I dream of Jeanne

It's always hard when we lose someone, but this one almost crushed me. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in 10 years - but honestly nothing went sour, we all just get so busy and drift apart …but dear God, there was a time when we were like soul sisters. Looking back, I see humongous, dark sunglasses, raven hair either in a thick, straight bob or a poufy, 1960's/Amy Winehouse bun, bold, deep red lips, a perfectly tailored cheetah-print coat with a wide collar, black tights, short skirt, red kitten heels or some smashing rock-and -roll leather boots, some kind of wild, fabulous designer handbag and of course, a cigarette always ready to go.

Conversations in the middle of the night, outside under the stars with a splendidly oversized coffee mug, the 3 pitbull rescues lounging, and her supercool long haired hubby who, of course, was in a band. Coffee, cigarettes, cheeseburgers - the discourse comparable to old school “penny universities,” speakeasies. The intellectual and artistic triumph I always felt after spending time with you, your mind, your ideas, poetry, song. Polar opposite political views, but bonded for lifetimes over good fashion. We were BFF’s in a former life, maybe bohos in Paris, the Lost Generation with the Gen X streak. How could one young lady be so tough yet so tender? You celebrated every day, your loved ones, your animals, the beauty around you, music… you wrote 3 short stories in a week. After watching the film “Factory Girl,” you didn’t want to speak. Like a true cinephile, you needed pause, a cigarette and silent reflection. I understood then the meaning and power of silence in the face of true art. To be immersed in the glory of art before our eyes and to say and do nothing - well, that’s an unexcelled audience. When you were amused - that soft, curly smile, the twinkle in your eyes and those intense drags of your cigarette, well what can I say except that seeing you satisfied in a huge cloud of smoke, oh you fancy dragon, oh how you made everything so magical !

When I heard you died, I remember feeling my heart drop into my gut and then I shut down. I didn't stay in a heavy grief too long, you wouldn't want that, I think. So many good memoeries. What an old soul, a perfect, silent laugh or a wild, roaring guffaw, and - oui, oui - the coolest rasp in your voice. Your precious elder soul, innate intelligence, worldliness, a teacher in so many ways, animal lover, healer, kind soul to so many whom no one gave a damn about anymore but you, Jeanne, you knew how to be there for everyone. Always knew our strong spots, you always reminded us of our power and our beauty. An eagle but also a little dove, your hugs were like being wrapped in an Hermes wool throw blanket. So talented, tastemaker, the way you furnished your homes, determined to celebrate, your stories, your music collection, your bob, did you really have to go, sweet rockstar? We still have so many foreign films to watch together, we were supposed to do a girls' trip to Paris.

But Alas, girls like you, you're flying above, swirling like a happy kite, with studs and leather on it. You knew art, you knew good writing, you knew true music, you knew film, hippy spirit, rockstar, lightworker, my favorite art show partner, my freelance muse, the way you understood love and beauty. So brave, wise, forgiving, funny, unforgettable! Till we meet again, ma chere amie, Fly free Jeanne!