Here Kitty…

Well, well, guess I’m back to my 5am wake up schedule. What gives, Universe? Aren’t I worthy of a Sunday morning sleep-in? Apparently neither my bladder nor overactive brain think so.Okay, I suppose I’m awake enough to tell you about a white cat and a iridescent dragon who both saved me during last night’s slumber.

It all began (selective memory being what it is) with me…one late afternoon, standing on a precipice, ready to jump on my iridescent dragon, Flutter, to fly home to wherever that was, when I heard ever so faint “mews” from a nearby cluster of rocks. Being the curious sort, I took my feet out of the saddle (it would appear in this dream I had my dragon saddled) and hopped off, tiptoeing toward the sounds. There, behind the rocks, was a large litter of tiny kittens, crawling over one another, mewing continuously. They were old enough to have their eyes open, peering up at me with tiny eyes desperately trying to reach lil ole me. Flutter stood close by both curious about the kittens and impatient about getting home where her children were waiting our return. It was getting dark but Mama cat was nowhere in sight. I scratched my head wondering what to do. I couldn’t leave them alone atop this mountain so finally I chose to delay my departure, bedding down in the crook of my dragon’s left wing for the night. Still, no mom appeared in the morning so I scooped the squirming hungry pack into my bag and up we all flew into the heavens, landing just minutes later at my lair where friends awaited, excited to see what was inside the actively bulging bag .

I placed it on the ground and out scampered twelve kittens ready to escape their confinement and locate food. It was then I got a good look at the myriad colors of these tiny beings – the usual assortment of orange striped, brown striped, gray, black and white, solid black and speckled with the last cat to venture forward of the brightest white fur and the bluest of blue eyes I had ever seen. This one did not join the others but instead crawled up my leg, perched on my shoulder, rubbing its head on my cheek.Let me stop right here and say that, though I have had cats in my life, with one in particular being quite dear to me, I am, most certainly, a dog person, so when I woke from my dream I was quite surprised I had actually dreamt of kittens! But there it was, cats populated my dream, one in particular. Of course in this dream I also had at least one dragon, which so far has not appeared in my current reality, so cats there were…and no dogs. Hmm. where was I?

The other kittens found homes with my friends. We all went about our lives, though sometime sooner or later (probably later as the kitten was now very large (think lion) and named BG. (For Cat-White in Spanish) and we were walking in the woods when BG began to make loud clicking sounds, warning me of danger – One would assume I had learned to communicate with my feline companion prior to this walk and therefore able to determine the message.

Anyway, just beyond, i heard a branch snap and a giant alligator type beast came our way at a very fast clip. Blanco jumped between us and a battle ensued. Fortunately the gator knew he was losing, turned tail and started to split, but not before Flutter had heard the commotion, hoisted me up upon her back, (Blanco scampered up to meet me) all while sending a plume of fire, singing the reptile’s nose. And off we flew back to our lair.

I’m not sure what else happened because it must’ve been nearly 5am because I woke to see my dog, Mocha snoring with her head on the pillow next to mine.

I’m definitely a dog person.

Tragic Comedy.

Comedy can be Brutal. I mean its tricky. Some comics can make me want to go outside and scream “Why?”, repeatedly, others to shake my head in awe of their lack of humor, and still others might, if I’m lucky, engender a chuckle or if I”m lucky, more.

Last night I joined four other friends to a standup night at our local Brentwood Social Club, a great coffee/tea house with activities galore to appease those of us who would rather talk, sip and nosh than watch ESPN, drink copious amounts of booze in order to lessen our inhibitions and hookup with a wanna be Gates or Bezos.

We had just dined at a local Thai restaurant, chatting amicably about all sorts of stuff, politics included. To say we were game, especially after the banter about politicos, for something to laugh about, is an understatement. I for one, additionally wanted to make my core muscles have a workout with a major guffaw – I seek out indirect exercise as much as is available, also better than 20 reps of sit-ups. Can I say, it was difficult?

Most of the young (under 30) comics were painful, embarrassing and even without their chronological deficiencies, juvenile. I mean how much do we really need to hear bad rants (that’s being charitable) about pot, bodily functions and hookups -straight or LBGTQ matters little to me, its just so droll. Was it a generational thing? I, don’t, think, so. But maybe.

I must confess that I too have, in the past, been up there, on the stage, standing, ranting, about an assortment of things, ex: dating when over 50, shopping for shoes, being an environmentalist at Home Depot in the pest control section. I observed, I stood, I entertained, earning much laughter and applause, though never money. But who’s counting? I understand well the nerve it takes to get up there and bare my comedic soul in front of complete strangers, some who might want to throw ripe produce at me, for my ineptitude, were it available. That is a comic’s cross to bear, which for a nice Jewish girl from LA, was awkward. But back to last night.

There was one African American comic who attempted to work jokes about race – which if I could give him kudos for playing to coffee house whitefolk in “hip” Austin, I would. His humor, though I got it, cause I’m old and wise, mostly didn’t work for that audience – even though later I considered how he might’ve done otherwise, and still I was unable. The last guy, whose jokes were intelligent, mostly funny, and reminiscent of Seinfeld, gave me at least a trickle of giggles to keep the standup evening from being a total loss; then again it might’ve been from the pent up energy I had stored in deep anticipation of wanting my cheek and belly muscles to hurt.

During my long ago six month foray into the standup world…and my many years presenting expressive arts to trauma survivors in enclosed spaces: jails, schools and shelters, I learned the major rules of engagement: KNOW your audience. Granted, our senior group of five was a dingy in a sea of younger souls, but shit, we count, don’t we? And funny should translate, if its…funny.

I realize I might be hypercritical, which comes with having seen a lot of decades and being the utter and completely unabashed snob that I am. Comedy is a tough game. I got out because I refused to bomb, and I did the last two times I went on stage. That was enough. Hopefully the standup kids we saw last night will mature along with their material, or they will go do something else creative that doesn’t include possible repeated ridicule which also means few laughs or applause. Comedy can sometimes be really funny, but mostly it is just brutal.

Girls Night Out

Betcha you were thinking I had a big night yesterday eve, huh? Well, for this 69 year ole G’ma it was. No, I did not go to a club where men stripped to their Gstrings and lap-danced there way into my Grace and Frankie heart (and by the way are their vibrators actually available?) – which by the way has never really been my style. Instead, daughter Julia and I took the delightful, almost five year old Lulu (daughter of daughter’s boyfriend) out for pancakes at Kerbey Lane. Actually we adults had salads while the small one ordered blueberry flapjack’s, but who’s keeping score?

This was possibly one of the easiest evenings out with a child I have had in many years. Lulu, unlike my adorable five, early six year old, non-stop energetic whirling dervish grandson Levi, is well-behaved, listens (mostly) when spoken to and asks questions, demanding, in the most imaginative, genteel way, answers. I was astounded by her demeanor. Such a contrast – and while I am not at all passing judgement or preference, given that both kids are perfect in their individuality, my blood pressure was perceptibly lower during dinner with LuLu than when usually dining with Levi.

You might be asking ‘why a girls night out and no grandson? Dad Tony was at an evening talk given by a friend at UT – a presentation not about unicorns or llamas, definitely not the place for even the most well-behaved nearly five year old. Besides, grandson Levi was with his dad.

After an uneventful (no dancing in the aisles running into servers with trays of hot food or spilling beverages on everyone) we paid the check, exited establishment, took turns jumping off each consecutive step to the sidewalk and got in the car. Once home we read books, one about Abe Lincoln, where we discussed the concept of slavery – to the incredulous, sweet and caring Lulu this was a challenge to which she rose with many questions and remained thoughtful til the next book which was about animals at the zoo…a respite in the storm of man’s cruelty to man, even though we both agreed that big snakes can be quite scary.

Through it all, Julia entertained us at the piano, stopping periodically to show Lulu how to press the keys and allow her to express herself in a melodic, thoughtful, as yet untrained composition. Had there not been an iPhone in my purse or a TV on the wall, we could’ve been living pre-electricity or the women’s right to vote and most definitely before Trump’s father was a gross immigration error. Now, I am not saying we shouldn’t have electricity or voting – though, the last one….you figure it out.

There is definitely a difference in the male and female energies which I can observe without having to be the parent… there are benefits to being the grandparent. I frankly like a gentle mix – I absolutely love how when together Levi and LuLu playfully interact, both have such wonderful senses of imagination which blend especially well. Being in the presence of such youthful exuberance – I am able to mostly keep up with their antics.

Okay, enough. I’m late for the dentist – must repair chipped tooth. Have a delightful day or evening wherever you may be. Do yourself a favor – hang out with a five year old.

New record! Super Hero wakes at 630am!

Call me lazy, but I overslept this morning. Was it because I fell asleep last night at 8pm whilst trying to get my grandson to go to sleep, then woke at 10 and stayed up til 1am? Probably. But who notices? Oops, that would be me.

So, what caused me to awaken late? Perhaps the dreams of fab black shoes and chasing evil doers away from innocent people in a housing project. Geez, one would think i watch cop shows or mysteries…Nope, though I readily admit I am a Wonder Woman, Captain Marvel, Mystique fan!

In last night’s dreams I was taller, svelte and, if I’m not mistaken, sporting wearing a somewhat understated flowing black cape -that is if a cape in and of itself can ever be understated. Under the cape were black pants, with tiny gold stretching threads running through and a turtleneck shirt of the sort of fabric that repels moisture (superheroes don’t sweat but I suppose wasn’t taking chances). My shoes were not those ridiculous cat woman tall heeled boots (who the fuck can run in those anyway?) but much more sensible and very grippy athletic ones, like those made by On A Cloud.

Okay, you’re probably asking how I could possibly know all this about my attire in a dream? Did you think there might’ve been a mirror in which I gazed? You do realize even superheroes must see if they are appropriately dressed for the occasion. And since in my sleeping fantasy I was apparently a savior of some sort, unless I was just in a parallel universe, I was still appropriately dressed for saving others who could not help themselves.

Anyway, I woke and made coffee, then looked in the mirror and realized I needed to take a shower, that I was not wearing a stitch of black and that my feet were bare. Yuck, reality, that is if this is not the parallel universe, in which case I might go back to bed. Super heroes have more fun.

Have a great day.

Thoughts on a Rainy Morning

I suppose a “5am wake up” is my new normal. Here I am eyes wide open, its dark outside, the rain pouring down upon the carport – I oughta move my car since it is so filthy from months of not washing. I could even go out there with a rag and move the grunge around.

My mind is going at its normal rate, a trillion mph, thinking about this, that and a slew of other, mostly unrelated things. Who needs Facebook or Twitter to complicate your life, when you’ve got a brain like mine?

My first thoughts are about my dog Mocha who lies on my bed, sprawled out in perfect slumber. It is hilarious that just a month ago I had a twin bed the two of us slept upon. Why? Well, when I moved from LA to Austin I’d already sold my king bed since I would be staying with my daughter who had a twin one for me – mentioned above. We moved several months later, conveniently to the house next door while our house is being remodeled. I got a big room inn which to sleep and make art. I thought, unreasonably, I could sleep on the twin with the dog, (did I say she’s a 70 pound lab?) while the process of home alteration occurred. Then, after a Les Misérables bout of high blood pressure, and a pet who loves to cuddle, it was quite apparent I needed a larger bed, hence one comfy Queen size was purchased. Now both Mocha and I have room to spread out. Even so, some days she manages to do her version of spooning, usually when i am in REM sleep, flying with Unicorns or saving the world…yes I do have these dreams, but don’t tell anyone. Though I love my dog, I need my Dreamtime.

My next thoughts are about the state of the world. As I am becoming more awake, i am, unfortunately, reminded that the scourge of our country, Trump, is still in office, that Texas still has fucking greedy, insensitive idiots for Senators, and if we don’t get our progressive shit together we’re going to be so much deeper in societal excrement we might have to encourage Elon Musk to beam us all up Scottie. It is a pitiful state when it comes to education (did you read that the quality of Texas educational system is equal to Turkey?) Fuck! And may I say now these are not good thoughts to have when waking up in the morning, even with a soft brown sweet dog on your bed! I am relieved to say that even though we have ass hats wearing ten-gallon-oil-soaked Stetsons in our government there are still inspired folks with energy and responsibility doing their part to unseat the fuckers. The LAF group of amazing people with whom I weekly write postcards to businesses, politicians and individuals are an example. Whew.

Whilst in London, I was thankful to see so many people demonstrating in response to Global Climate Change. I wondered why so people are upset by the slowdown of business in Oxford Circus because of road obstruction. Well shoppers, how about a stoppage of business due to no fucking clean water, air, or even food? “Y’all gonna pay sooner or later” is what my new Texas mantra, “so how ‘bout’s y’all begin to get your greedy asses in gear, stop drinkin’ your coffee pod lattes, drivin’ your gas guzzlin’ Bronc’s, curtail your unabashed single serve consumerism, put a friggin’ solar panel on yer McMansion and get yer goddam hands dirty and reuse your f’g trash. Who the hell drug you up anyways?”

Okay, my blood pressure has risen again and I am now ramblin’.
For that reason I shall go to my next thought. My grandson. He’s 5, lying peacefully asleep in the other room- his wake up time is at 6:15. He is my hope for a healthy planet, full of compassion and love for all concerned. Yes I’m woo woo, so what of it? Okay, he’s only five but he’s both typically and atypically that age. Typical in that he is everywhere with his mind (am I still five?), has an imagination that knows no bounds (I must be), loves to make a mess (hmm) and plays like there’s no tomorrow (I hope there is….a tomorrow, that is). He’s brilliant, not only because he’s my grandson but also because he is thankfully his own very unique person with a very good sense of humor (probably also attributable to yours truly, and yes my daughter, but that’s obvious). Where was I? Yes his uniqueness. He is learning to be more compassionate – typically five year olds are selfish bastards, and though this is a big challenge for him, he IS learning. You know they say that the emotional IQ’s of alcoholics is that of the age in which they started drinking. I believe that the emotional IQ’s of narcissistic psychopaths is at the age they learned or didn’t learn how to be compassionate, empathetic beings. It is a BIG f’g job to teach understanding, the Golden Rule and general love for someone other than your little ole minuscule (have you seen people from high in an airplane?) self. And though children are normally selfish, it is really the job of adults to foster Sharing, Compassion and Responsibility so that kids truly get it…that the world functions best with those 3 big things.

So my grandchild is learning…early. Hopefully the rest of the world will catch up fast.

And now I’m getting up to make coffee. Have a good day. And reuse, (recycling is only part of it) your fucking trash!

Home sweet home

I woke again at 5 am and I’ve been home approximately a day and a half.. I stayed up til a bit after 8pm the night before last so I would struggle less with jet lag, the same last night. Alas, that seemed to only partly work. The bug I had caught and thought I had rid of reared it’s rotten head, and I had a sore throat to end all. This is mostly now a memory, thanks to sleep, green juices and Netflix. If you are looking for a good movie, take a look at Queen of the Desert with Nicole Kidman. Pretty good. I must’ve also experienced some kind of “proving” from the Theraphi treatment as all sorts of old malaise/s popped up during this time. I’m on the mend now, it appears. Picture me crossing my fingers.

Early this morning I opened the refrigerator and decided it was high time it needed a clean out. Being away for ten days, coming home to discover mold on veggies, fruits and other items formerly known as edible cheese.which hadn’t yet been tossed away by my daughter who shares the house with me, compelled me to start afresh. Many things were subjected to the sniff test. Not fun. Gagging was definitely present in the ensuing process. The lack of dates on containers didn’t help either. I wonder how Marie Kondo cleans here fridge. “Does this jar of pickles give me joy?” Does she bring her family into the process? Certainly some prefer sweet to sour gerkhins. And what about mustards? Rotten whipped cream is a no brainer as is ancient Chinese takeout abloom with penicillin.

All of this cleaning and organizing compelled me to create a grocery list, but the rub is… I have absolutely no inclination to get dressed and go shopping. Thankfully the local HEB has curbside pickup, which means I can order the stuff online and pick it up. However, ONE BIG problem with this is that it’s earth day (also my son Billy’s birthday) and getting curbside delivery means the “shoppers” will use a ton of of plastic bags. Guess I’m going to have to get up off my ass soon.

Before I go I’ll have a cup of tea, open some mail, check email and take a shower. Delaying the inevitable is an art form I am just now learning. Perhaps my next book will address this. One never knows.

Have a great day.

Day 11- Reflections on travel, health, eventful days..

I woke this morning from another toss and turn night – like on a small boat in a big-swelled sea, feeling achy and a tad anxious, though anxiety-wise, not about today’s upcoming travels as is often the case. It is now apparent that my two days of Theraphi administered by the kind and able Marcio Amaral of Stress Management London may have provided me with a healing crisis of epic proportions. Even so, my head is clearer than it has been in months, as is my eyesight. My blood pressure has lowered sufficiently as well. Of course, just to maintain a sense of guarded enthusiasm, time will provide me with the answers as to the longevity of treatment results.

Yesterday the weather was beautiful here in Jolly Ole London (where did that saying come from- better google it) giving me a day without jacket, scarf or gloves. Was the universe (yes I’m still listening) preparing me for the heat in Austin awaiting layered-wardrobe-me?

And spring has definitely sprung in the trees all abloom in the nearby Dorset Square Garden, just across the street and accessible only to those with a key, either hotel guests or trustees of the land. Lucky me, I had grabbed some tasteless takeaway from a quasi-sushi place on the way back from treatment, thinking I might enjoy the repast amongst the trees, well-manicured grasses and shrubs. I put the key in the lock and voila! It worked! The gate was extremely heavy- thankfully I am neither feeble nor easily deterred – I entered with a might push, my eyes observing the vast, upper class greenery. While I enjoyed the verdant view, the bland stuff I ate- even the wasabi had no taste – yuck – it made the stop in nature less than perfect. That and the fact that just on the next corner was a homeless gent, beginning his evening encampment in a nearby shop doorway. I went out later to the nearby Pret and bought a giant sandwich for the guy. I hope he enjoyed his meal better than I- small compensation for living rough in the streets of London.

I ask you, how can I really ever complain about my life? I have been so fortunate and am very grateful to spend the time, have the wherewithal to travel, to move freely, to stay in comfy places, (even without hot showers in two hotels, but who’s counting?) to meet with friends, the luxury to choose where and what to eat, to experience other cultures and languages, to listen to the opinions of others and share mine without experiencing derision/name-calling etc. I know I experience white privilege every day – that with that understanding comes a responsibility to listen and respect and even fight for the rights of all. I can thank my attitude in part by the upbringing (though sometimes flawed) I received from my parents. I really don’t abide by the willful abuse some people perpetrate against those they judge unworthy.

More thoughts of the last couple days:
-A friend reported she had been frightened on the London streets by the activities of Global Climate change protestors. We live in a time of fear and mistrust, a period in my life I never imagined would transpire. It is funny (not ha ha) people are blindly upset about the temporary interruption of “business” or “traffic” due to protests. After all, we will all be greatly, horribly and probably permanently interrupted, if we don’t seriously take charge and immediately stop our mass abuse?consumption of resources. Of course some people are fucking dumb or to fucking greedy to comprehend this will have a direct impact on them and those they hold dear, not just those they deem lesser and/or undeserving. I don’t wish bad stuff to happen to anyone though I do hope for those who have denied or fought against the betterment of life animal-vegetable/earth to possibly be the first to suffer the results of their abuse. Instead of sending a virgin into the volcano to appease the gods, maybe we could send the careless reprobates to the frontlines of environmental destruction…the Thwaites Glacier perhaps?

Yesterday whilst on the table having my treatment, I saw images – a disembodied being or two, then more importantly those of scenes I wish to replicate in my art; my mind was so relaxed then it became actively enthusiastic about returning home to get to work again. I remember being in my early twenties, floating on a fishing boat in the Pacific wondering the hell was i doing in my life? These years since have most certainly not been wasted – even though it has taken time to get to the point where now I no longer wonder. I am of the strong belief we are the sum total of ALL our experiences. These have made me full of ideas and images and understanding and have left me So filled with a greater sense of purpose. I am committing myself to not waste my time floating but instead to dive further into this my “Creativity Sea”.

Stay tuned for more to come.

Day 10 The Universe Provides

It’s been a ride this journey o’mine – to bid a final adieu to my dearest friend Aristhaia Cash who pointed me those many 32 years ago, in the direction of my real life, when I had all but lost my way. Her words “Think of me as your operator, I’m only helping you make your connection!” I was both befuddled and intrigued, the latter getting the absolute best of me. And I say best in so very many ways as through our initial meeting I rekindled my flame of creativity and in turn began to write for newspapers, authored books, made art, wrote and directed plays and facilitated creativity workshops for others, many of whom survivors of trauma and abuse. I am beyond words grateful for the first moment of our meeting and my heeding her words.

Today, I continue on said journey, choosing to at last complete the final edit of my book, My Hero’s Journey, which has been a bulky resident of my MacBook Air, having moved twice from MacBook Pros 1 and 2. It is a funny story in itself the delay of “getting my book out”, perhaps only amusing to me, and now my only question is if it is, metaphorically speaking, a delicious cassoulet, or a bland over-cooked pile of mush. Hopefully it is the former.

I am returning to Austin tomorrow. My original plans of stopping in New York to visit my talented friend Ronnie Marmo in his one man show, “I’m not a Comedian I’m Lenny Bruce, to have a Theraphi treatment there, to visit friends, and then to see my son Billy, daughter Natalie and grand baby Lyra in North Carolina, regrettably will have to wait.

Throughout the past days I have allowed myself opportunity to let the universe show me the way. Does this sound too woo woo for you? Whatever. I learned this from my most loving friend and It has worked well for me. My visit in Switzerland with Ursula and Stefan, their dogs, Jenna and Mischa and home in the Appenzell region was heavenly, it is a region full of everything chocolate and cheese and humongous cowbells, infinitely bigger than anything I’d want to carry upon my neck – the bells that is, the chocolate or cheese I could find a way. The generosity of my friends to drive me specially to buy a bottle of cognac to soothe my oncoming bout of ickfluenza was heroic. I listened as my body told me it was time to head home and as the universe provided a cheap enough last minute flight to London, two Theraphi appointments and then a “miles” flight back direct to Austin.

This morning i am having a late continental breakfast here in my hotel, The Dorset Square. Were I feeling tiptop I’d be exploring the hood – my Yelping says there are at least a dozen places I could sample. Both my body and universe are saying “rest, have the treatment, then we’ll see.”
As it is I rise early mañana for the Uber, Heathrow express and flight.

If you’re in New York, I’ll see you next time, and if you’re my dear sweet son in Durham, know that I celebrate you every day, along with delightfully precious family.

I’ll attempt a missive tomorrow. Until then perhaps you too will let the universe guide you through your most beautiful life.

Porridge at the Potting Shed, Dorset Square Hotel

Day 9 Recovery from Travel and a nasty bug

My hotel in London, The Dorset Square is pretty cool. The decor is tres chic, the location is perfect for seeing the sights, the bed is so comfy – the kind that makes me wish to stay there all day. The room however is so tiny it would be impossible for two people to move about without one jumping on top of the bed so the other could answer the door. The bathroom must’ve been designed by a Jenga expert, or a tiny house craftsperson. You must close the door to move about – the shower door will also impede your trip to the loo or sink. That being said it all seems to have a place for everything. There is a long tall closet for the minibar, safe and snacks, the door of which has a long mirror which I suppose makes one feel slightly less claustrophobic.

When I arrived I was pretty much too sick and quite tired to notice the layout of the room. I managed to strip, take a hot shower, wrap myself in the plush cotton robe, open a ginger beer and bag of crisps and fall under the crisp white sheets of the “never gonna leave this” bed. I don’t even think I tossed or turned, but I did sweat like a racehorse which thankfully signaled the breaking of my fever. I woke once at 330am only to fall back into slumber until seven-ish when I decided to go to the bathroom, after which I immediately got back into bed – it hypnotically called me.

I am now in the hotel’s cafe “The Potting Shed”. It too is tastefully appointed with gentle, just like you might hear in a romantic movie, non-descript piano music overhead. I ordered porridge with tropical fruits and lemon/ginger tea – unlike the tea you might get in USA it was actually slices of lemon and ginger – can you believe? Though tempted for a classic English breakfast – my stomach was not going to have it. Perhaps I am winding down from my grande Bouffe of the continent.

I’m going soon to my room to rest before my Theraphi appointment this afternoon. I know I could sightsee, but my body is telling me to take it easy and I’m listening.

For those of you in dreamland I hope its a pleasing time – I’m on my way.