Category: Life

WHERE DID SHE GO?

~ LouLou ~ 4 Comments

I feel myself crossing the double yellow line,

into the lane of a demon woman and full of hellish fire. It is the line that divides those that still care from those that just, whatever.  

Never thought I’d be a don’t care, no dreamer, no hope woman
but I am there.  What is God telling me? What is the message?

Why am I meeting pitiful people? Do they reflect me?
Do they mimic me? Do breasts mean everything?
Was my youth my only charm?

Why are men blocking instead of
buying me drinks?

Why do they
prick, instead of prune?

Only when they are detonated with insults do they respond.
Is the strong female driven Hollywood character
emblazoning every commercial, film, ad, and song
Stolen the testosterone?

I am going to look for the eighties woman I was. She was

full of laughter, confidence, romance and aspiration.

DSC00130-1

ONE DAY AT A TIME

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Reader View: Random chats make life sweeter

 

Reader View: Random chats make life sweeter Luellen “LouLou” Smiley

 

 

Posted: Saturday, June 8, 2013 10:00 pm

 

By Luellen “LouLou” Smiley | 0 comments

 

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 didn’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 I’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, she’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, “Oh, I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.” She didn’t let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names I’ve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. “You know how many houses they bought? Five! Then they fixed them up and sold them.”

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.

Luellen “LouLou” Smiley is a creative nonfiction writer and award-winning newspaper columnist.

 

 

 

Posted in on Saturday, June 8, 2013 10:00 pm.

 

 

)


 

LAS VEGAS WHEN WE WERE YOUNG

~ LouLou ~ 3 Comments

I wasn’t allowed in the Copa when the Rat Pack performed; I listened to the uproar

The Sands 1963
The Sands 1963 (Photo credit: D’oh Boy (Mark Holloway))

from outside the door, and caught a glimpse when Uncle Jack let someone in. It was a wild charade of slapstick, improvisation, and politically incorrect slurs, swearing and insults, all dressed up in comedic song and dance.

That’s how I remembered Las Vegas. When I returned for the grand opening of the Mob Experience Las Vegas,  I bounced into the spot lights, press conferences,

introductions, and interviews in a shiny aquamarine pants suit, I hadn’t worn in six years. Congregating with the sons and daughters of my Dad’s associates, who were raised in a similar fashion of privilege and secrecy, was my homecoming to

Las Vegas. There I was, speaking into a microphone about my father, who obsessed over me, as I was now doing in Las Vegas. What was the importance of this seventeen year battle? To re write history that was written about him, by people who never even met him. They couldn’t get the camera off of me, “Luellen, we’ll turn it over to the station now,” while I am still stating the case of Allen Smiley. What would Meyer and Dad and Roselli think of all this. They’d say, “Wish the Brain (Arnold Rothstein) could have seen this racket.

REVERSE THE SPENDING.

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

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.

LONERS

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

I’m better as a writer than I am a person. Though my syntax is follies;

with backward sentences and too many metaphors. The writing isn’t usually

selfish or timid.  In a crowd I need applause before I feel accepted.  One on one

my behavior swings from suspicion to doubt and it takes more than a few pages

to break the boundary. I don’t why I thought it would be different now; I’ve always been a loner.

Now I’m listening to the cry but I ain’t crying!The Timid EP

when THEY Leave

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

Cropped screenshot of James Cagney from the tr...
Cropped screenshot of James Cagney from the trailer for the film Love Me or Leave Me (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I do remember what they gave me. THE MEN always bring something you didn’t have before. LOVE THEM

BOSTON BOMBS BACK

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

IMAGINE, if you were in Boston
On the day of the flare
and it fired your daughter
and you dived in the dare
Hell rises
and heaven opens
the souls are not lost
they are moments to bare
BOSTON, is the angel
that brought the fire to lair.

WHY WRITE

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Dad used to say, the only thing I have to show for my life, is you.

Just cause I write doesn’t mean that I have something to say,

that isn’t already known. I write for everyone that feels something different, and no one wants to listen.  exm-n-11192-0192ma27374324-0001.jpgIt’s my life.

Dad in Beverly Hills Court. On a charge for not registering as a criminal. He moved to Bel Air.

 

 

 

MIDDLE CLASS, MIDDLE-AGE MAP TO WHERE??

~ LouLou ~ 3 Comments

I rolled the dice this morning; got seven. This always lifts me UN-proportionately to

the triumph.   What is a seven going to do? Nothing. The dice don’t do it;  what happens Is

I believe it’s a lucky day;  like the wind won’t knock down my outdoor writing arrangement,

and I’ll be able to write for hours, and not be interrupted by registered letters, construction noise coming

from the new Drury Hotel,  or tenant complaints.

What  we all treasure and wish we could stack up in a treasure chest is piles of peace from whatever our lives do to make us nervous, edgy, and cuffed. Or we stop the behavior which I think is more difficult.

If you’re a middle class, middle-aged person who expected  to be retired in Costa Rica by now with a book and a bottle, then you have to rearrange the internal map. 0414131321

I ‘ll never retire from writing; I hope one day I can live in my home again.

THE LEGEND LADY OF PALACE AVE

Featured ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

0124130930

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 didn’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 I’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, she’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, ‘Oh I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.’ She didn’t let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names I’ve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. ‘You know how many houses the Garcias bought? Five! Then they fixed them up and sold them.’

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.

 

IF

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

If I don’t forget where I’m relocating all my clothes, books, tapes, CD’s, DVD’s,  files and shoes, for summer vacation guests, If Rudy doesn’t get pulled over for driving without a license, If the tenant at Follies House doesn’t break his lease,  If the tenants that moved into the Taos house from San Francisco to build a dream,0402131206don’t lose faith, and If the Lexipro keeps working,

 I can listen to the musical score from Man and a Woman,  tap dance around the house, with the sunlight, the birds, the grass turning green with life, and I’m happy.

WHAT DO YOU GUYS KNOW ABOUT THE MOB

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Benjamen Siegel
Benjamen Siegel

Dead Don’s, shopkeepers, policeman, government employees, drivers, wives, and sons are slaughtered every week. You won’t know unless you study it, like I do. They are in Calgary, Montreal, Sicily, Rome, the UK, Russia, India, Asia, Macao, …. You have no idea how different organized crime is compared to the founders. Read about Arnold Rothstein, and ask people who knew Benny, what kind of man he was.