Thursday, March 10, 2016

At the End, There Is Nothing Left
Except Love

The news came unexpectedly. 

Jutta was in the hospital and it did not look good. 

Pouring love into her exhausted hands praying for a reprieve did not bring a miracle.

But it did bring love.

So begins a series of past posts honoring beloved and so missed Jutta Filippelli.


Originally posted July 8, 2008

Jutta's Kitchen - Part Two

Even after Jutta's 16 year old son Marc and 14 year old me stopped dating (if you call listening to Sibelius's violin concerto while holding hands "dating") I still found my way to her kitchen several times a week for years after.

 Lots of times there was a gaggle around the small wooden table - me, Marc, the two Haitian brothers from down the street, the Korean prodigy alone in NY since he was like 12 and Chops the dog who had a blue eye and a brown eye. Whatever Jutta put on the table was a feast and the words and the laughter and the languages poured over meals and cigarettes and coffee and sometimes dessert.

I didn't know I was destined to live a life where nothing else matter except the attempt to tell a story with all my heart and soul. I didn't know until 35 years later that because her kitchen was a home for a bunch of motley baby artists, my surrender to my life was fueled by her example.