The Montparnasse Frame

 Each time I'm in Paris, something different catches my eye and I learn something. Most everthing in France has an historical reference as does the Montparnasse frame.  I first saw a frame like this in the smaller flea market called the Puces de Vanves.  The seller tossed out the name "Montparnasse" like we were sure to know what it was.  I had never heard of this frame and was instantly interested in its history. While I didn't learn much that day about it, I noted that while it was ornate in its carving, it lacked the gold gild of  most of the French frames we are used to seeing. I needed to find out more!

 Today I went to the larger flea market the Puces de St. Ouen (Cligancourt) and to Lucien Pineau's stand in the Marché Serpette.  He specializes in the Montparnasse frame and we had a wonderful conversation about their history and how difficult they are becoming to find.  First of all, the interior part of the frame that is the moulding is called the Marie-Louise.  Marie-Louise was the 2nd wife of Napoleon and I am still trying to discover why it is named after her.  When the moulding is made of wood and is fabric covered, it is referred to as the Marie-Louise. If it is cardboard, it is called the passe-partout (something that passes everywhere).  Evidently, Marie-Louise was not someone who was passed about! These frames are from the 20th century and were supposedly designed by the many Russian painters who had begun to congregate in the Montparnasse area between 1908-1914. Since they were artists with very little means, they carved the frames themselves from modest pine and left them ungilded. The Patinas are all different and quite beautiful with the traditional frames being creme or grey. The carving itself is ornate and in the style of Louis XIV  and Louis XV. They are all beautiful!

Many of the painters from the Ecole de Montparnasse ( Marie Vassillieff's painting above) and the Ecole de Paris, framed their Post-Impressionist and cubist paintings with the Montparnasse frame.  While I wish I could see their paintings in the Montparnasse Museum,  it was closed down this year for reasons unknown.  What I can do since our apartment is so close by, is walk to the Montparnasse area and dine in one of the many legendary cafés that are still fabulous today such as: Le Dôme, La Closerie de Lilas, La Rotunde, Le Select and La Coupole. Painters such as Picasso, Matisse, and Modigliani chose these spots as their hang out  and paid with their paintings when they had no money for food. I can only imagine the colorful conversations that must have gone on amongst them daily.

I have always been fascinated by beautiful frames.. they are the jewel that enhances the work of art!

A Study in Kindness

Today marks 1 year since the police chase/car accident that I survived with my friend Nancy -- and I don't use the word survive lightly.  It was a moment to believe and disbelieve all at once.  And it was the first time in my life that I actually knew I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  

So wrong....

So let's right it .... that's the thought I woke up with this morning.   I have replayed the events in my mind a million times and when my mind takes a break from it, residual pain in my body sends a reminder.  While doctors and friends were concerned that I had broken or torn something, I intuitively knew that the only thing broken was my spirit.   But I have healed -- slowly, surely, gratefully and I am here to say that the greatest component in the get well equation was kindness.

Recently, a study was done at Stanford University that reveals a growing body of scientific evidence  that kindness holds the power to heal.  The study states that kindness should be viewed as an indispensable part of the healing process.  After all, it's been in the Hippocratic Oath for over a century: "I will remember that... warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug."    Kindness then is something we take and something we give and in the process of it all, it becomes the greatest of healers.  Distribute abundantly!

I know that it was not my fault for being down, but I also understand that it was my responsibility to get back up.... "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again."  Today I thank my dear family and my dear friends for the tireless way you listened to my story especially when it was repeated often,  for holding me while I cried,  and for celebrating me back to life. Thank you for helping me get back up! Especially, I thank Nancy for holding my hand when I asked her to-- in the middle of the darkness and trauma.  I can still feel the electricity of her touch in that moment-- it made us safe I think.  The simple act of holding hands creates a bond and the strength of a bond with another human can take you to places unimaginable.  There is a force in it.  

My idea of "righting" the wrong is to continue on the path I've just recently started to reclaim strength in my body. Slow and sure! I want to work harder at being kind to myself so that I can spread greater kindness to all of you in my life who matter.  And I want to stop looking over my shoulder. Noone knows what's coming,  so look forward, move forward  and live passionately.

Today, hold hands, be kind, and celebrate those you love. To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, 

"You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late."

Pajama Game

Why am I showing you a photograph of my mother in her pajamas? Read on...

I don't know what it is like to be 95 and I don't know what it is to be one of the last of the "clan" standing. My mother does.
Last week, her long time friend Ruth Dussia passed away.  Ruth's husband Steve and my father worked together and our families socialized for as long as I can remember.  Eventually, with both Steve and my father gone, Ruth and my mother began checking in on each other more frequently and then nightly. I don't know what all was discussed but I know the conversations were long and animated and that sometimes, my mom had to hold the phone at arm's length to make it through all the "excitement" on the other end!  I can tell you that I never got a call in to my mother between 7pm and 9pm and that I learned to remind my mom to tell Ruth when I was in town. If we went out for dinner and missed that call well...  let's just say the police was not the welcome committee we were hoping for!

Although Ruth was younger, it was my mom who took her to her doctor's visits and kept her company during her many trips to the hospital and rehabilitation centers.  My mom took her baked goods, listened to all her complaints and helped her son Brent understand what was going on.  She was the ultimate friend-- there until the end.  An angel...

I had been keeping tabs on Ruth's health for a long while, so when I got the call that she passed away, I was not surprised. My mother put on her brave voice for me until finally it cracked and stopped. It was during those seconds of silence I knew that I would drive home for the weekend to hug her and bring some cheer-- a little surprise.  The day before I left, I got an email that said she had sewn a complete set of pajamas for herself, button holes included. She also added, " My head and fingers still work."  This was her grief therapy and her own little self-test.

I set out for Ventura with the pleasure of knowing that we would soon be seeing each other. When I arrived, the house was dark and I worried that I would scare her if I rang the bell. I decided to call her and say that there was a dinner delivery at her back door.  She had changed into her pajamas and was ready to settle in with a book for the evening. I told her I would stay with her on the phone until she opened the door.  The look on her face was priceless and those pajamas... WOW!
We hugged, cried, ate, talked and finally went to bed.  She said she sleeps so well when there is someone in the house, and I in my childhood bed, sleep like a child.  I am still a child-- her child and I am so grateful for that.

We went to our favorite Lucky's the next night to celebrate Ruth's life and with the clink of our lemon drop and martini, sent our blessings into the night.  The fire place was crackling,  the room was full of life and cheer and we even had a bit of comic relief in the form of Ellen Degeneres at the next table.

When it is time for me to go, she always walks to the end of the driveway to wave goodbye. This time was no different  except that I wasn't as sad as sometimes. Why? Well, seeing her in those pajamas with that big smile... how could I be?  If there was ever a doubt in my mother's mind that she was fading, life came back into full focus that weekend. We had the best time and I left knowing that she is still in the game.  The pajama game!

Mary Elinda Ditty Burns

My grandmother Mary-- her beauty delicate, her will strong. I never met her but I can see this in her photograph-- she sits tall, her shoulders squared and ready for whatever was to come,  her eyes penetrating and confident and her mouth, determined.   My mother tells me that she had a glorious singing voice and that she loved falling asleep to her mother playing the piano.  What I would give to hear her melodies. 

Grandmother Mary was also an accomplished milliner with her own shop in Pennsylvania. For the early 1920's having her own business was bold.  I love that she posted quotes and notes on her wall and with my magnifying glass, I have tried to decipher what mattered to her.  I know that beauty mattered , music was essential and her children were everything-- she had four of them and gave her life for one of them...

My Uncle Clair, her youngest son, passed away recently and requested that I be given the cast iron stove that was originally in the corner of her shop.  For many years I have studied this photo and admired this jewel of a stove.  To say that I was happy to receive this generous gift, doesn't say quite enough. 

It arrived today after a 5 day journey across the States in this modest red truck with the Pennsylvania plates.  A real and true Pennsylvania treasure!

And here it sits in our garage.  It will need a gentle acid bath and a loving polish but it will be my greatest pleasure to restore it to its original beauty.  My Uncle Clair will be smiling from afar...

  Seeing it is like finding a piece of the puzzle that was part of her world.  And now, in making it part of my world, she will be in it.  Welcome home Grandmother Mary!

Jill's Super Yummy Banana Bread

As I write this, I am biting into the most glorious, moist, flavorful just out of the oven banana bread. It's Jill's yummy banana bread as she calls it and she said that it is good because it's made with lots of love.  I can tell you that love may have something to do with it, but the ingredients make it sensational! Who is Jill and why is she bringing us banana bread?  Let me tell you the story.

Jill and Maury are our new neighbors, one of many that we are now surrounded and embraced by. I will say that this is a neighborhood unlike any other that I have known except perhaps my childhood one.   What is the definition of Neighbor?  One's fellow human being" "A person who shows kindliness or helpfulness toward fellow human beings." Here,  in the vicinity of Amherst and Fairfax, people live up to that definition!  Like Jill and Maury.  Maury knows everything about the neighborhood as they have lived here for 30 years.  They were invited to a dinner party to honor our arrival when we first moved here in January.  The hosts were John and Jennifer across the street... two other fine people that we have the pleasure to know.  It's interesting to sit down with people that you don't know... you can present yourself starting from now and leave out whatever parts of your history you are so inclined.  Jill and Maury have a daughter who is married to a Frenchman (there is always something French going on anywhere we are!) .  Jill and Maury watch their grandson several times a week and so one day when we saw their daughter picking him up, we brought out a bag of Camille's childhood French books.  They were so happy!  A few days later, Jill thanked us with a loaf of banana bread.  Alain and I took our separate bites of that bread and with our eyes rolling around in our heads,  declared it the best we had ever had!  We told Jill and she modestly replied that she just makes it with love.
On Saturday, we had a garage sale and Jill came over.  She is a quiet person and stays inside her home mostly.  But the garage sale gave us a chance to speak a bit more.  She began to tell me about an event she is dedicated to that holds garage sales for leukemia and lymphoma .  I told her that when our sale was over, whatever we didn't sell I would box up and donate to her cause.  Then she started to talk about the Dream Foundation and her daughter Noel.  I didn't know she had a 2nd daughter and she quickly nodded and explained how Noel was invited to speak at a Dream Foundation event to share her dream.  I quickly realized that Noel must be sick.  I gently asked where she was now and Jill quietly shared that she is in the heavens.  She said she passed at the same time her sister had her baby, Noah.  Noah was named for Noel to come in as she exited.  We stood on the driveway with tears in our eyes and all I could think of was that one never knows what goes on behind someone's smiling eyes.  Jill is always smiling but her eyes are sad.

Today, I was thinking of her as I gathered boxes to bring home to begin our organization of items to be donated to her group.  As I came inside the doorbell rang... it was Jill standing out front with a beautiful , warm from the oven, banana bread loaf and the recipe that I asked for.  I smiled and teared at the same time and expressed my joy at her wonderful good deed.  After we hugged she did a little jump and squeal of joy --an act of kindness completed!   I closed the door and began to cry.  Ever since we moved into this neighborhood, we have experienced nothing but kindness and I will continue to say and believe that kindness is one of the great healers.

A moment later, the church bells began to ring and as I always do, I stood in the garden with my face to the sun and gave thanks to the heavens for all the goodness granted us.

Random

No definite aim, no direction, no rules, no method. Random. Madness. Kindness. Senseless.

If I were defining a writing style, I would say words and phrases thrown together. Scrambled. Hidden messages. Disorder that takes the reader out of his/her comfort zone to see beyond what is written.    

If I were speaking of an act or occurrence, I would say from where I stand it might seem inexplicable/random. Then I might add, that if I could stand somewhere else, I might see the order in it.

On the calendar, February 11th has always recalled the memory of my first important date in high school. It took place at the Pierpont Inn. I was 16. I wore a sweet red and white floral, floor length halter dress with a red collar. My first dance that night was to "You're Still A Young Man" by Tower of Power and it was the first time I would feel a boy's hand on my bare back.

Now, February 11th has added a new memory and one not so pleasant. I was returning from seeing Baryshnikov in a play by Anton Chekhov about a man who is extraordinarily orderly and never makes exceptions to the rules. (Later, the irony of this is not lost on me.) I am now 56. I wore a black pencil skirt and cardigan. The music was playing but I don't remember the song and the hand I felt was Nancy's hand in mine. I remember several loud sounds and then I remember a silence so quiet I wondered if we had been transported far beyond the boundaries of this planet. There was white nothingness and clouds of smoke that choked me into a reality I wasn't ready for. It all happened so fast. Nothing orderly about it. Random.

When our car was hit by the energy/force of the 100 mile an hour impact, it sent us against the wall and then across 5 lanes in a matter of seconds.  We couldn't see anything and in the moment that carried us floating across the lanes of 101, Nancy asked/screamed what she should do.  I said, "Hold my hand."
Feeling her hand in mine was an attempt to find comfort/order. But really, it was the act of letting go while holding on. Every other part of me let go and to a place I had never been.

When we came to a stop, I thought it was over and we were safe. I hurt everywhere and I hoped everything was attached.  But there was still more terror to endure as we were escorted to an unmarked police car and told to get down on the floor. It began to dawn on me that we were innocent pawns in a police chase and that we had stopped the getaway car. My eye glasses had flown into the back seat of Nancy's car so I couldn't see anything in the night. I think that was a blessing... I know it was, for when they were found and given back to me I saw 30 or more rifle carrying policemen running and shouting --chasing the 3 gunmen who were on the loose. I wish I could tell you I was brave, but I was whimpering quietly on the floor of that car and shaking from the shock of it all.  How did we get in the eye of this storm? If we had just left the theatre a bit earlier or a bit later. Random.

Three weeks have passed and I am now standing in a different place, but I do not see order in any of this. My body is working on healing but my mind is still struggling.  Randomness gives meaning and simultaneously, takes it away. I am trying to bring order to everything I do and then I laugh at the absurdity of that. Mostly, I sleep and ice and laugh/cry.
And also, I look a bit longer into the eyes of my loved ones.

HOME IS PEOPLE

Alain and I bought our first home on Archer Way in 1986.  When we had friends over, they marveled about how perfect it was for us but when we had Dave over, I could see him reworking the kitchen and family room in his mind. It was always our dream to have Dave build a home for us but we were young and just starting our journey into the world of work, earnings and responsibility. Within one year, all of that changed with Dave's project on Bella Vista Court in Los Gatos. We squeezed through the loan process and into our first Flick home…our dream came to life! Little did we know at that time that our dream would be a recurring one! After Bella Vista Court came Francesca Court and after that came Quail Hill Road. He helped us on Kellogg Avenue and then the beautiful remodel on Palo Alto Avenue became one of his finest pieces of work.  When we sold this home, I grieved and I believe part of that grief came from knowing that he would never be involved in our future homes again.

Over the past 8 months, we have looked for a new home… sometimes it was a half-hearted search thinking that no home could ever live up to a home that Dave was a part of. Searching for a new home then, became a soul-searching process as well.  The places in our hearts that are emptied by grief, have to be replenished.  It doesn't mean our love for anyone is replaced, it is just that we have to find a way to love differently.

Our home search took us to many beautiful Spanish- style homes and each one felt familiar --like it would work fine for us and yet my heart stayed still.  I finally realized that I was gravitating toward what we had known and not toward what we needed to discover. Magically, Amherst Avenue came on the horizon!  The moment I stepped inside, my heart began to beat! I couldn't wait to bring Alain to see it and I thought about how Dave would approve of it.  It was originally built in 1950 and had been completely restored in its' mid-century modern glory by the owners.  We made an offer to buy it and we were on our way!  Now if we could only involve Dave in some way…. and so, on our offer letter, we decided to set the closing date to December 27, 2013--Dave's 56th birthday!

Today, we are thrilled to own Amherst Avenue.  Dave and all our friends and family will be with us in spirit as we sit on a bench and dine from a tray table tonight.  What I know is that home is people and not just a place.  I will close my eyes and see what is no longer there and with a full heart will welcome all that is to come!