We walked around the Rosslyn Chapel with our heads tilted back, looking at the stunning scrollwork, and listened to the stories of murder, treasure, goddess symbology and pagan worship mixed with ancient Egypt, freemasons, Christianity, Jewish stars, and so much more …
They’re just little bearded guys, but they are the keepers of the flame. They remind me that no matter how dark and treacherous a storm may seem, no matter how thick the fog of grief around me, when I don’t know which way to turn, I just need to keep my eyes open, watching for the light that will guide me home.
As I sat alone at the bar at Chez Josephine, I hung my pink beach ball purse on the hook under the bar and ordered my favorite champagne. Before long, the bartender saw my purse and gasped, so I pushed it over to her. She slung it over her arm and paraded around the restaurant for people to admire her. The other women sitting at the bar began gushing about my feathered cape and entire ensemble. I was surrounded by red velvet walls, a blue tin ceiling, dripping chandeliers, and massive images of my favorite icon, Josephine Baker. Someone was singing boisterously in French, and the bar was lively with people shouting and laughing.
I sat quietly, bathed in the soft lights, and just… was.
Even if I’m not sure what I am experiencing, or what it all means, my body tingles madly and something deep inside feels illuminated, something that wasn’t there before.
If we had previously looked like Dali’s melted clocks, it now felt like we’d been dropped into one of his surreal paintings.
I watched cats dressed as Dorothy Parker and Harpo Marx, parade by me in the arms of their owners, with people jostling to get photos of them. Try to picture how thrilled the cats were to be dressed up and paraded around.
Riding a motorcycle in my bikini on switchback cliffs in Greece, riding a wild horse that tried to buck me off in Mexico in my bikini… how in the world did I survive?
I bought this skirt for $5 in Venice Beach in 1990, and wore it backpacking all over the world for years. Together we drank cappuccinos in Hemingways cafe in Paris, and espressos on the cliffs of Greece with the cafe owner who didn’t speak English. It was always my skirt, my journal, and me, sitting on the train station steps somewhere.
Packing tip: if you are traveling with large hats, don’t pack them, wear them.
Wouldn’t it be dreamy if people started wearing large hats while traveling? Out with sweatpants and messy buns… in with large hats and beautiful travel attire!
Whenever I enter a hat shop while traveling, my fantasy world kicks into overdrive, and with each one I try on, I become different characters dropped into fantastic worlds.
I inevitably fall in love with the biggest, most ornate ones, and I’m overcome with that feeling of “My life will not be complete without you, oh darling hat!”
My bus arrived, and I loaded my bags and sat down. When I looked back out my window, the butcher was standing outside, looking at me, his moustache curled up as he pointed his finger. I looked where he was pointing, and saw the butterfly fluttering right by my window, the sun shining through its wings like they were delicate stained glass windows in an ancient cathedral, and I had to glance down to make sure I was actually on a bus and not a magic tapestry.
I never thought I’d find myself backpacking to Prague in 1990, walking the cobblestone streets with lanterns creating dancing shadows on the walls, surrounded by centuries of history, shrouded in myths and a whispering river, sounds that conjured up tall ancient churches with stained glass windows and flickering candles, sounds that invited us to explore this magnificent city that seemed so strange and exotic.
