Saturday, October 29, 2016
5 star book review
Attention all artists, writers and friends who love creativity, joyous word-smithing and a good rollercoaster of a read. I just finished Sam Weis' new novel "Abstraction." Some of her sharply defined idiosyncratic characters will make you laugh out loud ; others will make you lust to share studio space. Remember to breathe. Such a delightful, crazy/original premise. The book also made me want to visit the Pacific Northwest, very much a character in the book. That's it. I'm not going to say anymore. Oh, except that Sam is one of the finest abstract painters I know and a renown 12 string guitar performer as well as a captivating writer. And she lives here!!! Lucky us.
Life and Death on a Grey Day in Key Largo.
So it's been a few (ok, a lot) of years since I've posted here. Yuli the wonder cat no longer fits as comfortably in the sink for naps (and yawning)as he used to. We're marching past middle age together.
My mother is 95 now. When I saw her Tuesday, looking good and all dressed up, sitting near the nurses' station in her speedster wheel chair, she asked me if she did the right thing by having breakfast. Of course you did, mom. Well, she saiid, I wasn't sure if you were supposed to have breakfast on the day of the funeral. Whose funeral, mom? Mine, she said. No mom, today is not your funeral. You are alive and well. Oh dear, she said. I invited Shelley. I wanted him to come. Maybe he won't won't pick up his messages.
I look outside my giant window at the waving Gumbo Limbo branches and say hey, it's overcast in the tropics -- yay, only 78 degrees (whoever thought I would think of just under 80 degrees as cool weather :-). Dangling, dancing branch tips are evidence of a light breeze. Perfect day for a walk down Jenny Lane, through the woods to the ocean. Or a bike ride. The Overseas Highway here in Key Largo is to be avoided on any weekend, but especially on this one, jammed as it is with cars headed to Key West for Fantasy Fest. The biggest attraction is the parade, costumes showing more body paint than clothing. And then there are the naked bicyclists with no clothing at all -- just pink and purple striped penises and star-bedecked breasts. Jugglers and stilt walkers ramble where there used to be creative floats.
In Mexico next week people will flock to cemeteries to weed and decorate their parents' graves. At night, they will bring food and beer and babies and blankets, have picnics, sing loud mournful songs and know that when they are gone their kids and friends will throw them a party too, shed a tear and pass the salsa. Dia de los Muertos, a no fear holiday, my favorite (Tu Bishvat, the Birthday of the Trees comes a close second). One year I flew to Mexico City, hopped a bus to Patzcuaro, caught a ride with a friend to Tzintzuntzan, an indigenous cemetery whose name in Nahuatl means butterfly. "Butterfly." Perfect. Graves were decorated with so many yellow flowers and tall candles they looked like giant wedding cakes.
Tomorrow I will be carpooling, caravanning to Mt. Nebo in Kendall for the funeral of a friend. Sudden, shocking departures rock me. Five girlfriends this year, three of them close, two I shared travels with, to Cambodia, Vietnam, India, Thailand, Bhutan. Rest in peace dear Gretel Porter, Gail Gutradt, Barbara Cegalis, and Patty Lawler. Tomorrow we will say Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead that makes no mention of death, for Patti Silver. It's raining now. No walk until it stops.
My mother is 95 now. When I saw her Tuesday, looking good and all dressed up, sitting near the nurses' station in her speedster wheel chair, she asked me if she did the right thing by having breakfast. Of course you did, mom. Well, she saiid, I wasn't sure if you were supposed to have breakfast on the day of the funeral. Whose funeral, mom? Mine, she said. No mom, today is not your funeral. You are alive and well. Oh dear, she said. I invited Shelley. I wanted him to come. Maybe he won't won't pick up his messages.
I look outside my giant window at the waving Gumbo Limbo branches and say hey, it's overcast in the tropics -- yay, only 78 degrees (whoever thought I would think of just under 80 degrees as cool weather :-). Dangling, dancing branch tips are evidence of a light breeze. Perfect day for a walk down Jenny Lane, through the woods to the ocean. Or a bike ride. The Overseas Highway here in Key Largo is to be avoided on any weekend, but especially on this one, jammed as it is with cars headed to Key West for Fantasy Fest. The biggest attraction is the parade, costumes showing more body paint than clothing. And then there are the naked bicyclists with no clothing at all -- just pink and purple striped penises and star-bedecked breasts. Jugglers and stilt walkers ramble where there used to be creative floats.
In Mexico next week people will flock to cemeteries to weed and decorate their parents' graves. At night, they will bring food and beer and babies and blankets, have picnics, sing loud mournful songs and know that when they are gone their kids and friends will throw them a party too, shed a tear and pass the salsa. Dia de los Muertos, a no fear holiday, my favorite (Tu Bishvat, the Birthday of the Trees comes a close second). One year I flew to Mexico City, hopped a bus to Patzcuaro, caught a ride with a friend to Tzintzuntzan, an indigenous cemetery whose name in Nahuatl means butterfly. "Butterfly." Perfect. Graves were decorated with so many yellow flowers and tall candles they looked like giant wedding cakes.
Tomorrow I will be carpooling, caravanning to Mt. Nebo in Kendall for the funeral of a friend. Sudden, shocking departures rock me. Five girlfriends this year, three of them close, two I shared travels with, to Cambodia, Vietnam, India, Thailand, Bhutan. Rest in peace dear Gretel Porter, Gail Gutradt, Barbara Cegalis, and Patty Lawler. Tomorrow we will say Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead that makes no mention of death, for Patti Silver. It's raining now. No walk until it stops.
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