WHY NOT SANTA FE IN FEBRUARY OR MARCH


GALLERY LOULOU VACATION HOME AND ART SALON

IF YOU’RE CONSIDERING Santa Fe, the land of enchantment, for your next destination….

We’re at 7200 ft, 33 degrees daytime, and wavering between sunshine and an O’Keeffe cloudy sky. Bring sunscreen for the slopes or trendspotting Santa Fe from our porch.Small_Porch[1]IMP

NEWS:

  • 10,000 Waves renovation completed and worth a trip for hot tub, stars, and  massage, before dinner.
  • Farmer’s Market Weekends at the Railyard
  • All that Happens: www.santafe.com
  • ARTfeast February 24-26. Walk, eat, shop.
  • Restaurant Week

March 4-11, 2012

Take advantage of great deals during Restaurant Week, when the city’s eateries offer special three course meals at discounted prices for eight days. This is a wonderful time to try new restaurants that you might have neglected because of expensive prices.

Many Santa Fe restaurants participate in this week, offering up new specials as well as signature dishes. This is a relatively new event to Santa Fe, but it has proved incredibly popular with locals and visitors alike.

For more info, visit http://restaurantweeknm.com.

FLAVOR SAVERS:Geronimo: Low season, you get that table you want,  Il Piatto, New Menu-New Wines Chocolate Maven, Coyote Café Bar, Taberno for Tapas and Spanish guitar.

Morning flaky croissants at Chez Mammou on Palace Avenue.

Tia Sophia’s and Pasquels for Green Chili Breakfast Burrito

La Posada, Complimentary Wine & Cheese Wednesday,  and Friday night Chef’s tasting.

If you need Valet airport pick-up, reservations, snow update, requested movies..etc,  just you ask.  Thanks for knocking on LouLou’s door!

Adventure on,

SIFTING THROUGH THE SNOW


The silky drape of the winter sky sometimes adorned with lacy clouds is blue as sea and has shaken the clouds all night so we have sixteen inches of snow   at the Santa Fe ski basin. I’d rather be sailing. 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 insulated 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. 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.

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 Radio station on the headset, and writing. This is taking the moment out of frustration and into pleasantry.

My steps inward returned  1210121316  accomplishments: 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.

DON’T YOU DARE TAKE CHRISTMAS AWAY.


What is this nonsense? Am I really listening to a national complaint against,

Christmas? Who needs a job? Whoever you are that started this, dig yourself a hole in the ground and meditate for a month.

I’m half Jewish, half Catholic-all I know about my mother’s religion is the holidays. They remind me of her, and how the two weeks transformed our home, because she happy, really looking forward to seeing her mom, and sisters, and nieces and nephews….

Whoever you are, watch Hallmark television. We are saps for comfort.

GALLERY LOULOU PHOTO, FILM, MUSIC SALON- VACATION RENTAL


SANTA FE, NM.  VACATION HOME, GALLERY, AND MOVIE THEATER.

Gallery LouLou is a nationally recognized  Historic Home. It was upgraded to allow for preservation to mix with modernism. The house is across the street from La Posada Resort and Spa, and is two stories with 2500 square feet. We are one and a  half blocks  from Downtown Plaza.  visit our website at http://www.vrbo.com/345671206DSCN4229 110912113454aba9IMG_0499DSC02353 - Copy - Copy

•         The house is sandwiched between two outdoor living porches, one with BBQ overlooking the private garden. Daydream and smell the lavender.

•    The garage is a renovated  theater.. An overhead projector allows you to show DVD’s, plus turntable and 6 track CD player to create your own multimedia performance. Heated and furnished.

•    The house is all hardwood floors, with French doors in the main living area connecting to the front porch.

•    The kitchen is accessible to the porch and BBQ for dining Al fresco.

•    There are FOUR unique private bedrooms and two baths.

•    Two porches:  One in front with garden of roses, and back yard garden is lush with herbs, pear and apple tree, roses, lavender, cherry blossom, and a string of lights for a really romantic night.

GALLERY LOULOU IS A PHOTOGRAPHY GALLERY AND HOME. OUR ICONIC ROCK & ROLL PHOTOGRAPHS BY JIM MARSHALL, BARON WOLMAN AND PHILIP TOWNSEND ARE FEATURTED THROUGHOUT THE HOME,  AND ARE OFFERED TO GUESTS AT A DISCOUNT OF 15%.

We are two blocks from Canyon Road, which leads to art galleries, restaurants, and HIKERS AND BIKERS wilderness, Santa Fe Ski Valley and the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

Turkish Linens + Coverlets.

Three Queen Perfect Sleepers, one King Perfect Sleeper.

It’s fanciful, but unpretentious.

Writing Desk

Two televisions upstairs. Flat screen 52”

Indoor and outdoor music system.

Pantry.

Washer Dryer in basement.

Large eat-in, two sink, and island kitchen with pantry.

Jacuzzi Tub

Three outdoor dining areas.

Wi-Fi- purified water, and wood burning fireplace.

YOU’LL LOVE IT.

VOYAGES WITHIN & WITHOUT


I live in a temporary tide-pool, a lily floating against the current, weighted down by a suit of armor that shields me from the beauty, love and freedoms stirring in my bud.

The throw of the dice this week lands on a quote from the archives of my peculiarity-clipping folder.   I don’t know if this is branded in a writer’s genes, or simply another trivial pursuit to aid us in remembering things, that at the time we feel we need to remember, but we are not sure why.  Being a clipper means that nothing in print is safe in our presence.  We cannot resist the impulse to possess particular images and words, and usually without any logical reason. Once we have retrieved the clipping, we file it in a folder or notebook. The clippings do not age well and after 10 years, they are yellowed with torn, frayed edges.  They are rarely plucked from their binding burials and given present day meaning because they live in the bottom of trunks, or in storage units, and are difficult to get our hands on.   Since I discovered a clipping several weeks ago I’ve been investigating the connection between clippings and destiny.  I stopped being a savage clipper in 2002.

I opened up this one journal from 1988, and reading the pages, I came across the quote that propelled me into adventures in livingness. It came from Theater Critic, Kenneth Tynan, from a magazine article he wrote.  It was a personal essay and the line that beamed through me like a telekinetic force was ,   “Adventure. Voyage, there is nothing else! ” When I ripped it out I did not live, or ever imagined I‘d live in Santa Fe.   That was the first time I had come across that article. I remembered it, and swore an oath to adventure ever since.   I memorialized the quote and have continued to look for new places to adventure and voyage.    Since 1982, I have called home behind 31 different doors, in only six different cities.

I realize Kenneth’s voyage metaphor was not about relocating, though moving has a definite adventure inside it, but more of an internal adventure, opening your own doors to unconventional, unacceptable, and unrealistic measures in the hopes that you discover real newness of vision. 

THEN… THE PHONE RANG


All photos: Waldemar Kalinowski

David Manzanares on the set of Sweetwater: Noah and Logan Miller.

The first time I met David Manzanares was when I rented my home to the Brothers film crew. He eased me through the process, which was a big deal that cold winter when I was living alone. I had Sam Shepard, Jake Gyllenhall, Toby McGuire and Natalie Portman all in the house.

I’m not sitting in a hotel lobby or a restaurant scribbling notes about the clothes my interview subject is wearing or how he acts in a natural setting because the interview wasn’t planned. It just happened one morning in August, while I was having coffee and watching the wild birds on the back porch, when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“LouLou, its David Manzanares.”

“David! How are you?”

“I’m doing great….yea, very busy.” David’s sleepy slow tone beckoned the beginning of an effortless conversation.

“How’bout you?”

He listened attentively, only interjecting the flip side of my struggles to interweave what course his life had taken.

“I’ve not seen you since the Brothers shooting.” I said.

“What was that? Two years ago?”

“Yea, time is racing, but I love every minute. I wake up and look out the window, and thank God for my good fortune… the happiness.”

“I think of you as one of the most fulfilled men in Santa Fe.”

He chuckled, “That’s what everyone thinks.”

“It’s true isn’t it?” I shot back.

“I’ve been to hell and back.”

“You?”

“Oh yea. But very few know. It was a year ago.”

“Afterwards, everything became clearer; how to live in both worlds with my family and a film career.”

While I wandered from the kitchen to the back porch, David confided in me. I listened to the private life of a notoriously loved and admired local boy who climbed the tricky trail to Hollywood.  David began a career in music in 1997 at the Santa Fe Bandstand playing his new Latin music on his guitar. In 2006 he hit the Billboard in the Latin Genre and went on to producing music for television and film. His song “Rocky Mountain Man” was in the film Brothers.  David supplemented his music with a job as a location scout, a natural for a boy raised in Abiquiu. He walked the line of family tradition and modernism during his teens.

“What are you doing now?”

“Which day? I go to Abiquiu Tuesday, no Wednesday, then to scout some locations, then the following week I start shooting.”

“David, are you happy?”

“Yes, very very happy.  I mean that I love what I’m doing, and everyday I wake up excited. You’ll get there with your passion for life.”

“David, would you be interested in … maybe a print interview?”

“About what?”

“You silly.”

A few days later I wrote up my questions, and sent them to him. He assured me he would make time, between studying his lines for the highly anticipated Miller Brothers Film, Sweetwater, and scouting a location for a reality show.

THE INTERVIEW

Q: “How does it feel being inside the desired creative environment of film and acting?”

A: “It has been, and continues to be an incredible journey.  Sometimes it’s surreal.  I read a script – jump into locations or acting and voila – months later it’s on the big screen.  It’s very rewarding to be a part of a creative, collaborative effort.”

Q:“Has it changed you?”

A:Yes, it has given me the gift of doing something I truly love.  I have always lived a creative life, whether it’s writing or performing music; acting or even reading a script and bringing a creative touch to the locations.  I guess it’s changed me in my appreciation for things and it has opened up new and exciting opportunities.

Q: “What have been the life lessons from your work that you’ve used in your own life?”

A:Ah, the life of living on the hot seat.  I have acquired the ability to go with the flow and be ready to shift in a moment’s notice.   There is no prediction.  It changes in a heartbeat.  It’s taught me humility, patience and most importantly, appreciation.  Both music and production are a constantly changing life force.  I find myself grounded by my family.  They are my anchor.  My ship tends to sail all over the ocean and my family is a safe harbor from where I draw strength and support.

Q:What do you want our readers to know about Santa Fe, that they may not know?

A:Santa Fe is a multi-cultural, very accepting and unique place.  It truly is the City Different on so many levels.  There are people and places that constantly add to the texture of Santa Fe and to my life, personally. It’s great to see your city through the eyes of the world, the very creative world, and that’s a gift in itself.

Q:Who in the film business inspires you?

A:That’s a tough question. From an actor’s standpoint, I would say Alan Rickman.  He truly is a most inspiring actor.  I watched him portray a terrorist in Die Hard to Professor Snape in Harry Potter to the Colonel in Sense & Sensibility.  Talk about range.  He is one of the most outstanding, subtle and profound actors in the industry.

Q: What is it like to be on a team of accomplished creative  people?

A” The past 25 years, I have worked with the most accomplished, directors, producers and actors. I get to work with the best crews, the best people in the best state.  Each project brings a new inspiration, perspective and creativity.  Right now, the project I’m working on is “Sweetwater” with the Miller brothers – Noah & Logan.  Wow – their energy and creativity is awesome.  I am always inspired – musically – creatively by all the departments from the Production Designer to Locations to Hair & Make Up & Wardrobe and everyone else.     It is such a team effort to bring any project to the big screen.  It’s awe-inspiring!

I work in Locations and that alone is one of the most creative departments.  I get a script or storyboard and have to match the scenes with locations in New Mexico.  Talk about challenging.    Sometimes the story line calls for a specific location and I get to interpret it and create it.  I have been with Ghost Ranch as their production manager since 1988.  The light alone can create something amazing.

Some days I feel like the most fortunate woman in the world to live in Santa Fe. Today is one of them. From my porch I can see a bubblegum pink sunset, filtering through the trees, and the leaves are warming up like dancers in a soft breeze. I’m playing the dreamy music of Madeleine Peyroux when I notice my friend Pauline from La Posada Resort across the street.  “Missy, you’re playing one of my favorites.” I wave back and sink further into the bliss of this quirky, dawdling little village of inspiriting locals.

ART OF BAR WRITING


ART OF BAR WRITING.

ART OF BAR WRITING


SANTA FE, NM

It was just 3 in the afternoon, and I’d returned from a trip to San Diego, and my body craved relaxation, but not in the house, where suitcases remained unpacked, and dishes to be washed.  I walked down to La Fonda Hotel and sat at a table in the woodsy and old leather bar.  The smell of tequila and chips permeates the room, so I flowed with the

ambiance and ordered guacamole and a margarita. Sipping slowly, I took notice of the other people around me; old men in Spanish colonial chairs staring into the hotel activity, the reception desk staff, fudging with room reservations, and the lovely waiter, who bowed each time he came to my table. I hadn’t planned on thinking about the script I’m working on, and just as I was unwinding my limbs from the plane ride and trip from Albuquerque, ideas started boiling up like bubbles about this script. I panicked because I didn’t have my journal, or even a pen.   Ah! the gift shop.. …

” Do you have a writing pad?”

“What kind?”

“With lines.”

” We have a few.”

” I’m in a hurry, anything will do.”

” What’s the rush?”

” I’m a writer,”

” Oh, I get it.” The clerk rushed through the transaction, and as I was about to leave I remembered,  

” And a pen.”

She handed me the one she was writing with, and off I went.

Seated with my tools, I scribbled the thoughts as fast as they entered my still sober self, and when I finished, I took to writing about my surroundings.  Yes, this is a place to bar write. I’ve observed Sam Shepard in several places writing through a meal. He has the distinction of not being bothered, but if he is, he draws a line around his space with his power pupils, one glance, and you’re blown off his planet. Sam does not always  position his power pupils to defer interruption, I’ve seen him put his pen down and engage the stranger. His eyes turn to a likeness of the Mustang horse, wild and waiting for tenderness.

 You have to practice this art, because invariably someone will ask if you are a writer, if you are published, and then they tell you they want to be a writer too.  I don’t have power pupils so I put on my head-set and if necessary place  my phone to the ear, if I am in the middle of a superlative sentence that I cannot stop.  You also have to monitor your drinking, because I’ve learned more than one glass, is not going to read like it did while you were drinking.  

 

LA POSADA is LA FAMILIA


LA POSADA is LA FAMILIA.

LA POSADA is LA FAMILIA


posición en el baile flamenco.
posición en el baile flamenco. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The throw of the dice this week lands on the un-said and underscored vignettes that pass through us. Those moments which make us turn away from screens, cameras, and cell phones, to observe life around us.  Writers do this habitually, like addicts. It is our drug to examine what we feel no one else is seeing, feeling or thinking. These were last week’s vignettes.
I am outdoors on the patio of La Posada Resort.  The cotton wood leaves on the trees, are dancing in setting sun light. At the far end of the dining patio, the lawn is staged, and the grass is covered with folding chairs. On stage, under a white billowing tent, teenage Flamenco dancers’ switchblade their black and coral skirts, as the pillow soft breeze brushes my face. I’m smiling without envy, a massive leap, because for most of my life, when I see professional dancers, I’m scolding myself, for not following through with my passion for dancing. Tonight, it is gone. My joy erupts to the surface. The dancers are the same age I was when I began training.
Their painted cheeks and darkened eyes are highlighted by the sunlight; they look like paintings that have come to life. The music is burning through centuries of Spanish history, through blood and battles, and the eruption of their passion for dance.
We have a convention of insurance salesman, dressed in Eddie Bauer, and the ladies in Jones of New York, seated like birds with their wings clipped. The men are standing in huddles, roaring laughter at inside jokes. Three dancers break from tradition and are now dancing to Billy Jean, striking their poses and facing our table. the leader, whom the others bashfully imitate, plays to us, and I want to tell her, don’t stop dancing, don’t give it up.
 Seated in front of me is a couple in their late sixties.  Transparent by dress and manner, they look farm-bred Midwestern. He wears a hard-working no fluff or formality expression, and his wife, probably is his high-school sweetheart. She appears painfully restrained-but she covers this up with a contented smile. The husband is staring at me, his lips are scornful, his eyes like that of a disbelieving police officer, or judge. I’m behind sunglasses, absorbing them through my mental lens, as if we were having a conversation. I imagine him on a tractor, and his wife behind a white worn picket fence picking fruits and vegetables. We’re separated by the cultural divide, but I want to ask the farmer how his life has changed, how the economy impacted his crops, his dreams. What did he dream about when he was a boy? Maybe dreams were a luxury he could not afford.
Beneath a black lake of stars, the breeze whips my hair, Rudy smiles at me, without a word I know what he’s thinking. The evening volumnized when the band kicked into sixties soul, and the insurance salesman are now dancing with the insurance saleswoman, and their wings are unclipped.
We left, crossing through the festivities to our porch, where the music resonated. Rudy turned on the blue lights.
             “Don’t turn them on; they attract the moths.”
            “I tell you what I’ll do and what I won’t do.
            “They’ll eat your eyeballs when you’re sleeping.”
               “What!  Where did you come up with that?”
             “Don’t know. Look whose coming out to complain about the music?”  Then we see our neighbor, stomping across the lawn in his red T-Shirt and Beret. Professor J, demands to voice his rights at every opportunity. I’ve seen him argue with a Police Officer in the middle of the street, at one in the morning. “You have an obligation to police Santa Fe that is your job!” He shouted at the officer for thirty minutes.
 The night closes, like a play from the summer of 2012. Doesn’t sound like the summer of 1971, when we met on the streets, and just hung out, listening to radios, and watching people.  I think living next to a hotel, has kept me closer to street life.  I could do without the delivery trucks at six in the morning and the crashing bottles in the dumpster. It’s not unbearable any longer because La Posada is nowLa Familia.

TIPS ON SANTA FE


 

About the Santa Fe travel narrative I was going to write,  when the New York Times beat me to it. It was in the Sunday Travel Section, “ Is Santa Fe Ready For a Makeover.?”  8/06/2007.  If you read it then you know, that mod is flowing through the alleys and walkways of Santa Fe, more so than adobe mud.  Lofts have landed at The Railyard, and once they open, then comes the attachment to more mod café’s, shops, movie theaters and people.  I add this ancedote, four years later, it didn’t get too mod.

My answer is yes, Santa Fe is already under the mask of revival.  My perspective comes from the duality of being a tourist and a resident. I have not lived here long enough to shed the distinctive air of a gambler who has just won the jackpot.  It feels very much like a home that I left years ago.  Beginning in 1984, I used to come here regularly, wearing a two piece blue suit, and carrying a leather briefcase. I was a commercial property manager based in San Diego, and one of my portfolio buildings was in Albuquerque. The second trip out here I took the company rental car and zipped over to Santa Fe and stayed at La Posada. Every month my trip to Albuquerque included a weekend in Santa Fe. I invited friends, family, and co-workers to travel along.  After I left that position I returned less frequently, but it was never crossed off the list.

Today, I live across the street from La Posada.   I still walk through the Plaza once a day to see  the groove of live bands on the stage and snap internal photographs of the multitude of activities, conversations, expressions, and  festivities surrounding Spanish and Indian Market month. On the park benches, moldy hippies sing along. Children scatter between the adults,  while families sit under trees, sipping  thermoses  of cool aid and eating home made tamales. As you cross over to  San Francisco Street and pass Starbucks, you will step over the hillbilly from Arkansas, whose sidewalk show includes a dog, cat, and several mice playing nicely. His message is, animals get along why can’t people?  You will never read this sort of description in the travel narrative.

Just before dusk, the city streets empty for about an hour, and the shinning light spreads evenly over the adobe walls and rooftops. That is, if it’s  not raining.  This summer, it is not just a   thundershower.  The rain pounds the earth, the lighting and thunder shake the windows, and the cats run under the bed. I stand on the porch and watch, mostly because summer rain is the most romantic of all weather moods. That comes from a distant memory under raps.  If you have a balcony, or find your way to the Rooftop of La Fonda, or Coyote Café, take a seat. Just watch and listen to the operatic electrical storm. They do not last too long.

The best time to walk is early morning. There are several roads to hike just beyond Canyon Road that lead you to the Audubon Society. From there, you can choose from a dozen rated hikes. From beginners to Aztec tribal strength.   When in Santa Fe walk as much as possible, bring a pocket umbrella, and keep your eyes on the road. There are dazzling surprises everywhere you look.

 

The travel narrative always ends with, What To See, Where to Go, Where to Eat, and Where to Stay.

WHAT TO SEE & WHERE TO GO.

IAIA MUSEUM.  108 CATHREDRAL PLACE.  The museum exhibitions have a purity of purpose rarely seen in museums today.  It is unpretentious. The staff is undeniably the most receptive, and the gift shop is stocked with worthwhile purchases.

GEORGIA O’ KEEFE: 217 JOHNSON STREET.   Not only a museum, a place of worship. Do not go through the salons until you’ve seen the short documentary film about her life, it runs continuously. The outdoor Café is where you will see many local art setters and sponsors having lunch beneath a canopy of umbrellas.

SHIDONI SANTA FE: OLD BISHOP’S ROAD:  5 MILES FROM THE PLAZA. Imagine a bronze art foundry, sculpture garden, and gallery representing over 100 artists spread out over 8 acres of apple orchard.  You can spend the day there without too much effort.

TEN THOUSAND WAVES:` A resplendent way to begin the adventure is at this hillside sanctuary wrapped in bonsai and green tea leaves. Guests tiptoe in Kimonos across stone steps, into private and public outdoor baths, treatment rooms, and get kissing close to Nirvana. If you are in need of bodily rearrangement, ask for Wayne, he will delicately remove your head.

SANTA FE OPERA: TESUQUE: 5miles from the Plaza. I have heard thunder and seen lighting crack the horizon, during the arias of Madam Butterfly.  For ticket less visitors you can actually buy a $10.00 leaning ticket. I know from my friend, Little sister that it is a unique experience, and you can leave at any time.Always provocative, cutting edge adaptations to stir your imagination.


WHERE TO EAT :

NEW MEXICANMARIA’S KITCHEN  THE SHED   GUATALUPE CAFE

 

LOCALS GO TO THE COWGIRL HALL OF FAME:: 319 S. GUADALUPE.  Known for it’s bronco busting burrito  breakfast, it is also a very  well-heeled bar for cowboys, music, laughter, barbeque, and skateboarding. It reminds me of the Venice Boardwalk.

THE COMPOUND:  653 CANYON.   My choice for lunch because it suits the poor little rich girl. It feels faraway, and the outdoor garden is a tantalizing backdrop for imagining you are faraway. Seasonal creative food at the hands of a celebrity chef.  Bar is great for delicacies and cocktails, and the rooms, with shiny mud-packed floors, white washed beams and walls gives you a lift up, to the surreal.

WHERE TO STAY:

LA POSADA RESORT & SPA : 330 E. Palace Av.   The scene is very eclectic, it draws people from the Texas ranch, Hollywood,  and the Silicone Valley. Favorite pastime, cocktails on the outdoor lounge at dusk, and dinner on the patio facing the theater of events, where performance, music, and weddings take place free of charge.  The staff is out of this world.

LA FONDA AT THE PLAZA:  The hotel is where I go about any time of day just to see what is going on, who is playing in the bar, whom is holding conference, and to eat the tableside guacamole in the atrium restaurant. Another terrific production crew behind the front desk.

PEOPLE TO MEET:  I’ve found meeting people most fascinating at Art Gallery Openings.  Check the Pasatiempo (Guide in Santa Fe New Mexican)  and the Santa Fe Reporter for a list of events and openings. Friday nights 5-7PM.

The best news is,  more non-stop flights from Los Angeles to Albuquerque.

I have written my second travel narrative and I think I’m traveling down the wrong road. Back to  adventures in Livingness next week.

 

 

 

DON’T GIVE UP


WONDER

 

 

“Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.”

 Anais Nin.  1931

Expecting snow, expecting pleasure… we are all in some range of expectation. Where you may be hunched under an umbrella waiting for the light to turn green, so you can find shelter inside a café, a shop, where someone else waits for the arrival of a friend, the death of a loved one, the offer in writing, the publication, the house to sell, the decision to resonate, the pain and suffering to subside.

I think of something my father used to say, “You made your bed, now you lie in it.”  And another one, “It’s your lot in life.”  I began writing Smiley’s Dice in 2002 from a desk in a Solana beach rental.  Maybe in two years I’ll have a column in a newspaper or magazine, and maybe I won’t.  It’s my lot: to not give up.

Santa Fe is blistery cold, the street dry and the sidewalks baking sheets of white snow.  Out my window is a metallic sky that hints of more snow.  This sky slows the rhythms of the body and mind; it invades the hurried motions of pedestrians, vendors and hotel staff. There is an absence of light that intercepts outward vision, so we turn inwards.  I do anyway.  And because I gorge myself on the emotionalism, and interior life, I have not slid into home base.

That is why it has taken me longer to launch my writing for worldly consumption. Some of us are not in a rush to wave the “I made it” flag.  Some favor holding back, until the other elements of our character life are lived; our destructiveness, fear, pettiness, falsity, greed, so many steps to climb.

You and I have to trust in the pattern of our lives, the invisible thread that taunts us, teases us, and even torments us. My lot, postponed progress, maturity, development.

I was an A cup until college, without direction, a major in English, Art, and Psychology, before dropping out.  My major interest was the countryside beyond Sonoma State campus walls, the roaming cows, and flock of geese over the swamps, the crooked paths winding through eucalyptus woods, the poetry pasted on bulletin boards in the coffee house, the farmers in the pasture.

“When are you going to start taking your life seriously?” My father asked this question every few years, and every few years, I lied.

I was adulterated when I was first employed at the old Gibraltar Savings & Loan on Wilshire Boulevard. I was serious about how they measured my performance, and was vicariously unconcerned with personal gratification. How excited could I be about trust deeds? I cannot even recall what I was doing; just the name of the department, the Beneficiary Demand department.

All that restrictive training, in punctuality, production, and prudence, exploded late in life. I did not discover my passionate interest in writing until I was forty.I didn’t own a home until I was forty-seven, did not stop biting my nails until I was fifty-four, did not learn to love and trust until last year.

I developed friendships late in life, now I honor a treasure chest of sterling gems that glitter from near and far. Friends that abandon tasks to listen to me talk about moving the furniture again, and consent to my absence because the victor of writing has kidnapped me.

It is a day later, the sky is unchanged; still the cloud cover is nailed to the sky. In random conversations I have heard of people’s hardships, of sacrifice and compromise during this holiday season.  No more travel talk about Paris, and the Orient. No more extended vacations or extravagances.   We have to give ourselves a holiday from lament, from error, and from exasperation.  I tell myself not to be combative, not this year, and don’t polish the guilt and remorse, just let it fade away. Don’t open those links to real estate values, retirement funds and investments; open the link to History. Remember what the greatest generation was handed; remember soup lines, suicides, and World War II.

Mostly don’t reprimand your partner for unrealized expectations; They are most fragile to your voice and touch. The adventure in livingness is to look at your lot; and ride it with amusement and wonder.