“should we tell alan?”

“okay. but i’m about to cry.”

we walked back to his office and sauntered in.

“alan…we have to leave” (unleash of simultaneous tears)

(he stared back at us, looking at us helplessly. they have to leave… the seminar? the studio? france? did they just find out that they have to leave europe?)

once he understood, he stood up and walked over to us. smiled, and put his arms around both lauren and i.

alan: “oh my beauties.”

us: (crying)

alan: “you have been plunged into the sea, and now you must learn to back stroke”

then john walked into the office. he came up behind me and put his skinny arm on my shoulder.

alan: “john they have to leave” (again. we were being quite ambiguous that morning)

john: (very fake cheerful) “i know. i know. but we don’t have to say goodbye now. we will see you tomorrow. we will get coffee tomorrow. we can cry a lot tomorrow)

we all were standing at the door of the office. lauren alan john and i. surrendered.

i love them dearly dearly.

it was a rainy walk home.

me: “do you think alan and john have acknowledged that every time they talked to us this week we about cry? we are time bombs. i bet they say, ‘avoid talking to jena and lauren. they are time bombs.’ “

then i read her the goodbye message jean-francois sent me. which was sweet, but then ended with a treat that allowed us to laugh our way home.

“God bless america-and the beautiful jena”

———————————————————————————————————————–

today is my last day living in france. our apartment is disgustingly packed. our shower unusually clean. tomorrow morning i will courageously train to paris. find my plane. and return. all by myself.

country road. take me home. to the place. i belong.

love from the finale. from the beloved aix-en-provence. from the still security of my foreign family.

last night lauren, her dad, and i went to a wine tasting. he received an invitation from the owner of the wine bar down the street from our house. the street was clocked off and there were tents and stands set up. we met some lovely people. very charming. very cheery. we went down the line and enjoyed the wines. we were all having a jolly time. then. all of a sudden i was laying against the wall with my eyes shut. in a matter of…three seconds…i went from enjoying the wine to completely sick. i looked at lauren and i could tell by her face that she was feeling the same. “we have to go” 

we made it home and both fell on the couch. i was laying on books, paintings, sketchpads. who knows where lauren was. approximately an hour later.

“jena, if you get up you are going to throw-up. i’ve thrown up twice.” 

“noo. no. i hate throwing up. you don’t understand. i can’t. i’m not getting up.” (at least that is what i said in my head. i think i moaned something similar.) “lauren. where are you?”

“i’m on the floor.” 

“okay. i’m not going to move” 

(i threw up twice) 

this was (is) awful. it was early in the evening. and we had designated that night for cleaning our apartment out, our land-lady was meeting with us the following afternoon. but we couldn’t move. 

——————————————————————————————————————

well. its 8:11 am the next morning. i have a final in forty minutes. i can only stand up for approximately ten. 

this is the most dreadful timing for my first time with a hang-over. 

its not funny right now. why. oh why. does anyone ever drink? p.s. why was everyone else at the wine tasting fine? (including lauren’s dad?) while her and i are miserable rats? 

love from the cracker box. the floor. the couch. the glass of orange juice i’m trying to drink.

it was a beautiful weather. we set out a large wooden table on the lawn and hung paintings in the garden.

men played their guitars and accordions in the grass.

the most beautiful part of the evening was the presence of amos booth. he was a founder of marchutz. and was able for the first time in four years to visit the exhibition. his health is failing.

he was a sole reason for the current presence of marchutz. he believed in the school and paid out of his pocket to support it in difficult times. our school has been often shut down for lack of money, and he refused to let it go. he believed in its vision. he was the most precious gentleman. weak and thin. wearing a tan sweater and red checks. he made a soft speech, held up by his cane and john’s arm. john, appearing as a child next to sir amos. he said it was a blessing to see all the smiling faces. and that he will remember this night until the day he dies. and then he chuckled at his joke. not making much noise but laughing with air. he had kind kind eyes. and the sweetest muffled voice.

afterwards i went up to him to shake his hand. he held my hand for a long time. he told me that it was a blessing from God that our school has continued. that He had always with them. he kept saying, ‘it is such a blessing.’ he was so grateful to us for being happy. so in love. he who had devoted his life sacrificing for our benefit, humbly acting as if we had done something to deserve his good graces.

‘bless you dear. what is your name again?’

‘my name is jena’

‘jena. i will remember that always’

what a gift it was to have met him. lovely lovely man. i will remember him always.

…we danced all evening. rock me mama like a wagon wheel. rock me mama anyway you feel. john came between lauren and i and put his arms around us. “i love you guys” i think he was a little drunk. but we weren’t. and we said we loved him too. and it was true. he pointed his fingers and pranced his toes and was a delight to dance with. lauren and i became marvelous partners by the end of the night. five hours- and we mastered the spin.

——————————————————————————————————————————————–

the next morning lauren and i were walking through a square, and there stood alan and john, pointing at the relief on the side of the hotel de ville. i walked up beside john and put my arm around him. he immediately placed his arm around me and began explaining how the relief was magnificent from further back. and that he had to show alan this because alan had never looked at it from across the street.

john: ”did you enjoy last night? i thought it was magnificent”

me: “yes. it was wonderful.”

john: “you two were quite ecstatic. and jena, i was watching you and kevin. you two were good. he is a big guy and he is quite light on his feet! he is smooth.”

me: “i agree. kevin is an excellent dancer. i had no idea.”

then lauren and i left them with our hearts hurting. because we don’t want to leave them.

]]> http://jmarieb.wordpress.com/2009/05/12/oh-rock-me-mama/feed/ 8 jmarieb 100_6292 100_6288 100_6311 100_6276 100_6273 http://jmarieb.wordpress.com/2009/05/10/canyon-road/ http://jmarieb.wordpress.com/2009/05/10/canyon-road/#comments Sun, 10 May 2009 18:05:58 +0000 jmarieb http://jmarieb.wordpress.com/?p=1416 Continue reading →]]> i can’t walk. 

or move, for that matter. today i rode on the back of a motorbike for eight hours. eight. every part of my body is sore in very strange ways. my friend, jean-francois, offered to take me on a trip  on his motorbike. after assuring him that a day trip would be sufficient, we made plans for this weekend. i, naively thinking that we would slowly meander around the mountains near aix. 

i met him this morning at ten o’clock. i had packed bread and vegetables and fruit for us to have lunch. he told me to wear something ‘robust.’ i’ll be honest, i was quite nervous. the whole walk there i was trying to remember which cheek he kisses first. (he is from northern france so it always catches me off guard, its the opposite side in provence). and i was thinking, maybe i don’t really want to go on a motorbike. but. i meet him (the kisses went smoothly) and he handed me a jacket, gloves, and a helmet. i, always smooth and charming, couldn’t get my zipper zipped. then couldn’t get my helmet hooked. people soon realize that when they are with me, they have to play my friend and father. by the way- those helmets are not attractive. mine squashed my cheeks up to my eyeballs. i looked like a stuffed piglet behind glass. i later realized that you can adjust to look less like a farm animal. he looked at me and said, “do you need oxygen?” and opened my windshield. after he fastened me in my gear he gave me a quick lesson. 

-”you have ridden before?” 

-”once. in america. and he crashed.” 

-”oh.”

he explained that i had to lean with him when we turned. “we go on a lot of windy (i taught him that word) roads. just move with my body”

so then he gets on, tells me to hop on the back. the back is not a real seat. it is a perch a foot above him that is equal in comfort to sitting on a brick. and. i am not tall enough to put my leg over the bike without stepping on something. so i mount the bike like a horse. well, horses have four legs to steady them. so after gracefully tipping the whole bike and boy over, i was up. he had to place my hands. i then accepted the fact that i was pretty much helpless.

those things are scary as hell. the first round-about and i already knew we were doomed. lean with your body? why would i want to lay on the road? 

the first twenty minutes i was completely panicked and logically trying to comfort myself. ‘i crashed once, i can crash again. i wasn’t hurt bad… of course, we were going 1/8 of the speed. and we did break the bike… hmm. well he is french, he knows how to drive these thing. but i’m the first girl on the back of this. does he know i’m just a little girl? 

it wasn’t until i let my shoulders relax and looked around a bit that i realized maybe i was going to survive. it was the most spectacular ride. 

we passed fields of yellow flowers, dipped in red by poppies. poppies are magnificent. it only takes one to gather complete attention. i was thinking about how beautiful the scattered red flowers were, when we past an entire field of them. it was magnificent. like the crops were on bright red fire. then our road took us through lines of white trees, and vineyards, and tiny villages in the mountains, and lakes. we stopped three hours out by water to eat lunch. my wrists were unmovable from pushing on the bike. and i really really needed to find a restroom. right… so we ate, he mapped out our trip. and the whole time i’m wondering how i will get back on the bike without peeing my pants. i’m really feeling awkward. i dont know if you know this- but french women don’t use the restroom. ever. they are far too glamorous. and if they had to, they most certainly wouldn’t find a spot on the side of a cliff. i was debating whether or not i should tell him, when he jumped up and said, “now, where is the toilet? have you seen a sign around here?” i couldn’t have been happier with any other words. toilet reference and a joke. he went behind me somewhere he took me to use a tree, and when he came back he place a hand-full of thyme at my nose. “smell this”

i didn’t want to be appear immediately unlady-like, so i asked him if we would find any other bathrooms. “well, there is the finest toilet over there (pointing to the bushes) and another fine toilet over there (pointing to the rocks)” thank goodness. i knew i had no pride, now i know that he doesn’t care. i found the finest toilet.

our end destination (i found out later) was the gordes du verdun. its the grand canyon of europe. beautiful turquoise water and haunting cliffs. and we passed through every splendid scene on the way there. waterfalls, old bridge ruins, mountains, bridge divers, sheep, wild animals that i don’t know the names of, dark tunnels, forests, a national park, and white water rafters. 

on the negative side-there were several times on the journey that i thought i may fall off the bike because my body hurt so badly. i know that you don’t actually have to hold on the whole time. my arms were wrapped around him and on the neck of the bike. i was pressing my body upwards by my wrists. so my back hurt from leaning, my wrists wouldn’t waxed in one position, my legs were dead. at one point i had to get off so he could get gas…and i couldn’t. my legs wouldn’t move. that was also embarrassing. 

yet, it was completely worth it.

those roads are quite windy though. at one point he was turning a curve and his shoe touched the ground. i quickly assumed the the tires were slipping, we were going to fall, and i would at least break one leg. he must of sensed this, because he reached back and patted my leg.  

it was nice. 

love from the canyons. 

this morning we woke up to what sounded like a parade outside our window. even better, it turned out to be five old italian men, wearing matching stripped shirts, bow ties, and suspenders. there was an accordion, saxophone, little drummer, tambourine. they settled down at the teahouse outside of our apartment. lauren and i rolled out of bed, threw on dresses, and ran outside with our sketchbooks and sat at a small table directly behind our little gentlemen. we ordered our coffee and tea and basked in their italian voices and peppy tapping. they acquired quite the french congregation. one saucy french-italian woman sang and swayed along with the men. clapping her hands and snapping her fingers. there were heads out windows and people dancing around the fountain.

the lovely drummer turned around while singing and noticed lauren and i sitting behind him. he sang his love song to me. stole my heart with a wink. then he asked if we wanted to join him. so lauren and i got up, they gave us hats, and i received a tambourine. for the next song we became part of the italian band.

everyone was so lovely to us. the french women chatted sweetly, the italians swooned, and lauren and i were adopted by the most divine grandpas.

__________________________________________________________

then we bought cherries.

next we went to a cafe to watercolor. there was a sweet french couple eating at the table next to us, visiting aix. the man asked, after trying to be discreet, to take a picture of me painting. when we left i gave him the watercolor of the church i was sketching.

__________________________________________________________

later in the afternoon we were sitting by a fountain watching a wedding at the hotel de ville. a woman with a beautiful bow on the back of her gown held small white flowers. when we were leaving three french fellows (one an art student) asked if they could join us for coffee soon. very charming. very subtle.

then a group of spanish dancers performed right in front of us.

__________________________________________________________

i’m not sure that i can leave.

last afternoon where i return home with paint-streaked hair. one side always purple. strands also carrying clinging bugs enough for jarred storing.  last nauseating bus ride home. with the blind driver spinning around the cliffs with every whim. 

my dwelling in the irises was left patted down, cleared, awaiting my now impossible return. for our last farewell lauren and i went on a walk. when walked down the road. over the creek. past two fields, last seen bare, now thick. corn on the left and wheat on the right. the wheat. the way the wind was blowing through its hair, unfolding the tips to show a secretive creamy white. poppies dotting their cylinder stalks with their red sweet juice. 

we were sad. so i grabbed two long weeds and began conducting with crops. 

all the various wild plants were like fragile little instruments. little bell-like drops. crisp, pointed weeds that unexpectedly bite your fingers. 

“what sound does this make?” 

“where are the strings?” 

we stood in front of this humble lace of wheat. conducting and orchestra lead by the winds movement. singing.

being now so that we do not hurt. 

————————————————————————————————————-

“Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
With slow rotation suggesting permanence

Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal…

Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.”

Burnt Norton. T.S. Eliot

this is so strange. i’m just staring at my things, thrown everywhere, in seemingly neat stacks that don’t mean anything. i’ve been here so long without leaving. i’ve ironically gone the longest without seeing my family. (and also the only one with a seamless adoration for home.)

but its been so long its hard to separate this from the home, although they couldn’t be more varied.

—————————————————————————————-

on the other side of this weariness, its been exquisitely beautiful here. although we are lacking daisy-like freshness in these pictures, we have enjoyed the spring sky.