Posts Tagged ‘umbrellas’

Nocturne

May 18, 2017

Just out of a super hot shower and swaddled in blankets tucked away in the prow of the sleeping quarters on the houseboat listening to Chopin.

It is sweet and dreamy and all things rainy night in Paris.

I am finally not wet and cold.

It rained.

It poured.

It was a deluge.

I had Mike Doughty’s “Sad Girl Walking in the Rain” stuck in my head for hours.

However.

I was not sad.

I was dreamy.

I was bemused.

I was looking at all the things.

I was seeing the poetry in the wet cobblestones.

In the unexpected flair of a red rain poncho covering an old man as he pedaled his bicycle along the Seine.

I saw the heavy-headed peonies, blushing pink and sweet underneath the floral shop awning, drowsed with rain and nodding on their pale green stems.

I smelled roses, drunk with rain and walked underneath flowering chestnut trees.

I got wet.

Oh.

I got so wet.

Drenched.

Doused.

Soaked.

And yet.

My heart felt light and I strode along the avenues, occasionally lost and adrift in the details of the weather and in the welter of my soul as it beat against my rib cage, sometimes it lives there, underneath my heart, just behind my rib cage, a plummeting bird singing a song, sad and melancholic, beautiful and lyric and like the timpani softly chiming it sings a song just to me.

I was not sad.

I was not melancholic.

I was steered toward that direction once or twice when the rain seemed to overtake me and my feet got wet, but the lightness in me kept me warm.

I was surprised to find, when I finally took shelter in a cafe bistro, that my hands were so cold from clasping the umbrella handle that I could not bend my fingers properly.

I had a quiet dinner in a small bistro on Rue de Bac.

Roast chicken and roasted vegetables, sweet and savory in their juices, a Comte cheese plate with a simple mixed green salad and a few drops of balsamic vinaigrette, a small bottle of Perrier, and a cafe creme.

I sat and almost became melancholic and I can feel a sad story trying to escape my heart and perhaps it is just the poesies of the art I saw earlier still nestled there, but I did not let myself drift there.

You are not alone in Paris having dinner you are with yourself and your company is lovely.

I sat and looked at the rain falling outside, the umbrella stand tilted over, heavy with parpluies, the round wooden bistro chairs tucked underneath tables, more peonies and pink roses on the bar, the old man who tumbled by underneath a large yellow and red and blue golf umbrella, chased by the rain towards home, I presume.

I tasted the cafe creme and once caught my own eye in the long mirror to my side and thought, who is that beauty?

Oh.

Ha.

It’s me.

And that made me, for a moment soften and sadden for all those times when my company was not enough for me, not knowing how rich and good it is, and I longed for another and there was no other and I was alone in Paris eating my steak tartar in a bistro years ago somewhere in the 9th arrondissement in the rain.

Oh.

Paris in the rain, you can be so sad and lonely.

Or.

You can shine with lustre like a rare pearl, polished in the fiery embers of the red lights reflected in the wet street pavement.

I am never alone when I am with Paris.

We are lovers.

Yes.

My own secret language of dreams, and do you really wonder why I have it tattooed on my chest, dream, in French, that is.

I saw you as I walked back to the house boat after my lovely well curated little meal, a single swan in the Seine, in the rain, long graceful neck slightly curved beneath the weight of the glory of being its own perfect self.

Perhaps I too am like that.

In moments here and there.

In the light that reflects from the raindrops, in the light that is cast from the bateaux mouche as they traverse the river up and down, constantly ferrying souls to and fro.

There are times I am lonely.

Yet.

I am never alone.

Unfettered and loved.

I am here.

I am there.

I am in the notes of revery between the keys on the piano, the soft hand strikes the ivory and music resonates, pearling into the air about me like staccato raindrops on the roof of the houseboat.

And so.

I go forward.

Warm now.

Sheltered from the rain.

But not quite a part from it.

As it, like the music, like the painting that blew my heart out in the Musee L’Orangerie today, blew it out, devoured it, rendered it changed and altered and smashed my face with soft tears that drifted shamelessly down my face, awestruck in the face of such grace, is now ground into me.

The rain.

The poetry.

The Chopin.

The art.

The city.

A swan of desire upon my fevered face.

I shall not forget soon.

No.

I shall not.

This blasphemous joy.

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Rainy Day

February 18, 2017

Mood music.

It rained.

It rained a lot.

I have listened to scads of French music today.

San Francisco in the rain reminds me of Paris.

I love that I can listen to music at work.

I was home, at the home of my employers, again, all day.

The little lady was sick again.

And much sicker than earlier in the week.

She had such little energy.

Most of the time was sat and snuggled on the couch.

I got her lunch, which was actually my lunch, and she wrestled a promise out of me that I would make spaghetti for dinner.

That did not happen and she was mad, oh lordy was she mad, when she realized I was leaving for the night and there was no spaghetti dinner.

Her parents had ordered pizza since she had missed her pizza party at school.

She was not so easily mollified.

She had fallen asleep on me at one point this afternoon and had fever dreams and big coughing fits.

I just spent most of the day on the couch rubbing her back and brushing the hair off her hot forehead while she slept, and drooled a bit, on my lap.

Such a sweet little lady.

Although she wakes up really hard and was a screaming crying mess.

I have never seen a child wake so hard.

She does not like waking up.

But before that I had hours and hours of contemplating the rain falling and listening to the Amelie soundtrack by Yann Tiersen, which really is such perfect rainy day music.

I had taken care of my household duties and really the only thing was to sit and be still and let the little girl rest against me.

I know that though she woke up hard and wanted her mother, that I had been a calming, loving, kind presence for her, she totally cuddles with me now and it’s become a very sweet relationship.

I am very glad for it.

I never felt restless, but I was ready for the day to wrap and excited for my first day off in two weeks.

The alarm is set.

Yeah.

Like that.

I’m not sleeping in.

I’m going to yoga, which will do me more good than trying to squeeze in some extra sleep.

And if I need a nap in the afternoon, I can take it.

Not that I will.

I’ll probably roast a chicken.

Yoga.

Shower, breakfast, hope for a break in the rain so that I can scooter up to 7th and Irving and go to Tart to Tart and do some work with my person.

A mani/pedi after.

Then home.

That’s sort of the plan, cook, sort through homework and reading.

Then go see some fellows and do the deal in the evening.

Sunday will be another round of yoga, I’m only getting into the studio on the weekends, but I’m trying to stay with it and not drop back out of it, it’s too easy to let it slide, even when I feel like what’s the point, I do inevitably feel better, and my brain is much quieter when I do it.

Tattoo touch up on Sunday at 1:30 p.m.

No other plans.

A few tentative feelers out there from friends, but no solid plans.

I told on myself today in a phone message about trying to leave some room open on the weekends so that I socialize and see people and don’t completely isolate into homework land.

Fingers crossed that can be achieved.

It will be.

And maybe some clothes shopping, but I’ll probably leave that until next weekend, I have a big coupon to redeem at Gap from when I bought my “casual interview” clothes, and it needs to get used by next weekend.

Maybe I play some pinball this weekend.

I have had this urge to make things happen all day, I realize, as I was just looking at a text from a friend who was wondering what I’m up to.

I want to know.

I want to be solid.

I wanted to text back and say, book time with me, or don’t, but let me know.

I have three people in that boat with me at the moment.

What are you doing this weekend?

Let’s get together.

I’ll text.

Part of me wants to throw a temper tantrum, I want to know definitively so I can prepare myself, it’s a protection thing, I recognize that, and I can let it go.

I have faith that even if every person who said let’s meet wasn’t able to, that my weekend will be just fine anyway.

I mean it’s begun, I’m not working tomorrow and I signed up for a yoga class and I have a coffee date with my person to do some work, I can lightly hold what happens the rest of the day and see what makes me the happiest to do.

A friend suggested I get a mani/pedi and a massage.

Mani/pedi is definitely on the list.

Massage sounds good too, but I don’t think that it would work tomorrow.

I’ll keep that in my back pocket.

I don’t often get massages, they are nice, but I am not often compelled to get one.

I always feel like my money is better spent elsewhere.

But a mani/pedi I can totally get behind.

Not that my toes will be seeing the light of day any time soon, more rain in the forecast, but it is a delicious splurge and I always appreciate my toes when they are done up.

Anyway.

I ramble.

Rainy day French music soundtrack lends me to a meander with my words.

Bon nuit mes amies.

A demain.

 

My Bunny Slipper

January 19, 2017

Game is on hard tonight.

I mean.

It’s happening.

And so too, the softest, fuzziest, warmest socks I could pull out of the drawer.

I changed socks three times today.

Will this be the year that I finally buy rain boots?

It might.

Even if it’s just in preparation for the next rainy season.

Especially if I should be staying with my current family, which I plan on doing so, I do like them quite a bit.

I’m out a lot in the elements, I was much of today, going to school pick up, coming home from school with my charge, then again tonight after work, it was wicked.

I was going to hire a car and then the pool cost was over $20 and I was like, fuck that, no, I’ll wait on the train.

And the train was fine, but I got wet again, even with my umbrella and many layers, not having rain boots, my shoes did get wet and when that happens and the cold toes, yikes it takes forever to get warmed back up.

Working on it.

Like I said, the bunny slippers are out in full force and that helps, plus, lighting up all the candles in the house and yes, I just made a nice fresh, hot cup of tea.

Thank God for tea.

I remember when I eschewed it, now I carry the shit with me.

I laughed today when I was packing up my personal bag for work, I am discovering that I need to re-think my bag plan a little, carrying a purse is oh, so very adult, but not really handy I’m finding when I’m out and about a lot in the rain with the charges and taking trains and carrying extra umbrellas and rain jackets and little miniature pack backs and snacks and water and shit.

I’m like a walking snack factory.

My really nice, for me, Hobo purse, is getting beat the fuck up.

So, I decided to switch it out and use one of my messenger bags.

And I discovered a secret cache of tea bags in one of the pockets.

“That’s where that went!” I exclaimed and chuckled.

Now if only I can figure out where I lost my expensive prescription sunglasses.

Yeah.

They are lost.

I think maybe at school?

I carry them in my bag with in a case that I keep a cleaning cloth in and the last time I can remember using said cloth was over the school weekend.

I should give the front desk a call tomorrow.

I may not wear the sunglasses much, but when it’s sunny and I’m outdoors, I do like having them and they were really expensive, maybe the most I have ever spent on a pair of glasses, so yeah, um, I’d like those back.

Speaking of making phone calls.

I called and left a message at one of the practicum sites I am going to apply to.

Hoping to hear back by the weekend and do some follow-up as to what they are looking for in a MFT intern (Marriage/Family Therapist) and what I need to do to apply to the site.

The information on their website says cover letter and resume.

I can do that.

But I also met the person who runs the institute in person at the practicum fair last year, so I wanted to speak more with him, I left the message for him and I’ll be awaiting further instruction.

I will also be working on putting together my stuff, resume, cv, cover letter, this weekend, I have looked over the information the school has up on its website and hopefully I should be able to knock out a decent one before I go into my first open house next Wednesday.

Yep.

Next Wednesday.

A week from today.

I will be attending my first open house at the CIIS Church Street site.

Church and 30th.

Two and a half blocks from my job.

Not bad if you can get it.

Fingers crossed.

I don’t believe that I need a resume and cover letter ready to go for the open house, but I feel like it might be really handy if I did, if it turns out they are willing to accept them in person.

It would feel good to hand one over.

And the site is being managed and supervised by a professor and TA that I worked with last year at the “retreat” in Petaluma before the fall semester started.

I am fairly certain they will remember me and I feel that it would be a good show of my commitment and desire to work with them by having all my materials ready to hand over when I show up Wednesday.

The rain it shall continue through the week and weekend and perhaps this is for the best, drought status and all this last few years, as well as helping me knuckle down and get the work done.

I mean.

I typically do, I’m not too much of a slacker around that, but yes, staying on top of things is nice.

I got my last book in the mail today when I got home and read through the book material that I got yesterday to get me caught up.

So, I’m making some nice steady progress.

And.

I am just about warmed up.

Bunny slippers and tea to the rescue!

Maybe too I’ll take a little time tonight and hunt and peck about for some rain boots.

I just checked the weather.

Solid rain not just through the weekend, but into next week as well.

Sigh.

I am glad I covered up my scooter this morning.

I don’t think I’ll be using her this week, maybe not for a week, actually, if the weather forecast is correct.

Yup.

It might just be time to succumb to the ugly boot store and get myself something to keep my feet warm.

Looking cute can be sexy.

But feeling cold and wet is not.

Feeling warm and cozy, in my bunny slippers, might just be the sexiest thing yet.

Seriously.

You should check them out.

They rock.


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