Musings of a Butterfly

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I And perhaps another. Dare to dream.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFTvbcNhEgc This song speaks to me. In volumes. Enjoy.

So I decide to go to Paris in April because 1) I can't stand being away from my most favourite city for a long period of time, having only been there a few months prior (you might have already gathered that; and 2) I bloody love that Billie Holiday song " April in Paris " and figure I simply must experience it, because Billie must have been inspired in Paris in April if she sang about it. As usual I have no expectations and just want to BE here. I rent an apartment from a very cute gay couple, Jean and Olivier, in my favourite neighbourhood, the 11th. Responsibilities are on hold.  I can hardly contain myself. Since I have been to Paris several times now, I have more than a few handsome men I can call upon should I wish; however, my better judgment tells me it is always better to experience new things instead of go for the ones familiar, so despite my half-hearted attempts at contacting guys I have slept with that are "friends" now, I don't try very har...

Courtsey of ohjohnny.net Like the Mad Hatter from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, if I just danced the Futterwacken when I felt the utmost joy or pain, couldn't that just be ok? Sometimes in life, don't you ever wanna dance the Futterwacken? I do. All the time. Even now. For Alice has long been my hero. I don't know about you, but I was often in Wonderland and was Alice whilst growing up in my often scary and oppressed own life as a child. Back then it would have been brilliant to run off when there were important decisions to be made and float into a world of my own imagining. As I often did. Where friends could have been hookah-smoking caterpillars with sage advice; where a somewhat lunatic red headed, mad-eyed, light-on-his-feet dancing Mad Hatter - (now in my mind, Johnny Depp) was perhaps my best friend that just "got" me. Let us not forget Tweedledee and Tweedledum, always there disagreeing to disagree. We all know these characters, now, as we...

Montmartre Flowers A French Bloody Mary? An afternoon in Montmartre Summer in Paris French balcony railing Flowers in Paris And if you let yourself be surprised? The hood Moulin Rouge Deserted Strumming strings near the Louvre A summer day in Montmartre Graffiti near Richard Lenoir metro station Where to this afternoon? Passing by a church near Hotel De Ville Haussmann Architecture A photographer...and a marriage Walking towards the river Shopfront in Montmartre Montmartre Time for a glass of Rose Bikes in Montmartre Le Metro! Japanese restaurant on Rue De La Roquette Cafe near Notre Dame

I have often wondered what exactly a " Rite of Passage " is. It's not something you think about every moment of every day, right? But it seems my whole life has been somewhat of  a rite of passage. From getting thrown into a "Children's Home" at sixteen back in the outskirts of London, to being thrown into single-mum-hood to two boys at the age of thirty-five in San Francisco. Was I prepared for either "rite"? I don't think so. But it wasn't a choice.

Nothing could have prepared me for the beauty and magnificence of Paris. There is a magic here that I feel as I walk through the old streets. A freedom that is difficult to grasp or describe. It feels as if all my life I have been searching for something that I had lost. I think I've found it. It fills me with wonder and a joy that I haven't felt in a long time. Yesterday I got out of the metro station at Les Halles in the 1st arrondissement and came out in front of the L'eglise Saint-Eustache, simply a masterpiece of Gothic architecture. As I looked up, my breath got caught in my chest as I inhaled deeply. How could I not be in awe? Mozart chose this place for his mother's funeral. Richelieu was baptized here, and Moliere was married here in the 17th century. Surrounded by culture and history so deep, so rich was I and all I could do for this moment was to sit  down on a bench and stare up at this beautiful church just as Enya's Deora Ar Mo Chroi played on my ...

I write, does that make me a writer?  I paint and draw, does that make me an artist? I sell real estate (for now) for a living. Am I simply a real estate agent? I have two boys...I am a mother. I ride a Harley Davidson and a Vespa...some might say I am a biker! I practice yoga, am I a yogi? What's with all the labels? At work I am surrounded by people who define themselves and their lives by what they do for a living. But the fact of the matter is, what about the rest of our talent? I believe we are so much more than what we do to make money. I am surprised by the amount of people that I meet that do not do anything else. Just go to work, go home. And then all over again. How does one find oneself if all they believe they are good for is what they do to make money? I used to buy into all of that. I used to even go one step further and let how much money I had in the bank either give me confidence or make me feel like shit, depending on the balance...I look back at that now and ...

Life seems strange, it's ups and downs, Try to forget, move to different places, towns Hoping one day the past will be gone But it's too late, the damage is done. Run away run away, close the door To your heart that's felt oh, so sore For all those years of hurt and pain You must find the strength, somehow gain The knowledge that you will be alright To be able to sleep undisturbed through the night To know you were innocent, but innocence was lost, Trapped in a dark web, wishing freedom at any cost. Tell me do you feel free now? Well, my pretty, take a bow, For you've survived more than most Can you forget? Kill the ghost? Be what you can, live to the full; enjoy For now you are yours and no longer his toy.

I wasn't sure how long it had been since I didn't feel like I was choking from lack of oxygen whenever he was in the room. It might have been when we sat in the marriage therapist's gloomy purple office, and my husband said, "I feel like I am drowning in a river, and she's standing at the edge, throwing rocks at me." I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to smack his face. I wanted to shout, "I was throwing you a lifeline motherfucker!" This was after months of spending sixteen hours a day away from our children because I had to work two jobs to support us because he couldn't get just one. Trying to motivate him, support him, inspire him, help him help himself, but all the while resentment was building up until the Great Wall of China was between us. All because he was "getting ready to get ready", or because he was depressed or unmotivated. And I would come home at night and he'd be sitting in the same spot on the sofa, with a beer...