Category: LIFESTYLE

PAIN OR PLEASANTRY- SHOVELING SNOW IN SANTA FE

~ LouLou ~ 4 Comments

WRITING BY HAND at my tiny Eurasian desk facing the window to the west; framed by time and familiarity into the branches of JD’s pine tree, today ward-robed in bacon colored leaves.   The black silky toned crows are still basking like prowesses on the branches, and waiting for the crumbs that fall out of the garbage cans at the hotel across the street. My bird family has already eaten through a full day’s feeding, and is fleecing each other to first place at the table. The silky drape of the winter sky sometimes adorned with lacy clouds is blue as sea and has shaken the clouds all night. N08041215581.jpgO SNOW. I am selfishly opposed to snow because  I don’t happen to get snow shoveling without gut-wrenching lower back pain.  How do you shovel snow?

I’m wearing one cotton camisole, one shapeless thermo  turtle neck, a down vest, and when I go outside I wear a down jacket. I’m so bundled up it feels like my limbs are bound in masking tape.  My teeth look whiter and my hair is flat instead of frizzy. Snow changes everything.   From my desk, I write, without thoughts predefined, just a drain of emotional threads from my heart, listening to Zap Mama as she takes me to the wild, naked, warm region of Africa.

This year isn’t like last year. The absentee man, fussing with the fireplace, making me afternoon espresso, kissing me when I cook, hugging me when I pull a folly, has excused himself from my adventures in livingess.  It is not at all like last year. Long time friend Rudy is in San Diego and so I am not interpreting the division of attention, between two men laughing at the kitchen table, and eating my blueberry pancakes, as they did last year.

I had the song of Judy Garland’s rainbow in my heart.  It was a time I will never forget, or regret, because I was satisfied for several years. Unabridged ecstasy poured out of body, and spread over my attitude, abundant spirit, mood, facial expressions, and my dreams were filled with amusement instead of nightmares.  I wander into unfamiliar snowy woods unsteady, juxtaposed between, acceptance and self anger for being so so… whatever it is that I pump into myself.  If I was judged by my adventures and not my accomplishments I would be a contender.

Growing up with gangsters teaches you to live with risk, to invite challenge, and  not complain if you loose. It’s wrong but it’s right.   Nothing is worthless; not one moment should be wasted because there is always that window of escape. Our minds are there to take us away. I’m escaping now, Zap Mama Pandora station on the headset, and writing. This is taking the moment out of frustration and into pleasantry.

My steps inward reply with emotional break-troughs, mundane tasks accomplished, solo ventures, match.com dates (another story) and a comedic sideshow as I wrestle with sealed boxes, make repairs, and toggle in my patent leather too stylish boots to actually be called snow shoes.   In these moments, I assure myself that evolving is never ending, and we do not ever know what to expect from ourselves.   If I write down the pleasantries surrounding my life, the blessings rise up and give me a softened comfort.  The sweet peace may vanish the next day, or be intercepted by the news, a wreck in the street, an unexpected phone call. The crossroads of everyday life comes and goes. Between all of these uncontrollable incidents we are writing stories that some day will be told in conversation, or written in journals and books. The essence of our changing lives is universal. Why am I doing this now, why am I feeling this now? Etc.

Remember your pleasantries, and bring them closer.   A few of my snow cold freezing feet remedies:  Kneipps Herbal Lavender Bath: Do not apply to the face!

Ralph Lauren Candles: I paid too much, but the scent is like having a man around the house.

Homeland.  Sunday nights Showtime. Clare Danes has replaced my empty strong female lead on television. I mean, this is one to Watch! ( season ended. Vegas on Tuesday’s is the other one to watch)

My friend Loren visits three times a  week at least: Snow means, silence, and hermitizing, so I  can’t wait to open the door to Luxury Limo Loren, and make him brunch.  We harmonize for hours;  on tones of fretful fear, wicked secrets, sex,  laughter, Santa Fe, immigration, buy American, and the crust of survival that is stale and must be reheated.

Treats: Snicker bars, Vodka and snacks that I can nibble on while indoors more than I’d like to be.

Bar Bells: For those combative moments on hold with Comcast, SWA or Verizon.

Books: Time for Virginia Wolf and Jack London.

Movies- Zorba the Greek, Auntie Mame, U-Turn, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and Once Upon a Time in America.

I AM PACKED FOR THE BEACH, JUST IN CASE.

DELETION OF THE VOICE

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Are you noticing that people are so drained from the economy, wars, murders, and mayhem that they have turned insulting, rude and detached? Facebook, twitter, blogging, match, and the next one to come, have eliminated the risk of humanizing, in the park, cafe, bar, fountain, ocean, path, rock, shop or restaurant.

Hey, checker at Kuanne’s smiles, likes my perfume.  A few days later the bartender at La Posada, brings me down in front of bar, LouLou you’re reading too many novels.”  “Dude I don’t read novels I read non-fiction.”

Stand up for yourself- don’t let rude dude get by.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

I didn’t subscribe to this weekly trade rag, and I’m not in the entertainment business. Still they pile up on the island counter in the kitchen, because  it’s what’s happening baby. So I opened one last night. My younger than I look paradigm dissolved, as I viewed musicians, celebrities, TV, film/ trends that were as unfamiliar to me as I would be to them. Should I develop an interest in what they are pitching? I kept reading about bands I never heard of,

Thirty Something Kufiya
Thirty Something Kufiya (Photo credit: tsweden)

books, new killer thriller suspense series that will make my blood curdle,  single women who make love to themselves,  murderers to fall in love with, and ten pages on the OSCARS.

I’m grateful for those artists of mercy that I have been turned on to in my life. Those are the ones I’ll cherish. That first Stones concert, first performance artist,  exhibits at Mass Moca, an Afro-Cuban dance performance, Baryshnikov, Miles Davis, Cab Calloway, Tito Puente,  the movie Women In Love, and Thirty Something.

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Thank you for your response. ✨

Cowboy Poet Rudy Funk

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

There once was a wild one,
given for nuthin,
all alone in the saddle
he journeyed for days.

Once when he went where
he wasn’t supposed to,
up on a mountain,
his horse left to graze.

There he just sat there
his back on a boulder
his face was facing the sun
till late day.

The thoughts turned to no one
he never knew only,
only that someone
was with him that day.

The cowboy was faithful
yet wasn’t so graceful,
on the dance floor he failed
to get even one.

of those long legged beauties
that moved like the wind,
his thoughts returned
to that day in the sun.

Back to his horse
and away in his saddle,
he rode away
to the far setting sun.

That’s when he saw her,
by her garden as she watered,
writing a poem
with her roses for none.

But were these roses,
tended too softly,
were those roses,
really grown for someone?

She straightened herself
and with confidence and poise,
said, “cowboy, quiet down,
you make to much noise.”

It’s peaceful here stranger
you’re welcome to stay,
mind yourself now,
go sleep in the hay.

Well later that night,
when the moon shown above,
and the coyotes all howled
and fearful of none.

That’s when he went
where he wasn’t supposed to,
that’s when he came up,
facing her gun.

He said, “I can’t dance
I can’t talk and can’t sing,
but baby I love you,
and that’s a sure thing.”

She put down the gun,
with a few chosen words,
He smiled, then he told her,
the poem you just heard.

 

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.

ROAMING TO THE UNKNOWN

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

When I look beyond the quarry of my own chains and tough rowing as a writer, to that glorious painting that transforms every day, as if the sky was a Puccini scarf; of fuchsia, tangerine and turquoise, my soul is nourished.

Santa Fe is star power, and can shower your life with photographic moments on the half-hour. Like any city, village, or town you have some culture to conform to, or else you won’t be taken seriously.
In Los Angeles, I learned you have to be able to put on slapstick phoniness to get a conversation going with a stranger. Here in Santa Fe, amongst us Anglos, the advantages come if you are believably bohemian, liberal, quietly subsidized comfortably retired and artistic.

I don’t score well, and my direction is following Lawrence Durrell, Spirit of the Place, and living where you would never expect to live. I wish I could control my impractical, impulsive and annoying spirit of adventure. I think about cities of high rises and Jewish deli’s, at least five movie theaters built in the early 30’s, and neighborhoods of discovery. I just can’t give up the comfort of cocooning with humanity.

I long for the city, just as when I was thirty, all I ever talked about was SANTA FE. I lead a confusing life.

PHONE PICS 164

SWIMMING WITH GANGSTERS-VEGAS 1960s

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Lullabies of Birdland
Lullabies of Birdland (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Photograph of Dean Martin with celebrities sta...
Photograph of Dean Martin with celebrities stage-side, Las Vegas, March 6, 1957 (Photo credit: UNLV Libraries Digital Collections)

PART THREE

THE CROWD TWITCHED IN ANTICIPATION, except for overly sensitive children, (OSC) without a prescription. My heart beat like a wild Pinto running from the rope as the doors to the Copa Room closed, and the lights dimmed. Streams of Parliament and Marlboro smoke desensitized the spring scent of Shalimar, Aramis cologne, and steaks grilling close by. The horizon of necks seen from the stage must have looked like a display at Tiffany’s.

Photograph of the Rat Pack performing together...
Photograph of the Rat Pack performing together in the Copa Room, Las Vegas, 1960 (Photo credit: UNLV Libraries Digital Collections)

We were in the front row of tables, two steps from the stage, so I had to raise my head vertically to see Ella.

I sat transfixed by this sensory tsunami at a table with a group of Uncles; Uncle Joey, (Joey Adonis, or Joey Fusco, or Joey whomever) Nick the Greek, Chuckie Del Monico (son of Charlie the Blade. I still squint when I read about him) and Uncle Charlie, (The Babe Baron) who enlisted or service in WW11 in Canada because the United State denied his application due an arrest record. Charlie was a stiff suited Four Star General under the hand of *General Curtis LeMay when he wasn’t managing the Riviera. Someone put that in “Vegas” the new television series.

The men and women composed a landscape of histories, though their costume like wardrobes were similar, except for the gangsters, who dressed according to Johnny Roselli standards. The women wore spaghetti strap cocktail dresses and strapless full length gowns, like a spring bouquet of color, transparency, and glitter. They, (I mean most of them that I met) were in a state of unconsciousness; shifting from cocktails, sun, lovemaking, gambling, and entertainment. Mad Women in the desert enjoyed their decorations of diamonds, fox fur wraps, and pointy spiked patent leather heels. Cocktail trays flew by in succession, because their husbands were not watching them. What was all the fuss about?

I could feel their panting exuberance before we even walked in the Copa Room. I felt it when we walked through the lobby, and everyone scampered before they knew where they were headed. It looked like an off stage performance; jittery anticipatory gestures that made any girl even without OSC dizzy. I was inside this swirl of liberation from the age of six to about twelve. We went to Vegas three or four times a year that I can recall. It was before I started my journal so the memories are part substance and part reflection.   TO BE CONTINUED

.

DAYDREAMING

~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

When I watch my wild birds, I daydream of their freedom, and how free I was when I was eighteen.

East Palace Avenue Santa Fe
East Palace Avenue Santa Fe (Photo credit: paigeh)

When I listen to Wes Montgomery  I dream of Brazil,  and riding on a float at Mardi Gras, just once, with a feather hat, and dressed like Rita Hayworth.

When I sit at my desk and look at my mother’s photograph, I dream of those few luncheons in the formal  Garden Room on the top floor of Bullocks Westwood, watching the fashion show with her, proud of my model mother, and imitating how she ate the tuna salad.

When I lay in bed at night, I dream of him, and his strong  shoulder cupping my head, watching an old Cagney movie.

When I shovel snow I dream of Southern California, of old Del Mar and sitting on the bench under the crooked tree, in a triangular postcard of the crashing surf, prancing dogs, and the meter maid marking the curb.  When I walk along Palace Avenue in Santa Fe, New Mexico  I dream of walking  5th Avenue at about 6 pm, when everyone pours on to the Avenues, a fountain of limbs and accessories crisscrossing patterns of human tolerance.

Day dreaming unlike night dreaming that takes us on the back of fairy tales and science fiction  battling some inner masked trauma,  illuminates where we want to be, what we need to do,  and intercepts the embroidery of our life.  The medicine of daydreaming surpasses self-help books, health food, vitamins, yoga, religion, or mind altering experiences. It is the essence of our rising emancipation from complacency.

dramatic dream
dramatic dream (Photo credit: unNickrMe)

PART TWO: SWIMMING WITH GANSTERS

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

“ Mommy the door knocked.’ I said

“ Okay, let me get it.”

The valet reminded me of the munchens in Wizard of Oz, because of their berets, and tightly fitted double breasted coats. But it wasn’t the valet or room service, or anyone that I recognized.

“Lucille, darling is everything to your satisfaction?”

“Hello Jack. Yes the room, flowers, and fruit basket are so lovely. Thank You.”

by Ronzoni

It was the smiling big faced, former bouncer of the Copacabana New York whose name I knew only as Uncle Jack.

Jack was subtle as a semi-truck; and if the world was coming to an end, I’d follow Jack. He had fingers thick as sticks of dynamite and he squeezed my blubbery cheeks until they turned purple. I knew a cheek squeeze meant the person loved me, so Jack didn’t frighten me. I learned thirty years later it was Jack Entratter; a man of chest heavy bullying, dinosaur New York threats, and answered to Frank Costello. I don’t believe he pulled out the Casino movie style butcher chopping that we always see. I just think Jack did what Frank asked, and Frank didn’t randomly demand nail stripping, ball butchering violence you see in the movies. Remember it is a movie.

My mother dressed up with a fur wrap (they wore furs in Vegas) and dressed me in a Pixie Town ensemble that was so starched I couldn’t bend my arm, and we went to the Copa, for the dinner show. Ella Fitzgerald was the feature entertainer of the night. If I wasn’t in a room at La Posada tonight, listening to Tito Puente and Johnny Pacheco, tipping a glass of Chilean wine, without all my files, and notes, I could reference many things about that night. I rented the house for the twelve days of Christmas and I cannot access anything other than what I brought. I could go googling all night, but it is close to time to eat, and parlay my chances in the lobby, meeting and greeting, as I feel I should do, because hotels are the only socially invasive venues left. I greet everyone who knows how to walk without revealing their miserable or self congratulating lives. I really like people who keep their triumphs and sorrows until the second or third time we meet. I don’t like digesting four courses unless I ordered them.

Ella, came out on stage, and we were seated under her heaving breasts, the first row, the closeness was dressing room intimate. There were others at our table but they were sort of like faded ghosts after Ella started her fireworks. TO BE CONTINUED.

SWIMMING WITH GANGSTERS IN LAS VEGAS

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

1961

I held my mother’s hand, as she led me through the casino, stopping to accept embraces, cheek kisses, and an occasional wink, before opening the door to our suite. The patio view to the pool was a kaleidoscope of flashing jewelry because back then women wore their jewelry everywhere. Umbrellas, stacks of white towels, shiny Ban de Soliel arms and legs, silver platters of cheeseburgers, dripping with blood, because back then rare was bleeding, and little toy poodles, that men smoking Cuban cigars and wearing Gucci loafers held up for the world to see. A bit of Mad Men in the desert, only the men were gamblers, celebrities or gangsters, who’d invite their wives to soften the martini’s and manage the children.

Ben Siegel
Ben Siegel

To be continued.

ARTIST’S DON’T SHOOT

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

When did an artist take out a rifle and shoot innocent people? You should pay more attention to artist’s and expression, the very soul of human nature.

SANDY HOOK. NEWTOWN, MEMORIAL

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

Watching the memorial. It is not about gun control completely,prohibition didn’t work, drug control paid
the Mob, it is not religion, that is not to be used for our guilt, it is MENTAL ILLNESS. WE TAKE ALL OUR PHYSICAL PROBLEMS TO DOCTORS. But we do not take our mental problems seriously.