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December 2016: Celebrating The End

Hello and thank you, old friend for coming and visiting

Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid, again.  We return to each other, like lovers seeking stray kisses across a mountainous duvet.

“Darling!” I squeal.  Arms link.  Hugs melt away tension, raise spirits.  We hug.

“Most sincere and honored being!!! How delighted I am to see you!!!”

Take my hand, let us sit, eat.  Feast!  Drink and be open with me, unlock the doors of your soul.  I am waiting, receptive yet patient and full of an uncanny ease that comes from persevering, past exception and desire, leaving Death waiting and returning to the world of dish washing and stir climbing.  Home life is central now.

We haven’t spoken in months!  Where does the time go?  “I went to to the bank where The River Styx flows.  I was on the ferry amid the putrid stench of rotten expectation and desire.  Where were you?”

My mirror image, you might say:

I’ve returned.  I am here to entertain you, to remind you to laugh at my mistakes if your own are not juicy enough.  I am here to nurse you, feed you off the teat of my intellect, regardless if you judge my skills to be fine or not.  I am your friend.  I host you and care about your children even if you haven’t had any yet.  I care.

I am moved by your eloquence.

We haven’t gotten cosy, talked about the intimate details of our lives, investigated the lineage that defines us as parallel figures in history, in ages.  We haven’t deconstructed how magical it is that our orbits ever touched and that we both know the magical feeling of touching each other’s souls.  We haven’t undressed and danced in the moonlight of the Jersey shore, but there is always the possibility.

We have met, many so many times that you think you know me.  I hate to inform you that that is an illusion.  You know the me that has floated up on the internet for you to see and dissect, at will.  I invite you to take apart an image, this season.  Shred one of  your hard won traditions, a sacred “cow,” try to buy nothing… give it all… love like love is on the brink of extinction and you and only you can save it.  Mirror me, if you please, become the person you dreamed you might be.

I said my goodbyes and then was granted a coda which will extend into the ether, diminishing only when the applause die down.  The applause haven’t begun, yet I expect they will start soon, thereby allowing me to enjoy another year, or two, or ten, twenty works—sort of—but I’m just getting started.  I am open to hanging out at art gallery openings in forty or fifty years when I am beyond the silver citizen stage and have become pure social gold,  a butterfly made of metal.  I intend to be the old lady with a gaggle of admiring suitors and invitations to spare.  You know her, right?

Mirror each other’s most gracious gestures.  Learn to imitate the ones we admire and let leaders be representative of our best traits.  Don’t be afraid to be shallow, as long as you present a polished surface onto which others can project super human qualities.  Let’s look to each other for inspiration. Be better.  Be healthy.  Smile.  Eat more veggies.  Improve yourself the way you polish the specks on the surface of your super smart phone.  Shine!

Sincerely,

Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid

PS: To my friends in Berlin.  I love you.  Christmas markets are sacred.  I’m sending love from Southern California.

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Ten Tips on How to Be Green

Friends, Fans, and Supporters of Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid,

Thank you for reading.

Awareness of the reality of climate change and the necessity of looking at our lives, levels of consumption, and habits of destruction, which we’d all love to deny, motivated me to change the way I lived to fit the world that is evolving.  In other words, I did not emerge from the womb ready to give up plastic bags and straws.  It has taken a lifetime of learning and effort to become the woman I am, today.  Despite so much being said, written, and debated around the touchy green topic there are still many questions on the how and why to be Green.  Well, I wasn’t always aware of the importance of mindful living.  It is one of the gifts experience has given me.  I understand that everything we take time to do in a loving, thoughtful, and respectful manner is better, more rewarding, and more likely to lead to a reality worth living.

Having a life that you want to live takes work.  The decision to live a quality life is greatly enhanced by being careful about how you spend your time and money, as both influence not only your wellbeing but global trends, since we are all interconnected.

Here are a few ways I reduce waste in my life.

1.Take cloth or reusable bags with you, have a bag in your bag.  So, that you can never forget.

(The French, make knit bags which expand and fit a lot of groceries, easily.)

2. Limit yourself.  Buy what you can carry home.  Of course, this doesn’t work with frozen foods or heavy cans upon cans of food.  But, do you really want to eat unhealthy convenience foods, which are not as nourishing as fresh foods?  The best part is that carrying one’s food home is a great work out.  I live a mile away from the nearest shopping center.  I routinely forgo the car and allow myself the privilege of movement.  My body says thank you because I’m giving it the exercise it needs.  My wallet is also happy because this puts a pause to impulse shopping.  Who is going to buy something, “seen on tv,” when they have to carry it home?

3. Mend it.  Think twice before you throw that dress away.  Fabric waste, from a hyperactive clothing industry, is yet another environmental issue for us to face.  Buying polyester/plastic clothing with designer labels is not an environmentally sound choice.  Sorry.  These clothes go out of fashion faster than you can fix.  They don’t invite repairs.  They were not made with the idea that you might want to keep garments for a lifetime.  Avoid the flood of cheap imitation clothes, the antithesis of real or quality clothes, and buy clothing made of natural materials, when you decide to fork the money over you want quality, not quantity in your wardrobe and life.

4. Buy it used.  It already exists.  It is either old/antique/vintage.  You can take an, “old,” thing and make it new with a little creativity.  Express yourself with your patchwork.  People routinely buy distressed, torn, and shabby chic attire.  No one will know where your treasures were secured.  No one cares.  If you fear that used or thrift clothing are dirty or worn, well new clothes come loaded with chemicals which are bad for you and the environment.  So… think twice.  Second-hand goods can be just the solution you are looking for, often at a considerable discount in price.

5. Solar panels are a way to save money on heating costs, propel your car, and earn a tax deduction (maybe).  You question the logic of solar panels if you live in a cold climate.  Well, look to Germany for understanding of the use of solar power as a viable alternative to fossil fuels.

6. Recycle as much and as passionately as you can.  Please, pay attention to where your trash goes.  It has to go somewhere.  Just as in our private lives, we are responsible for our debris.

7. Devote time to beach clean-ups and river rescue.  There are many organizations aiming to preserve and protect our natural resources.  Join a team of volunteer street sweepers, and sweep away classist tendencies, and embrace a cleaner world.  Become one that makes time for the Pacific Trash Patch, aware that the litter of today is the Marine life poison of tomorrow.

8. Love nature.  Don’t forget to get out and experience the beauty, first hand.  Our national parks, city parks, river ways, lakes, and costal treasures deserve more attention than Poké Man Go.  Get out and no, you don’t have to post pictures, every few steps. Step into the magnificence of the ocean.  Allow the waves to lick away spiritual/emotional wounds.  Cleanse yourself.  Allow yourself to flower.  You are a splendid example of marvelous, nature.  Love yourself.

9. Garden.  A little patch of dirt goes a long way, if only to make you more mindful of what it takes to grow food.  How it works.  Why it works.  It is calming and therefore healthful to massage the soil and pluck a cherry tomato from the vine on one’s window box.  Herbs, so small and tasty, can be easy to grow and add so much to our meals.

10. Teach.  This is not all about you.  Children, adults, friends, and foes deserve to be educated in the commitment required to create of the world we all must share, one which can sustain life.  You have a responsibility to remind others that the environment matters and sometimes you have to take matters in your own hands by demonstrating your ability to always take a bag with you, recycle religiously, and live a worthwhile/fulfilling life, day in and day out.

 

 

 

 

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Make Caridad Great Again!!!

Thank you for visiting www.talkinggrid.com! After a long silence, a long hiatus, a more mature, seasoned, understanding of reality is set to grace this rendezvous space, this on-line location, which you have come to cherish as you would an open home where celebrating life is the priority and a buoyant voice forever welcomes you.

Hello, Old Friend!  So much has happened since we last met.  Sit down.  Kick back.  There is a feast about to be served.  I’m cooking up new stories for you. I wanna nourish your soul and feed your mind with what is possible, probable, and sustainable.  Let’s eat up healthy ideas and look to build a world where love rules our actions and defines our conduct.  We decide, the quality of our lives, daily we dictate the direction our lives will take with the way in which we approach living.  Never shrug off the responsibility you have to create the world that you aspire to living in.  We must shoulder creation, since we are the ones informed and blessed by the capacity and responsibility to make of the world we inherit into a garden of earthly delights.  The culinary arts, agriculture, theater, fashion, and film all flow from creative souls who sculpt the edifices of culture which will house the findings of future seekers.  We must continue our studies, enhance our experiments, combine our wits to make a world we can all find a place, a point, a parcel, and an acreage of love.

I am part of a circle of creatives, artists, that are ever ready to expand your world, with their fascinating insights into Art, Music, Spirituality, and Political Healing, taking you to the edges where the art world and reality kiss each other and keep moving.  I come to you with mastery of “The Vacation Approach,” my way of making it from one day to the next, making the most of my time, and resources.  I have living insights from, “Cancer with Style,” my second unpublished private handbook for getting on with the business of life, despite setbacks, obstacles, which I will share with you from time to time. (I might even publish some of my new poems and art works here.  Image that!)

The staggering health challenges and the blessings that come with suffering have proven to be a portal to my higher self.  Death almost ended my musings on art and culture, living and loving, my travel plans, and the perpetual discovery mission I’ve embarked upon, a year ago.  It has been one year since my last post.  Only today, did I feel strong enough to write to you again and reinstate my wish to inform and entertain.

Mr. Skip Snow, a full time art machine, promises to write to us about the shifting models of the museum level art gallery scene, in Los Angeles, a city we know too well, but eludes comprehension. The  Talking grid’s Music Specialist, Joe Rez, promises to take us to the Guns and Roses concert and show us why Axel, ain’t dead yet.  The Music Specialist, is also an expert on Chinese Medicine and Acupuncture Master, so don’t be surprised as Talkinggrid becomes, even more reliably, a source of healing for your wounds, aches, and pains. Since this is one with our intention, to heal you with love, laughter, music, art, travel, thereby reminding you of all that makes life a delight.

The Muse, New Mexico based, inspiring beauty and travel guru, Ms. Crane and Mr. Finehouse, concert pianist living in Boston, are sure to chime in from time to time with reports from the frontiers of Food, Art, Social issues, and Music. The Scientist (my husband) Dr. Hartmuth Kolb, may feel compelled to share his latest recipe for bread or holographic 3-D printer projects.  We all want to learn from him, since he is so very knowledgeable.   I plan to venture to an art show or two, including a group show in New York, sometime in October.  Adventures beckon, creativity calls, and you are invited to take a seat at this long and commodious table, laden with possibilities.

 

So  much may happen yet some of it depends on you.  You have donated to this open mission before, do so again.  Thank you so much for your previous donations, don’t forget that without your donations, comments, and general interest this show won’t shine.  The plea is that you put your money into activities and individual projects, ours and others, that mean the world to you.  Endorse with your attention and time, that which puts a smile on your mouth, in your eyes, and in your heart.

Thus:

Make Caridad Great Again

by Donating to Talkinggrid.

So simple!

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On My Legacy

Recently, I had the misfortune of subjecting myself to cruel examination, from a harsh unenlightened perspective, in the office of a sub-par therapist, psychologist, PHD.  I was looking for help, feeling a little overwhelmed… nothing major, just the mechanics of life with cancer, being a mother, artist, person… finding my way. It can be a challenge, since each person’s path is a mystery, to be discovered, defined in the process of unfolding.

Her job is to council individuals facing cancer.  Mine is to keep my spirits up and stay focused on living and loving life.  At least, that is how I see it.  I know that I’ve undergone a multitude of surgeries, treatments, procedures.  Yet, as a matter of policy, I don’t anticipate the pain, not in the treatments, or the many hospital visits.  I simply go where I must, do what is required, guided by my husband’s scientific understanding and the doctors he selects to manage my care.  I don’t complain. I don’t explain my condition to others.  I don’t make a big deal about my health status.  I don’t invite others to savor misery. I don’t worry about it.  I don’t give into the thought that this surgery or the next might kill me.

Sure, I have symptoms.  My life has changed.  I’m a different person than I was six years ago when treatment started and I was not in the advanced treatment that I am in now.  Yet, I’m still me… a person with optimism enough for a village, for myself, and the future of my children.  I believe I will live a long life.  Yet, looking at my medical records, current treatment, and the general prognosis for those in similar situation the Shrink suddenly asked me, toward the end of the “session,” no less; “So… being that your medical records and condition are what they are, indicating that you don’t have long to live, what do you plan your legacy to be?”

I blinked.  “Everyday, I take care of my children, share my values with them, feed them my knowings and cherish that they are.  That is my legacy.”  Besides, I went on, gaining steam, “I am planning on being a grandmother.  I have never seriously considered that I would die, soon.  I’m always engaged in what I am doing and sure it isn’t always easy but, what life is?”

This was not good enough for her, “I thought that is what you would say.”  She said, dismissing my words, clearly dissatisfied with my determination to stay focused on living, loving, and enjoying my life as it is.  “But, I mean, don’t you think about death and what you want your life to stand for?”  I thought I had made it clear, or that I make it clear with my actions that my life is a statement of appreciation.  I’m grateful for every moment, everyday.  Sure, there is pain. Suffering?  Not so much.  The pain comes and goes.  Accupuncture helps.  My husband’s love goes a long way to making everyday bliss.  I’m aware that without him, it really wouldn’t be so easy.  I’ve got these great kids, a home, and time.  Yes, time, that mysterious good which others never have enough of… I’m rich in it because I’m focused on love.  Loving my books.  Loving my home, children, marriage, and life.  When you are thus focused, days slow down and you make the most of this precious resource, doing more in a day than others dream of.

Moreover,  “I’m an artist.” I told her, “I’ve made hundreds of paintings, hundreds more drawings, books full of them.”  I went on.  ” I write everyday.  Even if I don’t publish everyday. I’m active.”  What more legacy could one wish for?  I capped it with my personal truth. “I rarely entertain fear.  I don’t sit done with fear and caress it, milk it.  I don’t look for comfort in lingering on what is inevitable.  I accept death, but I’m not planning on kicking the bucket just yet. I see myself living well into my eighties.”  I reminded her, what I told her before, that when the doctor originally told me that I had cancer, I saw myself, “an old woman, wrinkled and wearing huge sunglass, bangles to my elbows, and a loud knit dress, at an art opening, immersed in the  world of creatives, culture.”

In recent years, I’ve come to value my relationships, friendships, and art world connections with more gusto.  I’ve experienced that maxim, “live everyday as though it were your last.”  I’m doing that in that each day I’m invested in those the individuals which enrich my day-to-day, those friends that care to contribute to my actual well being by sharing of themselves, their discoveries, passions, and secrets.  I’m content in the present, even if my life doesn’t impress the inexperienced, young, and insensitive therapist. (I suspect that after a few months of seeing me regularly, she was simply bored, and not finding me to be the typical patient, oozing sadness over what can not be controlled, she wanted to prompt me to emote to the tune she prefers to hear over and over again, one in which she gets the pleasure of comforting a distraught person, not one simply in the middle of living a good life.)

The session was over, time to talk done.  I wanted to go on and tell her about my books.  I’ve actively collected many a book in the last year, bringing together, and unpacking my library from college years and ensuring that the children don’t have to go far for a good read. Our bookshelves are packed with literature (from Achebe/Allende to Zola) and history.  Asian studies. Anthropology.  British literature. German language.  Spanish.  Learn Guitar.  Piano.  Relationship and self-help books.  Etiquette.  Crafts and Fine Art manuals. Poetry.  Theater. I’ve bought books on all the subjects that interest me and that represent who I am, for them, thereby creating a portrait of ideas, inviting them to converse with me, perhaps, when I am no more.  Today, I’m a person that reads and writes and lives.  Now.  I’ll worry about death, when it happens, until then I’m ultra-busy learning, loving, and getting on with the business of life.

Feet up in the Desert
With these boots I may kick the bucket, but first I’ve got a list a mile on long!
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A Naive Artist on The Fine Art of Believing

Usually, I manage to skip over obstacles.  Cancer, advanced cancer, intensive treatment: NO Problem! Just POP on a cute wig and keep going, show up, flirt with the doctors, look at all the pretty machines.  Be NICE to the nurses.  Enjoy all the attention!

You want my blood? Ok, here you go.

May, I have a Champagne, oysters after my treatment?  Great!  All is well.

Yet today I feel down.  I feel the weight of all the treatments, the waiting, the constant pricks and memories of nurses freaking out because I’ve no veins left for them to fill with poison.  Some might say, that I’ve no right to feel down.  I have a husband that loves me, great kids.  I’m not hard on the eyes.  I’ve got a home.  I’m not pan-handling on the Bowery.  Could I please just shut up and let others shine?

Prick Me!
Prick Me!

This morning, I was remembered how I fell for Hennessy Youngman.  Remember him?  The artist, Jayson Musson, created an alternate persona, an hip-hop urban art historian.  HY was so perfect.  So refreshing, finally someone like me, informed on art, yet with ghetto flair.  He wore funny hats, baseball caps, with Elmo or Spiderman Eyes.  That alone should have tipped me off to the fact that the Penn University MFA was spoofing his audience, playing with expectations, making a cunning statement about racial stereo typing.

Yet, at the end-of-the day I’m a girl from Washington Heights, a child of immigrants, who came to the United States convinced that they’d find a better life and they did.  I managed to attend and graduate from an Ivy league school with a degree in art history and just as incredibly I married and am married to Dr. Hartmuth Kolb, from Germany.  Yes, I’m lucky.  I’m lucky that six years after the initial diagnosis, losing my breasts, undergoing so many surgeries, metastasis to the brain, grand mal seizure, brain surgeries, heart surgery (to correct the birth defect that would have done me in, at birth, if I hadn’t been born 2.2 pounds, three months

premature.) the whole enchilada, and I’m still here.

Fact: it isn’t easy.  I’m a mother, taking care of children, making sure that they stay on-track with their studies and HAPPY.  I can’t afford to be morose.  I have to focus my energy on happiness, on love, on continuing to learn and laugh.  Hennessy Youngman, came to me at a time when I was very active on the edges of a fast moving and apparently amorphous art world.  I was going to Art Fairs, documenting the journeys, and participating in a quest to understand contemporary art, and get out of my art historical comfort zone.  I was painting, pushing to sell pieces, and participating in group exhibitions to whatever degree was possible.  In short, I became an emerging artist just as the cancer was threatening to call a lights out for me.

I’m convinced that most people seeing me, including my doctors, have a hard time reconciling the fact of how I look (young for my age) and my medical history.  I was pumped up by fuzzy ambition and desire to participate in this Art game.  I extended myself via on-line channels and come into communication with art critic, Jerry Saltz, on-line along with countless others.  I felt as though I’d found my tribe and was finally “Home,” among others passionately invested in the art field.

Low and behold, I felt entirely too comfortable and really had no guard up.  I was making a spectacle of myself and it was fun.  I met a number of very cool and some absolutely insane artists, because as you know, the two seem to be inextricably mixed, madness and creativity, I mean.  Moving quickly, I started to see behind the curtains of the art world, at one fair I attended a talk with the head of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the head of The Los Angeles County Museum of Art.  At the same fair I briefly met, Jeffrey Deitch, and impertinently asked him if it was true he was, “leaving MoCa.”  He denied the rumor and then, “resigned,” about a month later.

I had a number of interactions with less than friendly art worlders that I’d have welcome as friends, but my bubbly brand of mushy ART LOVE is just too messy for some, too authentic, unschooled, unpolished and in other words, hopelessly: naive.

After medical drama, lunch at Shutters, with the Muse
After medical drama, lunch at Shutters, with the Muse
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An Open Letter: To The Starving Artist


Picture of Student art at Solana Pacific School, 2014
Picture of Student art at Solana Pacific School, 2014

Dear Starving Artist,

Yes, we know you are talented, creative, and you work obsessively on your craft.  If you had a trust fund all-of-the-above would be more than enough.  Yet, you do not.  Thus, you are “starving.”  Or perhaps, thanks to the charity of your friends and the occasional meger sale you are merely, “hungry.”

Hungry for what?  Food?  Recognition?  A generous grant?  A deep pocket Patron? Public adoration?

Before I serve up some viable solutions to your situation allow me to tell you something urgent.  It is unlikely that anyone is going to buy art from (yet another) starving artist.  Most people feel they have no extra money.  “The cost of living,” is at an “all-time-high,” they say.  Humans are plagued by egoistic and actual needs which make it so that most people don’t have feel worthy of owning “Original ART,” by a real living artist.  In other words, they rather buy a poster. They might, “love,” your work but when it comes down to forking over the actual cash for a painting… few have the means or will to do so.  I speak from experience, from watching the art world and from having studied who buys art, when, and how.

That said, the majority of Art Collectors, are driven by established brand names of known dealers and very few (predominantly white male) artists who are more business and public relations minded than your average painter/sculptors.  These slick individuals, and we ALL know who they are, wear suits, eat caviar, and pay for whatever they want with the big money they make selling their brands, their image, which is of wealth, effortless living, and causal opulence (the giant art lofts, private jets, and sexy public scandals with peppered matching lawsuits) not of poverty and “starvation,” neediness and eternal WANT.

That said, we (your fellow talented and creative beings) are sympathetic to your needs because we all have needs.  Yet, how you go about addressing those needs will either make your situation more dire, less comic, and even deadly or you could change your course and arrive at a place beyond urgent NEED, odious WANT, and potential “starvation.”  Are you interested?

Can you image a life in which you had ALL the materials to make whatever kind of art you crave to make?  Can you see yourself RICH? If not… can you imagine yourself (even better) satisfied, healthily fed, and professionally fulfilled?

Well, allow yourself to visualize what it would be like to have your needs met.  What would it take for you to feel satisfied?

Some people fail to realize that as soon as they have one need met another (larger) one is sure to crop up.

How do you deal with the fact that you will be hungry again tomorrow, after you digest the food you secure and scarf down today?  Will you just let tomorrow be a replay of today and thus go through your life eating and defecating and forgetting about tomorrow because you are too busy worrying today away to think about what will be of you in advance?

Yes… that is the key.  You must somehow step out of worry about today and allow yourself to picture and plan a life that is not based on worry and fear.

Who would you be IF you had no needs?

Would you even be an artist? Or are you an artist because you think it is “cool.”

If you had all the money in the world how/where/why would you live?

Allow yourself to make a plan based on who you really are beyond need/want/fear.  Plan your life and if money is an issue, face it.  Deal with it!

If you have, “money problems,” you must make peace with money.  You must.  You owe it to yourself.  You owe it to your future self to be financially secure.  Yet, if you do not make peace with money there is no way you will arrive at the harbor of financial freedom.

Most people claim that they need money.  They feel that IF only they made ten percent more than what they do now they could relax.  Yet the target is always slightly out of reach because humans tend to not be satisfied with what they have.  The moment they have this, then they want that, and that!  So they continue striving, wishing, pushing, crushing, fighting, forcing, and so on — until they die.

Yet, is that really living?  I don’t think so.  I’m not alone.  I’ve learned what I know from spiritual teachers such as Dr. Wayne Dyer, Eckhart Tolle, Dale Carnegie, Louise Haye, and they in turn quote others like Carlos Castaneda as masters teachers in the art of making life work for you so that you can enjoy being rather than waste away in never ceasing hunger.

Furthermore, if you have never taken a moment to study money, appreciate it, and thank goodness for all you already have; well it isn’t surprising that you do not have enough.  Money has its own rhythm, music, and melody.  You can learn to sign along.  Yet, if money is not your bag than don’t complain when you don’t have enough.  Enjoy your status as free of it and learn to live on the fridge or jungles or wherever it is that money grows on trees and people can just throw dollars at you to provide for your existence, but please don’t expect others who have and do focus on saving, investing, and honoring the spirit of abundance to enable your stance as ONE that need not face the realities of how money works.  Please don’t complain when the customary bills rain in and you have no way to pay, accept it that you haven’t made a plan, that you haven’t made the right friends, that you have chosen to isolate yourself from sources of income and that you live in the outcome of those choices.  Also don’t think that because others have bank accounts, mortgages, credit cards, and automobiles that they are not without their own financial concerns, remember the more you have the more you are likely to want/need so that those that seem “well off,” to you are often immersed in a cycle of desire very similar and, from their perspective just as urgent, as your own.

The BREAD you crave demands that you bake or make it yourself.

Lastly, we live in an incredibly rich society and there are public libraries in every city.  YOU can become an expert on dollars and cents, budgeting, and money management.  Please don’t tell me that you don’t have time.  I don’t believe you.  I am sure that if you take a break from Facebook or from fiddling around with the worthless, wasteful, company which you have cultivated, you would discover that you have plenty of time to improve your personal panorama and tweak the image of yourself you project into the world based on your warped understanding of what matters and how reality works. Also be aware that the BEST way to stay hungry is to make public announcements about how needy you are, even private statements of this kind are toxic to your financial health.  IF you are going to live on charity you might conceive of a system by which you benefit others in the process, start a campaign to help “the needy,” manage it well and you might find yourself rolling in dough.

Yours truly,

Frau Kolb

Image © Magnus Petterson, 2010
Image © Magnus Petterson, 2010

 

 

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Nude Women in Hot Water

 

You walk down a long hall, that until recently was decorated with small golden lacquer plates sporting swirling calligraphy on scrolls, on which Chinese characters proclaim: LOVE, Friendship, and Happiness.  Yesterday, the plates were not up on the long narrow hall.  The wall was freshly painted, but not wet, with tape indicating that a transformation is in progress.

At the Olympic Spa, they are forever improving the facilities, expanding and refining their vision yet retaining the same staff, the same treatments, and best-of-all the same affordable pricing.  I have visited this Spa for over five years, almost six…  The first time I visited, I had a small lump in my breast, which I did not yet know was cancer. As I discovered that I had a serious medical obstacle before me, the nurturing, meditative bathing, and social silence of the spa became a haven for my battered body.

The location was less sleek, smaller, just the core rooms of wet tubs, treatments.  No big salt sauna, or fancy bathrooms… just a little restaurant that looked like communist era, in a far away land… it was a trip, from the first dip, to another world.

Lucky Number 23, photo ©Frau Kolb, 2012, at Olympic Spa in Los Angeles
Lucky Number 23, photo ©Frau Kolb, 2012, at Olympic Spa in Los Angeles

The front desk is manned by two or three pretty Korean women.  They smile as you approach and inquire if it is your first time.  If you nod, “yes.” They will explain to you what is to be expected and walk you through the basic etiquette, which ensures that Olympic Spa is a pleasure for everyone that visits.  Unless, perhaps, you are Frau Kolb, they know YOU from a half decade of faithfully enthusiastic patronage of the well run business.  You pay your fee, sign the liability waiver, and you can come in and use all of the facility for a mere $15.00, that is an outstanding value.  Sure the outside of the building is beat-up, the neighborhood is ethnic funky, which I LOVE, and it is NOT Santa Monica.  Nope.

You enter, past the thick double doors which represent the outside world of stress, obligations, and competition, into a structured world of self care, reflection, wet meditation, sweat therapy, and enforced gentle voices… AH!  You put your street shoes in a locker and then proceed in your socks or bare feet to the larger lockers for clothing.  You put away your things and put on a green Olympic Spa robe and then you walk over to the big scale, take your weight, maybe… or you get yourself a cup of barely tea from the urn, and eye the Korean women laying languidly on the jade floor, next to the equally lovely Scandinavian Blonds that speak gently among themselves.  Now it is time for the baths!

Selfie in The Mirror at the Olympic Spa in Los Angeles.
Selfie in The Mirror at the Olympic Spa in Los Angeles.

Pull open the door and take off your robe.  No robes are worn in the bath.  Now you must clean your body before you get into any of the pools, steams, or saunas.  YOU wash.  I like to squat on the little plastic seats and douce myself with water from the traditional long tub of hot water.  I use the little mitts, I purchased for a couple dollars at at the front desk and scrub myself.  Around me women are quietly letting go of burdens, pain, anger… negativity is scrubbed off and washed down the drain. Others shower, before going into the bubbling warm tub, or the healing medicinal Mug Wort Tea, bath in which up to four or five women, quietly group.

Frau Kolb after a super hot soak and scrub!
Frau Kolb, feeling rejuvenated, after a super hot soak and scrub!

I always get the same treatment, The Milk and Honey Smoothie, which begins with having milk, which exfoliates the skin, poured onto one’s horizontal body on a padded table made specially for SPLASH and SCRUBBING. The treatment includes a fresh cucumber face mask and peppermint hair shampoo. Toward the end honey, which nourishes the skin is applied and rinsed off with bails of hot HOT water.  The scrubbing is intense and when I first experienced it, I was overwhelmed and surprised, never having been scrubbed so fiercely or felt so babied since… well… EVER!

I always request this head to toe, Milk and Honey Treatment from the same woman, one among perhaps twenty that work giving bath treatments, she is my favorite.  We connect.  She cares for me, and was/is part of my self care routine and even though she speaks little English I know she has an adult son of whom she is very proud and that she has worked at the Olympic Spa for almost thirty years.  She looks so young, fit, and content in her black bra and panty set, which is the uniform of the women that work, scrubbing and massaging tired mothers, sisters, wives, waitresses, lawyers, and doctors… all the women require nurturing and carving out time to take care of the self is essential to preserving mental equilibrium and personal power.

Once, I went alone to the spa, and my Korean friend was there on her day off, bathing.  We scrubbed each other’s backs, like old friends, laughing.  Another time, I visited with The Muse.  As usual I had the Milk and Honey Treatment and we soaked together in the Mug Wort tea pool, which is the smallest of the three in ground pools which are at the heart of the complex.  The Muse, quickly found her own favorite treatment, she swears by the facials given at the spa.  After our treatments we lounged on the heated jade floor, whispering to each other… before we roused ourselves to lunch, the restaurant being pretty delicious! Look here:

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The Olympic  Spa is traditional in the best sense of the word in that it upholds the tradition of Asian communal bathing and presents it in a way that is accessible to the savvy women of Los Angeles.  The Olympic spa is for women only.  You are welcome to come and relax and women of all types, ages, shapes, and sizes share space and bathe, together.  One avoids starring at others but it is comforting to see the variety of physical forms femininity manifests itself.  Women are universally beautiful if you look at them through a cloud of steam and from the vantage of your own unclothed vulnerability.

 

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Nitespa, Mar Vista, Los Angeles: Book a Royal Blast into Autumn Bliss!

New Friends,

Frau Kolb & DJ Frankenstein in front of three "Rush Hour Grids, For New York," Paintings by Frau Kolb, 2011 on view at Nitespa Mar Vista, now
Frau Kolb & DJ Pink Frankenstein in front of three “Rush Hour Grids, For New York,” Paintings by Frau Kolb, 2011

 

I dressed up as a BLACK BIRD, loosely inspired by the blackbird in the delightful coming-of-age love story, “Moonrise Kingdom,” another great film by Wes Anderson. I was feeling shaken, having had a medical emergency earlier in the week. Fortunately, all were forewarned that I was, “mysterious.” Which made my entrance all the more smooth, that and the super tunes spilling from DJ Frankenstein’s turntable, I could have to arrive on a stretcher to the wonderful party arranged by Julia Martin, and I’m sure it would have not offended the super-cool crowd or  the proprietress of the new Nitespa Loft in Mar Vista, on the West Side of Los Angeles.

Frau Kolb with Anne Barron and Christopher Strimbu photo © Jess Barron, 2014
Frau Kolb with Anne Barron and Christopher Strimbu photo © Jess Barron, 2014

 

Lovely Ms. Martin has successfully established new place for our set to meet, hang our hats, get our nails done, a massage, a facial, a needed Brazilian… all kinds of services to help us recover that coveted baby-fresh and pampered GLOW. Nitespa is a space specifically tailored to those that are looking for a more personal, intimate, fitting refuge from the mundane, the coarse, the ordinary, impersonal spa.

(We all have so much to worry about, with ebola, police brutality, social disparity, the cost of living, the tumbling market, the children’s issues, marital demands of fulfilling obligations you never imaged you might ever be expected to meet, all the while maintaining one’s standard of living, in a world where the competition and the caprices of the ancient goddess, Fortuna, are not without a cruel sense of humor.)

Fortunately, Nitespa has expanded. The new location ROCKS! Some of you remember the dilapidated little beauty shack where we drank wine, communed, and got our nails down in Venice, Beach California. It was very hip and easy access. It was near Abbott Kinney Blvd. I’ve written about the spot before. The NEW LOCATION is a true hideout for those needing serious pampering in an indulgent VIP friendly, luxury loft location, which feels like an upscale home, where BEAUTY is welcome to perch.

You really must experience Ms. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality.  She is creating a new way of being beautiful, in a breezy easy, health conscious surge of FUN!  Nothing could be better for you than going to Nitespa, in my book.

WE, Julia Martin and I met years ago, when I tripped into Nitespa Venice for a manicure. I was delighted for the white wine she, so graciously, served and the cute Japanese girls that were creating lovely nail art for Julia’s fortunate cliental, including me! My nails wet, I asked Julia to rummage in my big old patchwork leather bag for my wallet. She was amused to discover a little travel bottle of tequila in there (I still, almost a decade later, have that same little bottle… somewhere in my home). Our pure connection was instantaneous, we felt ONE with each other’s fun loving spirited being!

Over the years our friendship has grown. Other less firmly founded, connections from that fun frenzied Los Angeles period, have faded away. In contrast, I am continuously impressed with J. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality. The astounding tenacity and insight of a woman with goals, a family, and a business to run is a wonder to behold and an inspiration for anyone. She managed to keep Nitespa on the map, in Venice, while so many other businesses folded in the high rent, high density area, jammed with trendy restaurants and slick boutiques competing for clients among the cash strapped, the striving, and the few that are flush, alike on the pure force of her personal charm and dedication to providing excellent beauty treatments to extravagant eccentrics and other demanding divas. She managed this feat by being a friend to her neighbors and an active part of the local art and business community.

"42nd Street, Times Sq. Grid," acrylic painting, 24x30", 2011, by Frau Kolb
“42nd Street, Times Sq. Grid,” acrylic painting, 24×30″, 2011, by Frau Kolb

A supporter of artists, including me (notice that four of my paintings are now available for viewing at Nitespa’s beautiful big white walls…) , Julia Martin has earned her place of recognition, trust, and affection in the west coast art community, from San Francisco to San Diego Julia Martin is LOVED and her following grows more staunch, loyal, and determined with each year of her continued success. No wonder that with so many beauty options available in Los Angeles, those in the know, have come to prioritize the ever-soul replenishing treatments offered at her open yet exclusive beauty hide-out and become her frequent VIP guests. Julia’s new Nitespa location is spacious and private with comfortable treatment rooms and a full kitchen available. Her space is a place where we can face ourselves and make time to ponder matters of personal and public significance in a comfortable, yet luxurious, Townhouse loft.

 How do we tune into our selves and find time for all the parts of our being that might otherwise be neglected?

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(I’m so glad I managed to get my act together and appear as Frau Kolb, in full Frau Kolb verbosity, at Julia Martin’s Royal Moonrise, Wes Anderson tribute party, on Saturday Night. Especially because, I was the Guest of Honor!) I’ve NEVER had that happen before.  I’m touched!

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Friendship is the answer. Last week, Frau Kolb had the pleasure and privilege of being honored by the honey eyed-genius, behind the living vision of intimate manicures and memorable massages, Ms. Julia Martin… a unique source of good in the world of Beauty. She is now The West Coast Beauty Muse for Talkinggrid as of last week’s splendid display of magnificence in entertaining a fun-loving group of way-ward intellectuals, part-time revelers, and party crashing troubadours in search of cosmic booty! What a grouping of interesting humans! I even had the pleasure of a powerful art chat, with an informed and active art collector, residing in Santa Monica! (He promised to have us over for dinner that we may enjoy his private art collection. Imagine that! )

 

We had a blast!   The magic number of cool, elegant, educated, chilled-out, party-people, sipping cocktail punches presented with faultless aplomb by the excellent Ms. Martin. For the party she wore a short fur and a stripped dress, a loose interpretation of Margo Tennenbaum’s smeared eye liner, big fur routine,  in Talkinggrid’s favorite movie, by Talkinggrid’s favorite director.

We were hoping Owen Wilson would just magically show UP at the party. I prayed for his super-coolness to just appear, but alas he did not. We did, however, enjoy discovering a lemon juice soaked ONE dollar bill inside a lemon… thanks to magician, who entertained us with the old fashion slight-of-hand the soul craves and somehow, my Post Paris Blues have VANISHED! I am cured!

Thank you, Julia Martin, superlative hostess, proprietress, and vision behind the one-and-only Nite spa, Mar Vista for a more than merely wonderful evening. It was a true pleasure and I can’t wait to come in and have lovely French, Pascal take care of my visage and lovely Christina to paint my nails, like little masterpieces, each one.

Thank you.

 

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A Step Into The Profound, at The Louvre in Paris, France with Frau Kolb

 

Behold the mind spinning splendor of a crystal chandelier at the Louvre, in Paris France!
Behold the mind spinning splendor of a crystal chandelier at the Louvre, in Paris France!

 

In discovering a tossed away strip of silence, amidst the droppings of the ever hapless hordes, I found more than just an empty moment, which I picked up and folded, wrapping a bit of that precious silence, to be found… anywhere/anytime that one requires restoration… into a small shawl of contemplation. A snatched treasure, a  chunk of sweet folded silence, which works as shawl of contentment around my sometimes fragile body. I rediscovered myself, my purpose… wandering the halls of the Louvre, again.

 

Sit with me!  Let's have an imitate art chat... tell me... what are you thinking of painting, next?
Sit with me! Let’s have an imitate art chat… tell me… what are you thinking of painting, next?

Tourists, everywhere… Frau Kolb, no different, really… just taking in the eight miles of art… the whole grand history of theft and creation, slavery and the evolution of social norms. We stroll, and time peals back and reveals its secrets in rooms decorated to meet the taste of Napoleon.

Look!  Frau Kolb, texting The Muse, Ms. Crane, begging the beauty to join us for an art rich afternoon at the Louvre in Paris, France.
Look! Frau Kolb, texting The Muse, Ms. Crane, begging the beauty to join us for an art rich afternoon at the Louvre in Paris, France.

 

 

At the Louvre, I feel at home.  Hungry! We stop for lunch… the Angelic, a restaurant inside the Louvre. We sit down. I am aglow with pleasure. The sights! The Winged Victory of Samothrace! Ah! What splendor! What a treat! Ah! To be so far away from home and… oh… we are not so far from what we seek to avoid… there is a slick blond, one of those viciously expensive looking, women whose face is always freshly moisturized and glistening from a four-hour hydration and suction, green mud, facial(s). The woman announces to everyone within a one mile radius that she is American, from Miami, no less! Her blue eyes WIDE with determination, an indefatigable will to communicate, with the quiet bookish looking French couple seated just across from her, “We have gone to hugely expensive formal restaurants, two nights in a row!” She is agog with wonder. How is it even possible that such a HORROR could exist??? She continues, “Could you recommend something more casual?” She wails.

Frau Kolb at Lunch at Angelina, a cafe inside the Louvre Museum in Paris, France
Frau Kolb at Lunch at Angelina, a cafe inside the Louvre Museum in Paris, France

 

 

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My husband, Hartmuth Kolb, saying something smart, phone and lens in hand, as he prepares to document the situation, at the Louvre, in Paris, France.

 

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Hartmuth Kolb’s, priceless, photo of the ceiling at Angelina in The Louvre Museum in Paris France, Summer 2014

I feel sorry for her. She is in Paris, the birthplace of the casual bistro, the superlatively casual corner cafe… NO ONE NEED ASK FOR A RECOMMENDATION! No. No one. Not a single person need ask an entire room of strangers a question so stupid. Nope. Moreover, we do not care to know that you have eaten, nor where. Please be quiet. Frau Kolb was having a sublime moment. Frau Kolb was feeling a tense joy of self importance, savoring her much anticipated arrival at the world-famous LOUVRE, center of world LOOT, and to share it with this… clearly rich, pampered, loud, spoiled, BABY of a woman… well… that offends Frau Kolb’s refined sensibilities.

Loud American women and their public announcements of vacuity interfere with an on-going fantasy of sublime independence from the generall noxious environment, which I hold dear.

After lunch, we keep moving, allowing ourselves the pleasure of walking deeper into the bowels of the museum… ah! See the foundation… oh! Words, in blue neon, adorn big thick underground walls from when this building was a castle… a fortification, a keep, and all of the rest. We emerge into the throng of gawkers into the venerated Egyptian wing. Snippets of conversation catch our ears and hang like rings around the unfolding art adventure which is a much awaited and desired trip to the most extraordinarily well stocked cultural treasure house, in the world.

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An ancient Egyptian kitty… how very human… we animals are!
Frau Kolb is taking in the pictorial art of the ancient Egyptians at the Louvre in Paris, France
Frau Kolb is taking in the pictorial art of the ancient Egyptians at the Louvre in Paris, France

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ack! Egyptian ART!” Exclaims the tubby girl in tank top and flip-flops to her following, of two boys about her age, and of a sheepish devoted sort. “Ya’ take the body of a human and stick it with an animal head!” She waves her hand dismissively at the vitrines housing objects whose history, provenance, and miraculously enduring meaning is of religious intensity to me… to us… the treasures of north African antiquity, dismissed by a slightly overweight, grossly underdressed, loud, person of probable mixed European, background. What else is new?

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The Pharaoh Taharka offering two wine cups to the Falcon God Hemen. XXII Dynasty, at the Louvre in Paris, France.

 

 

Ok. We move on. A few steps further, away from the girl and her companions, we fall into that slow and unwinding revelry which is waking up to the profundity of human ingenuity, triumphs in the face of daily examples of mass ignorance threaten to cloud our hope in humanity. We see and sense and experience the sacred that is really there in these sumptuous objects invested with human thought, values, intelligence, and priceless concentration.

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Nature deserves veneration, no? Our leaders need to remember what the ancient knew.
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Je thé… Me, Taste Paris, with Jacky Larsonneur

We were early, the first customers of the evening at Je thé… me, a romantic restaurant known for its good food. We crossed the thick curtain covering the door and into a comfortably furnished, tight, dining room. The host, Jacky Larsonneur, tall and erect, is standing at the center of the room, his mischievous blue eyes sparkling.  He pounces on us with the grace of a well fed tiger!  We were to be his willing prey for the evening.  We loved being the center of his sage and savvy attention.  IMG_3618


He ushered us to our padded seats and fully welcomed us to his place, with a touch of formality which would be soon brushed away, he instantly signaled that the ancient rules of hospitality were in effect.  We had arrived into the care of Je thé… me, a space where we could put our guard down and swallow the delicious fact that we had entered a restaurant unlike any other.  Larsonneur has deftly owned and operated the enchanting restaurant for almost three decades. The space is a home away from home, a well polished jewel of romantic corner kitchens, an absolutely perfect, quintessentially French spot. I’ve quietly dreamt of such places my whole life. In New York, we attempt recreate the energy of such spaces… perhaps Balthazar’s succeeds. The shelves are filled with books, tea pots, and other “comforts of home.” The warmly furnished room is acutely inviting, a place to melt away stress and enjoy a fine meal. The Germans call this feeling, “Gemütlichkeit,” which loosely translates to, “cosy,” or “warm and familiar.” It is a complex word, really… yet it fits perfectly in thinking of the warm embrace of the space, the restaurant, Je thé… me… such a sensual name… such an excellent evening, about to unfold.

Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé... me in Paris, France.
Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé… me in Paris, France.

“English?” He asks after a few pleasantries in French. He introduces us to his menu. It was poetry in food, just delightful.  Salivating over the options, we allowed him to guide us, making recommendations, choosing which wine we drank. At ease in the roll of Culinary Guide, he takes us on a marvelous trip into a familiar yet new world of flavor.  We eat and drink with silent reverence. Other guests arrive. First a man with two beautiful Asian women, who sound 100% California. They are seated on the other side of the attractive room. Later, they come to appear flabbergasted, mouths open, eyes bulging, at the wealth of attention we receive from our talented host. Shortly after an older woman and her (likely) granddaughter appear and are seated. Finally, a young blond couple from Denmark take the table next to us, where they proceeded to make-out passionately for two hours. Did they eat food? I don’t know. I was busy scarfing DOWN my entire plate, making every morsel vanish, worshiping drops of reduction sauces, expertly prepared.

Fondréche 2012, Ventoux
Fondréche 2012, Ventoux

I am transported to a purely sensual zone. Ms. Crane, The Muse, sits next to me on the bench, laughing, making funny comments about the cast of characters around us, the universe, and beyond. Hours slip by, we don’t fret.  This is a time reserved for eating, drinking, and conversation.  My adoring Big German Scientist husband, enjoys the view, across from us and documenting our good time without being intrusive. Speaking of welcome intrusion… did I mention that Jacky planted his laptop on our table and sang to us, old French songs? He did. He sang to us!  He serenaded our table! (How’s that for entertainment?) He has a marvelous voice.  He popped his laptop on our table and shared with us a video of him, on youtube singing in a choir as a young boy. He was an angel. He sang solo, brilliantly!  The camera loved his blond boy beauty. Oh, Jacky!  You are a restaurant man beyond compare!  What talent!  Pure charm! Je thé… me.

IL ÉTAIT UNE FOIS, 2012
IL ÉTAIT UNE FOIS, 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The food was divine. Yet, I refuse to divulge the details of what I ate.  Eat bite was a discovery, an explosion of flavor in my mouth.  No, I won’t write a laundry list of ingredients.  No.  Exactly what I ate doesn’t concern others…  Unless, of course, they man-up NOW and venture beyond the barnyard gate, to Je thé me… in Paris!  Once there, I can imagine, a parade of pilgrims, FRANCO-FOODIES by the herd, hereby and henceforth, respectfully paying homage to Larsonneur’s impeccable hospitality, good wine, and super-fresh French food with bus tours (god forbid) and other (less tacky) fanfare.  I will just say: that if one does not live to visit Jacky Larsonneur at Je thé… me, is simply missing out on enjoying living, breathing, singing history in action.

There is no television in the historically preserved room. By and large, French restaurants do not bombard you with advertising while you are eating. French food is to be taken s l o w l y, quietly or boisterously depending on the mood. The music, wine, and incredible quality of the food all collaborate to take you to sacred heights within yourself and in communion with tradition. French food is famous, of course, but when you actually sit and eat food that deserves this degree of reverence it changes you.

I will never again be the same woman. I have changed from the inside out, a part of me, my heart… I think… is now––forever–– French. I do not know IF the Potato Eaters at the other tables felt the same AWE over the delicate, fresh, innovative, yet totally traditional FRENCH cuisine, prepared sensitively, and served with intimate flair.

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At our table, Ms. Crane, Hartmuth and I were swaying in a whirl of FOODIE JOY beyond general comprehension. It was a secular, intensely sensual, culinary-come-religious-experience. In this mood, of beyond bliss, the hours passed and we continued eating. Finally, we begged Jacky to pick our desserts. He brought one for each and each was pure perfection with the entree, eaten. WE had NEVER had such a meal, such service! The wine… ah… it was sublime. I shall never recover from this re-introduction to what food can be. Food is a potential space-ship with direct shuttles to heavenly JOY! Now, from the shelf, tumbled one of the encyclopedias on France. (OK, I admit, that I could not resist pulling one of the books off the shelf and perusing it, while the ice wine was being retrieved.) The book popped open, before us and there was Jacky, turning the pages to his Chateau… really? Yes, he pointed to a picture in the book and said that this was his family’s country property. Oh… now my American mind wrapped itself around very foreign concept. His Chateau… WOW!

That our host  enjoyed our company was demonstrated in that he invited us to stay with him for a few more bottles of wine.  We were out till the earliest hours of the next morning, sitting, conversing, laughing like lunatics well past midnight, playing, and dancing with Jacky.  The Muse, Hartmuth, and I Frau Kolb… this evening could be the stuff of legend and myth. We were early, the first customers of the evening for Je thé… me. We crossed the curtain and into the room and found ourselves in a new relationship with the world, with life. We were welcome, ever so welcome, so we stayed and renovated our selves, with intensive healing doses of hilarity, studied frivolity, and unfiltered joy expressed in hearty appetites.

The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé... me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!
The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé… me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!

From the ether of fantasy and wishful thinking, surrounding Paris and The Muse, that which prompted this life-altering trip to a new return destination, a NEW cultural base for Frau Kolb & The Talkinggrid from which to learn and grow, the health and happiness of yours truly and those that truly crave a slice of a very good way of life, the French Way.  I will return again and again to now beloved Paris, France and specifically to see Jacky Larsonneur and  the most romantic of restaurants, where we feel in love, not just with the food, the wine, the host, but also with Paris, Je thé… me.