Writing feels rusty today. I plow deliberately through the blank mental soil to find a blade of substance in a week of tragedy and cultural chaos. In conversations with men and women about our fractured culture.
” It was never like this when I was growing up,” that is from a fifty-year-old,
” I won’t get on a plane, no way?” from a forty-year-old.
” I don’t talk about my views with anyone at work or out of work, except my family and friends.”
I replied, “Yes, we have to talk niceties, bland boring conversation. “
When I was growing up, there was more joking, laughter, and confessional conversation. I was thinking about my high school years; we talked a lot about emotions, our parents, our dreams, and our fears. I don’t recall restraining what was on my mind. Perhaps that is why the majority of the younger generation prefers social media friends, as they can be easily deleted or blocked. On my FB page and feed, not one follower or friend reveals their political views, including myself. Isn’t that so contrary to humanity? And political violence, I keep hearing we won’t tolerate that on the news, but we are tolerating it. Do we all need drones over our homes for security? An optimist would say, We can do better, and we will; a pessimist might say, I think it’s going to get worse, and a nihilist would say, Life isn’t worth fixing; it’s just worthless.
I canceled my utubetv cable account, because on most days anxiety is at full tank without the news. ย In this new state of freedom from home; maintenance, repairs, showings and tenants, time is on another clock.The one that ticks as a writer in progress who is dusting off the least truest of thoughts. ย ย ย ย
Scintillating in luxury and comfort is therapeutic if mastered with moderation. So, my second week here in the hotel, I opened the thruway to discerning tasks: a deep dive into publishing my book, rewriting the ending so art isnโt imitating life, but the other way around, searching for part-time employment, a seriously pragmatic approach to where to move, and writing my pop-up columns.
It is tremendously easy to write from this hotel room, without those damn barking dogs next to my home, the constant vibration and noise of mowers, blowers, and city works.
On my desk is Henry Millerโs book, On Writing, and every page moves the mental nerves in some way. โThe writer lives between the upper and lower worlds: he takes the path in order eventually to become the path itself.โ From living in isolation in my home, my tenants are cordial but reserved; I am now swept like a surfboard into a wave of public swells. It is their stories that come out of this experience.
I begin with the Casino, attached to the hotel lobby, and open at 11 am. Arrivals begin: gamblers shuffle inside, some in wheelchairs, younger men with speedy strides, couples, single women, a plethora of humanity in common, with one mission: to win. I take a seat at the bar, and eye wonder at the slot machines. I havenโt counted them, but the room for walking is limited. There is one machine with the motif of a bull, and when someone sits, the bull grumbles loudly, so I pull out my earplugs. I watched one man win, and after he left, other players who heard the winning clang took his seat. It is a popular machine.
The casino looks to be around eight thousand square feet, with seventeen hundred gambling options. The path to get back to the hotel, I have to navigate around and around. The first time, of course, I went in circles as my sense of direction is like a butterfly’s.
โ Excuse me, can you tell me the most direct way back to the hotel?โ
โ Lost are you? Follow this carpet pattern, the one in the middle, and it will take you back.โ
Off I trot, staring at the paisley pattern, through six different arenas to the hotel. I went outside and took a seat on the bench. A woman passed by and stopped, โ How are you?โ
โAdapting, Iโve not been here but a few days.โ
โ Oh, weโre just checking out. I canโt wait to get home to my Pomeranians. I have two. I rescued them, and they are my babies,” she continued, talking about the dogs. As she spoke, I noticed how immensely liberated she was in conversation, and how her hair matched her outfit. She smiled while talking.
โ Iโve seen you before. I noticed your style; you were wearing such a pretty outfit”, she said earnestly.
โ Well, thank you, and so are you.โ
โ Are you alone? I think you are, but donโt let that get you down.โ
โ I wasnโt ready for a very long time. I’m crossing over that mountain, only Iโm not like you. I canโt approach people the way you just did.โ
โ I used to be like that! Now I donโt care, and you shouldnโt either. God loves you, we are all his children, and we need to love each other.โ
I let her go on and thought any minute she might bring out a bible or a cross and start praying for me.
โ I bet my husband is looking for me; heโll be mad, not really, heโs used to it. Weโve been together forty-five years.
โ Remarkable. Whatโs your secret?โ
โ Love, respect, and compromise, itโs really very simple. You’ll meet your honey, I feel it, you want that, donโt you?โ
โYes, when a man tells me everything is going to be okay, I settle down. Iโm emotionally overweight.โ
โYouโre funny, see that is another quality that gets you through life.โ
โ I see a man approaching, and she introduces her husband. He is tall, and emulates a calmness and contentment as he hedges into the conversation about going to Lake Placid.โย
โ Have you been there?โ he asked.
โ Years ago. Itโs beautiful.โ
โ I turned towards his wife. I didnโt get your name.โ
โ Donetica, Italian, my friends call me Dee.โ
โI’m Loulou, and thank you for stopping by my bench.โ
She giggled, blew a kiss, and said in parting, โ I love you.โ
As she left, a woman exited the hotel in a state of exhilaration.
โ It looks like you had a good day,โ I said
โ Yes!ย I won eight hundred dollars. She swung her purse and skipped off. ย
Hmm, I wouldnโt mind winning at all, but Iโm in enough ambiguity to play against those odds. To be continued.
With every turn, right, left, or center, I observe novelty, unfamiliar faces, facades, and finery.ย The conversations that linger over the opulent surround sound lobby release a fusion of shouting and laughter.ย New Yorkers are not whisperers, and my annoying sensitivity to sound, forces me to go in and outside a dozen times a day. That is when I meet the guests, perched on benches and rocking chairs. In the six days Iโve been, here Iโve accumulated dozens of conversations, not just niceties but life stories expressed in thirty-minutes.
The first day of arrival began with a dining hallabaloo organized by the best broker, Scott Varley, who sold my home. ย ย At the table, Scott and his friends, who ย knew the bartender’s, waitress, restaurant manager, and a few guests at the bar, so our table became a Musso Frank sort of mise en scene. I, as usual, was punctuated with awe, as this is a new kind of adventure in livingness after Ballston Spa. Drinks arrived with the speed of a remote, and as we all filed in for the liberated moment, when we exhumed our true selves.ย Lynn, the woman next to me, was a beautiful, statuesque, stylish woman whose poised and confident aura emanated from her.
โ I hear Scott sold your home. Is that a good thing for you? Itโs not always.โ
โ Yes, a few days ago. ย Well, a paradox, I loved the home, a Victorian, but it was also most of my income.
โ What will you do now?โ
โ About what?โย She laughed and tilted her head back.
โ Where are you moving?โ
โ I donโt know yet.โ Her eyes widened, and she responded flatly.
โ You donโt know? You have to have some idea.โ
โ It depends on the proceeds, an ex is involved, itโs too complicated over a martini, and all this talk. I can barely hear you. โ
โ An ex is always involved. How long are you staying at the hotel?โ
โ Youโll love this..
โ Donโt tell me, you donโt know. Youโre adorable.โ
โ Thank you, and I sense you are very strong.โ
โ You bet I am.! She punctuated that with a fist to the table. โ
The night zigzagged, with Lynn and Scott scurrying into the casino, while I remained, as casinos mean, the genes of my father may flare up. The bar was baritone loud and after what seemed four hours, I returned to my room, quite comfort, marvelous pillows unlike Iโve ever felt, ย โ I canโt fucking believe this.โ ย ย To be continued
THIS ERA OF ADAPTATION is how I feel, think, and react. Tumbling through all the transitory advise forces me to examine more closely who to believe. ย Iโve never been a leader, nor a follower, I walk in between, trying to pave a pathway to peace of mind. Perhaps that is unattainable, as we live in a culturally, politically, medically, and socially reimagined world. It reminds me of being a teenager when life was questionable, and confusion was like a stinging bee we couldnโt swap away.
This week, my discipline raged and said, ‘Structure your day or go in disarray. As a long-time, rebel of structure, I listened and made a daily plan. Get out of bed by eight, answer correspondence, get dressed, work out on the treadmill, take a shower, eat something, then back to the home office and thatโs when the improvisation kicks in. Do I write a column, work on my next book, or look for an attorney for an unsolved tribulation? Mother Nature punctuates my attention as she blooms into spring; the neighbors begin mowing and planting, The adorable little children next door play in their front yard, joggers, walkers, and horse-carrying vans pass in front of my window. The Season in Saratoga is about to open, masked and limited attendance will be at Saratoga Race Track, Saratoga Performing Arts Center, Bistros, Bars, outdoor concerts, Theater and Chamber Music, Lakeside sailing and motor boating, fairs, and wine tasting.
A quintet of small-town celebrations that will inaugurate us to each other once again.
ADVENTURERS IN SINGLE LIVINGNESS 
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