Writing feels rusty today. I plow deliberately through the blank mental soil to find a blade of substance in a week of tragedy and cultural chaos. In conversations with men and women about our fractured culture.
” It was never like this when I was growing up,” that is from a fifty-year-old,
” I won’t get on a plane, no way?” from a forty-year-old.
” I don’t talk about my views with anyone at work or out of work, except my family and friends.”
I replied, “Yes, we have to talk niceties, bland boring conversation. “
When I was growing up, there was more joking, laughter, and confessional conversation. I was thinking about my high school years; we talked a lot about emotions, our parents, our dreams, and our fears. I don’t recall restraining what was on my mind. Perhaps that is why the majority of the younger generation prefers social media friends, as they can be easily deleted or blocked. On my FB page and feed, not one follower or friend reveals their political views, including myself. Isn’t that so contrary to humanity? And political violence, I keep hearing we won’t tolerate that on the news, but we are tolerating it. Do we all need drones over our homes for security? An optimist would say, We can do better, and we will; a pessimist might say, I think it’s going to get worse, and a nihilist would say, Life isn’t worth fixing; it’s just worthless.
I canceled my utubetv cable account, because on most days anxiety is at full tank without the news. ย In this new state of freedom from home; maintenance, repairs, showings and tenants, time is on another clock.The one that ticks as a writer in progress who is dusting off the least truest of thoughts. ย ย ย ย
Scintillating in luxury and comfort is therapeutic if mastered with moderation. So, my second week here in the hotel, I opened the thruway to discerning tasks: a deep dive into publishing my book, rewriting the ending so art isnโt imitating life, but the other way around, searching for part-time employment, a seriously pragmatic approach to where to move, and writing my pop-up columns.
It is tremendously easy to write from this hotel room, without those damn barking dogs next to my home, the constant vibration and noise of mowers, blowers, and city works.
On my desk is Henry Millerโs book, On Writing, and every page moves the mental nerves in some way. โThe writer lives between the upper and lower worlds: he takes the path in order eventually to become the path itself.โ From living in isolation in my home, my tenants are cordial but reserved; I am now swept like a surfboard into a wave of public swells. It is their stories that come out of this experience.
I begin with the Casino, attached to the hotel lobby, and open at 11 am. Arrivals begin: gamblers shuffle inside, some in wheelchairs, younger men with speedy strides, couples, single women, a plethora of humanity in common, with one mission: to win. I take a seat at the bar, and eye wonder at the slot machines. I havenโt counted them, but the room for walking is limited. There is one machine with the motif of a bull, and when someone sits, the bull grumbles loudly, so I pull out my earplugs. I watched one man win, and after he left, other players who heard the winning clang took his seat. It is a popular machine.
The casino looks to be around eight thousand square feet, with seventeen hundred gambling options. The path to get back to the hotel, I have to navigate around and around. The first time, of course, I went in circles as my sense of direction is like a butterfly’s.
โ Excuse me, can you tell me the most direct way back to the hotel?โ
โ Lost are you? Follow this carpet pattern, the one in the middle, and it will take you back.โ
Off I trot, staring at the paisley pattern, through six different arenas to the hotel. I went outside and took a seat on the bench. A woman passed by and stopped, โ How are you?โ
โAdapting, Iโve not been here but a few days.โ
โ Oh, weโre just checking out. I canโt wait to get home to my Pomeranians. I have two. I rescued them, and they are my babies,” she continued, talking about the dogs. As she spoke, I noticed how immensely liberated she was in conversation, and how her hair matched her outfit. She smiled while talking.
โ Iโve seen you before. I noticed your style; you were wearing such a pretty outfit”, she said earnestly.
โ Well, thank you, and so are you.โ
โ Are you alone? I think you are, but donโt let that get you down.โ
โ I wasnโt ready for a very long time. I’m crossing over that mountain, only Iโm not like you. I canโt approach people the way you just did.โ
โ I used to be like that! Now I donโt care, and you shouldnโt either. God loves you, we are all his children, and we need to love each other.โ
I let her go on and thought any minute she might bring out a bible or a cross and start praying for me.
โ I bet my husband is looking for me; heโll be mad, not really, heโs used to it. Weโve been together forty-five years.
โ Remarkable. Whatโs your secret?โ
โ Love, respect, and compromise, itโs really very simple. You’ll meet your honey, I feel it, you want that, donโt you?โ
โYes, when a man tells me everything is going to be okay, I settle down. Iโm emotionally overweight.โ
โYouโre funny, see that is another quality that gets you through life.โ
โ I see a man approaching, and she introduces her husband. He is tall, and emulates a calmness and contentment as he hedges into the conversation about going to Lake Placid.โย
โ Have you been there?โ he asked.
โ Years ago. Itโs beautiful.โ
โ I turned towards his wife. I didnโt get your name.โ
โ Donetica, Italian, my friends call me Dee.โ
โI’m Loulou, and thank you for stopping by my bench.โ
She giggled, blew a kiss, and said in parting, โ I love you.โ
As she left, a woman exited the hotel in a state of exhilaration.
โ It looks like you had a good day,โ I said
โ Yes!ย I won eight hundred dollars. She swung her purse and skipped off. ย
Hmm, I wouldnโt mind winning at all, but Iโm in enough ambiguity to play against those odds. To be continued.
With every turn, right, left, or center, I observe novelty, unfamiliar faces, facades, and finery.ย The conversations that linger over the opulent surround sound lobby release a fusion of shouting and laughter.ย New Yorkers are not whisperers, and my annoying sensitivity to sound, forces me to go in and outside a dozen times a day. That is when I meet the guests, perched on benches and rocking chairs. In the six days Iโve been, here Iโve accumulated dozens of conversations, not just niceties but life stories expressed in thirty-minutes.
The first day of arrival began with a dining hallabaloo organized by the best broker, Scott Varley, who sold my home. ย ย At the table, Scott and his friends, who ย knew the bartender’s, waitress, restaurant manager, and a few guests at the bar, so our table became a Musso Frank sort of mise en scene. I, as usual, was punctuated with awe, as this is a new kind of adventure in livingness after Ballston Spa. Drinks arrived with the speed of a remote, and as we all filed in for the liberated moment, when we exhumed our true selves.ย Lynn, the woman next to me, was a beautiful, statuesque, stylish woman whose poised and confident aura emanated from her.
โ I hear Scott sold your home. Is that a good thing for you? Itโs not always.โ
โ Yes, a few days ago. ย Well, a paradox, I loved the home, a Victorian, but it was also most of my income.
โ What will you do now?โ
โ About what?โย She laughed and tilted her head back.
โ Where are you moving?โ
โ I donโt know yet.โ Her eyes widened, and she responded flatly.
โ You donโt know? You have to have some idea.โ
โ It depends on the proceeds, an ex is involved, itโs too complicated over a martini, and all this talk. I can barely hear you. โ
โ An ex is always involved. How long are you staying at the hotel?โ
โ Youโll love this..
โ Donโt tell me, you donโt know. Youโre adorable.โ
โ Thank you, and I sense you are very strong.โ
โ You bet I am.! She punctuated that with a fist to the table. โ
The night zigzagged, with Lynn and Scott scurrying into the casino, while I remained, as casinos mean, the genes of my father may flare up. The bar was baritone loud and after what seemed four hours, I returned to my room, quite comfort, marvelous pillows unlike Iโve ever felt, ย โ I canโt fucking believe this.โ ย ย To be continued
ADVENTURES IN LIVINGNESS this week. I mentioned in a previous column, if there was a relocation therapist?, in jest, but then I was looking at my horoscope and entered relocation, and this came up.: ย ย Itโs too late as I have my move-out date, August 31st.I have no idea how to use this; my therapy has been chocolate, movies at night, and one day of rest. 62 boxes packed Relocation Chart, Relocation Astrology Online โฆ
By relocating, you can move certain planets into particular house position to improve those parts of your life. Notification: Please, enter Latitude / Longitude โฆ
“Young woman sitting on the books and typing, toned image”
The world we are living is not familiar; everyday it erupts with an inconceivable corruption, acts of violence, and viciousness against humanity. It’s not the Italian roast coffee that wakes me up, itโs world news.ย I feel less and less a part of humanity and more like a wild creature chewing on an old bone. ย My outlook on social clubs, synagogue and church congregations, membership clubs, group classes, and letโs meet up organizing makes a lot of sense now. Especially if you donโt have children or a life mate. The temptation to retreat into a decorous world of fantasy is irresistible. ย Experience taught me that losing it, giving up, hugging the pillow with film noir on the screen will revive me. It may take two days or more, permitting freedom to indulge in the abstract absurdity, tragedy, and comedy of life available to me.Two days are up: six noir films: Sleeping Tiger, Dangerous Crossing, Ruthless, Finger of Guilt, Wicked, and Cast a Dark Shadow. All suspenseful meandering around themes of greed, deception, romance, uneven love, and forgiveness.
Itโs a great big wide wide world if you leave the doors open. Now that the house has sold, I am fortunate that all those years studying real estate and proving myself by placing money in the boss’s pocket, trickled into my life. The first triplex I bought was in 2002, the one that sold, The Follies House. The rent provided income and paid the mortgage.ย For my Gen X and Millennial pals, I say this: buy a duplex somewhere you want to live.
Iโm feeling overwhelmed as I go through this four-story unit and decide what to keep, give away, and sell. Perplexed as I go through boxes of journals dating back to 1996. I assume I won’t live to preview them for new stories, but I sill feel a sense of belonging to them. I have learned after selling a dozen furnishings that once they are gone, it takes about a week to stop lamenting the loss.
I walked into Century City Club Equinox, almost inserting myself into the spotless transparent glass door. Three young women at the counter, beaming youth in front of black walls that seem to suck me in.
โIโm here for the tour.โ A suited man in a large, rather luxurious office greets me with so much reserve and robotic gestures that I feel like running out. I was led through a scintillating voluminous space, enveloped in floor-to-ceiling glass, streamed with sunlight and views of Westwood. The members, women attired in matching voluptuous outfits and personal trainers, lean as lions tossing funny equipment to the client, fastidious housekeepers, sterilizing and vacuuming in trendy uniforms. It was as if I were watching a film production.
The treadmill cycle area was a bit crowded, and not one person didnโt have a headset on, staring at the screen of choice. The bathrooms were hotel accessorized, and even pumps were filled with Kiehl products. There was a steam room, make-up area, showers, all the necessities, and a few women were blowing their hair, all beautiful.
More rooms, a snack bar, shopping, pulsating music, and a closer look at the guests.
โ This is as upscale as you can get; youโll love it, and you’ll meet important people, Iโm sure.โ
I listened to his closing argument and watched the bodies bend like pretzels as personal trainers raised and stretched their heads, arms, and legs. Bodies bounced, climbed ropes, did flips, and hung upside down, like a circus act. After the close, a condescending smirk, that I read as, join, or go hang out with the losers at 24-hour fitness.
He handed me the contract, and I read it over. The cost was more than Iโve ever spent. The way I looked at it was a place to work out and meet new people, although my instinct was that these were not my people. I signed and walked out feeling dizzy again. I stopped in a shoe store to look at what women were wearing. The salesgirl kept complimenting me, and showing me shoes that she loved, and before I knew it, she sold me what I didnโt come in to buy, high-top lace-up pink workout sneakers. Leaving the Century City Satellite, beyond the construction and traffic, I raced home to recuperate. Whatโs happened to me after living in a village in New Mexico, is that too much stimulation is now exasperating.
I walked to Equinox for my first workout, hopped on the treadmill with weights, and tried to look perfectly comfortable, but I wasnโt.ย The vibe and everything about this ballroom of a gym seemed rehearsed. Maybe Iโm too observant, trying too hard to fit in. I noticed so much in that hour. The workout is also a sort of performance, just a shade of competition between men and their weights, women straddling rubber balls, yoga mats, bench presses, and only a handful look like they need it. Men and women occupy the treadmill room; without expressions, they seem to live inside themselves. There is no conversation; it feels more like a convent. There is no hi, hey, or smile. I asked a trainer, โItโs not very social here. Why is that?โ โ These are the highest paid executives, lawyers, agents, actors, and they donโt come in to socialize–they are only here to do the work-out.โ Great move, Greta. Iโm paying three hundred a month to be invisible.
ICE, SNOW, AND RAIN… MIX THOROUGHLY AND SERVE CHILLED
WINTER 2025 … BYE BYE
Winter in the Northeast is a door to the interior, not just physically living indoors; itโs a mental withdrawal from outdoor activity. Yes, some have adapted. I’ve seen men in shorts on a snowy day and women runners passing by my window on icy sidewalks. For many of us, I believe the winter is the time to ski in your head. Take a word puzzle section of all your experiences and ski down your mistakes, misjudgments, and behavior in all its rights and wrongs. A sort of sabbatical for the soul.
My car was stuck in the snow, and my eggplant pasta was stuck in cheese.
SOLITUDE will always be a puzzle because our lives, solo or mated, are mystified by either too much or not enough solitude.
ย I contest what seems endless solitude with my Irish Russian temper, condemning irritants like: street noise, absence of friends, short-tempered customer service reps, world news, and mindless tasks. The fever dulled after the first ice, rain, and snow, and mindfulness triumphed. I imagined my basement of survival would sink. It did not. There is an inner exploration happening, unfolding like spreading new sheets on my bed, that solitude has befriended me all my life. In the best of times and the tedious. I have to find the frolic and follies in the world that I created. I have to laugh alone so I watch screwball comedies, seek humor of my irregularities; wearing a sweater inside out, pouring coffee into a wine glass for a cocktail, and chuckling up and down the staircase, because I keep forgetting where I left my phone. My head is elsewhere daydreaming. Iโve learned how to repair house calamities; unscrew windows, seal up cracks, fix clogged drains, replace air vents, read the meters, and rejuvenate every wood board, handle, chair, and table with Old English Oil. As one pal commented on a visit to the house, ‘ It’s a perfect day for Old English! The winter forecast is blizzardy and full of warnings I havenโt experienced here; and how can I complain when half of Upstate New York is buried in ten feet of snow. The end of the day pleasure comes in the kitchen; my heart and spirit melt while stirring my weekly gumbo, stew, or casserole while listening to Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole, and swing music. Winter is a funnel that strips the trees and branches and lets us see through the forest and ourselves.
ย ย ย ย MONTHS LATER ON THIS DAY, she closed the shutters to him 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, but she will not break like a little girl.” No more hours fanning the past; on this day, my view is spanning.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
Today is the day to stop punishing myself and outlive what has aborted my adventures in livingness.
No longer incubate to avoid disappointment, irritations, chaos, uncertainty, and senseless fear. I’m not alone, and you’re not alone. Friends of marvelous careers and lifestyles admit the same. We remain at home, where comfort, familiarity, control, and sustainability are our foundation.
No longer! Debasing my flaws, failures, and finicky flashes, manage them like I’m preparing dinner. If the pasta isn’t fabulous, I don’t go into a fit of failure.
I no longer will have apprehension and anxiety when buyers arrive to tour my home. The great philosophers advised me on Facebook that anxiety never solves problems.
My emotional tail is wagging. Curled up in my desk chair, I feel almost as if I was born in this chair. Itโs cushioned me through a cyclone of adventures in livingness. This piece of writing was handwritten on a tablet back in late January. Iโve made some minor additions and deletions. Before submitting to a publisher, the editor I used asked me, โWhy do you keep switching between past and present tense?โ I told her I donโt control that until Iโm in final editing. My control over my writing is identical to how I live. Acting on impulse, expanding the mundane into a musical, feasting on all the emotions, and fabricating thorny Walter Mitty encounters. I donโt even think of applying proven methods; I make up new ones. Back to this plateau of solitude. Love what you have, and especially yourself, with all your flaws. Integrity is more critical; be proud not just for yourself, but because someone out there needs you.
PART TWO: After reading this and while emptying the trash, I was struck by this: the big payback to living as I described is an adaptation to proven methods. I’m learning pragmatic over poetic.
Achievement knocked down the barrier of fear. It feels like lifting off from ground level; I am floating like I used to be in the swimming pool, and I am only at my desk reading the news from my attorney. From one beginning to an ending, five years later, after tedious research, unscrambling legal language, and searching for the meaning behind the case references, this journey is over. I won the lawsuit against the bank that attempted toforeclose on my home and Dodger, my ex-partner of thirty-five years, who, for still unknown reasons, pursued the foreclosure.
Agape, eyes widened, nerves settled like snowflakes; the joy of achievement cannot be understated. During this phantasmagoria, life beyond research, consulting with foreclosure agencies, banking laws, and regulations, I detached from my passion for adventure, creativity, parades, parties, and socializing; I sat alone, and resilience shadowed, then enflamed like a log of fire, encapsulated into a daily doctrine. Music by Ennio Morricone, blue note Jazz, the everchanging scenery of seasons, phone conversations with friends who released ambers of comfort, confidence, and advice, and TCM films nuzzled my fatigue.
Some days, I remained in bed, staring at my Icart Ladies of Leisure prints, or sat by my favorite window seat and studied clouds, birds, and leaves. The blossom of tenacity grew into a tree trunk and taught me the art of persistence and emotional strength, which were missing links in my character.
Achievement in fine-tuning relationships, setting down the needle gently instead of plummeting riffs and arguments. In the present, as you all know, if you read the news, our culture has replaced argument and debate with assault and violence. I digress; renewed confidence in my aptitude to fight battles, disputes, and disappointments without Dodger is as solid as concrete.
The next episodic internal journey is regaining my passion for opening the door to interaction with strangers and discovering newness in that engine of life.I hope this admission reaches others who are experiencing depriving themselves of love within and without.
ADVENTURERS IN LIVINGNESS 
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