SOCIAL MEDIA SPARKS MY EMOTIONS


real socializing
real socializing

Our society has led us to the path of non-involvement. FB did that,
Email did that, cell phones did that. Yea, I love em’ย  for the
thing they knew weโ€™d love them for; a delete button.

We, I mean most of us that don’t control millions of political decisions, cannot handle much more. But we could save ourselves from a real famine, a civil war , orย  war on our country. ย  Whoย  would come to our aid? I really wonder.ย  I bet on us; the ones who’ve always struggled.
We are not involved with each other anymore; itโ€™s like having a manicure to break out of a relationship, and if you lose your job you wonโ€™t have enough money for a manicure. So you donโ€™t lose your job; you workย  eighteen hours a day and get paid less than your staff. ย  But nobody cares; not unless you go viral or if you have a millionย ย  Blog stats. Social media. Then you will go somewhere; you will have a job. Artists, areย  digital: writers, photographers;ย  musicians. Who knows whose who anymore.ย  I think Theater is the only venue left of our physical ย  involvement.ย  Theater is life; and no one walks out without having something to say.ย  I also include: dance, concerts, opera, poetry readings, performance artist, and comedians.ย  I prefer to see it live!

PUZZLE OF SOLITUDE FOUR


 

I wrote this short piece by hand in April.

It is snowing today; the first time since February. A collage of scenery rearranges the birth of spring as a brisk snow flurry sweeps through Santa Fe.ย  Across the street, inside the hotel families are dining, or comparing observations with other guests, drinking apple cider and being in vacation. I see them unload suitcases, and several tote bags, a lot of luggage seems necessary for tourists these days. Teenagers are multi-texting; unaware of the flawless blue sky or architecture. I am looking for artists whoโ€™ve come to capture the light, or healย  city bruises with the language of the Indian world. The coterie of artists drawn to Santa Fe are now a minority; and on the horizon areย  tour buses, family reunions, and corporate retreats.

I am standing in the center of the garden, studying the entanglement of spindly branches, clinging to the brick wall. The wall looks like an abstraction of a Kandinsky painting.My sense is that I should not pester myself about unfinished desk business-but to just turn off the motor and observe my fortune. To watch clouds so deeply, and see the shapes turn from a penis to a whale, (analyze that) has always been an act of love. Some people stare at rocks, or flowers, or rain; for me it is the clouds.
The sky has just been ticked off by the sun and she is spreading like butter over my face and legs.

Costume design and realization for ‘Seeing’ by Kandinsky. A contemporary dance interpretation.


Hanging on to home for a lot of us has become a business; a renting out rooms, and converting to a vacation rental to avoid foreclosure. I can sit inside the Movie Theater (a converted garage) and launch into a montage of memories. The Michael Jackson tribute party after he died, when friends came and we danced to his videos; and the Jimi Hendrix live DVD night that mixed jubilation, remembrance, and a lot of laughing as I expelling all I knew about Jimi to a man of twenty-seven. We always showed a film coinciding with a new exhibition of photography. Guests lingered past midnight and I had to turn off the lights to demonstrate closure. Couples in the theater necking, young adults roaring with inflammable laughter upon each opportunity, and hungry men and women waltzing around each other for a bite of passion. Gallery receptions were packed back then; a staggering amount of partying and dancing collided on Canyon Road to live music and open bars.
Hanging on to memories in corners of the house. Iโ€™ll take them with me. It will be a leap of courage to untangle myself from this home.wassily kandinsky art artist
I can almost hear the birds wind as they fly over me; my eyes close to listen. The lullaby is a bath of nature and would not have occurred unless I was alone. I want to reach through writing,ย  to the subject of misfits and loners, outcasts and unrecognized that are too ripe to touch, to sensitive and unyielding; annoyed with the outside world. Like me.

Contemporary PaintingKandinsky-my tree

 

 

โ† Back

Thank you for your response. โœจ

 

REVERSE THE SPENDING.


Big spenders, rich or poor, are learning like me, that spending more than you have, like the US Government, follows you until your legs break over the debt line. I used to spend everything, before the check even arrived. Now, I am stimulated by resisting my fav delicacies, the extra beauty clutter, the wrapped $6.00 soaps, luxury bath salts and body creams, and the RLauren sales. I love to walk into a shop and leave with the one essential item. As I’ve moved into a 300 square foot no-kitchen casita and rented out the house, there’s no room for new stuff. I live with art, music, a few books, and a bulky 32″ television. There is a mini frig that suits two bottles, three condiments, pre-washed lettuce, and sliced cold cuts. Love the condensible lifestyle–so far.

OUR BLOODY TIME IS OUT


Forget about gun control. That should have been resolved nine years ago.
Now! Start looking for bombs; where does billions of dollars go to?
How many agencies? How many meetings? How many laws passed?
How could you allow this to happen? Runner’sย  legs were amputated.

You told us, we were safe.

THE LEGEND LADY OF PALACE AVE


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The throw of the dice this week lands on adventures in livingness; one day at a time. People with terminal illness, suffering from a shattered romance, a death of a friend, a natural disaster, always say the same thing; One day at a time.

Walking up Palace Avenue on a day spread with sunlight, and a continuum of power walkers, bikers and runners, passing by in whiffs of urgency, I took my time. I didnโ€™t feel like flexing, just evaporating into the shadows, and the moving clouds. I walked by a little adobe, that once was a dump site for empty bottles, cartons, worn out furniture, and piles of wood. A year later, the yard is almost condominium clean. Just as I was passing the driveway, the little woman whom Iโ€™d seen walking up Palace with her bag of groceries, appeared like a gust of history in the driveway of her adobe casita. She wore her heavy blanket like coat and a bandanna on her head. Regardless of weather, sheโ€™s bundled up in the same woven Indian coat and long wool skirt. I stood next to her, a foot or so taller, and she unraveled history, without my prompting. She told me about the Martinez family, the Montoyas, and the Abeytas, all families she knew, all with streets named after them. Estelle asked me my name, and then took my hand in her weathered unyielding grip, โ€˜Oh I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.โ€™ She didnโ€™t let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names Iโ€™ve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. โ€˜You know how many houses the Garcias bought? Five! Then they fixed them up and sold them.โ€™

I could have stood there in the gravel driveway listening to Estelle all afternoon. She owns the oral history I love to record; but it is difficult to understand her, she talks with the speed of a southwest wind. We parted and I thought about the times in my life when the smallest of interactions elevates my spirit. In older people, who are not addicted to gadgets and distant intimacy, I’m reminded of how speed socializing has diminished the opportunity for a sidewalk chat.

ย 

DREAMS OF A FLAMINGO HOTEL WEDDING


On Sunday afternoon, while I was sitting in the bridal room at Neiman Marcus, I was in a head on collision with the past and the present. I was not in the bridal room to buy a wedding dress; I was there to store my mink coat. While I waited for a sales clerk, I imagined myself in the chic trench coat with diamond buttons hanging from the rack. If I did have to choose a bridal gown, it would have to be something unconventional, like my mother chose. She wore navy blue taffeta to her wedding. If I did get married, I would have to save my coins for a long time to pay for the reception. Where would I get married? At one time, I dreamt of the Bel Air Hotel, but that was in the 1970s. With inflation, the wedding would cost no less than $100,000 today. By the time, I saved that much, I would be 100 years old! Besides the hotel is not the same. The last time I dropped by, I was chased out of the river walk for taking photographs of the swans. Just before my father took ill in 1982, he told me my wedding would be at the Flamingo in Las Vegas. I remember it, as if it was yesterday. We were walking together in Holmby Park, where he walked his five miles everyday. Very often, he stopped at the public phone booth and made a few calls. He whispered so I could not hear his conversation. I know now he was laying his bets for the day. I waited on the green lawn watching the older men and women playing Croquette. When my father returned from the phone booth, he looked perturbed. That meant he lost money on that dayโ€™s sporting event. We walked a long time in heavy silence until he decided to break it.

โ€œYou know, Iโ€™m very proud of you.โ€ He said looking straight ahead.

โ€œYou are?โ€ I was stunned.

โ€œOf course I am! I hope you donโ€™t think any different. I have not said it often, because Iโ€™m coaching you all the time, so you will be independent, and know how to look after yourself, after Iโ€™m gone. I donโ€™t want you to fall into a rut with the wrong fellow, like so many women. It can ruin your whole life.โ€

โ€œBut I havenโ€™t accomplished anything really great…. like you.โ€

โ€œWhat the hell are you talking about!โ€ he stopped in the middle of the path. โ€œI made more mistakes than you ever could. Are you kidding sweetheart, I broke all the rules, and made some new ones, and Iโ€™ve paid. Like Iโ€™ve always said, you make your bed, and you lie in it. Iโ€™m proud of the career you made in real estate, without any help from me. Now you have to concentrate on the right fellow. When you do get around to finding the right one, weโ€™ll have the wedding at the Flamingo.

โ€œThe Flamingo? Do you still know people there?โ€ I asked timidly.

โ€œOf course, I was a major stockholder … at one time.โ€ Then he cleared his throat, and I wondered if he was choking on the memories. โ€œThatโ€™s where Mommy and I had our wedding reception.โ€ I thought of the photographs of Mommy cutting the white cake. It was the first time he ever mentioned my wedding. It was the first time, he seemed to say, okay find a fellow, and Iโ€™ll let you go. I sensed his detachment from everything around us except for me.

โ€œI would like that. How long has it been since you were there?โ€

โ€œI didnโ€™t want to set foot in that place after Bennyโ€ฆ (Benjamin Siegel) I didnโ€™t care if the whole place burnt to the ground. Thereโ€™s no reason why you canโ€™t have your wedding there. I can still arrange a few things.โ€

The vision of father, my future husband, and me was an aberration without incident or purpose at that age. However, he was dreaming that the day would come soon. When the sales clerk finally appeared, I was glazed over, in some marbled state of melancholy, clutching the mink coat on my lap. The mink is the oldest garment in my closet. My father gave it to me in 1978.

Itโ€™s as if it happened yesterday. My father called one Saturday and asked me to meet him at Mannis Furs in Beverly Hills. When I arrived, my father was seated in a chair, facing a three-way mirror. Manny rushed over to greet me. โ€œThis is my daughter, Luellen, โ€œManny bowed and kissed my hand. In the other hand, he was holding a mink jacket. โ€œTry it on for size,โ€ my father ordered. I hesitated, and looked at him for explanation. It never occurred to me I would be trying on mink coats. He was always asking me to meet him in shops, and restaurants. He held meetings wherever he knew people, so I assumed he had a meeting with Manny.

โ€œGo onโ€”try it on. I didnโ€™t say I was buying it, I just want to see what it looks like.โ€ Manny tucked me into the mink coat, and pulled the waist sash through. He stroked the fur up and down, and then I did the same. The coat was solid, like a cloth wall that buried my body in warmth. I stood before the mirror and watched the transformation.

โ€œTurn around, โ€œmy father ordered. I took a few steps in a half circle and slipped my hands into the pockets, and turned around slowly as Iโ€™d seen my mother do. Suddenly his eyes welled up with tears and he took out his handkerchief.

โ€œIf you dressed in a proper outfit and not those silly jeans all the time, you might look like something!โ€ he barked.

โ€œWell I didnโ€™t know Iโ€™d be trying on minks today.โ€

โ€œWhat the hell did you think youโ€™d be trying on, pianos? For crying out loud! โ€œI donโ€™t know what youโ€™re thinking sometimes. Take it off.โ€ Manny untied the sash and took the coat. My father was in a mood, it was my fault again. I shouldnโ€™t have worn jeans. Why did he start crying? Manny disappeared, and my father stood in front of the mirror to affirm his reflection. After he took off in his Cadillac, I stood in front of Mannyโ€™s and looked at the mink coats. He never mentioned it again, but I knew the coat was going to show up one day. Six or seven months after that first meeting at Mannis, the mink appeared at Chanukah.

โ€œDaddy, this is so extravagant, I wonโ€™t have any where to wear it.โ€

โ€œOh yes you will! Just wait and see. If you quit going out with those misfits and find yourself a decent fella youโ€™ll have numerous occasions. Thatโ€™s the reason why I gave it to you, so donโ€™t misuse it!โ€

When I left Neimanโ€™s I was drenched in his memory. The mink coat has outlived all of my possessions. Every time I put it on, Iโ€™m reminded of his wisdom. Itโ€™s not the expense or signature status. When I put it on, I feel transformed. I discovered the bill of sale from Mannyโ€™s, and the balance due, after my father died. I called Manny and asked him for more time, to pay it off. He told me to forget about it, my father had brought in so much business to the store.

Last year I called Manny to see if I could have the coat remade into a vest; as the sleeves were too short.ย  ย ” It’ll cost you the same as the mink,”ย  he told me.ย ย I had the holes repaired, and the coat glazed and will pack it in the suitcase for the trip to New York, now thrity two years later with a decent fella.