SUN, a goose-bumpy joy and celebration. Thatโs what I love about my education here: the first class you must take is weather management. Iโve destroyed dozens of artistic bric a brac by leaving them on the farm table on the porch, forgot to shop for groceries when a storm was approaching, and ran out of salt. I drove through town, taking photos at the red lights; the scenery is like Little Women, dressed differently but still rather swarthy in their determination to survive. Now some men, probably like the fourth or tenth generation, bear the strength by wearing a T-shirt or shorts. The other day, after a snowstorm, I noticed a man crossing the street in shorts, a long white beard, and working boots. Thatโs an EXACT badass around here.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Beguine the Beguine is on the record player, and Iโm swinging around the music room, elated with the energy that forced me to dance, turn off the mind entirely.ย Total bliss.ย Dance has been with me since as far back as I can remember, the answer to a mood change, without drugs or alcohol. ย
In a current of unexpected life moves, I floated towards the Pacific Ocean and landed along the fragile, factious Santa Monica Mountains to Malibu.
The salty seaweed smell of the ocean streams through my car, driving down the Pacific Coast highway on my way to buy groceries.Vintage Marketis new to Malibu, and clerks are giddy about their jobs. They may be aspiring actors or former actors.
I walk in and get a phone call that Iโd been waiting for so, I set my cart down on a shelf and took the call. During the half-hour conversation, my eyes were fluttering through the scene: tanned surfers, affluent college students, and diamond-rich men and women of age that donโt check their bank balances. Because of this, expressions are chilled as fine wines, and smiles are sublime or radiating. They are a mostly content population of 13,000. The median home price is $901,000, and the median income household is $127,000. Here in Malibu every thing looks different from Santa Fe: The staging of โwas in the business, am in the business, or want to be in the business,โ surfaces and dominates the scenery.
They are beautiful-the young teenagers who surf and paddle are true blondes, the blue eyes scintillating pools of water, young women are saddled onto 6โ platforms, and then there are the stand-out power people, who will not acknowledge anyone, and expect everyone to acknowledge them. Tucked in the mountains, are extraordinary artists who live off the grid the way most people prefer to live in Santa Fe. I am learning slowly and still hiding out at Chantalโs, where I am living, two miles up from PCH off Malibu Canyon Road, behind a gate. Bohemians, artists, home-office screenwriters, producers, and famous heirs of recognizable movie stars live there.
In the last hour, I walked down the road in the hands of sloping hillsides, horse ranches, and signature homes behind walls as high as the palm trees, built to withstand the typhoons of nature and mankind. In thedaylight a swirl of rain and clouds, it was as if I was in Ireland, walking along a road in Kilkenny. I roped in my imagination and returned to the mountains, which will teach me how far to go, how to duck a racing motorcycle car, or confront a coyote or a snake. A full transcendental moon dipped into the black-out mountain evening, and has cured me of interior turmoil for the time being. This is part of adventures in livingness in what locals call the bu. Chantal’s artistic compound of eight cottages and seventeen acres burned to chips in the Woolsey Fire. One night with Chantal and Neighbors.
Today, as the Bu, Palisades, and five other fires demolish humanity’s lives, I am grateful I was able to return to my childhood memories in Malibu for one summer in 2017.My family home burned in the Bel Air fire in 1961… No WATER.SAVE THEM THIS TIME, LA, AND DON’T LIE TO THEM.
I shot this today with impetuous acceptance of more snow. I swept the stairs, removed branches, listened to music, and smiled. It will be my last winter in this quixotic, charming, historic village that taught me not to complain, instead to make it understandable.
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.
Why can the leaves turn lemon, plum, and tangerine? Why does the sky allow storms to shake up its translucent surface? Why can nature reinvent momentarily with wind, rain, hurricanes, and earthquakes? Why can’t I change the colors of my mood? I get daily messages from an Instagram member named Asadโinspiring, and he circulates around the themes of mood, attitude, loneliness, and inner strength. All of these have toppled my life since I can remember. I’m more taciturn than most people perceive. I can display a mannequin of poise and joy, but if you remove the surface, beneath is a conundrum of self-doubt, second-guessing, punishment, and fear. What’s even more destabilizing is I actually think I’m alone.
Last week, I observed the cashier’s facial expression and gestures at the Stop-& Go, which alerted me to her distress. I was buying a Cadbury chocolate bar after reading that chocolate is mood-changing, not just the hip-hop of energy; it can change your mood.
” I read that chocolate helps with depression, and these dreary dark days don’t help,” I admitted.
” Oh, I know. I used to be a registered nurse,” she said, facing me squarely into my eyes. I noticed a lot of cashiers don’t do that anymore.
” I suffer with anxiety and depression so I had to quit. I can mix up a Cadbury bar with a Snickers but not with medication.”
” I have the same as you, it’s changed my life as well. ” I looked at her name tag, without my glasses.
” You’re name is America? She laughed and her smile emerged.
“No, underneath, Dolores.”
” Thank you for listening to me,” I said
” Thank you, customers rarely acknowledge us.”
We don’t want pity or empathy; we all need recognition, and not in a text!
It is my mother’s birthday, so I am thinking of her. If she had been here today, we would have had this conversation.
Mom, I can’t hold up, I’m so beat down.”
” You have to. I know your situation is degrading and frightening, but you don’t have a choice. You have to use all your strength.”
” I wish I was more like you.”
” You are like me, and I know you will overcome.
After our home burned down in the Bel Air fire, my parent’s divorce was in motion. Dad moved to Hollywood, and Mom moved me to Westwood to a studio until she found work. Mom returned to modeling to support us.
Silhouette of sounds: a whispering wind, the freight train blowing the sounds of its coming, Neil Young music, and the flutter of thoughts that sometimes feel like sounds.
The sky is building into a rainstorm, and watching its manifestation is dramaticโnature in motion. Although there are tasks to be threaded, Iโve chosen to retire from pesky vacuuming, wood polishing, laundry, unpacking my winter clothes, and preparing for winter. The clothes are trivial to the transformation of light, outdoor porch lounging, and then the trees. When they turn naked as skinned cucumbers or buds without flowers, I think a visceral adaptation occurs in all of us.
This week unfolded over Dad. The most honorable collector of Mafia artifacts bought some of fatherโs collection. Years ago, I sold them to the Mob Experience for their Museum in Las Vegas (bankrupt), and the owner resold them to Julianโs Estate Sales in Beverly Hills. I viewed the items for sale; imagine your phone book selling for sixteen hundred dollars and an album of photos taken by Dad’s doll in the thirties for, well, I forget the price. Anyway, Avi Bash of the Avi Bash Collection bought what was left. When he wrote to me, I felt immediate relief that he owned these moments Dad had kept all his life. He said,โ Let me know if you want to see photos or anything else.โ Heโs a prince of a man. That was one slice of the week. When I checked my list today of my crossed-off tasks, it was not too impressive, but sometimes we canโt produce. As I said, Iโm adapting from sunshine and warmth to seasonal change.
Digitally, I fixed a few troublesome changes Microsoft made to my documents and feeds.
Itโs not me of years agoโdriven, disciplined, empowered, and confident. Maybe it is not worth thinking about, not for me. I think more than I act these days. Everything we do in life needs revision. We are never through evolving into more thoughtful, loving, or wise human beings. Every day, there is an opportunity to leap into a saintly hood. It is the same with manuscripts; they get better.
The next adventure in livingness is one I have lived with all my life, moving. I would love to move, even to another part of town.
The dismantling of things gives me a twisted alignment to my life. The beginning is again: unpacking boxes, meeting new neighbors, sunsets, and cafes. If I am ever to rest in one address, I’m sure it will be a headstone and a plot of dirt. I have chosen to relocate because of an internal destiny.
These are the ones I know will happen with some certainty. The inner self concerns me and how it jumps from one dream to one nightmare. When I was thirty, I was afraid of getting married; when I was forty, I was scared of not having children. Now that I am seventy-one, I am fighting another fear: the fear of singleness. But Iโve always been a loner; it just didnโt scare me when I was young.
The Rain came, Dylan is singing, and Iโm planning risotto pasta for the night.
I just finished another Denzel Washington film, Man on Fire. DW is my actor of the week, so I watch all his films. An alert popped up, another mass shooting, this time in Kentucky. I wanted to delete my last column.. It’s not what is breaking me apart; personal threads seem vacuous. What I’m escaping in writing and films are mass shootings and unbearable violence. It’s not one every few months; it’s every day. Yes, cure Cancer and all other physical diseases, BUT CONCENTRATE ON CRIME, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. MENTAL ILLNESS.
The leaves, I noticed when I drove out of the driveway a wispy wind and a few leaves blew past my windshield. I don’t think they want to die or hibernate; I don’t want to hibernate; that’s what you do if you are in upstate New York. Even this summer, the porches are empty, and the owners only come out to garden or empty trash. I’m the only one who sits on the wrap-around porch, head perched up to the sky to see what drama she’ll bring.
Where did we go this summer? Where did you go or do? One friend went to Croatia, another to Finland, and another to Sonoma. I prefer to travel in September, with my crowd cowardice and fear of flying; I’m waiting. Of course, I cannot leave because I am showing the house to prospective buyers. They are all very similar, rave and applause for the house, and their offer is two lines above insulting. Or maybe I am still in my delusional dream that Follies House is worth what I priced her. It is a voyage into the Twilight Zone; I see one house, and they see another.
Back to the leaves, the fall’s language, movements, and tasks will turn inside out. Soon, the blowers and street cleaners move all those beautifully colored leaves. I leave mine out until my gardener orders me, sweetly, LouLou, it’s time for fall clean up, or you won’t have grass next summer.” I won’t be here next summer, but I don’t say that because we’ve become pals, and he likes to manicure my lawns; I always greet him and George, his helper, and listen to their grievances.
Beyond the seasonal altercation, like a dress that needs hemming, emotions stop boiling over and seem to simmer. I am still determining where that originates, but I experience it every year as September approaches. Autumn is about awe. I read that somewhere. We slip into the interior chambers of thoughtful reflection, crunching the leaves of our souls for answers to questions.
I called my pal Jerry because it had been a few weeks since I had spoken to him. We have been friends for many years, but we have absolutely nothing in common. He’s famous for his photographs and films, that’s all I can say. I didn’t ask for his approval as I write this.
” Hello,” He sounded drowsy.
” Jerry! Did I wake you?”
” Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call tomorrow.”
What for I’m awake now. I take naps because I can’t sleep through the night; I close my eyes, think for maybe an hour, fall asleep, and wake again five times in the night. What’s happening with you?”
” You are cerebral, so turning off your head would take a bulldozer or something.
“That’s a little drastic.”What’s happening with the house?”
” Showings, repairs, and a few offers that were insulting. I have a question.”
“Oh no.”
“What do you do when you don’t know what to do>”
“I call my attorney.”
” For life questions?”
” I don’t have any more questions at ninety-six.”
” That sounds peaceful.”
, We sidetracked an upcoming appointment with his doctor about sleep medication.” It’s tomorrow, I don’t feel like going,
” So don’t go. I had an appointment this week for a mammogram. That morning, I woke up trembling, panicked, wobbly, and so I called and canceled. When I told the representative I was having a severe panic attack, she laughed and said, I hear that all the time.“
“What’s the mammogram, is that for breast cancer?“
” Yes.”
” What do they do?
Oh, it’s weird. The nurse takes hold of your breasts, places them between two clamps, and then tells you not to breathe or move while they take an X-ray.
“What if your breasts are too small?”
“Ah hah, mine used to be, so they’d tug at them, and it was more painful than the clamps. When I turned seventy-one this year, suddenly they inflated, and I can fill my B cup to the rim.” He was laughing, imagining he had some visual, and that was good. We have better dreams when we sleep with pillow joy.
“I’m going to go to sleep now>”
” I hope you do. I’ll think of more breast stories tomorrow.
You survived the storm and did very, very well. Perhaps thatโs how our souls mature?
[…] UNTITLED MANUSCRIPT SYNOPSIS โ ADVENTURERS IN LIVINGNESS […]
Excellent! So true. XO Sarah Z. SleeperExecutive Director, Library Guild of Rancho Santa FeAuthor,ย Walloon Lakeย (2026),ย Gaijinย (2020)858-357-7877 https://sarahzsleeper.com/
Saturday, a heavy clog of humidity tries to zap my energy. I slept six hours, so I fight, do laundry, do a bit of weight lifting, go up and down the twenty stairs twelve times, and wander in my mind. I answer the first phone call of the day.
” Hi, how are you? ?”I pause to answerwith some amusing honesty.
” I’m cleaning my brain?
” How do you do that? You’re funny.”
” “I sweep away all the repetitive scary thoughts.”
” What about you? My friend sighed and then zigzagged into her struggles, taking care of her ninety-six-year-old mother, who does not speak English; my friend is Armenian. She works full-time as a court translator, has two children, a husband, and about fifty friends she continually connects to.
“You are four people in one. I don’t know how you do it?” Is your Mom still living with you?”
“ Yes, she can’t walk. She sleeps in the living room because the bedrooms are upstairs. It’s difficult. I have to feed her as she’s now refusing to eat.”
” Please try and get a nurse’s aide to come in and help you.”
“She won’t let anyone touch her but me.”
“I find that selfish, not to be critical, but you will wear yourself down.”
” She’s always been like that; in my culture, you never abandon a parent, no matter what. Her mind is sharp, so that is good.“
” Heaven isn’t good enough for you,” she chuckled. I often improvise to be amusing because her laughter is boisterous, and we all need more injections of humor.
” Have you decided where to move when it sells?”She asked again.
” Yes, I was looking at my book on Italy, all the different regions, and I think Anacapri is a good choice.”
” Oh, Greta… that is so expensive; what are you thinking?”
“I’m not thinking I’m daydreaming.”
” I have an idea for you. There is a new trend, something like Boomermates, a group of people who share a house, and you don’t have to sign a lease. Go look in San Diego and find something.
“Roommates, strangers, you mean?”
“Yes, why not?”
” Would you do that?”
” Probably not. A studio anywhere in San Diego is two thousand at least, and don’t use the proceeds from the house.
“Now you’re daydreaming. I’ll have to use some without the rental income until I find employment. Are you home now?”
“No, I’m driving to San Diego for a court appointment
“It’s what, six in the morning?“
“Yes, I wake up at five.”
” Every time I come here, I think of you. You were a great leasing agent. You leased about fifty of my units. You can get a job leasing in a nice project. Oh, you should have bought that unit. I remember G4 when we converted to condominiums.“
“Yes, you’ve told me that a hundred times.”
” I made the same mistake. What can you do?”
” Complain and then accept what you can’t accept. Like selling my home.”I went through my steamer trunk and found my marketing portfolio when I opened Follies as an artist retreat. It was nonstop theatrics. One time, I hosted a theater group of six young actors; they were so much fun. Ah, memories.
” You will make it; look what you accomplished, winning a foreclosure, Greta; that is something big.”
” So is my glass of wine.”
“I’d be doing the same in your situation.”
” Another showing, a really nice family. They’ll make an offer. They commented that the exterior paint is their issue, so did I tell you already? I found a marvelous painter from Albania, and he’s given me a very reasonable price to paint the entrance, balisters, and overhang. You know that curb appeal is critical.”
” You shouldn’t spend your money, Greta, how much?”
” Three thousand, and it’s a lot of scraping and ladder work. It’s the right decision if I may disagree with my real estate guru.”
” That is reasonable. Keep me posted. I’m in San Diego now, so I will speak to you soon.”
” Heaven isn’t good enough for you.”And I’m leaving Follies in the best I can because she was so good to me.
I read some older columns on singleness from times when I was alone and still friends with Dodger. Now, the pattern is unthreaded. There is no intertwinement of intimate conversations with a man, guidance, indulgences, or frolicking like children. When I see couples dining or walking hand in hand in the village, the vision snaps me into memories. The past lurks like a shadow, an overture to the present. Stream of consciousness, that translucence of mind that can drift like a leaf in the wind, is out of reach, so I donโt even attempt to reach for it. Acceptance of this interlude is permitted, as my mind is impregnated with a new canvas: relocation, standing in lines, driving the freeways, a city life that was once as natural to me as breathing feels like a complete revival. Employment, straightening my team playing skill set, working on deadlines, and finding excuses to get out of my chair away from the computer. Working in an art gallery is the only option besides being a remote writer.
Today, as I attempt to make strategic, methodical decisions and edit my resume, the yellow line appears that separates the present from the future. Can I navigate a city confidentially, decisively, and with discipline? In the village, those skills sleepwalk effortlessly.I have a punishing skill for avoiding reality.
I have packed most of my books, vacillated on their importance several times to eliminate the load. I chose ten to give away, Last night on the phone with Jerry, I mentioned parting with my books.
โ Why are you keeping them? I assume youโve read them.โ
” No, I have a lot of photography books I’ haven’t opened once. “
โ So, keep those.“
” I want all my favorite authors, some read, some not. I can’t let them go.– Don’t laugh, but they are my friends, in an abstract way, of course,” Jerry chuckled.
This morning, I kneeled and took another serious examination; no remains the answer. I’ve sold some of my favorite furnishings and artwork, so I made the strategic decision that my books are for keeps.
My Favorite home must be sold. After twenty-four years, Letting go is going slow, packing, and viewing my possessions and antiques. Today, I found a matchbook in perfect condition from the Stork Club, playbills, and musical sheets. I wish I hadn’t opened my steamer trunk; it’s like looking at another woman.
ADVENTURERS IN LIVINGNESS 
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