THE LEGEND LADY OF PALACE AVE

Featured ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

The throw of the dice this week lands on adventures in livingness; one day at a time. People with terminal illness, suffering from a shattered romance, a death of a friend, a natural disaster, always say the same thing; One day at a time.

Walking up Palace Avenue on a day spread with sunlight, and a continuum of power walkers, bikers and runners, passing by in whiffs of urgency, I took my time. I didn’t feel like flexing, just evaporating into the shadows, and the moving clouds. I walked by a little adobe, that once was a dump site for empty bottles, cartons, worn out furniture, and piles of wood. A year later, the yard is almost condominium clean. Just as I was passing the driveway, the little woman whom I’d seen walking up Palace with her bag of groceries, appeared like a gust of history in the driveway of her adobe casita. She wore her heavy blanket like coat and a bandanna on her head. Regardless of weather, she’s bundled up in the same woven Indian coat and long wool skirt. I stood next to her, a foot or so taller, and she unraveled history, without my prompting. She told me about the Martinez family, the Montoyas, and the Abeytas, all families she knew, all with streets named after them. Estelle asked me my name, and then took my hand in her weathered unyielding grip, ‘Oh I had an Aunt named Lucero, and we called her LouLou.’ She didn’t let go of my hand, and then she told me that the families, some names I’ve forgotten, bought homes on Palace in 1988 for $50,000, She shook her finger to demonstrate her point. ‘You know how many houses the Garcias bought? Five! Then they fixed them up and sold them.’

I could have stood there in the gravel driveway listening to Estelle all afternoon. She owns the oral history I love to record; but it is difficult to understand her, she talks with the speed of a southwest wind. We parted and I thought about the times in my life when the smallest of interactions elevates my spirit. In older people, who are not addicted to gadgets and distant intimacy, I’m reminded of how speed socializing has diminished the opportunity for a sidewalk chat.

IF

April 2, 2013April 2, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

If I don’t forget where I’m relocating all my clothes, books, tapes, CD’s, DVD’s, files and shoes, for summer vacation guests, If Rudy doesn’t get pulled over for driving without a license, If the tenant at Follies House doesn’t break his lease, If the tenants that moved into the Taos house from San Francisco to build a dream,don’t lose faith, and If the Lexipro keeps working,

I can listen to the musical score from Man and a Woman, tap dance around the house, with the sunlight, the birds, the grass turning green with life, and I’m happy.

TWO PATHS SAME END

February 27, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

There are two kinds of happiness. One ensures promise of financial
comfort, family, and children. The other kind ensures nothing. It is always adventures in livingness. In the end, both kinds deliver who you are, and what you never knew about happiness.

DELETION OF THE VOICE

February 7, 2013February 14, 2013 ~ 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.

DAYDREAMING

January 13, 2013June 20, 2014 ~ 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 (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 5^th 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 (Photo credit: unNickrMe)

SIFTING THROUGH THE SNOW

December 10, 2012December 12, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

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 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.

VOYAGES WITHIN & WITHOUT

December 5, 2012December 5, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

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.

I’VE JAMMED MY LUELLEN

December 4, 2012December 5, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ 3 Comments

Running from Luellen — Was I named after this?

AS MUCH AS I DIG INTO FORMER & FOREIGN DESIGNS, FILMS, BOOKS, AND ADVERTISEMENTS, I WAS BOUND TO FIND MY TRANSGRESSION LIFE. I LASTED FOR 9 SOLID MONTHS. ENOUGH TIME TO GIVE BIRTH TO ANOTHER REED.

PLEASANTRIES OF YOUR LIFE

November 30, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

PLEASANTRIES OF YOUR LIFE.

PLEASANTRIES OF YOUR LIFE

November 30, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

No Pleasantries (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a short piece. I haven’t written anything besides the script for the last two months, and my head is empty of imagery and illumination. I got the script done as right as I could until such time as a more experienced screenwriter explains what I’ve missed. It’s like looking in the mirror and deflecting the flaws, until the big mirrored light swings over and all is revealed. .

Last Saturday after I printed the script out I went into a cocoon of pleasantries. Studying my home-nested wild birds, nudge the bird feeder, peck each other out of order, eat alongside the chipmunk, the doves, and the squirrel on the porch and Rick, the pavement glory of La Posada waving from across the street as he jogged to retrieve a guest’s car. I envied Loren on the porch, sunglasses and hat tipping slang narrating life as he sees it from a valet, go to guy, perspective, and watching Rudy on the roof pitching leaves, and listening to Ray Baretto. I drank up Gloria’s laughter at Geronimo when Sam Shepard sat next to me, and she nudged me to talk, talk talk. I watched the fireplace rising into flames and the sunlight at dusk in the melon room .I rose to morning air so fresh it numbed my tongue, my nose and eyes, and inside my San Francisco kimono, draping over my arms I could see the blossoms of color.

Lounging in lavender and lilac oil, soaps and salts in my claw foot tub listening to Nancy Wilson and then later with the TV on to TCM and my head on the pillow, I snuggled the pleasantry of a warm bed and heat rising through the vents.

If you write down the pleasantries

Surrounding your life

Your blessings rise up and

Give you 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 our stories. Stories that some day will be told in conversation, or written in journals and books. The essence of our changing lives is worth telling, so you loyal readers write to me and tell me yours.

Remember your pleasantries, and the ones that swim through your days, with smiles and laughter, pats on the backs, jokes and tales. We all have clutter of the mind but we have the power to sift out the deranged deviations. I have come to believe the only will I want is the power to be a real good sifter.

COMFORT & GANGSTERS

November 28, 2012June 20, 2014 ~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

Comfort….
From 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, the black silky toned crows basking like prowesses on the branches, and waiting for La Posada to empty the day’s leftovers in the garbage cans. The silky drape of the winter sky sometimes adorned with lacy clouds, like today, softening the southwest blue to a faded jeans shade. From my desk, I write, without thoughts predefined, just a drain of emotional threads from my heart…

This year isn’t like last year, the absentee man, fussing with the fireplace, making me afternoon espresso, or drying dishes. It is not at all like last year, with Rudy and John intercepting my division of attention, laughing at the kitchen table, eating my blueberry pancakes.

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 a very lucky lady 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.

That’s why now, is so different. The camp has closed, and I wander into these new woods unsteady, and steadier, juxtaposed between, acceptance and anger.

In the last few months, I’ve written my heart out, read Shepard, Colette, Durrell and my Creative nonfiction magazines. I’ve studied, and prepared for radio programs, and collected a bundle of columns to adapt into short stories. I started buying chocolates and jelly beans, so I treat myself, on breaks, when it’s too cold for my frail body to walk around town or up Palace Avenue to see the new for sale listings.

My steps inward resulted in accomplishments, break-troughs’ and a comedic sideshow trying to open boxes, make repairs, until Rudy shows up again, and rake the leaves, stuff that is mundane. More distant relations, and mafia threaded strangers knocked on my door, bolstering my faith in breaking the silence that ruled me, I let rule me. Stepping inside the truth I must face isn’t nearly as harmful as pretending.

Mob on television, in the news, (gross sales global figure of $850 billion) websites, and bloggers, movies and books. They’re all coming out of the closet to inform, turn themselves in, give advice, consult on their own films, sign on for pubic speaking at Library’s, documentaries, and advertisements-the world is all mobbed up and it’s time for some horrific homogenization of the gangsters who wouldn’t break the silence.

November 27, 2012 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

When you text the person who shares your home, it could be a sign of diminishing emotions, or detachment. If a relationship is developed through text or email, it will shatter like cheap glass when tested.