My stories stem from the inner voice where all the gaps of expression are liberated.
THANK YOU ETTA JAMES, SARAH VAUGHN, NANCY WILSON, NINA SIMONE, BILLY HOLIDAY, AND SATCHMO. What happened is why I am writing this, I don’t know. It is a wave that most of us have to swim through at some sandy loose day in our life. It’s the kind of wave that sends me to the ladies of soul. They sing the tears away, that harmony that makes you want to just weep with them because they have been there.
I remember the day, where I was sitting, and his expression. It was a few days before the final submission to Createspace to publish my book. My body felt heavy as concrete and my mind had been vacuumed of thought. I slept and slept. On November 20, he bolted into my room as I was stretched out on the bed eloping with comfort.
” Kathi want’s me to come out for Thanksgiving.” Kathi, well I never met her, she’s in Arizona. They see each other when they are not fighting. He said she hangs up on him most of the time. For the last two years she has given him an ultimatum, “Either we live together or I am not going to talk to you again.” He admitted he didn’t want to live with her and she pulled back.
” I told you I planned the publication for your Birthday and Thanksgiving weeks ago.”
He just stared at me. The silence said everything.
” Okay, go. Go on. Get the fuck out of here.”
” I know what you’re doing.” He replied.
He left the next day for Arizona, I thought, and I published the book with my ladies of soul singing to me. CreateSpace sent the link to my Amazon page, and I posted it on Facebook; my tears stopped. There you all were, posting kisses, smiles, applause; it was so unexpected. Most of the next few days were watching my royalty cart fill up. Admitting this is wicked, but the last time I made a decent dollar on my writing was 2009. It was graduation day from blogging to book. A milestone for any self-taught writer. Two pals Blair Sabol, A New York columnist and Baron Wolman, Santa Fe Rock & Roll Photographer capped the publication with a personal book signing.
A maelstrom took me on a journey of exaltation and devaluation. He wasn’t here to see it or rejoice in his monetary contribution to the book I started twenty years ago in his backyard cabana. Celebrating solo slapped some hard facts; why was I alone? I’m a long term- tenant of sensitive so I hold up a wall of protection.
Wobbling around in a state of dismantlement, the bricks and mortar of my spine turned to rubble. Someone asked me, ‘How are you?’ I said, half and half. It was the best day of my life and the worse. How that happens in one day is typical of nature, but not human emotions.
Supernatural forces arrived almost immediately; the feral cat moved in, well not completely but she spends the night every few days, and she likes to be on my bed. I named her Rockette. She is shiny black, slinky in majestic feline moves, but I cannot hug her for more than two seconds.
A week later, after the first impromptu Thanksgiving without him since we met in 1983, I forced myself to go solo and test my wall. It came down as I dined with other singles. My bedroom sparked with honey sunshine flocking the gold curtains rocked my cradle of confusion. Adjustment to a glance of him crossing the street, taking detours so he doesn’t pass my glass front door, and not responding to my emails or text detonated. I retaliated by pulling out the lavender he planted last spring, tipping over a planter box, and kicking his door one night in rabid-rage, and the wood splintered.
Over the next few weeks, he did not sleep here, check his mail, or even sweep the sidewalk. From this dismantlement of our former friendship, the response to my book served as my oar against the current.
I rowed through Christmas fanning my despair with friends and strangers, seized by the glow of their joy. I never broke down in front of anyone, even the couples who toasted to forty and fifty years of marriage, or the newlywed couple from Santa Monica. I just don’t understand the limitations of love. Do you just stop loving your best friend after thirty years?
On New Year’s Eve my body moved to the music, the theatrics, and all was well because I would use 2017 as my new spreadsheet of adventures in livingness.
To be continued.
NEVER THOUGHT IT WOULD HAPPEN AGAIN
Making the same mistake twice. This time she’s a serpent, a persistent and pushy woman who drudges the gutter seeking a lonely lost man she can bite. Only this serpent has a bite that is desperate and sick. The man succumbs.
He deserts his friends, his home, his life. The trail of slime metastisized. I was pinched y her bite. She timed the bite to resonate on the most important day of my life; the day my book published. The celebratory party planned, the grail of completion sitting on my smile, and then the grenade explodes. My heart contracted.
The bleeding is bandaged with approvals from readers of my memoir, hugs, smiles, and book signings. The triumph is teetering on temper flares. I’ve never been a bland responder. When a friend jets above the clouds, or crashes, I’m on board. Without company during our flights of life, our ribs cave. You just cannot eat cake alone on your birthday or attend a funeral without a shoulder next to you. Thank you White Zen for being the first responder. I love you!
Four weeks after the serpent carried him away, I am sublime,wistful and without anger or rage. The end of the flight surprised me-the alley cat now named Rocky fell in love with me andmy freedom is returned. After 33 years, I am free to move without his warnings, threats, and selfish motives. All of us are capable of envy and jealousy; our choice of how sordid and dangerous it can be is what separates us from doom. I don’t intend on being doomed by his desertion. I gave myself a month to rinse my mouth of shock, tears, and fear.
HELLO, my recuperation ends on the 17th of this month. Just enough time left to hang the holly, wrap the gifts and write the cards. No one takes Christmas and Hanukkah away from me except God.
If any of you are spending the season of senses without that shoulder, remember our suffering is what makes us strong. Well, personally, strong is good but sensitive and soulful brings me to a pink finish line. Now, it’s time to go shopping for the irreplaceable friends, ex-lovers, and family.
BE SENSITIVE AND SOULFUL-AND STRONG.
One week ago I published my first and not the last book. It is in the past, and yet not. Instead of checking PM, tweets, facebook, emails and text a few times a day, your voices on the digital wire are a continuum of exultation. A writer doesn’t accept their work until those reviews come in. An enormous hug and kiss to all of you who have expressed approval.
Just know that every time one of you writes about my book, I think of when we met, the memories we made, and the immortality of what I remember. As I said on the acknowledgment page in the book, without you I wouldn’t have walked through the archway to my ancestry.
There is a mystical rainbow over this book. For the first time, my father’s relatives are learning about their abashed cousin, uncle, grandfather, and friend. I feel the river of change taking me into the current. It will be my ride because I am ready to steer on my own.
SOME OF YOU may have already seen my announcement on Facebook. For those that have not, my memoir CRADLE OF CRIME- A Daughter’s Tribute, is now available on Amazon in the USA, Canada, and the UK.
I began writing my way home in 1996.
If you choose to read I’d love to hear back from you!
THE WINDS OF CHANGE are stirring up both outside and inside. There’s a moment when the decision has to be made; some harmful habit has to be cut.
I wish I was going to Arthur Crowley’s Thanksgiving party with Dad this year. I’ve written about them before; real Hollywood-Beverly Hills elite sealed in sarcasm. Beneath their beautiful brittle bark, hearts were warmed, and humor unleashed. I’m of age now; where I could transform to their rhythm of raucous.
The sky is overcast, metallic gray rolling clouds are gracefully blowing the leaves. Nature has the wellness of change, it’s dark and then it’s light.
I gave Createspace the final approval to print this week. It’s not easy to let go and the fear of rejection fires an extra punch. What to do? Go for a walk and say over and over, I’m just a little bite of life in the greatness of living. Make your Thanksgiving a day of friendship, not politics, otherwise, the turkey will gobble!
MOVIE RECOMMENDATIONS IF YOU LIKE OFF=OFF BEAT:
Bread & Tulips, Angel Face, Head in the Clouds, Late Marriage, Water for Elephant’s, Sarah’s Key, Pierrot Le Fou, No Where in Africa, The Lives of Others, Gangster, A Love Story, The Counterfeiters, Senso, Croupier, II Grido, The Wide Blue Road, Deja Vu, The Whistle Blower, The Young Adult, John Rabe.
Our nest is something we build to give us permission to express, unravel, rant, improvise, and dream. Sometimes we return to our little nest and add a bit more bloom because the dinner was great, and the party lasted longer than we thought, and someone smiled at you in a glorious way, and then you saw a rainbow.
Some things happened last week; that liquefied into an opinion I inhabited. I directed this opinion with outdated information, and second-hand narratives by film scribes. I believed what I’d always believed; actors aren’t like you and me. I was wrong! Some actors are like you and me. They have open hearts, and inquisitive minds, they drink beer and dress without designer labels, they like to hang out, and not talk about the movie business, they have interests beyond their Imdb star rating, and they answer questions if you ask them. Unless we infiltrate what we criticize, we’re adding to the hypocrisy of the human condition.
I have never written about politics. I don’t understand the rules to qualify. My political thinking is this; the election is a reflection of our integrity, what’s left of it. Whomever wins is sabotaged. They will be brutalized by the opposing party, and the News will report it.
divided now, opponents on the same team. That’s more than I can tolerate. Either I will go underground wherever that is, or move to a farm and pet goats. I mean really! How much more can we take?