I’ve been looking for a picture to hang over my couch.

I don’t want any wine prettiness though.  I hate wine bric-a-brac.  I find it tacky, when you work in the wine business, to clutter your life with all of that stuff.  When I’m done working, I don’t want to see wine splattered around my living room unless I’ve spilled my glass.

So, I became stuck on decor.  What memories can I share that make me happy?  I’m not a fan of discussing my past.  I don’t hang pictures up of friends long gone from my life, or pine over the places I’ve been to, things I’ve done.  I’m not a fan of that Susan I used to be, and I’m hesitant to see her walking around my new and improved life.

Something that stirs in my belly is the Eiffel Tower.  I could stare at the real deal for hours.  I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it’s like it would come alive.  You could be miles away, and get chills , or up close to experience the mystery.  It makes me feel sexy, unstoppable, witty, creative, and all the other things I never think I am.

Enter the picture, on sale, found in the dust, in the back of the store.  The Eiffel Tower is in the background; almost an afterthought.  It’s of the walkway leading to the tower; the walk that never ends.  It’s raining.  The people in the picture are outlined; non – distinguishable.  It is dreary yet illuminated.  There is an energy, yet I’m calm. There is an overflow of me and it is good.  Really good.

Nostalgic I am not, but this will do.  Then the news of his death; the choreographer I worked for.  He drove passion into my heart, and made me nuts.  He gave me opportunity, headaches, heartaches, and, and…I try to find something nice to hold on to.  I can’t.  Pain and anger was all I could feel – and why?  Haven’t I left that?  Isn’t that why I feel I have progressed?  And then the anger at myself.  I am responsible as well for what has happened to me, and the relationships I have had.  This is a terrible terrible circle.  Pull that picture off the wall and smash the hell out of it…

Ok, drama queen, stop.  What is the connection.  The real connection.  What links all of that to now.  And just at this moment I get it.  I can hear him in my head; never stop your curiosity.  What has made me keep going, even when I didn’t know it; curiosity.  Curiosity to what I thought I could do, to a world outlined in wine and all of it’s elements, to the chances that can be.  Curiosity of the unknown.  What better gift, and one probably not meant to give.  The artist becomes herself.

There are lessons in the past, there are really good things that have happened, and there is crap.  This won’t change.  I have changed, yet in ways, still remain that shy, naive dancer.  That was where I needed to start; we all need a beginning.

So this is from the girl, far (and I mean far) up stage, that got a solo by accident, that could never shed her “baby fat”, and that smiled every time you rolled your eyes at her.  Thanks Murray.