her. (I think of that every time I walk by the ride...and I was scared of it until I was 17!) I've been to Disneyland so many times that I know where all the hidden Mickey's are AND the hidden shortcut to bypass the crowd from Haunted Mansion to Pooh Corner....and YES I am totally bragging... unabashedly...trying to make you jealous.

The point in my telling you ALL that was to say that although I'm sure some people think it's silly or commercial or what have you, when I go to Disneyland, I can't help but get wrapped up in the magic, music, memories, and history...and just like that, I'm a princess again. I KNOW there are other girls and boys out there who have a favorite or most relatable Disney Princess. You MUST tell me which one yours is if you are one of those girls or boys.

Over the years I've been every princess....

In the beginning it was Ariel. My grown up sister took me to see the movie in the theater when I was 5. I KNEW I was Ariel! She sang, she daydreamed, she was rather over-dramatic and hyper-expressive...which in the end served her well when she needed to use her eyes and hands to talk, and she loved to swim under water and so did I...I'd still rather breathe under water than fly...if we're talking super powers. I kept a fork hidden in my dresser drawer for months so I could comb my hair with a "dinglehopper"!

Around the same time I was absolutely Queen Alice too. Although, when my parents saw how much I loved the Disney one, they rented me a live action version and the enormous, paranoid, allegro-phobic rabbit scared the bejesus out of me! It was still my favorite story.
Alice and I were imaginative, a bit too quick to pinpoint who's crazy and what everyone else's problem was...all the while chastising ourselves for poor behavior and for "giving ourselves very good advice but very seldom following it". We liked an adventure...but it scared us, we liked to put on a pretty frock and then lay down in the flowers and talk to the butterflies. I even recently did that in a field outside of San Francisco. My friend played the part of the Caterpillar.

So that's who I was in the beginning....

Do you remember when you realized you were changing from the daydreamy princess of the first 10 minutes of the film?
Do you remember when you discovered you were all of a sudden the princess with the plot conflict that you used to fall asleep for when you watched it as a baby princess?

Growing up, just like every teenage Cinderella, I frequently stayed out past curfew to be with a boy...only to lose my coach privileges and be exhausted at work the next day. Fittingly, work was as a janitor during this time...and my Mom and I designed and made all my formal dresses...and by midnight my shoes and dress were absolute rags! Did I show you the photo of the little ballet flats I changed into for the Grammy after-party this year?? Thrashed! But well worth it. Some things never change.

I fell in love! And then I fell in love again. And then again. And again. In the movies they always narrow it down to "the one". But there are many "one's" in a lifetime.
My carriage was a songbook and it took me to many a royal ball. Still does! Lucky again. And there is always a prince and sometimes he turns out to be a frog. And sometimes he turns out to be a beast. And sometimes he's just someone you work with who manages to sweep you off your feet for the night. However, there is ALWAYS dancing.

I spent a lot of years as Belle. My nose really was always in a book. I was and sometimes still am, rather more bookish than coquettish. I liked to disappear into learning and I preferred my books to any other form of entertainment. Like Belle, I was very protective of the men in my life, Dad, brothers, friends...even the beasts...and they didn't all turn into princes... no matter how hard I tried to be a people-fixer. In real life, it turns out that all the kisses in the world can't change a man. But one woman's beast is another woman's prince charming. That's a hard lesson. Let people be who they are.
"I give myself very good advice but I very seldom follow it."

For a brief period I was very Jasmine...in all the wrong ways. I was a jaded princess. I fancied myself as quite seductive and every bit the stifled adventurer. In reality, just like Jasmine, when I did finally climb my castle wall, I was frightened in my own city (the agoraphobia) and Burbank is pretty scary but it's no Agrabah. It didn't matter who gave me what, I had everything I'd ever wanted. Maybe this is what started the panic attacks. Like Inigo Montoya in Princess Bride. Once you finally kill the six fingered man you might find yourself freaking out a little bit. That's why eyes-wide-open, always striving for a new adventure is important.
Oh, and for another reason, being in my castle felt like a prison because only a year previously....

I lived as a raven haired runaway with seven men in a cottage...er, tour bus...just like Snow White. And I sang and they brilliantly played instruments and once in a while I did have to beg one or two of them to wash their goddamn hands before they ate the dinner I made!...AND I did, in fact, used to bite all the apples in the fruit bowl and then put them back with a bite missing....to see if they were poison/tasted good enough to eat. Ask my band...they'll tell you it's true.

I always wanted to be Sleeping Beauty. I thought she was the most lovely of all the princesses and I desperately wanted to look like her. Rose colored lips, always knows how to stand and where to put her hands, perfectly pointed eyebrows, without question the coolest dress, "sunlight in her hair", effortlessly lovely...even when she's so determined to prick her finger on that spinning wheel (the one EVERYBODY warned her was bad for her) that she goes a bit dead behind the eyes and E.T.-Phone-Homes the shit out of that spindle! Stupid girl.
"I give myself very good advice...."

Actually, I think what I really wanted from Sleeping Beauty was to live in a world that looked like a Medieval tapestry...and meet a sexy boy who could sing in tight pants and still look totally not gay. But as a side note, on my 6th birthday I cried to my mother in the car outside my Kindergarten that I didn't want to turn 6 because I didn't want to have to grow up and marry someone I didn't know! I'm fairly positive that I had the concept of "betrothal" in my head from the beginning of that movie and I was NOT into it.
Have you ever been lured into something that was so painful it put you to sleep for a little while?
Have you ever had a kiss that awakened something in you?

I've even been the more recent princesses...recently. I fell in love with New Orleans just about when Princess Tiana came around and I've had some real "Almost There" moments after deciding to be an independent artist.

Oh...and I wrote "Knots" literally right before "Tangled" came out so I OBVIOUSLY was Rapunzel about 7 months ago. "All I want is my fingers in your hair/And I'm tangled up as tightly as I dare...."

And before I move on, allow me to acknowledge that I have also been....The WITCH!!
I've always marveled at how closely Sleeping Beauty resembles the awful Maleficent. Pointy eyebrows, angular jaw, prominent chin, that kind of Jean Moreau mouth that turns down even when it's smiling. Still gorgeous, but don't we have to admit that we all possess a little...sometimes a lot... of that awful vindictive thing that makes us a little...green...with envy?
It's ok. Don't beat yourself up. It's root is fear and a need for control that comes from it.
Better to let go and let Godmother. Be sweet, be honest, accept that you can't make him/her love you, can't force them to hire you, can't intimidate or manipulate or posture your way into anything of real value.
"I give myself VERY good advice...."

Oh! And I've gone on the "off with their heads" rampage several times in the last few years. I'm ashamed to say, an honest 10% of them didn't deserve it.
Honestly, haven't you ever looked at yourself and said, "What the hell, (your name here)??!! When did you go from being a sweet little thing to a fire breathing fucking dragon?!?!
It probably happened at the turning point in the "conflict" part of the story. The Prince didn't show, or the Godmother dropped the ball, or you actually did fall asleep and when you awoke life was bedlam. OR "happily ever after" turned out to be bollocks and you got angry!! The boy, the job, the girl, the conflict....not worth turning green over.
"I give myself....." you get it.

Anyway, it seems that as we grow up, we forget that we are princesses...unless someone uses the term at us as an insult. When I'm in the forgetting stage of things, it makes me cry to remember when I was a princess.

I don't understand why princesses are reserved for little girls! They don't know how use it right anyway! It's SO disconcerting to watch Cinderella throw a temper tantrum because her mother just told her to get her finger out of her nose while she's eating cotton candy!
That's gross, little girl! Give me that costume!! You don't deserve it!!

My friends and I forget that we were born to be in love, to sing when no one's looking...or when everyone's looking, to play dress up, to go on adventures in far away lands or our own backyards, to expect miracles, to make wishes, to be good to people.
We forget that part of our loveliness comes from our constant searching and then working toward a happy or even happier future. It's that discovering and taking in that makes the eyes bright wide and open to good things.
We forget that in the span of a lifetime, a dozen Disney movies take place, and just because we have to defeat or endure a terrible authority figure, a witchy villain, or our witchy selves THAT many times, doesn't mean we should have to be any less wide eyed and excited for the next chapter.

Maybe the problem (and my only complaint about faerietales) is that they are intended to teach lessons to children. (Except Old Irish faerietales. I think those are intended to make you want to kill yourself.) Anyway, we "grown ups", who frequently live in "happily ever after" (where the first bad guy has been defeated, the parents smile at our newfound independence, and we fall in love for the first time) don't have any guide for what comes next. We know to expect to be swept off our feet and we know to expect that when we are, it will feel like our bad guys have been conquered. But we don't know what to expect once the coach drives away or after the cloud dance happens.

The thing is, the coach might only get down the block before we turn it around and head home...or more excitingly, head for the streets of wherever it is Cinderella lives. Maybe we solve the hunger crisis with Aladdin by our side...maybe we leave him outside the gates of Agrabah and do it alone. Maybe we put on our diving gear and head back down to the sea kingdom to ask our very powerful father to use his magic golden fork to find a human/mermaid compromise so that sometimes we can have Thanksgiving at HIS house without drowning! MAYBE now that we know how land compares to sea, the grass is still greener on the other side and we want to try air.
That's a whole NEW adventure. "Ariel, you may have wings for 3 days. You may fly to the ends of the earth, but if you don't find yourself before the sun sets on the third day, you will turn to dust!"
Then the story should be that she looks for herself everywhere and right before the sun sets, she sees her own reflection in the water as she flies over the ocean. She sees the waters of where she's been, she sees her lovely human legs and her beautiful wings in its reflection. Then she sees her eyes, wide open, a portal to a heart that is always aspiring, taking in, pouring out, watchful, hopeful, and thoughtful. She realizes she was there all along.
(This is a lesson my Mother has tried to get through to me forever. I almost have got it, I think.)
Ariel's happiness wasn't contingent on the love of a man who's statue she idolized, or a pair of long legs, or a pair of wings for flying away. Happiness wasn't A person or A thing or A goal reached. It was something that was always present...even when she had no voice and had to watch her own father be turned into a wormy thing. She was ok.

Be honest, the first Prince broke your heart some time after that big kiss...or you broke his, right?
And there was another bloody Witch after you wasted the first one?
And the stepmother didn't just disappear, did she? But you're still relatively ok, right?

If Disney or The Bro's Grimm were still alive I would ask them what happens next (cause I doubt it's what happens in the Cinderella or Beauty And The Beast sequels...or they'd get better ratings)
I think they'd tell me this....

The first conflict is the scariest and most painful thing you'll ever experience. However, the next ones will be even harder...either because you are allowing yourself to relive the first one again and again..or because of the "bigger they are, harder the fall" principal.
Sometimes it hurts so bad because the bad guy/witch is an illusion...or yourself.
Seriously, a gorgeous green fire breathing witch can't hold a candle to what you can do to your heart when you're old enough to know better.
But just as the villains get scarier and the knots get tanglier, the magic carpet rides do get more thrilling, the dwarves and teapots become far more dedicated friends, and if you think the first kiss was amazing...wait till you get to the 10th! Maybe it's with the same prince as the first kiss, maybe it's with the 10th prince. Firsts aren't bests necessarily. They're just....firsts. And a first can be the first time you kiss after you realize you still love him/her and he/she still loves you after all these kisses, or after all these tears, or after your whole world just came crashing down. THAT is more intense than a first. Or a first can be the first in a year since the last prince let you down. Or a first can be the first in a month when you've missed him so much it made you want to die, but you went on your own epic journey anyway and you changed the course of history and fought the bad guys all by yourself...and won! And sometimes the first is just the first with your heart's eyes open....and because of that it is actually the last....and that is intense for it's own reasons.

Overall, love will reach farther than before because it will exist in so many different ways. Your capacity for loving others beyond what you know now will be astounding and despite the pain it can cause, you will feel so blessed just to have the ability.
Expect these miracles...again and again. Just as you expect to be swept off your feet as a young princess. Expect it as a grown up one as well.
Expect that you will have to battle several Maleficents, without help sometimes.
Expect that you will have to brave your inner Beast/Witch/Red Queen/Evil Sultan/Arrogant Barfly more often than any other villain, but expect the new legs or magic color-changing dress after every round. It can be THAT good even after the closing song plays and Tink flies over the castle!

At least, that's what I hope Disney or Grimm would say.

After my first day at Disneyland I decided to book a room and stay for 3 more nights. I went alone for 2 days and then invited my friend, we'll call her Tink, to join me for the second 2 days.

Tink and I watched the new laser/water/color show in California Adventure for the first time. We both cried. I loved Tink so much that day. Grown up friends are true miracles.

Being that World Of Color is a water show, it opened with the water Princess...Ariel...and hearing her reaching, longing little song made me tear up right away. "Part Of Your World."

I believe I'm her again. The return of Saturn has brought the return of who I already knew I was when I was a tiny girl.

For better or worse, I am a daydreamer. I always think the grass is going to be greener on the other side, so I pretty much always walk with one foot in the surf. I need to stop trying to save every dark, brooding, shipwrecked man-overboard...They don't all WANT or need saving by me. Sometimes they just belong with Ursula/Vanessa. Have at it, Kids.
Sometimes I'M the one who needs to breathe fresh air. I need to save MYSELF...Like when I'm about to swim into yet another chubby, sea-weed eating, arm-suction-cup-having, talent-deprived, sea witch's den!! I need to say to myself, "Ariel/Anna, you don't belong here and she's letting you know it!! By the way, if those electric eels look a little dodgy, they probably are. You're a fucking mermaid! Mermaids live forever! You will evolve and eventually have legs. Ps. Really?? You think just because human parents can wear shoes, they don't reprimand their daughters? Seriously, sometimes they reprimand their daughters BECAUSE they wear shoes...and their feet hurt when they get home from work to find their daughters brushing their hair with a fork while smoking a pipe with a mangy seagull!"

I still prefer my nose in a book to on a tv, I'm still jealous of the Sleeping Beauty type (and people who sleep in general), I'm still singing songs with lots of boys who brilliantly play instruments, I still have a restless soul, I've recently been hurt till I shut down and fell asleep. But I've also recently been kissed until I woke up again. Contrariwise, if I don't temper her, my inner witch is (no words...just that face boys get when you yell for no reason...as if maybe you just turned into a fire-belching ninja with super-human ax wielding skills and a prehensile scorpion tail.)

I'm still very quick to judge. I must stop that. Oh, and just like that, I reprimand myself a lot....all these being Alice qualities. I do live in my own wonderland...which I'm coming to realize I'm ok with as long as the right people can join me there, and I definitely have a being-on-time issue. I'm a little bit of all those girls.

Nevertheless, I'm definitely Ariel again. And I mostly think I'm back to where I started (not because of the red hair) but because I think I did lose my voice for a little while. Luckily, I found it. And with it I found that my eyes are still wide and excited, even though they're sad sometimes. And even though they've seen a lot...they have more to see. They don't always know what to think of the things they see and how those things make me feel, but we swim on.
Like Ariel, I still like to daydream about the the grass on the other side. Whatever that might be... a house with a partner and a baby. A different line of work that doesn't make me feel like I have to bleed out every time I sit down to do my job. A situation that presents an obvious path for once.
What if I belong in all those roles? What if I don't belong in any of them? Or "what if I'm a mermaid....?" Read those lyrics to "Silent All These Years." I finally understand that song. I haven't thought of it since it was on the radio when I was 12, but I think I just lived it....and she's right..."I don't care, cause sometimes I hear my voice."

I'm going to be wide-eyed, dreamy, and questioning...again. Finding my legs. And I think I'll find it's a lot of fun this time. This time, when I get them, they'll know how to dance...

So many stories still to come. And even if your eyes are filled with tears, don't close them. Keep them wide open. Find your voice.

"I give myself very good advice...." This time I promise me I'm going to follow it.

The Hardest Part (Feels Like Love)

2011-08-15T11:46:00.000-07:00

Our hearts
Are running in circles
But doesn't it feel
Like love

On a merry-go-round
When we should be wild horses
But you're always out
Of my reach

And the hardest part
Is the empty hands
When I want to hold you
But I can't
But you can't conceal
That you know it feels
Like love

Your eyes
Grow soft as a whisper
Then suddenly steel
And go cold

And you say it's just
Cause you know I'm leaving
But while we're still here
You've already gone

And the hardest part
Is the walk away
Cause we're better off
If I don't stay
But it breaks you down
Honey don't that sound...

Like love when you're cold
And I shake
Like love when I break
But you bleed
Like love when I sing
With your voice
Like love when my need
Is your need
And you only leave....because I leave

And the hardest part
Is your words unfound
That could change my world
At the sound
So I set mine free
So you think of me
Like love

2011-06-21T10:43:00.001-07:00

For starters, I was FAR more nervous than usual. This led to a funny happening...I have a "quiet-the-audience-down" trick of singing a little song a cappella, and last night they quieted down to hear me sing a number I started MUCH too low. Anyhow I readjusted and we were golden from then on! But it made me giggle for the rest of the night because it reminded me of when little kids sing a song and adjust the key ten times. I love that!
I had a full band last night. And they rocked it!!
We had so much fun we didn't want it to end. Matt's drumming made for excellent hip swinging and jumping around, Jonny brought the sexy on bass, Luis was a god on guitar as usual, and Will gave all the atmosphere, blue notes, jazz moments, and twinkling loveliness a girl needs to put on a multi dimensional show. I love my boys!
I played a few new songs. "I Like You Too Much" (my brain moves faster than my fingers can keep up with on that song...but it's such a quirky little cutie!), "Walk Away", and "All Through The Night" which is my favorite song I've ever written to date...although it does make me a bit weepie when I sing it.
I met some new friends, kissed some old ones, and laughed A LOT!! All around an enjoyable evening. Thank you to those who joined me.
And now I'm leaving my house in exactly one minute to fly to Chicago for a tv spot tomorrow morning and MobFest the next day. Then NY for a Rockwood Music Hall performance and a few private gigs. Then 5 glorious days alone in NY writing music and wandering about before I sing on the Fox Morning Show from 5am-9am on July 1. Today's tea at the airport will be a blessed event. A deep breath and away she goes...

The Walk Away

2011-06-13T14:09:00.000-07:00

I took a crooked walk

Along our leaving street

The wine made vines of pavement lines and tripped my weaving feet

No one saw me falling

So I upset my shoe

To say it wanted buckling while I searched the ground for you

Warmth on pavement

Prints from shoes

Set toe to toe and two by two

Remind me with each step I take away

From us

That is to say

The walk away was sour

I mean…

I missed your warmth within the hour

I took a mourning walk

Across the morning sand

Beyond a tunnel underneath a cliff upon the strand

Collecting broken dollars

Begging to be rinsed and stolen

A tide that swells makes me rich in shells but my heart is broke and swollen

I took a toasting sip

Upon a precipice

Against a cloudless window in a house that history kissed

I felt its centuries

The same way I felt ours

It’d be just like us to brave a quake…just to burn…just to build us a tower

Cliff house windows

Fire untamed

Sand dollars, towers, and spilt champagne

I placed these memory trinkets in a box

Like treasures

Key and lock

Things timeless

What I mean to say

Is Love…I’m keeping you that way

I take a sunset walk

Each night at half past five

I sing you "Ain’t No Sunshine When He’s Gone" and say goodbye

But today an early moon

Came out to watch you set

As if to say, “Just TRY to separate us and forget!”

Sun and moonlight

Every song

Reminds me that though not for long

Once harsher light was shed on us as muse

Muse died

And I saw YOU

And you saw me and smiled

I mean…

You gave me true warmth for a while

Warmth on pavement

Dust from shoes

Set toe to toe and two by two

Remind me with each step I take away

From us

That is to say

If things remind you too then I’ll

Walk slowly for a little while

ANNA NALICK June 2011

God Loves Doll

2011-06-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

This weekend I listened to a few stories about God, who He is, and how to find Him. So I thought about it and I'll tell you what God is to me.
Today I woke up in a hotel that showed me the ocean and bright green cliffs. I thought it looked like the Shire where all the hobbits live. I've needed a getaway for a while and I always say my dream is to live in the Shire. This morning I woke up there. That's God to me.
My best girl and I don't need words to speak with. That's God to me.
When I'm singing and doing my thing on stage it's a pretty self serving business. But then I see your eyes responding to my stories and I remember that everyone just wants to be listened to. I see how lucky I am! And when your eyes tell me you know what I'm singing about, I'm listening to your story too. And then it isn't about how I look or if you think I'm bitchen...it's about the language of music and how we can all speak it at once and understand it no matter what verbal or heart language we speak. That's the gift of tongues as far as I can tell. That's God to me.
I wrote a story of a Rat who sat by the waters edge. She realized things about her love for others and her understanding of herself. There was a sighing Snake and a waiting Doe-a-Deer. Of course, a Rat, a Snake, a Doe-a-Deer, and a waters edge will mean a different thing to each of us, but yesterday mine all happened just as the story told. I lived the song I sang. Strange. That's God to me.
All last night was a brain-swollen-with-thoughts, eyes-swollen-with-tears, curl-up-in-a-ball-and-hope-the-sun-keeps-on-sleeping kind of night. But this morning the sun did rise. I said to my girlfriend, "You know, music is the only thing that always cures the railroad spike through the heart feeling." I opened one swowy-eye and flipped open my computer to play "Lover, You Should've Come Over"-Jeff Buckley, and what did I find? My little album BROKEN DOLL & ODDS & ENDS finally up on itunes! Music saves my day once again!! That's God to me.
God is timing, circumstance, fate, and only goodness to me. It's a love that starts in the heart and reaches fingertips that don't take what isn't given. It's meeting each other at just the right time because maybe you have just what I need right now. It's our split second eye contact when no one's lying or manipulating and something in our chests turns into two little soup cans tied with string. Then from across the table, the room, the town, the state..etc I still know when you're ok. It's knowing when it's time to put the pool cue down and let the universe roll us little planets wherever it wants us because I can't be the player and the game piece at the same time...and I'm really awful at pool besides! (This is a literal truth.) It's waking up looking like a broken doll (someone actually called me a Ragdoll this morning) and immediately having to laugh at the fact that on this day, I'm finally also taking that part of myself and giving it away to whoever wants to listen to it. And right away so many people want to hear it that itunes needs to take a minute to readjust!
So here's to the Shire cliffs outside my window, to the bright shining sun this afternoon...even if I do hide in the shade where I can't get burned, to my messed up looking shoes...they've been places! To my precious friends, and snakes, and doe-a-deers and waters edges. Cheers! This album was a long time coming, but it's finally out!! And to quote every rapper ever to grace an awards show stage.."I'd like to thank Gaw'!" And God too...in all the forms in which I see Him.
Love Your Ratty Doll

I...I...I...

2011-06-01T03:36:00.000-07:00

I tried all night to write a score/Of notes that'd never been sung before/But my head filled with static/So as not to tell lies/All I wrote was I . . . I . . . I . . .

The static made me long for rest/So I lay my face upon my desk/I dreamt of details oft forgot/When love gets tangled up in knots/I found the score, I had the words/I spoke unfiltered, unrehearsed/I told me second/told you first/You drank my words with quenchless thirst/The killjoy clock woke me "AVAST"/I caught my shock in a looking glass/And there neath the freckles below my right eye/Were the words I . . . I . . . I . . . .

The windows or my eyes dropped rain/I reached my hand out past the frame/I couldn't touch you. Thus the pain/of reaches swirled down the storm drain/So cryptically in pun and prayer/ I screamed my truth into the air/Perhaps the air was deaf that night/Not even my echo replied/Perhaps the rain retained my words/And brought them with it to the earth/Perhaps your white rose bloomed that night/And perfumed your dreams with I . . . I . . . I . . . . . .

Fine! So everything's not settled/So I promised not to meddle/Yes. Indeed you called my bluff!/Isn't I . . . I . . . I enough?/Of course it's not. You need me whole/Mind and Body. Heart and Soul/But you're a moth, and I'm a flame/You'll burn and solely I'm to blame/Yes, I'm a flame, but you're my sky/ Kiss. I . . . I . . . I . . . .

Someday in a crowded place/I'll see your old familiar face/Yes, you'll be old and so will I/And hindsight will have made us wise/And Stones that used to weigh so much/Will simply topple at the touch/ But through our aged eyes I'll see/ you young and strong and you'll see me/Still wild and beautiful and free/As we are now we still will be/I'll come to you, so pure and sweet/Ignorant of our slippered feet/And the child who spies, and the youth who sneers/And the newlywed who dabs her tears/The score I will have left behind/For someone else to pen and rhyme/Here I will give you without fear/The song I held for 60 years/ And when we're standing eye to eye/Perhaps I’ll finally tell you I . . . I . . . I . . . Love You

AnNa

"I Wish I Could Be Your Pen For The Day"

2011-06-01T03:27:00.000-07:00

Anna Nalick

I awaken…he’s beside me

Lying ‘tween white sheets

Sheets with thin gray veins dividing

Thought from thought in one-way streets

I could rest tonight without him

Sleep would come and dreams would follow

But consciousness abducts my dreams

He writes them down to read tomorrow

Tomorrow comes…he’s waiting

His eyes bleed blue on my pillowcase

And thus begins another day with him

Our fingers interlaced

This man he is my right hand,

But I hold him in the other

My left’s my strength and he’s my blade

We bleed for one another

Mightier than sword or spike

He weaves me unafraid

We twist us round like dancing

(Under…over…under…he pushes…I push back…we sway…breathe…sway)

I am Sampson…he’s my braid

I curl my fingers round his body

Thin but full and strong

Tongue searching as the lover’s kiss

Made immortal as the psalm

So through the day I carry him

Forgetting by and by

He’s not my hand, my lips, my fingers

I am he as he is I

I tell him what I think and see

He tells me what I mean

I see love, he says obsession

I think hate and he writes love

I say sex…he spells connection

On and on he calls my bluff

And on and on each life I’m his

The one man I cannot mislead

Thus other lovers, gods, and allies

Hate him for his hold

Even on the shelf he’s still first love,

First taste, true soul

And weighty though it seems

I hold him gently when we dance

So he has breath for laughter

EVERY touch is not romance

I’m addicted to his laughter

A thousand times a day

I whisper nonsense in his ear

To scribble troubled thoughts away

When night falls dark

And once again we’ve nearly bled us dry

I use my lips to coax

The sweet cobalt tears from his eyes

I hope he’s there when I awake

But mine’s a free embrace

Remembered in the blue imbued upon my pillowcase

AnNa (3-2010)

Random Thoughts On Boots The Day I Found My Old Barefooted Dolls

2011-06-01T03:20:00.000-07:00

Anna Nalick

Damn these worn out boots. They’re proof of shiftless feet.
Where’d I put my doll shoes?

I used to feel still free to sit still.

My doll stayed where I put her and she smiled like she loved it.

But not me. I’m restless and stir crazy. I run myself ragged.

Fuck these worn out boots!

They don’t want to be kicked up and relaxed.

Or planted and rooted.

They just keep running running running.

Where’d I put those doll shoes?

They are like two little patent leather infants.

And what peace is there than to be a baby doll in someone’s arms.

They can’t decide where to move because the doll is at the mercy of the child who plays with her.

The doll is loved, so her feet will never touch the ground.

And even if they did, Dolly’s little body would just slump down and fold.

But not mine. As soon as these worn out boots touch the ground they start looking for a place to move.

I’m so tired of moving.

If only I could find my doll shoes.

My legs get so sick of running.

These worn out boots just remind me of how many times I’ve fallen down.

How many times I’ve twisted their ankles and bent their soles…their very souls!

My doll shoes were quiet, and blissfully dumb.

They knew no magnetism to the ground.

The trade off, first one foot then the other.

I see so many girls in doll shoes.

They don’t have the strain of constantly moving.

Someone moves their legs for them.

They don’t know worn out like I do.

They don’t know calluses.

They don’t know trudging through mud and tripping on stones.

They don’t know splashing through rain or kicking up dust.

They don’t know wiping earth on fake plastic carpet just to show that carpet what real ground feels like.

They don’t know dirt and how soft it can be and asphalt and how warm it can be.

They don’t know freedom!

Doll shoes know a dolls stagnant feet and her unchanging mind.

They know nothing because they are like a mirror to a blind man…Useless.

Not like my worn out boots.

These boots stand for something and they move for no one but me.

I remember now where I put my doll shoes.

May they rest in peace.

AnNa (1-2011)

Little FInger

2011-06-01T03:08:00.000-07:00

I think I finally let you go today/It happened with half a tear/Then I forced you in a cyclone out of my lungs/And the breathing out felt like what I imagine death to feel like/A release/A ripping apart of soul and body that somehow leaves a sense of peace, considering the disturbance of timeline/It was as if I was giving you back to the universe/And you know, it hurt less than I thought it would/Like the sharp pain of tearing off that bit of snagging little fingernail that is attached below where the skin is still connected/The pain is searing for a second/It makes the heart beat hard as the blood races to the little fingertip like a thick, liquid paramedic/The ache is dull and lasts for a moment or so/But it hurts far less than that constantly snagging bit of my little finger on everything I touch/Considering how much I really loved you, I only bled a little/I put my bleeding little finger in my mouth/And the irony of my wounded little finger in the place of your lips wasn't lost on me/I licked my wound/I kissed me better/I wonder if you felt me breathe you out/If the wind blew just then and played with your hair in a way that reminded you of me/Or if you bit your lip at that moment and the blood tasted like my perfume/I think I finally let you go today/It's only been a few hours, but my aching little finger is slowly turning from red back to pale/It will grow back it's shell/So will my heart/I suppose its crazy to think I'll never see you again/You'll blow in like a gust of wind/You'll rattle my branches that were finally getting used to stillness/My leaves might fall/My eyes might fall/But my shell will show no cracks/I'll laugh at fate and irony/And I'll remind myself of the day I finally let you go/And you'll wonder why I'm holding my little finger.

AnNa 2010-2011

I'd Never Be A Butterfly

2011-06-01T03:03:00.000-07:00

I'd never be a butterfly/I'd only be a moth/I understand the moth and why he craves expensive cloth/He likes the way it feels upon his face and on his lips/He simply has to bite it/Like I'd bite on fingertips/I'm not a social butterfly/I just come out at night/I flutter by until I find a brighter spot of light/

A moth is more impulsive than a butterfly I think/He'd kiss a blue-glow zapper just as quickly as he'd blink/I don't know how a person glows/Why I'm more dusk than dawn/Perhaps I soak up all their light/Then crave the moving on/

I'd rather be a moth/Because a moth has many eyes/And I am always watching/Closer than you realize/Those butterflies are flashy/I could be flashy too/But I prefer my grayish-white to their yellowish-blue/However, like those butterflies/I can't be held too tight/You'll rub my magic dust off and you'd steal my precious flight/

Tomorrow there'll be butterflies/But heed the moth's fair warning/I love the way you radiate/But I'll be gone by morning.

(AnNa 11-2010)

A Snake Once Chanced Upon A Rat

2011-05-29T22:07:00.000-07:00

A Snake Once Chanced Upon A Rat

By Anna Nalick (Madame Ratte)

A Snake once chanced upon a Rat adorned in floral leaf

The Snake, he liked Rat’s charming tale

She liked his funny teeth

And as she was a wee bairn Rat and he a baby Snake

They didn’t know but just to dance and laugh o’er grapes and cake

When Snake said, “Hey Rat, check THIS out,” and spread his cobra wings

Rat laughed, “Oh my, one day you’ll make a most imposing king!”

And when Rat showed the Snake how she could tie her tail in knots

He nearly died of laugher…then he tied them both in lots!

And when the Rat was clever, Snake was never overwhelmed

He giggled at her, played her games, and let her take the helm

Not threatened, never frightened, they just laughed, and learned, and danced

And they prized each thought in pockets

Not that either one wore pants

But soon enough Naysayers neighed with snorting little noses

They told the Rat, “A snake’s a snake, no matter how he poses.”

They scoffed, recanting tales of venom, guile, and mind control

They told her all about how snakes can swallow rats quite whole.

Here, Rat guffawed and puffed her fur, well chaffed by her short-selling

“He’s just a child,” she sneered, “He couldn’t fit ME in his belly!”

But really her rat heart was sunk like rodents down a drain

She cried to think those funny teeth might ever cause her pain

Especially when she herself had teeth so sharp and frightenin’

And she had never EVER thought to use her teeth to bite him

Meanwhile the Snake was out collecting rat-tales to abhor

Naysayers took the grandstand neighing,

“Where there’s ONE rat there’s MORE!”

They said, “A rat’s a greedy thing. She’ll take her cake, ‘tis true.

And hoard it, lie and say she’s starved, then she’ll take your cake too!”

The Snake said, “Reeeeally. Is that so? She’ll not have MINE to take.”

But truly, had she asked for it, he’d gladly share his cake.

And as for loads of rats, HIS Rat seemed quite alone, not swarmy

But to be sure he’d now be ever wary of her army

Thus when once again there chanced the Snake upon the Rat

They sized with sideways glancing eyes

As if each were a cat!!!

But still they danced a kind of joust of pushing, pulling sort

And every time one got too close the other would abort

The Rat, she showed her sharpened claws and said, “Look how you slither!

You use your eyes to draw one in with glances of come hither

And then you wrap yourself around till one can’t even breathe

What then, young Snake? And don’t go thinking you’ll do that to ME!”

It hurt the Snake to hear Rat’s most distasteful thoughts on him.

But he uncoiled and feigned un-foiled to show cool, careless skin

“Your squeak is shrill,” he told the Rat, “Your paws are icy cold.

Too shrill to hear your laugh at dawn, too chilly for to hold

And furthermore I know you’ve got a gang of ratty friends

Who’d gladly stake a baby snake. You just go dance with THEM!”

At this the Rat began to cry, her head in freezing paws

And she could see the damage that their dizzy dance had caused

The Snake, he was…well, rattled. But before he saw her tears

He had busied himself dancing with a lovely Doe…a deer.

The Doe…a deer…was golden, statuesque, and somewhat strutting

She spied the Rat….said, “What is THAT?” which Rat found rather cutting

She held the Snake possessively and tipped her streamlined nose

With gorgeous grace, that comes with age, she posed her cloven toes

Doe made Snake glow a lighthouse tower glow that Rat found apropos

Though different from the way he glowed with her. This was a searching glow

Rat made Snake’s glow grow even when they said those nasty words and though

The Snake was still so close that Rat could touch his rattling tale, a stone’s throw

Often little things that rusty creatures know are deemed a show

So Rat just closed her heart, opened her icy paws…and let him go

Rat retreated back into the hole she called her home

On one account the Snake was right. Rats do not live alone

She’d always been a wanderer, but she gave home one more shot

She gathered up her pack and tied her tail in ONE HUGE KNOT

But when she said “Taddah” her honest smile turned in dismay

Her pack was not amused....or laughing…so Rat ran away

At first she felt so lonely that she thought about the river

But the water was so freezing that it made her whiskers shiver

And so she simply stood there… and believe this one or not

Those same Naysayers as before came neighing to her spot

And hmphffing and guffawing, shook their heads at one another

Saying, “Funny, we thought you and Snake were PERFECT for eachother.”

“Perfect NOTHING,” said the Rat.

“He likes ‘em gold and glossed and that is that,

You donkeys! Go away!

He never liked me anyway!!

And if he did, he doesn’t now,

And YOU were no help anyhow!”

With that she bit one on the shin,

And off they all ran like the wind

At times the Rat was angry, sometimes longing, sometimes nothing

She even kissed a Monkey and indeed she did feel something

And then an evening came when Rat was all alone….but happy

She spread out on the riverbank…and she just started laughing!!!

She’d given up on Snakes with Doe’s and dancing and on cryin’

She’d given up on Monkey’s too, and Sheep and Rats and Lions

And whoever else may chance to try and take away her laughter

Because now that she had found it, that was all that she was after

And then…

One day the Snake got curious about the Rat

He found her by the water’s edge and silently they sat

Then Rat, she cleared her voice, and swallowed pride like bitter lemon

And summed things up, as is typical of rodents and of women

She said, “I know my laughter bites, cold blooded are my hands,

But as a snake, on both accounts, I thought you’d understand.

And I don’t mind the wrapping up, you know. I like a squeeze.

And I believed you’d never hold me much too tight to breathe.

And as for rats in droves for biting, scratching, and for swarming,

Well, take a look around you, Snake, where now then is my army?

And as for having all the cake and eating your cake too…

I do like cake…but what I really like…or liked…was you.”

The Snaked then sighed, so Rat said, “Fangs and all!!” to make him smile

And Snake said, “Rat, I miss our laughter after all this while.”

And here the Rat apologized for all her nasty words

And Snake apologized as well. They hugged…and then they heard

The slightest kicking up of dust by one most gorgeous, golden hoof

And so the Rat took on a tone most sweet but most aloof

She said, “Sweet Snake, I’ve sent you laughter two times every day

And one day you won’t need it from your Rat, and that’s ok.

But if and when you find that your new dance has made you dizzy

And if you ever find that on the quiet nights you miss me

Think about the reasons why and when you’ve found your truth

I hear that one can shed old skin to make one good as new

And when you’re good as new I think you’ll know just what to do.”

With that the Rat blew Snake a kiss….She blew the Doe one too.

Now no one knows or ever will what happened to this lot

Or maybe one time someone knew but since then they forgot

But I myself, a human trying so hard to be wise

Have recently acquired this tale and thus I recognize

The universe is funny. Leaves us crawling on our bellies

Leaves us scrambling like rats for bits of cake or scones with jellies

And it can make a horse’s ass of us if we’re not wary!

And it can pit us Doe to Rat, which could’ve been quite scary

But we’re the worst of animals unless we rise above it

Take the universe for what it is, a dance floor, and just love it!!

And never say, “A snakes a snake” or that “A rat’s a rat.”

A snake’s a dog’s a man’s a mouse

And that is that is that

And who goes where, with whom and when is out of my control

I’ve got no time between this loving heart and laughing soul

The moral of the story as this tail applies to me (*wink*…tale…tail)

Is this…no matter whom with, when, or where your heart may be

I've known your scales, they weigh a ton. Ps. So too weighs gold

And mine are tiny, fragile hands, too far away to hold

But for a time when you were mine, I felt you pure and strong

So that’s how I’ll remember you, now that we’ve moved along

May the road rise up to meet you, little Slither, little Snake

And may your scales be ever tipped on your side, and forsaking

All the other useless feelings saved for cloven foots and gnats

Know that I loved you for a moment with the heart of a thousand rats.

ANNA NALICK
May 2011