Bon matin, mon cherie!

I woke up in a luscious bed feeling fabulous still rendevous-ing avec moi in the hill country in springtime without feeling lack of any kind (see previous post Rendevous Romantique Pour Un). Birds were singing, the sun was hiding behind the clouds and it was cool and misty.

I walked downstairs and ate a croissant. Memories of croissant aux almondes in Paris. I loved Paris. So romantic. One of the reasons I picked this room was that it had a balcony off the bedroom with a table and chairs. I love to picnic and eat at cafes with outdoor seating.

I hadn't had a chance to check out the grounds yesterday so that was my morning plan.

I strapped on my guitar and wandered around to the strains of Opus 6, No. 1 by Fernando Sor and 14 Minietudes by J. Maurice Mourat. There were two greenhouses and this solarium with a water feature and koi.

There were numerous waterfalls and plants.

Only a very few mosquitoes out, not enough to dampen my spirit.

There's a saying that goes something like this: when you wake up in the morning alone with over half a bottle of champagne left over because the person you were going to share it with has just fallen in love with another, make a mimosa!

And so I did and had a lovely breakfast on my balcony serenaded by birds with the waterfalls gently murmuring 'you are loved, you are loved' in the background. I was really enjoying the lack of gadgetry. No roll out of bed and check facebook ritual this morning. No email or phone call to return. I was delightfully out of cell range. I was on the range. Home on the range.

I showered and then packed up singing, alternating between Amarilli, mia bella by Caccini and Danza, danza fancuilla gentile by Durante accompanied by my computer and speakers. I did have electricity here. I belted out the last melismatic phrase of Amarilli standing on the bumper of my truck and then swung in and headed to the main compound with the lake. Enchanted Lake.

They were preparing for a wedding. I moseyed over and found a table and chair and put my feet up. I shared some words with one of the workers and he generously offered to go find some oars so I could take a spin on the lake.

I accepted the offer and grabbed my guitar, rolled up my jeans and paddled out.

I proceeded to serenade the setup crew and a lone fisherman before heading back home. To home on the coastal plain.

Though not what I had originally envisioned, it was perfect just the same. I felt free. I had forgotten the magical feeling of being on the road, visiting new places, meeting new people - the feeling of anything-is-possible, of no rush, of everything falling into place just the way it is supposed to. I took a photograph in college once in Big Bend National Park of my feet in front of the desertscape and it was titled 'With, Not By,' meaning 'with myself, but not by myself.' It's a subtle difference, one where instead of empty, I feel full and present. Comfortable in my skin.

May we all feel fully embodied, full of love with nothing lacking and nothing needing to change. Big Texas-sized hugs to all y'all!!

Rendevous Romantique Pour Un

While I saute some garlic, and listen to Dido and Norah Jones, let me fill you in on my day… Nine and three quarter hours earlier…

I thought an oil change would be good since I’m 1500 miles overdue and heading toward the hill country after class. Going to see some bluebonnets and hang out with my guitar. Alone. Wasn’t planned that way. Bought a groupon for a romantic getaway complete with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries with my new sweetie in mind: poet and seeker, Michael, who I met on New Year’s Eve. Our new relationship has had some twists and turns and this was the second time I was planning the getaway. Thought it would work out this time. Yes, man plans and God laughs, as the saying goes. We found a time that would work for us both, I booked it, and then he fell head over heels for another with no time left for me to get a refund. The owner, Carol, suggested I invite a girlfriend, but I thought it might be good to just take my best friend, my guitar – the one I bought on layaway when I was nineteen – who’s seen me through a divorce and several post-divorce breakups.

I had a voice lesson at 2 pm so I practiced for an hour and then went to change the oil before school, but when I started the car, it sounded terrible. It’s been running rough for a few weeks now. I popped the hood and my battery was knocking into the engine. My car wouldn’t start last week so I took out the battery and had it checked out. Turns out it was still good, but I needed to clean the terminals and connections. I couldn’t get it to fit in again just right. It’s smaller than the original battery. So now I’ve got a couple of problems and I’m supposed to be going out of town so I don’t end up wasting my romantic reservation at Blisswood, the hill country B&B. Now, I don’t have time before class so I clunk my way over to school, have a fabulous lesson with April, my fabulous teacher, and head into town to find a mechanic.

I hadn’t found a local mechanic or oil change establishment yet. I moved here last July and had been going back to Galveston each time and was planning to do that today but now time was running short so I headed into my new town to see what I could find. I saw a Jiffy Lube and headed in. When a woman approached, I asked her if she knew of a family owned place because I hate chains and also something was wrong with my car. She was very helpful and steered me toward a local gas station that did oil changes and had real mechanics. I thanked her and headed over. The mechanic that greeted me reminded of my Dad. Dad had been a quiet, no nonsense military man, a ship’s mechanic. This gentleman, Bill, listened to my complaints and said, ‘Let’s start with the oil change and go from there.’ I felt in good hands.

I grabbed my guitar and my travel chair and commenced to practice my classical guitar pieces for class. I had recently attended a Master Guitar class with Philip Hii and was very motivated to practice when I could. Lots of people stopped by to chat. I was asked if I knew some Eagles covers, if I was trying to be Janis Joplin, a fellow Texan, and if I knew that Barry White had been from Galveston. Bill returned to tell me my alternator was on the fritz, but he could get me a new one within the half hour. ‘Let’s do it,’ I replied, only grimacing slightly at the $350 price tag. What could I do? More time to practice.

I called the proprietor of the B&B and informed her my car was in the shop and it’s possible I might not make it after all. I wasn’t all that stoked anyway to go solo to the Oasis, which is the part of the property my lodging would be in.

Before I knew it, the truck was purring like a kitten before me and I headed home to pack. I made a peanut sauce, packed some greens from a farmer friend and some garlic. Threw a change of clothes in a bag, hugged Mom and got on the road. 5:30 pm. I might just make it before dark.

I started off singing one of my tunes. Then I listened to Democracy Now with Amy Goodman. Then I turned on a party mix a friend of mine, Adam, gave me when I lived in the desert. It was rockin’ when I approached, fields of bluebonnets in view as the sun was setting.

After having a little trouble finding the right room, I entered Harriet’s House which is really just part of a house. The first thing I did was look around for the champagne and chocolates. They were nowhere to be found. Nor was the continental breakfast for tomorrow. Not only did I not have the romantic partner, I didn’t even have chocolate. This would have to be remedied. Without even bringing in my things, I headed back to town to find Carol. I was a bit upset.

Carol runs a fine dining establishment in the teeny town of Cat Spring. I walked in and a woman I assumed was Carol was on the phone. I looked around. It was a darling place. Rustic. Antlers and white linens. When she was finished with her phone call, I asked if she was Carol and then with difficulty I said there must be some misunderstanding because there wasn’t any chocolate or champagne and now I have to go into the bigger town…. She cut me off and said, ‘Oh, let me get some for you right now.’ ‘Okay,’ I said in mid-upsetedness and as she walked to the kitchen, I thought, ‘Okay, everything is going to be okay.’ She returned and told her I liked her place and I appreciated she served local wines. Then I touched her arm and told her I was sorry I was so upset, but the lack of chocolate reminded me of my lack of a boyfriend. She had forgotten the email I had sent. She then gave my teary self a hug and asked if I’d like a glass of wine. I accepted. 'You really loved him, huh?' she asked. 'Well, no,' I said. 'I mean I loved him, but, ya know how every breakup reminds you of all your other breakups?...like my divorce...' She nodded empathetically.

We spoke a little more and I told her I was turning the evening into a personal musical retreat. Then she remembered my mentioning it in the email and said I have to meet her friend. She steered me over to G. Marie who is a songwriter. I then happily chatted about music with her and her husband (?) and friend until Carol returned with a box with flowers protruding from it. I said goodbye to my new aquaintances. Carol followed me to the car with the box. I told her I hoped to stay up with my guitar ‘til three in the morning like I used to do when I lived in the desert. I put the box in the car and gave her a hug. ‘You’re wonderful,’ she said as we both laughed. As I drove away, I thought it had been perfect that the champagne and chocolate covered strawberries had been missing because otherwise I would not have met her and she’s a quite lovely woman. It was comforting to connect in my vulnerability instead of isolating which I usually do.

So now I’m in Harriet’s House, sauteeing some garlic, about to add some swiss chard and open the bottle of champagne. I must think of an appropriate toast…

…pop…I raise my glass to all beings and toast the beauty and grace that always surrounds us whether we can see it or not...

...I made it! It is 3:31 am. I didn’t do justice on the bottle of champagne – sorry my grape friends L – but I ate all the strawberries…

Dinner was wonderful. Texmati brown rice with Swiss chard with a peanut sauce. It’s one of the things I can throw together without a recipe. I used to not be able to do anything without a recipe. I started with a dollop of peanut butter, and added Bragg’s amino acids, some leftover Reisling (I usually use Shiner Bock but was out), some rooster sauce, a little bit of fish sauce, some sesame oil and a splash of lemon juice. I ran out of Bragg’s so it was thicker than usual and so I didn’t have to add any cornstarch/water mixture to the pan to thicken it. My grandma likes my peanut sauce, but my Mom is not too crazy about it.

‘Estoy contenta…’ is the thought I was left with. I enjoy cooking. It always makes me feel close to my Dad. He liked to cook. We were either watching sporting events or cooking shows growing up. I particularly remember a cajun chef: ‘Pour a little wine into the pan, drink a little wine…’ My exhusband is a chef and my

My appreciaton for food increased during our time together. As did my time eating formal orioki meals at San Francisco Zen Center. Cooking is something I can lose myself in, like my guitar. I enjoy cooking for others and for myself. I can putter around the kitchen for hours.

However, I immediately succombed to a food coma and crawled under the covers and took a nap.

Afterward, I hopped out, poured another glass of champagne and picked up my guitar.

I started just playing around with some arpeggiated simple chord progressions. Before I got my teaching license and would substitute junior high school, I used to hand out the worksheets and then just pick my guitar while the students worked. And then when everyone was finished, I’d play them a few songs by the Eagles, John Denver, the Indigo Girls or Traci Chapman.

Generally, how I write starts with a vocal melody popping into my head and then I will very painfully try to figure out what chords will best accompany the melody. It entails a lot of trial and error. Sometimes no chord I know sounds good so I might change the melody or set it aside. Sometimes I would forget the melody unless I recorded it quickly. Now that I am learning the piano, I have started to write down the actual notes of the melody which will help tremendously with the accompaniement. I can’t wait for the summer when I can go back over all my old songs and finish some ones I couldn’t before.

I am trying to learn to write more than just accompaniment to my melodies. Mr Kiefer, my guitar teacher, taught me a little about fills and hammer ons and pull offs at the beginning of the semester and now I’m learning some classical pieces. So I was playing around. I still feel like I don’t really know what I am doing but the only way I’ll learn is to get to know my guitar a little better. For years and years, the only thing I ever did was strum basic chords and one simple arpeggio pattern. I learned songs. I never just fooled around on the guitar like some people and it feels uncomfortable. But I stayed with it and discovered I could hammer on and pull off with whole chords, not just individual notes. I used a very simple rhythmic motive – long/short/short – and went back and forth between Em and Am. I couldn’t figure out anything else that sounded good with that, but it was way more rockin than my usual country folk sounding strumming.

I played around with a simple interval – a minor second - Lord knows I could use some ear training practice. I want to make up a song using all the simple intervals so I can finally dial in those pesky rascals – I’ve cried more than once in that class. Makes me feel like I’m brain damaged. It’s unlike anything I have tried to learn before.

Well, that was fun. Now, on to a song. Mr Keifer is allowing me to work on one of my songs to perform for jury. I’m going to fill in some boring parts with some some chord variations and he suggested some more vocal variety like I did with Brown Eyed Girl last semester. I had a lot of fun with it tonight. He had showed me an alternate way of doing my Bm chord – one with a bar and he showed me a Bsus and a B7. I have this one part where there are many bars of the same Bm with a sustained vocal note that I want to spice up. I played around with the new variations trying to find something that would work. It turned out totally cool. At first it sounded bad and didn’t even seem to go at all, but I kept trying and ended up just using the Bsus, but I also changed the strum pattern. This is the repeat of the chorus right after the bridge and the tension remains really high. The words are ‘We tried…….to hold on. We tried…….but only made it worse.’ And then, in the spirit of variation, realized I could spice up the C to and I added a Cadd9 and used the same new strum pattern. It’s a down/up/up.

This song is SO much better than the original, original version I wrote in 2006. I was telling Mr. Keifer that it used to be in the form of A A A A A A A …ad nauseum: the chords were the same for the chorus and the verse. The whole reason I went to the songwriting school last summer was to learn how to vary it and still make it sound good. I didn’t know how the different chords related to each other. I didn’t know anything about theory or chord progressions – I just found chords that matched the melody in my head which I’m sure is a subconscious cut and paste of the many pop and country songs I have heard in my life.

So now, at 4:30, I can go to sleep having spent some quality time with myself and my guitar. Tomorrow before I leave I am going to strap on my guitar and check out the lake and grounds and play and sing with the birds.

No thoughts of loss of Michael. I am really happy for him actually. He has fallen head over heels. Sypathetic joy is a beautiful, beautiful thing. I’m planning to go to his going away party next week and offer a song or two. She will be there and I look forward to meeting her. Only by the grace of God and meditation and lots of excellent teachers and role models could I be this open. It feels really good.

I subscribe to Alanis Morissette’s definition of love in her song ‘Nothing in Return.’ I love him and if she makes him happy then that’s what I want for him. I trust the universe to continue to hold me in its arms and love me til the day I die. And then keep on loving me. Life is like a cadenza. We do our beautiful solo and then blend back into the orchestral heavenly harmony. Amen.

(And I thought this weekend might suck! J )