RAINY DAY REMEMBRANCE


Published in The Saratogian April 1, 2001

With last names like Smiley and Funk, you know thereโ€™s bound to be something creative going on in the imaginations of this Ballston Spa duo. The couple, both natives of San Diego, Calif., purchased a house at 63 East High St. last May. Luellen Smiley and Rudy Funk have turned a once-ramshackle 1860โ€™s structure, now known as The Follies House, into three furnished apartments oozing with zany charm. Smileyโ€™s brochure touts the place as a โ€œplayful vacation residence designed to inspire.โ€ On the wide front porch, a sign offers visitors โ€œFree Records,โ€ paying homage to one apartmentโ€™s main decorative inspiration: classic stage musicals. Called the Broadway suite, its walls are adorned with record covers, programs, ballet slippers and even a dance costume. There are dice on the end tables, a life-sized poster of Humphrey Bogart, colorful paper parasols and peacock feathers. For tenants who bring their own films, thereโ€™s a projector screen and, tucked into an alcove, a working Victrola. Vintage Broadway memorabilia is everywhere. Then thereโ€™s the nearly ceiling-height replica of a bass guitar. โ€œThis was actually a costume someone wore,โ€ said Smiley, pointing out the head and arm holes. โ€œThese are the kinds of things we like, the really unusual and unheard of.โ€ Growing up in California, Smiley aspired to be a dancer and maintained an interest in the arts.

THE FOLLIES HOUSE

In recent years, she became keen on the idea of renovating and decorating an older home, although the village of Ballston Spa was not first on her list. โ€œWhen we first came here, I wanted to be in Saratoga, and when I drove through Ballston Spa I said, โ€˜Iโ€™d never want to live here,โ€โ€˜ Smiley said. โ€œBut then we rented here, and I didnโ€™t want to go back on the road. We loved this street. We think this village is really starting to happen.โ€ The couple went to work feverishly last spring to ready the apartments in time for the track season. While not a bed and breakfast, the apartments are designed for temporary tenants โ€” people new to the area or vacationers. Smileyโ€™s off-season rates are $800 a month for the Broadway Suite and $700 for the Boomers Pad. The one-bedroom Boomers Pad is designed with vintage โ€™50s and โ€™60s furniture. Smiley said she and Funk combed area antique shops, including those in the village, for many of the offbeat pieces, including the vinyl records and oversized pink sofa. The houseโ€™s history mirrors the eclectic style the couple has brought to the home. โ€œIt was built by a man actually named Dr. Doolittle as a wedding present for his daughter,โ€ Smiley said. โ€œYou can see the little touches everywhere. There are butterflies and sun rays carved into the woodworking and doorknobs. Itโ€™s a love house. It was built with love.โ€ Smiley said she and Funk have combed files at Brookside History Center looking for old photographs of the house in order to decide what color to repaint the facade. โ€œThe exterior of the house is next on our list, and while we havenโ€™t located any photographs, weโ€™re thinking pastels,โ€ Smiley said. โ€œInside, we used a lot of pistachio and pink.โ€ While Funk commutes to and from California for business purposes, the pair weathered their first winter this year, relying on the kindness of neighbors for jobs like snow-blowing. โ€œWeโ€™ve never seen winters like this,โ€ Smiley said. โ€œIโ€™m from the other side of the world. But this is a very supportive community. Thatโ€™s one of the things we love about the village.โ€

Smiley has immersed herself in the closely-knit community, joining the Ballston Spa Business & Professional Association, the local chamber of commerce, and helping promote an upcoming Art Walk. The Follies House recently was given a beautification award for significant improvements during the past year. In her brochure for potential tenants, Smiley points out area highlights including the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and destinations within the village, such as the museums, the glassworks studio, Art Ink., and the new gallery and loft spaces on Low Street. Smiley said she also recommends people take a stroll along East High Street, a historic district known for its Victorian homes. โ€œIโ€™ve seen little villages, big villages โ€” but what I see here is the most beautiful village,โ€ Smiley said. โ€œThe potential is here. Thereโ€™s a sense of magic here and the transformation will happen. Iโ€™m certain of that.โ€

Author

Cari Scribner

Drizzle Thoughts


The embryo of thought. Sometimes it is negligible, as is life.  I am the puzzle maker and every time I try to carve the right size square, I fall off the board and have more material to write about. The puzzle is so vast that it covers our lifetime and the pieces are the choices, and non-choices that fit into themes.  My life, is like a melody, a Gershwin tune. As a dancer and prancer at heart, my feet are my hands, and my hands are my heart. Drizzling rain is relative to thoughts on a Saturday; a few thoughts for my book, assembling the bedroom fan, calling friends, a walk with my umbrella to live in rain, answering emails, and those hypnotic Film Noir Classics on Utube. When world news disables self-absorbency, it’s a relief, I hold hands with whatever keeps me alive.

HONESTY-REMEMBER


Except from a work in progress.

Greta dressed in pink jeans, a pink striped polo shirt, and low-heeled pumps. As she opened the door she thought, and said out loud one step to go. She flipped down the top of her car to ride visible, a sort of rehearsal to adjust to the main street on a Saturday afternoon. Storm clouds churned and after checking the weather channel, rain coming in one hour, Greta closed the convertible and went back indoors. Not truly disappointed as sheโ€™d stayed up till three am watching the Shooter series on Netflix and woke at eight.

(I use the name Greta in my manuscript because of this, my father repeatedly scolded me when I said, I want to be alone, he replied, ‘Who do you think you are Greta Garbo?’)

Journal June 10th.

The street was quiet except for the barking dogs so I sat down to write, and let the paper stare back blankly. I switched over to Facebook and viewed my feed, the Rolling Stones, Italy Travel, Artnews, Creative Non-Fiction, Emily Luxton Travels, and Jazz photography. Voyeurism, the normalcy of our culture, to watch life from a screen, I’m guilty because I’m at heart a loner, a drifter that moves on the outskirts of socialization. When discourse and confrontation knock at my door, I go dormant to the world outside. My mask is not convincing, So, I bear up, like today, and take nature as my friend; a patch of blue, gray skies, the sun tea cup surprise, the birds and chipmunks on my lawn, and the occasional passersby who are living in their world. At seventy only two lines matter: I’m proud of you, and you could have done better. HONESTY.

POP-UP FRIDAY FOLLIES


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SANTA FE-WINE & CHILI FESTIVAL, A MEMORY LIKE CEMENT.


THE MEMORIES are fading, like images floating through a mist, not just of Dodger but the life pre-break-up, a carousal of my favorite places; swimming, hiking, running, new restaurants, gallery openings, shopping, concerts, clubs, dancing in the street and our porch parties, but I cannot remember the state of grateful, emerging in the vortex of sensations, stimulation, surprise.

Do we ever return to that kind of forever spectrum, as if it will never end, and then it does, and we cannot go back. Itโ€™s not too late to feel grateful, fortunate, and lucky to have lived so many acts of my choice.

May be an image of 6 people

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5Carolyn Gootgeld-Levine, Erika Marie Schwalbach and 3 others


POP-UP THOUGHT ON A RAINY THURSDAY.

Direction is a choice; move back home, move near your children, move for a job, but in my case, I move because my act in Saratoga will come to a close. I’m like a blank space between two paragraphs; it sounds like freedom, no commitments other than being the best I can be. Starting over in a new location is about redesigning within.

Iโ€™m still a nomad, searching for adventuresinlivingness. As I lay my head down on my pillow, the interim is asking me to be peaceful, faithful, and confident. Itโ€™s about time!

Reminds me of when I went off to college, a liberating extension of those early days when belonging to things didn’t matter, life mattered. If you are single and without children, this is the knife that we must slice into a piece we accept, or no peace will lull us to sleep.

ON THE ROAD FROM SOMEWHERE TO SOMEWHERE, I CAN’T REMEMBER. MAYBE SANTA FE TO SAN DIEGO.

May be an image of road, nature and sky

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ACADEMY AWARDS


Academy of Loulou Awards. All of you that respond to my nuanced writings are awarded. A Star award for a few that push my cart.

Marc Romano, Historian, J’amie Rubio, author, and archivist, Antonio Mendoza for the best photographs of the Rolling Stones, Alison Martino for Vintage LA, Rare Jazz Photos for the best photographs of Jazz, Eric Dezenhall real friend and author, Cynthia Duncan, my consiglieri, Santa Fe Bulletin Board to bring back the memories, Scott Varley, the best real estate broker I ever met in 25 years, Las Vegas Mafia History… I’ll think of more later. Warren and Annette Hull, filmmakers, Danielle Haynes, an angelic warrior who joined my battle, William Winant, a high schoolmate and acclaimed musician who remembers me, Larry Henry, torch-carrier of Mafia history and Greg Price, my UK 911 call, along with Gloria Devan, Tere Tereba and Armen Ozaynan who settles me down. Friends, when you are single, are food for the soul.

Del Mar, Ca.May be an image of 1 person, standing, coast, sky and ocean

RELOCATION…SENIORS


My direction is following Lawrence Durrell, โ€œSpirit of the Place,โ€ and living where I would never expect to live.ย I wish I could control my impractical, impulsive, and annoying spirit of adventure. I think about architecture, Jewish deli’s, Italian restaurants, at one movie theater built in the 1930s, and neighborhoods of unfamiliar lighting, expressions, and conversations. Gambling on yourself is how much you can adapt, change, influence, and accept the days of your life.

In my syndicate, there must be a dozen pals with the same unsolved equation. Is it age that blocks me and maybe you from relocation, or is it the trauma and stress? What liberation to just pack a suitcase and board a plane like in the movies. Separation from the familiar. The spirit of adventure has arrived. My home sold and so relocation isn’t a muse any longer, it’s reality. Today, coincidently is Independence day and so am I. It is a day of nostalgia. The Rudster painting Follies. It took two summers to remove the aluminum siding, scrape, caulk, prime, and paint my chosen seven colors to resemble a wedding cake. Mr. Doolittle built the home in 1883 as a wedding present for his daughter.

The Rudster painting Follies. It took two summers to remove the aluminum siding, scrape, caulk, prime, and paint my chosen seven colors to resemble a wedding cake. Mr Doolittle built the home in 1883 for his daughter as a wedding present.

FAITHFULLY BELIEVE IN THE DEVINE.


Saturday, a blurry sky like fogged glasses, the temperature down to thirty, and all the counters cloroxed after a Pest control visit for a mouse in the kitchen OF my one hundred and thirty -five- year old home. Unabashed OCD about cleanliness; picture me with a broom, paper towels and, a bottle of Windex or bleach every other day. I am now tiptoeing into the kitchen in anticipation of a mouse and cooking with the vent on so they donโ€™t smell the food. The servicer, Big Bill, like a door to a cathedral gave me all the tips on how to warn them off till they do the exclusions next week.

How I have changed, planning to watch the Daytona 500 tomorrow? Never have done that in my life. One news interview with a race car driver persuaded my senses to watch, they are athletes, of a kind, racing a car at over a TWO-hundred mile an hour next to twenty-something other competitors. I have not watched because of the accidents and deaths, not unlike horseraces, the end is not always celebratory, but I will watch because it’s a new experience.

This pop-up thought came to me; some people follow the direction of security and stability, I chose the direction of reinvention experience like, I knew more than what has been proven over centuries;  family, career consistency, saving for retirement, and moderation- which I never had. I also decided I am not going to wring my nerves into revulsion over where will I move? Not allowed to muse on that;  believe, have faith, and just concentrate on each day.

GASLIGHTING AND RECOVERY


โ† Back

Thank you for your response. โœจ

He’s digging my grave
For the dragon he pays
With our nest, now shaved
Tumbling into the abyss
I visit the comfort robes of the past
Monogrammed in stone

The will to relive what’s past comes at night

And must be excluded by daylight.

Of HUMAN BONDAGE

The sky hasnโ€™t decided if it will let clouds overturn the sun, and I havenโ€™t decided if I will pack the stack of books on the floor. No, I donโ€™t feel the drive to lift and organize, my bed is warm and the house is not as warm.

I brought my coffee and peanut butter and honey toast upstairs, on a tray, I happen to collect trays, reminiscent of times when women ate breakfast in bed. Propped upright, I explored a movie about uneven love, tragedy, and resurrection. Of Human Bondage lit my taste, featuring Bette Davis and Leslie Howard. —– FILM MADE IN 1930 IN GRISLY BLACK & WHITE. Uneven love.
Days now remind me of reading 1984 in high school, and Fahrenheit 451 on film. We did evolve from a simplistic, hand-carved culture, built on rebars of freedom to a house full of furniture, relics, gadgets, screens, gates, and beeps. The beeps for me, make me jumpy, not seductively strolling around my apartment lighting candles in peace. I really do shimmy every time I hear the beep.
I chose Sunday to shut down all communication with the mainland, take the longest bath I can stand, and write. I need a rest, like a chaise lounge on a spacious veranda with honeysuckle, wisteria, and lavender, and then a mile away is the ocean, let me swim again.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I feel artists, and their works are not featured in the media, or maybe it’s because my scrolling is stuck on the essentials of living. In times of war, people must have known, see it now or never. Over two million working artists in the country, so google says, and when was the last time you discussed it at dinner, with anyone. I haven’t, and I don’t know why? Pop-up thoughts on life.

 

ADOLESCENCE OR ADULT


Remember when you opened the door to your own car and took hold of the steering wheel without any parental supervision. As a teen, my Chevrolet Impala was a haven away from my father. I rolled all the windows down, turned the volume up on the radio, and smoked. My secret joy was hoping the driver next to me would hear the music and notice me. If he was a suitable face I turned around and bobbed my head. Then, just as he looked over at me, I turned away, and looked in the rearview mirror, or sang my heart out to show off brazen behavior, the kind I couldn’t express at home. There was a sense of freedom from examination and explanation. When I drove my spinning Impala that leaped over road bumps in three waves, I was going somewhere alone.


ย It was the only self-contained space my father wasn’t attached to, and he didn’t like driving with me, because he didn’t like me being in control. That is the sensation that life brings to us in volumes as teens; explosions of discovery. Today I donโ€™t experience that sweat of discovery; my life is deodorized. Remembering the sensations I felt as a teenager, reminds me to intertwine more challenges
. If Iโ€™m lucky to break through all the percentages of disease, that the late-night commercials warn me of, the edge of my rhythm is asking me to make a commitment; to put the Bo’ Jangles back in my steps. I heard the voice yesterday, almost a whisper, asking me why I exclude long-term commitments: joining groups, classes, associations, serving on committees, planning ahead, and even magazine subscriptions are not worth the trouble because I am always planning on moving.

The answer always comes in the photographs that bring back that moment in time, and the immediate recollection of the internal places I moved from venturing into the unknown.
Many years ago, I was in therapy, and in one discussion, this discourse occurred that I considered an awakening then.
โ€œI think you jump into unknown places, and situations, to test yourself, and you do that because that is what your father did most of his life.โ€
That is what adolescent behavior is meant for, to learn by experiment, to see how far our strength of character will take us.ย  We each have a different set of alarms and temptations. Why compare what one has to the other? My path is familiar to me, I am a born mistress of unfamiliarity; the quest for discovery keeps me moving.

FORMER HOME IN SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO 2015

As a teenager, I remember the most remarkable configuration of images, that passed by while I was driving, the faces of shopping mothers walking the streets of Beverly Hills and Westwood, the prostitutes positioned along one section of Sunset Boulevard, and their counterpart degenerate gin-soaked soul mates inched up against abandoned buildings, the Ocean Park joggers, and walkers, and picnickers, waving to each other, as they slapped together hard-boiled egg and tuna sandwiches. Like a playroom without walls for Europeans and senior citizens to elope with each other. I didnโ€™t favor one street life over another, they all made sense to me.

Living in the Northeast calls for pragmatic and sensible strides. I’m still learning how to tame my lust for unpreparedness; like going out without an umbrella, leaving delicate brick a brac on the porch, driving with caution for deer, rabbits, and turtles, maintaining a close eye on the water in the basement, and dressing down so I don’t look like I’m from Los Angeles.ย  Every day is experimental in some way.ย  I don’t know how long I’ll be here, maybe that is how I like it.

THANKSGIVING THREE TIMES A YEAR


Iโ€™ve adopted a savant to facilitate making decisions. I donโ€™t want to use the word hate, itโ€™s useless, but this time I will, I hate making decisions. Whether to go out for dinner, or go to one of villages’ festivals, parades, or events, they rake up events during the winter to keep us off drugs. This weekend was a ย village-wide Friday sale for shopping, the lighted tractor parade, and appetizers at all the shops in town. Sounded pleasurable and Iโ€™m proud of the village to induct us into a community of we care about you.ย  I didnโ€™t go, but I did go out for Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant Iโ€™d never been to, festive crowded, and the tempting buffet twinkled like the first time Iโ€™d seen decorated food. Itโ€™s been five years since Iโ€™ve gone out for Thanksgiving so the jubilee of food was a bit musical.ย  I ordered a glass of wine at the bar, the only customer as everyone had reserved tables for grandparents and children and the roar was melodious. My order to go would wait, the celebratory ambiance shattered my loneliness. The bartender, Jovida was like a lightbulb, she kept coming over to me maybe three times asking me polite questions, have you been here before, you must come on the weekends we have live music, while youโ€™re having your wine can I bring you something from the buffet. I wondered if Iโ€™d be charged, she noticed my hesitation and said, No charge. So I choose smoked salmon, capers, onion, and horseradish. On m wish list if Iโ€™m allowed to eat in heaven, along with Gruyere cheese, tacos, salad, and croissants. ย The bliss, was a sandwich of bustling eager activity, laughter, and the children. ย I remember our family Thanksgiving when my parents were divorced and we went to Nanaโ€™s home in San Fernando Valley, through that old tunnel. My motherโ€™s mother is full-flecked Irish so the dinner was grand, and she was a dedicated cooking slave.ย  She made mashed potatoes like Iโ€™ve never tasted since, and homemade pies, everything spiced with Nanaโ€™s kinship with making the family love her.

ย ย ย ย ย  I left the restaurant after an hour later with a jubilant bag of turkey, fixings, and pumpkin pie. I found my seat on the bedroom sofa, and watched, โ€˜ The Trainโ€™ with Burt Lancaster.ย  My thoughts were rested, abated for the whole evening, and then the next day, turkey revenge. I could not get out of bed, eat, or think. So I said to myself, itโ€™s okay to do nothing and so I watched a romantic comedy, โ€˜ Cardboard Husband,โ€™ with Norma Sherer and Robert Taylor, removed three-year-old lipstick and liners, shopped online without buying, saved for later my way of shopping. Then I threw the dice and I got seven. That is where my decisions are now made. If I donโ€™t get a seven with seven throws, I donโ€™t go out or make a decision. If I get it once- Iโ€™m on! It was a perfect day for thanks. I think we should have a Thanksgiving Holiday three or four times a year.