Weaving together events witnessed personally and those gleaned from friends, associates, historians, FOIPA, INS and archives of the Department of Justice, author Luellen Smileyโs memoir is a brief, heartfelt genuine reconstruction of familyโs relationships of the past that neither dwells on nor dramatizes the true image of her father Allen Smiley, his allegiance to Benjamin โBugsyโ Siegel and the criminal world.
Author Luellen Smiley details her childhood and growing up days as a gangsters daughter- elusive as it may be by immersing her readers through intriguing happenings of everyday and events of the bygone years that justify her fathers masked behavior and restrictions for his adored daughter.
Definitelyย โCradle of Crime: A Daughterโs Tributeโย is a straight forward homage to a father and a triumphant tale of a daughter who broke barriers of secrets to reach the hardcore reality through her hardship and research.ย A not-to-be missed 5 star readย โCradle of Crime: A Daughterโs Tributeโย is a book for those who care for family morals and values and are willing to accept poignant twists in one setting. Highly recommended.
YES, I AM LEAVING. SIX YEARS LATER. I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE 1 YEAR, BUT WHAT WE PLAN GOES INTO THE CIRCUMSTANCE BLENDER, AND I, MAYBE YOU, COME OUT SHREDDED, UNTIL WE LEARN HOW TO REMIX OUR CONDIMENTS FOR THE FUTURE. The year the village adopted my slogan, Village of Friends
Six years ago, this week, I left my studio on Devon Ave, a shrink-wrapped space that forged me outdoors. I landed in Ballston Spa, NY, to save my home from foreclosure. I felt a contrast within and without. The without were the winters. Iโd not lived here since 2003, youthful adaptation overwhelmed the bitterness of winter. The within, my mind, heart, and spirit went through a seasonal transformation. Winters, the snowplowing season when I am on duty to ensure tenants and nieghbors can walk on my sidewalk(owners are reponsible in the village) without breaking a leg and then suing me. Writing is the dominant activity, between, cooking, checking the sump pumps, talking on the phone with friends three thousand miles away, and managing tenants. Once I learned the house was two months behind on the mortgage, turmoil, the servicers bounced me around with false information, misconduct and refused the full balance when I offered. Covid postponed the payments for a year, and so did the New York financial agency. I filed the complaint against PHH, and they pressured PPH to abort the foreclosure for another year. Almost all my income went to restoring the house, replacing mechanical parts, painting, and repairs.
One day in February of 2020, a man knocked on my door and handed me the foreclosure documents. So began six years of legal research, interviewing attorneys, and defending myself against the predator, who sought to destroy my life, every angle of it. I canโt name this person; Iโm in writing witness protection. Seriously.
Itโs Christmas day, and the lobby of the hotel is empty. I think there are seven guests, and most of the cheerful staff are off. The sun broke through, so I’ll wander around the property. It’s 28 degrees, I adapted physically but not emotionally.
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 didnโt 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 Iโd 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, sheโs 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, โOh I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.โ She didnโt let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names Iโve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. โYou 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
Iโm one of you. ย Adrift, without a direction, waiting on the shore for a wave to break and include us. It is not ho ho ho for us, it is whoa whoa whoa. Iโve learned my lesson; I will not repeat the dissonance, selfishness, and fear that prevent me from engagement with life. ย My cradle of friends is my family. They want everything to work out. For their patience and comfort, I will not let them down!
How much stronger must I be? Isnโt five years of punishment enough? My smile is feigned, my heart is sliced in two, and my spirit is spoiled. Today, the darkness outside and within shatters what could be a day different. I could be outdoors, and brave the cold, work out in the gym, window shop on a whim, and fill someoneโs frown with smiles.
I have the hours to transform; it is eleven am, but I havenโt slept a night through in a week or more. I live a melodramatic life in my dreams; they are symbolic messages of my vulnerability, fragility, mistakes, and unrealistic expectations. My former self lived with all I wanted and needed. I woke with enthusiasm, direction, confidence, and exhilaration. I loved and was loved in return. You ask what happened? Betrayal, and then gaslighting, using callous actions, of destruction, emotionally, psychologically, and financially. What I cherished in him vanished, and a ghostly evil power, within another woman, chained him and locked me out.
Now I wait for the final curtain to close so that he will be a memory instead of a menace. Almost there, but will that liberation convert my stagnation into stimulation?
Hope, prayer, discipline, and forgiveness are the weights that build my strength. And of course writing. If I didnโt have this way of expression, I couldnโt have made it this far. My writing is my wand of magic, for me and I hope for you out there. Iโm one of you, an outsider, an introverted extrovert, a dreamer, a risk taker, and at the starting gate of my triple crown. To be continued.
ย ย She closed the shutters to his wanting eyes and alchemized from a cocoon to a butterfly beneath a circle of friends in tune.ย She removed the photos, gifts, and letters and put them in a box to reminisce later. Talking out loud, “She takes just like a woman,โ but she will not break like a little girl. โNo more hours fanning the past; on this day, my view spans.โย She sat peacefully by the fire into the night and let her broken wing sing as she watched the wood turn to gold. ย
IโD LIKE TO RIDE A CLAIRVOYANT CIRCUIT INTO THE MINDS OF SINGLES OVER THE AGE OF SEVENTY.
I’ve often wondered why advertisements, the media, and politicians don’t address the single segment of society. We don’t hear the beginning of a statement, whether it is legislative, political, social, or cultural. Singles around the country are not traveling, purchasing more products, refusing to get vaccinated, and are unemployedโฆetc. We are a minority class; I found statistics on The UnmarriedAmerican.org website. More searching led me to the American Association for Single People website.
Iโm not going to make a huge leap into this as my thoughts are more about adventures in singleness.
This conversation is from a close friend, married for twenty-some years.
โYou are so lucky you have no idea. If I were single, I’d move somewhere where life is simple, maybe Greece.โ
โYou donโt know about the loneliness, the awkwardness of holidays, the fear when you get sick and have no one to care for you, so many things really.
โI can think better when Iโm alone.โ
I told her I understood. That is the crucifix of making my pen my mate rather than a three-dimensional man( Temporary singleness). Some of my interactions go like this; going out to dinner, โAre you alone?โ She or he leads you to the most obscure table. Then she or he removes the second table setting and suddenly aloneness is visible. An hour later another customer asks if they can use the spare chair. Thatโs when I ask for the check and leave.
Taking a road trip and feeling vulnerable when Iโm pumping the gasoline and a stranger is gawking at me and Iโm in the middle of nowhere. It is usually truck drivers and I immediately think of Thelma and Louise.
Dressing for an event that I’ve never been to on my own. In my closet, I lay out three different outfits. Then I have a wary of decisions on which shoes, flats or heels. When Iโm all dressed and ready to go self-consciousness billows up and I change the outfit. Itโs a ridiculously amusing routine.
Taking myself out for a cocktail just to get out of the hotel has numerous consequences. I end up sitting next to couples who are having a roaring twenties time of it, and the only single man or woman at the bar is fixated on their phone. Instead, the woman next to me strikes up a conversation about her boyfriend.
The other side of these dismal forecasts is; I have no arguments at home (just interior dialogue), I can eat whenever I choose, watch what I elect on television, keep the bedroom light on, adjust the thermostat to my body temperature, and make all the decisions myself, the most infuriating and worthwhile to building courage and self-reliance.
One of the lines in The Godfather struck me as an authentic gangster testimonial: โWomen and children can afford to be careless, men cannot.”ย ย As a teenager one of the repetitive reminders my father said angrily was, โWatch what youโre doing!โย This was the most relevant and truthful observation he made of me. Admittedly, I am easily distracted, careless, and ignore risk.
Without someone to look after my carelessness (Iโve been on my own now for six years), one three-month friendship ended strangely. When he asked me if I had been boosted, I said I hadn’t. He punished me, citing his father, who lives hours away, and he rarely visits. I had Covid, vaccinated twice, that wasn’t enough, so he vaccinated me out. Now, living in hotels I find men talking to me, but the substance is absent, trivia or weather. I have inducted my interests, literature, art, philosophy, culture, travel, and those subjects return, a glazed stare most times, or they are married. I am not in a rush, I’ve learned that scaredness comes when I’m ready… guess I’m not ready yet!
I used to sit on the stoop in front of my Los Angeles studio. The dog walkers, gardeners, and residents formed the stage, with a backdrop of high-rise, two-million-dollar condominiums and vacant concrete terraces. From that, thoughts randomly tapped: I wish I owned that, wish I had that car, wish I had that garden. It is amusing how one’s view can determine one’s thoughts.
In Ballston Spa, where I lived the last six years, homes are two-hundred years old, or newly built to emulate the Victorian era. The automobile is sturdy, practical, and unwaxed. The way of this wonderment brings simplicity into my life. There’s no need to dress up and fit in; itโs the opposite here, dress down to fit in, or, like me, a combination. I am omitted, observed, and questioned, because, well, I never learned the answer to that, until this moment. Locals love locals, and I have never been one.
“Iย amย anย excitableย personย whoย onlyย understandsย lifeย lyrically, ย musically,ย inย whomย feelingsย areย muchย strongerย thanย reason.” ANAIS NIN
When I see a crippled person, a struggling Senior with a walker, or when I read the stories of the hostages, my blessings are embellished, and I remind myself of this. Maybe this entire episodic journey is to teach me to get outside myself.ย Joy is not power, wealth, or attention; that is plainly human. Genuine joy interrupts someoneโs suffering and transforms their mood and sensibilities.ย
All the success that opened doors in my life paddled inย from friends, strangers, and just incidental connections. ย We canโt do it alone, as much as I foolishly try to carry my wheelbarrow without direction and sound advice, this is where it took me. I identify with the outsiders who peddle the steps of solitude and sometimes donโt reckon with their culture, people, or conformities.ย ย ย
ย Winter announced! First ladylike snow because I can still wear my loafers and jeans.ย
I say this as politely as possible: Government stay away from my Genie. The annoyance of conflicting orders robs me of my Aladdin (magic moments). Mental sedation is needed while I edit my next book. I’ve been advised to delete 40,000 words from the 141,780 manuscript. Over three days I deleted 2300 words. My new friend Rose, says, ‘Chop chop, you can do it!” ย
I feel like time is stained with interior stoplights, obstructions, and restrictions, within and without. ย What happens is subtle, but when so much time is spent on soulless activities, life loses its Aladdin.ย Even if youโre sitting on the beach at Turk and Caicos, dining al fresco with perfectly agreeable friends, and swirling in jets of aromatic succulents, I think our souls ache for simple genuine, honesty. ย
The course we choose to study doesnโt begin in school; it begins the moment we recognize that life is our teacher. I chose the course of love between a man and a woman. Yet all Iโve learned from Anais Nin, Joan Didion, and Lawrence Durrell about love isnโt guiding me. I have to start over and develop wisdom from my own experiences.
I checked into the third hotel, the previous one was tedious and murky. This morning in a larger room, on a crisp as iceberg lettuce, a day of clarity and stillness surrounds me. Outside my hotel room, the light is intermittent, a peak a boo stage window, the light illuminates portions of the crispy autumn leaves just before they drop. On my side of the glass, there are shadows and dissonance.ย ย What events take place this week will be instrumental in my future and as piercing as the southwest sun when it shone in my eyes. ย ย
This hotel’s staff is exceptionally friendly, conversant, and engaged in their jobs. Every time I pass by the guest check-in, Rose stops what sheโs doing.
โ Howโs it going?โ
โToo early to tell.โ Iโve been here a week, and I unzipped my lawsuit story, so she is in the know. She is knowledgeable about the law, and living through times that are more threatening than usual.
โ Okay. What are you doing today?โ
โ Researching moving companies. Critical thinking and planning. When I moved from Santa Fe to Los Angeles, I hired a broker, thinking it was the actual company. When the van arrived, half of my things were broken, boxes were opened, and some were stolen. So this time, no mistakes.
โ Mistakes are all about learning.โ
โ Yes, and I learned!โ
โ What did you do last night?โ She said with a curious smile.
โ I was at the bar, Lizzie was there rousing all of us up with puzzles, a brouhaha like the old days, you know, not one of us looked at our phones.โ
โ Please, donโt even start. So annoying when youโre talking to someone and they are staring down at their phones.โ
โ When I was living in LA, at huge four-way intersections in the middle of traffic, pedestrians crossed without even looking up. It was the same everywhere, restaurants, shops, it struck me as a way of looking very significant.โ
โ Youโre so right!โ
โ That reminds me, I need to go write a column.โ
โ Write about your lawsuit.โ
โ No! Iโm in witness protection writing.โ
โ They may read it right?โ
โ You New Yorkers are always on the right key.โ
โ Gotta be, itโs New York.โ
” I’m California”.
” That’s okay, I still love you, and your day is coming, and so is a new man.”
”
Entertainment website ยท Marketing agency ยท Advertising agency ๐งโฝฃ๐ ๐
The inner voice where gaps of expression are liberated.
Funny Blogs With A Hint Of Personal Development
Become a Travel Journalist!
It's just banter
Larry Harnisch Reflects on L.A. History
Escaping reality or facing reality.
Saratoga Springs, New York - Arthur Gonick, Editor
Space, Travel, Technology, 3D Printing, Energy, Writing
Live Your Dreams Don`t Dream Your Life
Even a bad guy can have redeeming qualities
Style, Books and Life with Hermione Flavia.
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER / IGNORANCE IS BLISS - YOU DECIDE
Author of the Avery Shepard Detective Mystery Series
For Readers and Writers
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.
Entertainment website ยท Marketing agency ยท Advertising agency ๐งโฝฃ๐ ๐
The inner voice where gaps of expression are liberated.
Funny Blogs With A Hint Of Personal Development
Become a Travel Journalist!
It's just banter
Larry Harnisch Reflects on L.A. History
Escaping reality or facing reality.
Saratoga Springs, New York - Arthur Gonick, Editor
Space, Travel, Technology, 3D Printing, Energy, Writing
Live Your Dreams Don`t Dream Your Life
Even a bad guy can have redeeming qualities
Style, Books and Life with Hermione Flavia.
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER / IGNORANCE IS BLISS - YOU DECIDE
Author of the Avery Shepard Detective Mystery Series
For Readers and Writers
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.
ADVENTURERS IN SINGLE LIVINGNESS 