and all at once... spring

+ remember when we went to the wrong concert?

Bonjour-Bonjour,

A few days of sunshine and Parisians are out of their minds! The Seine is packed with picnickers, cyclists, runners, sunshine revelers. Les vitrines des magasins display love and flowers.

And then these two! They could not walk one more step on Blvd. Henri IV without falling into one another. Everyone just flowed by while they kissed and kissed, as if one had just returned from the antarctic, as if one had been saved from kidnappers, as if one had just been cured of scurvy, as if they were young and in love. I wonder are they still there?

Oh spring! Oh Paris. I miss you already…

…

Remember back in November when we went to the wrong concert? We bought tix to Avishai Cohen, hoping for the bassist, we got the trumpeter and slowly we puzzled it out:

“Boy,” I thought, “Avishai certainly changed his look.” The bassist looked nothing like I remembered and the trumpeter commanded the stage! Dressed like Salvador Dali in a sweeping painting frock with a curious chapeau, he strutted to and fro. He made grand gestures. The music swooned and cavorted outside of any melody. I thought, ah, Avishai Cohen the jazz trumpeter. “I hope Joel doesn’t realize his mistake.” And then I thought, “I’m in it for the long haul and I started quietly performing alternate nostril breathing. The song ended. Joel leaned over… “Shit,” was all he said.

Full story here:

watch.listen.snack. (💫a free-for-all)

…

Well, we went to the right Avishai Cohen concert this week. And let me say, I’ve never had an experience like it before.

We arrived to Le Trianon in plenty of time. Apparently I’d bought myself some weird little jumpseat called a strapontin when I got the tix. Have you ever seen these? They’re like pop-up seats attached to the end of the rows, hardly big enough for an American Girl doll before the dolls got skinny. The usher was amused by my incredulity. "Bien Sûr, Madame, c’est une chaise.” And, she also let us know that it’s typical in a French theater to tip the ushers… this we did not know, but tip I did from my tiny seat.

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Dear Reader… When the music began I think I went on a medicine journey. First thing you need to know, I had no wine, no nothing on board. The only mind altering influence was the music. I, on my minuscule perch in this gorgeous theater built in 1894, with an angel overhead, went on a voyage.

I closed my eyes and was flooded with visions from my childhood, from my home town of Santa Cruz, of my mother and me in many different emotional states. Yes, sorrow. Yes, anger. Yes, fear. Yes, joy. You may remember that for years I’ve been struggling to help my recalcitrant mother find a safe and comfy place to live within her limited means. I’ve been writing about it in THE RIGHT TO FOLLY, and though things seem fine just now, I remain vigilant, awaiting the proverbial other shoe. I’ve been writing a memoir about it all, the present and the past, so my experiences are close to the surface.

On stage, Avishai Cohen, a big and agile man, wrapped himself around his bass, much like the couple kissing on Blvd. Henri IV. The band—a sax, trombone, drums, and piano—were in such flow. A river of music poured out, gorgeous, rich, calm. I got totally lost. To be clear, a medicine journey is not in my plan. I love it for you, but I’m too much of a control-freak/scaredy-cat to take in a substance that makes me see things. Yet a medicine journey through music, through art? I’m all in.

In each memory/vision that rose up I watched little girl Natalie and kept thinking, “Oh, sweetheart. You’re okay. I promise.” And for me, in my booster seat in the theater, something shifted.

(There are at least a couple people in my life raising their eyebrows and nodding right now, maybe thinking: inner child…told you so!)

Avishai didn’t even play Motherless Child, a favorite song of mine, but it must have been on my mind.

He did play this song, Remembering:

I know, I know, it seems so weird. And maybe what I’m sharing is too personal? Yet I wonder what music heals you?

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Another thing about this French audience, no one, personne, had their phone out to record or snap photos. Everyone was rapt. Everyone’s face lit by the music. Phones only came out for the standing ovation.

And I loved that.

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Finally, Stanley who always brings good medicine:

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Tell your people you love them, and take care of your skin!

merci,