chapter 8

A Walk in the Rain (september)

music: Satie

Oh. My. God. I’m like a moon circling a planet. Is it possible to have a mad crush on your terrifying spirit guide?  Seriously, when she almost sang the words, “I’m magic, and I am with you always,” she had me. Ok, she didn’t say angel or spirit guide, but that’s who she is. And I totally believe her- this has to be real, because I feel it in my spirit. Look, I admit it. Nothing’s more pathetic than a teenage girl going crazy over her first crush. But at least mine isn’t yawn worthy- like over a cute boy, or a hot girl. My first love is invisible, spine-chillingly beautiful with ivory fangs, and she’s always with me.

Seriously- sometimes it’s fun to let your imagination go crazy. After two weeks of circling planet blue lady, out of the blue Lili suggests we go on a three day vacation in Glenwood Springs- to refresh and recharge. It felt like going back in time to a couple years ago, when sometimes we would leave together for Chicago or Vancouver a day or two before her recital. In Glenwood we went to cool restaurants, did some shopping, then biking along the breathtaking Colorado River: best mother-daughter trip ever.

Coming back home, I started taking my twice a week piano lessons again, and Mom’s ecstatic. During our lessons, she admits that something has changed with my playing lately- she uses words like more ease, more spontaneity, more intimacy (I’d say more French!) She also begins most mornings practicing with Ebony- working on movements from Beethoven’s last piano sonatas- some of the most intimately beautiful keyboard works ever written. I know she wants me to start learning a couple movements and expand my repertoire, but as gorgeous as they are, I’m not leaving Paris for Germany. At least for now, the French have my heart.

But here’s the thing- something amazing happened along the Colorado River. I had this wake up- like a real awakening. After my dream, I turned into hyper-Alice. It was, “Oh my God, I feel my angel here with me, it’s amazing!” Or, “Oh my God, I’m so alone and I’m making it all up, I’m so depressed!” Back and forth, day after day. And while biking with Lili, sometimes I couldn’t appreciate the beauty surrounding us, because I was in my inside world and not the outside one. I used my invisible blue friend as a way to amp up my highs or bottom out on my lows. To be in my head instead of opening my heart and enjoying what’s right here. Right now.

It’s like suddenly I grew up. Honestly, I’ve been doing it since the divorce. These past months I spoke and thought like a child, wanting the thrills and spills. Bathing in the bliss, then wallowing in my depression. But suddenly, I saw through it, and now all I want is to be curious. To really see and hear. And feel grateful. Before, I was like Looking Glass Alice, seeing dimly in my childish Looking Glass world. But now I want to open my ears and eyes, to see and hear what’s in front of me, face to face. And I swear, it didn’t come from me. It came out of nowhere, like I was bonked on the head with an invisible wand, and it changed everything. It’s funny, when I released my spirit friend, she actually returns to whisper my first home schooling lesson: Let go. See and hear your world. Be the magic.

So that’s what I’m thinking, sitting here in front of the picture window, watching the rain. Mom’s gone, calling ahead to reserve a time to mask up and go Sunday shopping at Denver Cherry Creek with her best friend Johanna. And I’m alone for the day.

I gaze longingly out the rain drizzled glass pane- I won’t be going for a nature walk. I start pacing the living room, and my eye catches a pile of Satie music scores I’d left on my desk: Gnossiennes, Gymnopedies, Nocturnes. I recall a picture Mom gave me that I’ve looked at a thousand times of my favorite composer’s calm, smiling face. And I remember how much he loved walking alone through the streets of Paris in the rain, one of his many umbrellas twirling above his head.

I open all the living room windows, the dining room sliding-glass-door, and finally the front door itself. Standing tall in the open doorway, breathing in the cool, moist air, letting it fill my lungs. Grinning, I shut the doors and go sit behind Ebony. Closing my eyes, placing my fingers on the keys, I play my beloved Erik Satie. Outside, I hear the rain on the roof and sidewalk, and the sound creates a lovely duet that mixes perfectly with the lonesome, luscious harmonies of Gymnopedies; and for a while, I let the music take Satie and I through the streets of Paris, enjoying the rain together.

Major and minor chords weave a kind of, I don’t know, Melancholy? It’s not happy or sad, but something much deeper. I keep playing, losing myself in the music until I start feeling chilly. I stop, get up to close the doors and windows, put on a warm sweater and grab my wool scarf, cap and umbrella from the closet before stepping outside into the rain. I look up, letting the droplets wash over my face. With the sound of his music fresh in my mind, I imagine Satie coming along with me. Walking down the driveway, I open my umbrella and we head down the sidewalk into the sweet coolness of the rainy afternoon.

There’s something incredibly soothing about the gentle sound of raindrops plopping on an umbrella and dripping down the sides as I walk along the tree-lined sidewalk in my neighborhood. There isn’t a soul in sight, a fact not unappreciated by me as I indulge myself by taking exaggerated deep breaths of the cool, misty air. My pace is slow and my mind blissfully empty and aware as I focus on my steps, feeling each foot as it presses against the wet concrete. Looking up now and then to enjoy the view of the neighbors’ flowers and trees quenching their thirst in the rain, imagining their daylight roots spreading out to the water, the dew lingering all night on their branches. And beside me, my invisible silent Frenchman is drinking it all in. I’m glad for his quiet accompaniment.

I return home reenergized but longing for more Satie. I reopen the windows, then sit behind the piano to play with the rain—improvising the rhythms of raindrops and occasional thunder into Satie’s music. I play for hours, only stopping when my stomach starts to growl, reminding me that I haven’t had lunch or dinner.

Apparently, I’m in an improvising sort of mood tonight, because I’m doing a lot of that while making a salad for an early dinner. Before leaving to go shopping, Mom dashed to the store and bought me salmon and tiramisu to make myself dinner. The rain’s stopped, so I head outside to pick some fresh herbs and veggies from the garden.

Cooking is one of my favorite things on earth, so I take my time cutting the veggies and dicing the herbs. My slightly damp hair smells fresh and clean. And the herbs’ aromatic smells fill the kitchen while I prep the salmon fillet with olive oil, salt, pepper and a slice of lemon before throwing it in the cast iron—skin side up. After three minutes, I flip the salmon and cook it for another three minutes until the skin is nice and crispy before taking it out.

While I’m waiting, I head to the living room to put Satie’s Socrate on Mom’s old CD player so I can enjoy it while I eat, then head back to the kitchen, put a few handfuls of romaine, spinach and kale into a large bowl and add diced herbs and cranberries. Finally I set the salmon on top of the salad and pour a little blueberry balsamic vinaigrette over everything, grab a fork, my tiramisu, and head to the kitchen table to sit down and eat.

The subtle, earthy flavor of salmon blends perfectly with the fresh greens I’ve added to it. While I eat, I think about how cooking is almost like a symphony of its own. One thing I know for sure? Enjoying the two symphonies, food and music together at the same time, has made this evening an absolutely memorable one!