Things I Learned In May

I'm finally back in France and even with the rainy cold weather it's so good to be here.  I did a lot of flying and driving in the US and most of my time was spent moving vehicles and objects from here to there. But I got to visit for two days with my entire family and I was happy to see my daughter in her new place and to narrow my storage space down.  Stuff!  Why do we have so much stuff?

Here are some things I learned on the trip:

I have to accept that I'm just a visitor in NY now. Buying some things at Duane Reade down in Penn Station the woman behind the counter wished me a “nice visit” and it hit me.  Did I look like I was just visiting?  Didn’t I look like I belonged anymore?  What had given me away - the way I greeted her, or the way it took me a few seconds to count out the money?  I analyzed it for several minutes afterwards.  Does she say this to everyone?  After all, the store is in a train station.  How long did I live in the city? 23 years.  Is there a point where you have to turn in your membership card - or is it a question of WHERE you’ve gone to?  Nashville, Cleveland...no problem.  You’re still one of us, since obviously no one would really want to live in those places.  But France?  You’ve moved on - you can’t come all the way back in.  No sir, you’ve chosen.  You can’t have both.

Like it or not, I now have a relationship with Cleveland.  It’s a little after 7 AM and I’m looking out the window of the Stone Oven bakery on Chagrin Blvd.  Visitors to this part of town get a kick out of the street name.  You don’t truly get the joke until you’ve been here for a while.

How I came to live in Cleveland two and a half years ago is the stuff of a novella, several Oprah shows or at very least a much longer post.  Let’s just say unless you were born here, most people’s list of things they want to do and places they want to spend time in don’t include this place.  Which in the end is part of its charm.  The whole time I was living in Cleveland Heights, I felt like I could walk around for days and never exchange so much as a glance with another human being. 

Within the few hours I've been here this time I've seen the guy from guitar shop and had a pleasant conversation with him.  At Wild Oats one of Hazel's high school friends ran up and gave me a great big hug.  Anita at the storage space and Bill at the UPS store greeted me warmly.  And it started to dawn on me that I DO have a relationship with this place, even if no one was really very nice until I knew that I was leaving.

Mother's Day is not the best day for a gig. Every year, I seem to try it and this year was no exception.  Because so many of my songs are about the everyday and some talk about being a mom, I always think won't it be fun to do some kind of Sunday afternoon show. My friends Kate and Scott asked to put on a backyard concert and I said of course!  Early May in Chicago is still cold, everyone's out with their family, but most of all, instead of working shouldn't I be getting pampered somewhere and then taking a nap to sleep off a long leisurely lunch?  Still, some nice people showed up, we had fun, I got to perform in mulch which was a first.  And, fittingly, the best moment of the show was when I started playing "Dancing With Joey Ramone" and my daughter emerged from the house where she'd been taking a nap and joined me on "stage."  Reminding me once again that motherhood isn't all toil, strife and sacrifice.

I love my family. When we showed up at a rustic resort in West Virginia we cleared the miniature golf course, confused people in the rec center, cleaned up at the thrift shop, decimated the all you can eat buffet and generally had a great time.  One brother's an ex-army, ex-navy biker who teaches American history; one is a musician who dresses in impeccable vintage, like Errol Flynn; one, in PR (we call him the normal one) is incredibly fit and funny; one, another musician, looks like a swinging 70's Salvador Dali.  Then there are the assorted lovely wives and girlfriends and colorful offspring.  My dad and his wife provide the respectability and up the khaki quotient.  Too bad Eric was missing to really put us over the top - next year.

Only a true friend will help you move.  We all know the Seinfeld episode where Mets star Keith Hernandez asks Jerry to help him move and Jerry says they hardly know each other, and "that's like going all the way!"  Marti Jones offered to help me load a truck of stuff in Cleveland last week and I honestly don't think I could have done it without her.  There were moments where I was collapsing in tears, flinging hangers and cursing the number of small appliances that a person can accumulate without meaning or wanting to.  Marti kept me calm and even made me laugh.  Plus that girl not only knows how to sing sublimely, she can really pack a truck!  Thanks Marti.

I used to enjoy travel - lately it just plain sucks. I was degraded and humiliated, forced to squat and go through all my luggage in an overheated room in front of a large crowd of strangers.  My personal belongings were taken from me.  I was made to strike strange poses in front of a camera, and even pummelled with air in an isolated area.  Was I being sent to prison?  No!  I was merely checking into a British Airways flight.  Be warned, if you're flying through Heathrow, only one small carryon. 

There is kindness in the world.  I returned the UHaul in a rough part of Chicago and had ordered a taxi to take me to the airport, just a few miles away.  I waited, and waited.  No cab and every time I called they told me he was three blocks away. I called two other cab companies but it was useless - I realized I was missing my flight.  In desperation, I walked up to a man and woman who were getting in an SUV, and begged them to take me to the airport for $20 (all the American money I had left in my wallet).  They were just going through their day but were willing to help a nearly hysterical stranger.  Should I have trusted them?  Should they have trusted me?  Who cares - they sat holding hands in the front seat and dropped me off at Midway a couple of minutes later. 

Don't fly into Paris on a Friday.  Eric picked me up and the end of the week traffic is truly awful.  So bad that we had to go into the city and have something to eat.  Then sat in a cafe watching everyone running through a late afternoon downpour.  That part was perfect. 

Gardens wait for no one.