RELIC OF REBELLION

~ LouLou ~ 5 Comments

BEFORE I think about how to respond to a stranger, I feel them; the gestures, expressions, tone of voice, movement, conversation, mannerisms, and eyes. I acknowledge feelings first, then I think.

ISADORA DUNCAN

When I’m driving, I feel sprite or gloom. I feel a twirl of sensory perception from the drivers’ faces and witness the joyous reciprocal ink of friendship between shopkeepers, cops and dining customers, city workers, and service technicians trying to fix satellites and cables in a village with inconsistent infrastructure.

SOME of my principles are unsupported by experience, but more with GROWING UP WITH GANGSTERS training that I cannot erase.ย  ย My theme is unbalanced; I take the extreme path instead of the path with arrows.ย  It is why writing settles my sea-saw.ย  As I sit in my antique wooden chair looking out, feeling Saturday’s silence beneath a blanket of blue sky and radiant sunshine, a tiny thread of peace realigns a week of political profanity, war, and death, but they got Sinwar!ย  ย The sedate and quiet surroundings relieve my spinning head, and I just continue to sit and not fidget.ย ย 

I’VE observed the village people; some appear to drag their bodies rather than hotfoot. I wonder if all the global Google news has weighed us down.ย  Teens signal youth’s fascination with experience, newness, and expectation.The exchange of human voices as pedestrians walk along the street, I’ve noticed that New Yorkers speak in voluminous pitch. I can hear their voices from my bedroom on the third floor with closed windows. Humanity is our background symphony, along with the crows, lawnmowers, power saws, blowers, and racing cars. ย This street is part of my theme;ย  a juxtaposition of historic homes and modern toys. I am a 21st-century flapper clinging to the roar of independence, self-expression, and breaking the rules.ย  If we feel the chord of festivity,ย  we should not hold back.ย  I am going out now to see ifย  I can feel more.ย  ย 

Sunday October 20,ย 

I walked out to the porch and slouched against a pillar to feel warmed by the sun. My dermatologist advised that I should not stay longer than ten minutes, even with fifty UV protection. Today is family day and a car show in the village. I experienced it two years ago, so I remain at home; listening to the geese go south for the winter and feeling solitude. It’s like a branchless tree, a storm without an umbrella, a garden without flowers, and a home without company. Oh, snap out of it. Go to Henry’s Tavern and watch the game with men losing their cool. They get insanely raucous s over football.

FEELING TODAY

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

RELIC OF REBELLION

WHY I ASK? AND THEN THE ANSWER.

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

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 Asadโ€”inspiring, 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!

HELL HELENE

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

The embryo of thought. Sometimes, it is negligible,ย  as is life.ย  I am the puzzle maker. Every time I try to carve the right size square, I fall off the board and have more material to write about!ย  The puzzle is so vast that it covers our lifetime and the pieces are the choices and non-choices that fit into themes.ย  We are all a puzzle.

My life is like a melody, a Gershwin tune. As a dancer and prancer at heart, I feel and think with movement of mind. Today, on a translucent composite of sunshine and clouds, my heart is on the people surviving Hurricane Helene. Climate, warnings, rescue efforts, and the stories of human sacrifice to save lives will analyze this puzzle of devastation. All of those risking their own lives to save strangers are my heroes. One hero saves one life. Just imagine.

TOO LITTLE TOO LATE. HELENE

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I’m angry. We can go to the moon, build cities, and predict weather, but why are we waiting now to rescue North Carolina, Florida, etc.?

The hurricane was reported days ago. I looked up the exact date but couldn’t find it. All federal resources should have been there before Helene took lives, animals, homes, streets, businesses, and infrastructure.

HELENE: LOSING A HOME.

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

It’s impossible to feel personal tribulations when I see Helene’s destruction. The shock is unimaginable unless your home has been removed by earth, wind, or fire.

When our family home burned, my mother drove me up a day later to see what remained. I was eight years old. I felt lost. My stomach was empty, and my breath held. Nothing but ashes; it changes your perspective on what to hold on to.

Burt Lancaster lived above us; a spark dropped from his home onto our house. Ours was the only house that burned on Thurston Circle. We direct our life, and then it returns a different ending. Lucky to have had those years in Bel Air, a paradise of charismatic neighbors, children up and down the street, parties, and safety.

The 1961 Bel Air Fire was a disastrous brush fire that began on November 6, 1961, in the Bel Air community of Los Angeles. It destroyed 484 homes and burned over 6,000 acres, fueled by strong Santa Ana winds. At least 200 firefighters were injured during the fire1

RANDOM THOUGHTS

~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

My emotional tail is wagging. Curled up in my desk chair, I feel almost as if I was born in this chair. Itโ€™s cushioned me through a cyclone of adventures in livingness.
This piece of writing was handwritten on a tablet back in late January. Iโ€™ve made some minor additions and deletions. Before submitting to a publisher, the editor I used asked me, โ€œWhy do you keep switching between past and present tense?โ€ I told her I donโ€™t control that until Iโ€™m 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 donโ€™t 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.

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MOTHER’S

MOTHER’S

~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

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.

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    THINKING?

    THINKING?

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    ADVENTURES IN

    LIVINGNESS TODAY,

    SEPTEMBER 7, 2024

    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 dramaticโ€”nature in motion. Although there are tasks to be threaded, Iโ€™ve 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 fatherโ€™s collection. Years ago, I sold them to the Mob Experience for their Museum in Las Vegas (bankrupt), and the owner resold them to Julianโ€™s 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€ Heโ€™s 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 canโ€™t produce. As I said, Iโ€™m adapting from sunshine and warmth to seasonal change.      

    Digitally, I fixed a few troublesome changes Microsoft made to my documents and feeds.

    Itโ€™s not me of years agoโ€”driven, 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 Iโ€™ve always been a loner; it just didnโ€™t scare me when I was young.

    The Rain came, Dylan is singing, and Iโ€™m 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.

    Thoughtful Reflections and Autumn Leaves: An Upstate New York Story

    ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

    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.

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