PLEASANTRIES OF YOUR LIFE


No Pleasantries

No Pleasantries (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a short piece.  I haven’t written anything besides the script for the last two months, and my head is empty of imagery and illumination.  I got the script done as right as I could until such time as a more experienced screenwriter explains what I’ve missed. It’s like looking in the mirror and deflecting the flaws, until the big mirrored light swings over and all is revealed. .
Last Saturday after I printed the script out I went into a cocoon of pleasantries.  Studying my home-nested wild birds, nudge the bird feeder, peck each other out of order, eat alongside the chipmunk, the doves, and the squirrel on the porch and Rick, the pavement glory of La Posada waving from across the street as he jogged to retrieve a guest’s car.    I envied Loren on the porch, sunglasses and hat tipping slang narrating life as he sees it from a valet, go to guy,  perspective, and watching Rudy on the roof pitching leaves, and listening to Ray Baretto.   I drank up Gloria’s laughter at Geronimo when Sam Shepard sat next to me, and she nudged me to talk, talk talk. I watched the fireplace rising into flames and the sunlight at dusk in the melon room .I rose to morning air so fresh it numbed my tongue, my nose and eyes, and inside my San Francisco kimono, draping over my arms I could see the blossoms of color.
Lounging in lavender and lilac oil, soaps and salts in my claw foot tub listening to Nancy Wilson and then later with the TV on to TCM and my head on the pillow, I snuggled the pleasantry of a warm bed and heat rising through the vents.
If you write down the pleasantries
Surrounding your life
Your blessings rise up and
Give you comfort.
The sweet peace may vanish the next day, or be intercepted by the news, a wreck in the street, an unexpected phone call. The crossroads of everyday life comes and goes. Between all of these uncontrollable incidents we are writing our stories. Stories that some day will be told in conversation, or written in journals and books. The essence of our changing lives is worth telling, so you loyal readers write to me and tell me yours.

 

Remember your pleasantries, and the ones that swim through your days, with smiles and laughter, pats on the backs, jokes and tales. We all have clutter of the mind but we have the power to sift out the deranged deviations. I have come to believe the only will I want is the power to be a real good sifter.

 

COMFORT & GANGSTERS


Comfort….
From writing by hand at my tiny Eurasian desk facing the window to the west; framed by time and familiarity into the branches of JD’s pine tree, the black silky toned crows basking like prowesses on the branches, and waiting for La Posada to empty the day’s leftovers in the garbage cans. The silky drape of the winter sky sometimes adorned with lacy clouds, like today, softening the southwest blue to a faded jeans shade. From my desk, I write, without thoughts predefined, just a drain of emotional threads from my heart…

This year isn’t like last year, the absentee man, fussing with the fireplace, making me afternoon espresso, or drying dishes. It is not at all like last year, with Rudy and John intercepting my division of attention, laughing at the kitchen table, eating my blueberry pancakes.

I had the song of Judy Garland’s rainbow in my heart. It was a time I will never forget, or regret, because I was a very lucky lady for several years. Unabridged ecstasy poured out of body, and spread over my attitude, abundant spirit, mood, facial expressions, and my dreams were filled with amusement instead of nightmares.

That’s why now, is so different. The camp has closed, and I wander into these new woods unsteady, and steadier, juxtaposed between, acceptance and anger.

In the last few months, I’ve written my heart out, read Shepard, Colette, Durrell and my Creative nonfiction magazines. I’ve studied, and prepared for radio programs, and collected a bundle of columns to adapt into short stories. I started buying chocolates and jelly beans, so I treat myself, on breaks, when it’s too cold for my frail body to walk around town or up Palace Avenue to see the new for sale listings.

My steps inward resulted in accomplishments, break-troughs’ and a comedic sideshow trying to open boxes, make repairs, until Rudy shows up again, and rake the leaves, stuff that is mundane. More distant relations, and mafia threaded strangers knocked on my door, bolstering my faith in breaking the silence that ruled me, I let rule me.  Stepping inside the truth I must face isn’t nearly as harmful as pretending.

Mob on television, in the news, (gross sales global figure of $850 billion) websites, and bloggers, movies and books. They’re all coming out of the closet to inform, turn themselves in, give advice, consult on their own films, sign on for pubic speaking at Library’s, documentaries, and advertisements-the world is all mobbed up and it’s time for some horrific homogenization of the gangsters who wouldn’t break the silence.

SACRIFICE


Locked up in the imaginary world of writing. It’s not always so accessible, so effortless, and when it is lock yourself in and give it your life.
The fall drapery from the window teases me with specks of sunlight, and leaves dropping like snowflakes. My spirit is drawn outdoors.
to walk, hike, run in its splendor. Sacrifice is how we finish our plays, canvas, book, song, and poem.

PLEA FOR CLOTHES – NEWARK


Official seal of City of Newark

Official seal of City of Newark (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I sent out a box of sweaters and jeans. It cost less than $10.00 priority. I then stopped by Ooh La La
consignment, and commented she would have gotten more from me, but they went to the Hurricane Relief.
” Where can I send clothes? I’ve got a ton.” She said. So I will pass on the address I have posted.
On the way home it struck me that thousands of families will go without Thanksgiving this year.
Newark is part of my roots, my mother being born there, and my roots are hurting for all of those people.