Lagging

Jet lag is nipping at my nose.  Falling asleep early, waking up in the dark, groggy by the time 7am rolls around.  Noon feels like 5pm, my head feels like it's bobbing under water.  Can't distinguish hunger from tiredness from ennui.  If it was only bright and yellow outside my window instead of cool and gray I may have more motivation to hike.  Crossing off things on my to-do list, trying to make most of my day, as I shoo my desire to nap away.

This Moment

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and share.

Superficial

After two weeks in Paris and London where I joined locals and tourists in cues outside of resplendent museums in frigid temperatures to glimpse a Monet, Kersatz or Basquit I returned to LA.  I was greeted by glorious late afternoon sunshine which melted into a neon pink and orange sunset over a clear and distant sea.  And that is why I have spent almost two decades in this city chocked with traffic, void of monumental architecture and stimulating pedestrian life.  I need to see the sun glowing on the hills in the morning.  I need to feel its warmth on my face through out the day.  I've lived in NY and London so I know what I'm missing, but it's what I've gained in California that I can't live without.  At first the realization made me feel superficial.  I live in a city because it's sunny?  Yes.  The sun makes me feel alive, energized, connected.  The more I thought about it my response no longer seemed superficial, but spiritual.  Hmmmm.

Accidents

Spent several hours yesterday and today on the phone with various airline representitives trying to reroute my return flight from Paris.  Two days before the new year my parents were in a car accident in New Jersey.  Upon impact from another car their airbags deployed.  They were jolted, but thankfully not crushed. Emergency rescue workers transported them from their totaled car to the hospital where my mother remained for two days with a fractured sternum and bruises.  My father, who suffered a sprained knee, was able to go home that afternoon which happened to be his 82nd birthday.  Clearly, not the celebration they had in mind.  Receiving this news via email while on holiday thousands of miles away was disconcerting.  While gazing at Gauguin's portraits of Tahitian women I distractedly checked my iphone for updates.  I gained some comfort several hours later when I spoke to my cousin who had been at my parents side in the hospital and relayed the positive report from the doctors.  On the precipice of a new year I was reminded how fragile life is, how moments can leave a lasting imprint, and how unprepared I am for the inevitable consequences of time.  When I finally spoke to my mother the first thing she asked was "will you fly through Newark and see me?"  I need to hug at least one of my children."  Her voice cracked, exposing fear.  I told her I would, not realizing the logistical difficulties and cost prohibitive nature of my request.  My concern for my parents' well being, turned into frustration and a restless night's sleep.   I had to call my parents today and tell them I would not be seeing them tomorrow night, but I would get there as soon as I could.  Although disappointed they lovingly understood and wished me a wonderful last day in Paris.  And thankfully that's exactly what I had.

Tethered

There's something about friends from childhood, friends who participated in those awkward experimental years when being silly and melodramatic were interchangeable.  Friends you saw every day in school, and spent Fridays plotting your weekend adventure.  Friends who celebrated the highs of young adulthood and were there to cushion the blow when life unexpectedly came crashing down.   I had dinner with such a friend tonight in Paris where she moved three years ago.   Post high school we traveled to different parts of the eastern seaboard, yet remained in frequent contact.  For several years we even overlapped in New York City, but in the last decade careers and families pulled us in different directions.  Yet on the Place Victor Hugo over a glass of wine, oysters and sea bass we reconnected as if we saw each other only last week.  Such familiarity comforts me, tethers me to the past and at the same time lets me know it's okay to keep moving forward.

The Second Day of the Year

I awoke to a patch of blue and sunlight, unfamiliar sights reminding me if I stayed in London any longer I'd have to start popping vitamin D tablets.  Deep within I felt melancholy, a splotch of left over grief surprisingly rising to the surface.  An odd longing for what could have been, the what ifs playing in my head.  Given the choice I like to think I'd select the course I'm currently on, a risky path, the unknown.  I let the morning gloom wash through me as I took a grand walking tour of this city imprinted on my soul.  A familiar metropolis, in a past life sort of way.  And then magic happened.  Wandering into St. Paul's Covent Garden an orchestra was rehearsing Strauss and Hayden.  Flutes, clarinets and violins pierced the silence signaling to me I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  A perfect brisk winter's day, an ever changing backdrop of historic monuments and regal palaces while my soul reconciled with the past.

New Day

The first day of the new year was spent walking under a gray sky, in a fine mist which turned into light rain.  Stumbled across art near Kensington  Palace, and took shelter in a Victorian Queen's museum.  Dazzling jewels, hand woven fabrics, twentieth century furnishings -- collections from other eras and cultures, beautifully displayed.  Back out on the street, under a purple umbrella I walked past Harrods and pubs I frequented in my 20s.  Knightsbridge, Sloane Square, Chlesea, slick in the early evening rain.  The day ushering a new decade was calm and quiet.  My mood tranquil, relaxed and hopeful.