Adventures in Santa Fe Livingness.
GROWING UP IN LOS ANGELES, under the umbrella of powerful, wealthy, and stylish wings. Women were models and men were moguls. A lot of wealth came overnight in the film business – some it took years to acquire, but mostly it was a time to spread your wings and ride life. Polo matches, speeding yachts in the Marina, horseback riding in Bel Air, movie premieres, and nightclubs. By the time this congregation was in their fifties the wick of life had waxed over, and a new generation was born to carve their statutes. That is the billboard that I didn’t like, resisted, rebelled against, and scrutinized. At twenty it was easy to jump ship by enrolling in Sonoma State College and transforming. My thirties were career driven and at forty I saddled up for rebellion. It jumped out of the birthday cake and sent me on a jolly ride. Here now, at 60ish, a reversal of rebellion has popped up; I want to walk a panoptic view.
Living in Santa Fe has forged a masters thesis on reinventing my rhythm, opinions, tolerance, affinity, and creativity. That is why I’ve been stationed here for nine years; it has taken that long to strip down the prongs of my LA umbrella. If only I could homogenize both parts, but it always feels like oil and water. I’m a city gal and a villager. That word balance bounces up a lot. I find it an abstraction that I cannot untangle. Oh well, there is always the surprise of life, the moment when you go down the drain and then a hand reaches out and places you on a new path.
The sunlight shatters the curtain-less bedroom window and burns into my eyes at daybreak. From this unsheltered spot I rise to see a pot of blue sky over the rooftops, and the expectant afternoon showers building up in the clouds. The sky is filled with crows, eagles, and magpies lingering overhead weightless and free-falling, beyond all of us caught behind electronics. The days filled with desert showers that drench the soil and turn the arid dry land green and lush. For this I am thankful. At the end of the day, I am inclined to sit in the courtyard and watch the sky manifest colors unmatched by any Dunn Edwards collection. By the time dinner is topical, I have substituted preparing food, to just snacking, This August underscores the need to sit down, to sort of bob my head to Nancy Wilson music, and do very little. I’m self publishing Cradle of Crime- My Father, Me, and the Mob.