Riding Lobo
The crowd went wild yelling “Bravo, bravo…” Sorina knew that everyone in that audience was there to see her and she felt proud and happy to be back in Romania. Sorina was born in Texas, but soon after she was born her family moved back to Romania where they rejoined the circus. Her parents were trapeze artists and after doing a stint in a small circus in Austin Texas, they realized that they missed their homeland very much and moved back to be with the rest of their family.
Sorina was very young when she learned to ride bareback. In the Austin circus there were many horses to practice with. However, Romania was a different story. There they rode giant wolves and any rider who could manage to ride one was idolized. So at the age of thirteen, Sorina learned to ride the lobo. She became the most skilled at this talent and her audiences were massive. The circus tent was packed every time she performed. Her costumes became more extravagant and she wore long black false eyelashes and bright red fingernail polish. She had sequined cat suits of red and black and as she grew up, she became the most famous bareback rider in the land.
Sorina rode wolves late into her seventies until she died of influenza. She was buried in the family plot. A larger than life size marble statue of Sorina riding a lobo is in the cemetery to this day. Fans still pay respect and leave red roses at her grave.
The crowd went wild yelling “Bravo, bravo…” Sorina knew that everyone in that audience was there to see her and she felt proud and happy to be back in Romania. Sorina was born in Texas, but soon after she was born her family moved back to Romania where they rejoined the circus. Her parents were trapeze artists and after doing a stint in a small circus in Austin Texas, they realized that they missed their homeland very much and moved back to be with the rest of their family.
Sorina was very young when she learned to ride bareback. In the Austin circus there were many horses to practice with. However, Romania was a different story. There they rode giant wolves and any rider who could manage to ride one was idolized. So at the age of thirteen, Sorina learned to ride the lobo. She became the most skilled at this talent and her audiences were massive. The circus tent was packed every time she performed. Her costumes became more extravagant and she wore long black false eyelashes and bright red fingernail polish. She had sequined cat suits of red and black and as she grew up, she became the most famous bareback rider in the land.
Sorina rode wolves late into her seventies until she died of influenza. She was buried in the family plot. A larger than life size marble statue of Sorina riding a lobo is in the cemetery to this day. Fans still pay respect and leave red roses at her grave.
The River of Trees
Many many years ago in the Romanian village of Maramures, there was a kind couple living a contented life. They were very happy and were celebrating the birth of their first child - a girl they named Banja. The whole town celebrated with a parade of flowers and a feast. Everyone participated except Eugenia the witch; she just stayed by the fire in her dark home seething with jealousy.
Eugenia was very beautiful and had many lovers but if they crossed her she would turn them into air, a breathing ball of kinesthetic energy, not living but not dead. Many a lover fell to this demise. This witch never bothered couples. That’s not to say she wasn’t jealous of them, but this pair was too happy. Eugenia wanted a child herself, but I’m sure the only reason was that she wanted a slave to clean, cook and to lure men to her.
Later that evening when all the festivities were over, Eugenia crept into the couple’s home and put her spell on them. They were sleeping soundly when all of a sudden they felt light, see-through and charged. The couple left their marital bed and discovered that they could only float and hover, but they could not touch Banja for they had become inert. Eugenia took Banja away to her hovel and to this day Banja remains in the care of the witch. Her parents can only look in on her, but no communication is possible. In this painting, they travel quietly by moonlight, a smooth buzz of energy as they slip through the trees. With only a vine to guide their way, they snake and slither around over bracken and branches.
They had always been a couple and so they stayed intertwined in life and now in this transformed state, an opaque mass of see-through soul.
Many many years ago in the Romanian village of Maramures, there was a kind couple living a contented life. They were very happy and were celebrating the birth of their first child - a girl they named Banja. The whole town celebrated with a parade of flowers and a feast. Everyone participated except Eugenia the witch; she just stayed by the fire in her dark home seething with jealousy.
Eugenia was very beautiful and had many lovers but if they crossed her she would turn them into air, a breathing ball of kinesthetic energy, not living but not dead. Many a lover fell to this demise. This witch never bothered couples. That’s not to say she wasn’t jealous of them, but this pair was too happy. Eugenia wanted a child herself, but I’m sure the only reason was that she wanted a slave to clean, cook and to lure men to her.
Later that evening when all the festivities were over, Eugenia crept into the couple’s home and put her spell on them. They were sleeping soundly when all of a sudden they felt light, see-through and charged. The couple left their marital bed and discovered that they could only float and hover, but they could not touch Banja for they had become inert. Eugenia took Banja away to her hovel and to this day Banja remains in the care of the witch. Her parents can only look in on her, but no communication is possible. In this painting, they travel quietly by moonlight, a smooth buzz of energy as they slip through the trees. With only a vine to guide their way, they snake and slither around over bracken and branches.
They had always been a couple and so they stayed intertwined in life and now in this transformed state, an opaque mass of see-through soul.
She Wanted It All
She always looked fantastic. Even as a child, people would admire her curly brown hair, hazel eyes and the smile, a grin of such proportions and such impact, it was sweetness with a pitchfork. The smile could get her anything. Early on, it was candy or a new pair of Mary Janes, but as she turned into a lanky teen, her desires progressed. Then it was a pink transistor radio, rose shaped hair clips, and a new daisy patterned nylon bedspread. The wants did not stop there. She was also very selective about what foods she liked. Her tastes were so precocious that when her family would go out for a nice dinner, she would order Lobster Thermador, Croque monsieur or some other fussy entrée while the rest of the family would have burgers or chicken. No one dared tease her or she would throw a fit and cause everyone to stare horrified. It would be a tantrum so loud the wait staff would hide in the kitchen. She always got her way, so when she started dating and met the captain of the debate team, that was it. He was the one - she was going to have a husband and he was the target.
They married in a beautiful garden decorated with orange Gerber daisies strewn everywhere. The wedding was picture perfect. They ate Bouillabaisse, Ceasar salad, and had a four tier cake decorated entirely of Jordan almonds. It was a happy celebration and her parents were especially pleased to turn their daughter over as she was becoming more and more impossible.
Little did they know that the wedding night was the eve of a disaster. They left the party as happy husband and wife. In her light blue raw silk suit and matching Jackie O pill box hat, she looked divine. She was ready for her honeymoon. Next stop Tahiti!
They arrived many hours later and it was warm, very warm. They got to their beautiful hotel and she began to read the guest book. She loved the guest book. As she was reviewing the room service menu , the layout, and special information, one thing struck her as strange. It was a warning…….it said “Enjoy your stay, but please do not touch any of the drift wood on the shore. It has a curse. Just avoid it and your holiday will be secure.” Secure? That was odd. Being stubborn, curious and never one to obey warnings, she made plans to investigate. Late that night when her husband was sound asleep, she went to the beach. She collected all the drift wood that she could hold. It was beautiful - polished by the sea with striations of color running through the grain .
The next morning, her husband awoke alone! He began looking for her everywhere and eventually found himself scouring the beach for signs of his wife. What a beach! There was driftwood everywhere and at the far end of shore he saw what looked like a very small wooden figure. “The Warning! - she did not heed the Warning “, cried a hotel staff member running to the scene. “There is no way to undo this!”
He left the next morning, a widower on the first day of his honeymoon. She was the most beautiful and most difficult woman he had ever met - perhaps this happened for a reason. To this day she remains on his dresser. A wooden woman that wanted it all.
She always looked fantastic. Even as a child, people would admire her curly brown hair, hazel eyes and the smile, a grin of such proportions and such impact, it was sweetness with a pitchfork. The smile could get her anything. Early on, it was candy or a new pair of Mary Janes, but as she turned into a lanky teen, her desires progressed. Then it was a pink transistor radio, rose shaped hair clips, and a new daisy patterned nylon bedspread. The wants did not stop there. She was also very selective about what foods she liked. Her tastes were so precocious that when her family would go out for a nice dinner, she would order Lobster Thermador, Croque monsieur or some other fussy entrée while the rest of the family would have burgers or chicken. No one dared tease her or she would throw a fit and cause everyone to stare horrified. It would be a tantrum so loud the wait staff would hide in the kitchen. She always got her way, so when she started dating and met the captain of the debate team, that was it. He was the one - she was going to have a husband and he was the target.
They married in a beautiful garden decorated with orange Gerber daisies strewn everywhere. The wedding was picture perfect. They ate Bouillabaisse, Ceasar salad, and had a four tier cake decorated entirely of Jordan almonds. It was a happy celebration and her parents were especially pleased to turn their daughter over as she was becoming more and more impossible.
Little did they know that the wedding night was the eve of a disaster. They left the party as happy husband and wife. In her light blue raw silk suit and matching Jackie O pill box hat, she looked divine. She was ready for her honeymoon. Next stop Tahiti!
They arrived many hours later and it was warm, very warm. They got to their beautiful hotel and she began to read the guest book. She loved the guest book. As she was reviewing the room service menu , the layout, and special information, one thing struck her as strange. It was a warning…….it said “Enjoy your stay, but please do not touch any of the drift wood on the shore. It has a curse. Just avoid it and your holiday will be secure.” Secure? That was odd. Being stubborn, curious and never one to obey warnings, she made plans to investigate. Late that night when her husband was sound asleep, she went to the beach. She collected all the drift wood that she could hold. It was beautiful - polished by the sea with striations of color running through the grain .
The next morning, her husband awoke alone! He began looking for her everywhere and eventually found himself scouring the beach for signs of his wife. What a beach! There was driftwood everywhere and at the far end of shore he saw what looked like a very small wooden figure. “The Warning! - she did not heed the Warning “, cried a hotel staff member running to the scene. “There is no way to undo this!”
He left the next morning, a widower on the first day of his honeymoon. She was the most beautiful and most difficult woman he had ever met - perhaps this happened for a reason. To this day she remains on his dresser. A wooden woman that wanted it all.
Prison Time For Emma Mae and Her Artistic Ways
The days grew shorter and darker; the rain wet down the ground and the wind re-arranged the landscape. Emma Mae sat on her sofa and looked out the window at the dark winter sky. Emma Mae was an artist and loved the winter. It motivated her to work on art, stay inside and be creative. As the winter progressed she began more and more projects.
Emma was an innovative artist and extremely skilled. Emma’s father was a carpenter by trade and she watched and learned from him. She learned how to build things with care and precision and was mathematically wise beyond her years. She could work out any crevice, corner or angle. For instance, Emma Mae’s niece Tandy wanted a doll house. Her parents could not afford such a childhood extravagance so Emma Mae, being the good aunt, built a very nice mid century modern A frame doll house for Tandy. The doll house was the last sensible thing that Emma Mae built! When Emma purchased her first house that is when all the trouble began.
Emma Mae loved wind chimes, but not your typical chimes. She liked them loud. Emma Mae’s wind chimes sounded like Harleys, car horns, doorbells, jack hammers, dentist drills and Skil saws. The chimes themselves looked beautiful and harmless enough. Nice hardwoods with rice paper patterns lacquered into them delicately tied together by clear fishing line, but when these angled pieces of wood collided, the sound was so jarring it sounded like an entire metropolitan city at lunch time. Emma Mae lived in a quiet rural setting and this did not go over well with the neighbors. Every winter the wind would blow and the wind chimes would rage with a chaotic symphony of sound, Emma Mae thought it was soothing, she was hard of hearing in one ear so she liked everything loud. The neighbors would ask Emma Mae politely to remove the wind chimes and she pretended not to hear them. A complaint was filed and still Emma Mae continued to make more and more chimes, her newest ones sounded like a lawn mower and a leaf blower. The neighborhood had had enough, Emma Mae was arrested and put into jail for not cooperating with the police, and she continued to refuse the removal of her beloved wind chimes. For the last two years Emma Mae has lived in the Warburten women’s correctional prison.
She is still building her wind chimes but now she has an appreciative audience. Every other Sunday the women are allowed to see their families and they all assemble in the auditorium to hear the newest wind chime concert conducted by Emma Mae and her assistants. Apparently “Sound Now “ magazine will be interviewing her next month and Public Television just finished a feature to be aired next year. In the meantime, Emma Mae is working on some new chimes that sound like snoring, throat clearing and nose blowing, sounds that would make a mother cry, but to Emma Mae they are an auditory paradise.
The days grew shorter and darker; the rain wet down the ground and the wind re-arranged the landscape. Emma Mae sat on her sofa and looked out the window at the dark winter sky. Emma Mae was an artist and loved the winter. It motivated her to work on art, stay inside and be creative. As the winter progressed she began more and more projects.
Emma was an innovative artist and extremely skilled. Emma’s father was a carpenter by trade and she watched and learned from him. She learned how to build things with care and precision and was mathematically wise beyond her years. She could work out any crevice, corner or angle. For instance, Emma Mae’s niece Tandy wanted a doll house. Her parents could not afford such a childhood extravagance so Emma Mae, being the good aunt, built a very nice mid century modern A frame doll house for Tandy. The doll house was the last sensible thing that Emma Mae built! When Emma purchased her first house that is when all the trouble began.
Emma Mae loved wind chimes, but not your typical chimes. She liked them loud. Emma Mae’s wind chimes sounded like Harleys, car horns, doorbells, jack hammers, dentist drills and Skil saws. The chimes themselves looked beautiful and harmless enough. Nice hardwoods with rice paper patterns lacquered into them delicately tied together by clear fishing line, but when these angled pieces of wood collided, the sound was so jarring it sounded like an entire metropolitan city at lunch time. Emma Mae lived in a quiet rural setting and this did not go over well with the neighbors. Every winter the wind would blow and the wind chimes would rage with a chaotic symphony of sound, Emma Mae thought it was soothing, she was hard of hearing in one ear so she liked everything loud. The neighbors would ask Emma Mae politely to remove the wind chimes and she pretended not to hear them. A complaint was filed and still Emma Mae continued to make more and more chimes, her newest ones sounded like a lawn mower and a leaf blower. The neighborhood had had enough, Emma Mae was arrested and put into jail for not cooperating with the police, and she continued to refuse the removal of her beloved wind chimes. For the last two years Emma Mae has lived in the Warburten women’s correctional prison.
She is still building her wind chimes but now she has an appreciative audience. Every other Sunday the women are allowed to see their families and they all assemble in the auditorium to hear the newest wind chime concert conducted by Emma Mae and her assistants. Apparently “Sound Now “ magazine will be interviewing her next month and Public Television just finished a feature to be aired next year. In the meantime, Emma Mae is working on some new chimes that sound like snoring, throat clearing and nose blowing, sounds that would make a mother cry, but to Emma Mae they are an auditory paradise.
Asleep In Mexico
My circumstances are strange. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would end up in Loreto Mexico living in a small casa, playing guitar and drinking shots of Tequila with beer. I am from a small town in Pennsylvania. I had never left the state until the age of twenty and you could say that I have had a naive view of the world.
All that changed when I met Manuel. I was an insurance agent at a conference - my first time out of state! One evening after a rather boring presentation on family insurance, I went to the dining room of my hotel and sat down to order dinner. I looked up from the menu and saw this starched and pressed waiter with curly black hair and dark eyes smiling at me and waiting to take my order. He was immensely charming and asked me to have a drink with him when he got off work that evening. Now remember I was naïve and of course I agreed. We met later that evening and drank and talked about our lives. Manuel was from Loreto, Mexico and came to the states to work to help out his family. Now we really had no romantic connection that I could pick up on. He was handsome and all but I was no slouch myself. It was possible we had a little spark!
Manuel began to tell me about his town and the wonderful food and music. He told me that I was stunning and should be on stage and I of course was flattered. I began to toy with the idea of a new career - the insurance world did not suit me whatsoever . I would make a great actress and Manuel told me of this fantastic acting school run by his cousin in Mexico. All I had to do was give him a deposit which he would send on to his cousin and before I was to leave send the rest of the tuition and my spot for school would be saved. I was very excited about this new prospect. I gave Manuel a check that night, called my parents and told them I was leaving for Loreto at the end of the month. I began to get all my things in order so I could start my new carrier as a fledgling actress.
I got to Mexico without a hitch and Juan (Manuel’s cousin) met me at the airport and drove me to the school. I know - there actually was an acting academy! The school was a rundown elementary school. Even the desks were small and though I am rather tall, I would make do. This was just the first problem. All my teachers spoke Spanish and all the students were American women as vain as I was. They had all been lured by the false flattering Manuel who also promised to get us jobs in the telenovelas!
I didn’t even bring much money, I spent most of it for this school where I could not even speak the language and I was surrounded by this cluster of semi attractive women in the same misfortunate situation! I was ready to make the best of it; I began Spanish lessons so I could learn from my teachers. After several months Manuel returned and walked into the Cantina where I worked as a waitress. He started setting up for the evening entertainment. He was a singer in a Mariachi band called “Fresco Diablo” and he was the singer. That night I fell in love with Manuel and his gypsy ways.
Once in awhile we would run into one of the many women that Manuel had swindled, they would scowl, spit or even slap Manuel in the face, it was a common occurrence. I decided to give up acting and learn guitar. Manuel said when I improved I could join the band! So here I am in a romance with a dishonest man, drinking too much and living in this heavy hot place as if in a dream. Asleep in Mexico.
My circumstances are strange. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would end up in Loreto Mexico living in a small casa, playing guitar and drinking shots of Tequila with beer. I am from a small town in Pennsylvania. I had never left the state until the age of twenty and you could say that I have had a naive view of the world.
All that changed when I met Manuel. I was an insurance agent at a conference - my first time out of state! One evening after a rather boring presentation on family insurance, I went to the dining room of my hotel and sat down to order dinner. I looked up from the menu and saw this starched and pressed waiter with curly black hair and dark eyes smiling at me and waiting to take my order. He was immensely charming and asked me to have a drink with him when he got off work that evening. Now remember I was naïve and of course I agreed. We met later that evening and drank and talked about our lives. Manuel was from Loreto, Mexico and came to the states to work to help out his family. Now we really had no romantic connection that I could pick up on. He was handsome and all but I was no slouch myself. It was possible we had a little spark!
Manuel began to tell me about his town and the wonderful food and music. He told me that I was stunning and should be on stage and I of course was flattered. I began to toy with the idea of a new career - the insurance world did not suit me whatsoever . I would make a great actress and Manuel told me of this fantastic acting school run by his cousin in Mexico. All I had to do was give him a deposit which he would send on to his cousin and before I was to leave send the rest of the tuition and my spot for school would be saved. I was very excited about this new prospect. I gave Manuel a check that night, called my parents and told them I was leaving for Loreto at the end of the month. I began to get all my things in order so I could start my new carrier as a fledgling actress.
I got to Mexico without a hitch and Juan (Manuel’s cousin) met me at the airport and drove me to the school. I know - there actually was an acting academy! The school was a rundown elementary school. Even the desks were small and though I am rather tall, I would make do. This was just the first problem. All my teachers spoke Spanish and all the students were American women as vain as I was. They had all been lured by the false flattering Manuel who also promised to get us jobs in the telenovelas!
I didn’t even bring much money, I spent most of it for this school where I could not even speak the language and I was surrounded by this cluster of semi attractive women in the same misfortunate situation! I was ready to make the best of it; I began Spanish lessons so I could learn from my teachers. After several months Manuel returned and walked into the Cantina where I worked as a waitress. He started setting up for the evening entertainment. He was a singer in a Mariachi band called “Fresco Diablo” and he was the singer. That night I fell in love with Manuel and his gypsy ways.
Once in awhile we would run into one of the many women that Manuel had swindled, they would scowl, spit or even slap Manuel in the face, it was a common occurrence. I decided to give up acting and learn guitar. Manuel said when I improved I could join the band! So here I am in a romance with a dishonest man, drinking too much and living in this heavy hot place as if in a dream. Asleep in Mexico.
Fall is a Heartbreaker
Abby disliked the winter so much that she went to great lengths to disguise the season. Her home was full of flowers year round and pictures of Hawaii on every wall. Her furniture was comprised of lawn chairs and aluminum loungers made of strapped plastic. Buckets of sand were strategically placed around the house and little water features trickled calmly in each room of the house.
Abby even went so far as to have special lighting installed so her home would be extra sunny. It was an extreme home but Abby never did anything half way…it was all or nothing for her so the environment she lived in was very important.
At the end of every summer Abby would throw a garden party with several of her close friends; it was a way for her to mentally prepare for the changing season - in her eyes fall was just a band-aid on winter…a season of crisp dead leaves and cool air.
At the garden party she would repeat this as if it were her mournful mantra, “Fall is a heartbreaker “. She would then return to drinking her gin and tonic with key lime and pretend that summer was never ending.
Abby should have lived in sunnier climes but she chose the Northwest or it chose her. A native of Bakersfield, California and the best speller in her seventh grade class, she travelled to Seattle for a spelling bee against another class. Abby was in a national competition and if she won this spelling meet she would go on to the finals in New York!
At the spelling bee she met Walt. Walt was on the opposing team and Abby could not take her eyes off him. He was tall with brown curly hair, glasses, and a Roman nose. She was smitten!
Abby was so distracted by the look of Walt, she lost the meet. He must have felt a little taken with her as well, as he too stumbled on his spelling.
After the meet they talked a little and exchanged phone numbers! The rest is history. The two wrote letters once a week and talked on the phone on Sundays. After high school they married and Abby ended up living in the North West with dark days and lots of rain.
Walt tried to make her happy. He built a greenhouse and grew lemon trees and white blooming Camellias.
For Sunday lunch he would turn the heat up so it was super hot. The table would be set in the greenhouse with ice cold lemonade, chilled Waldorf salad, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. Still, Abby would look outside the greenhouse windows, see winter, hear the rain, and feel more and more dismal.
This year Walt decided to get creative so on Thanksgiving he invited all Abby’s close friends and their family for a feast in the greenhouse. This was not the traditional meal you would have on Thanksgiving. The first course was green salad with mandarin orange slices; the main course was barbecued salmon with garlic, fresh dill, and white truffle oil; for desert…Key lime pie.
Now Abby noticed there was a platform in the corner of the greenhouse and when dinner was over Walt asked everyone to bring their chairs to the stage and wait for the show! Walt disappeared behind the makeshift curtain and the music began!
A few minutes later Walt appeared wearing a costume made entirely of Watermelon! He wore a scooped out watermelon hat and a suit with a tie! His shoes were so large they looked like they belonged to a clown! The audience roared and Abby just grinned shyly with her hand over her mouth!
Walt took a bow and again disappeared behind the curtain! A few minutes later he marched out wearing a costume made of Saltines! This was fantastic and silly! Saltines were Walt’s favorite and Abby was surprised that Walt would sacrifice his crunchy snack. The construction was superb…Walt had stitched together the Saltines in rows attaching them by the little holes in each cracker, and it was a handsome edible suit. Abby loved that Walt had gone to so much trouble to cheer her up but she was still in her vortex of sad and nothing Walt did would lift this gloom .
Something had to be done. Walt had to make a rash decision. A few days after Thanksgiving he began research and decided the only thing left to do was to move to a sunnier climate. Abby grew up in California so that would be a good place to start. Walt has always wanted to live in LA. He was an engineer but had always wanted to pursue costume design and LA would be the place.
That night Walt told Abby over dinner his plans to re-locate them. Abby was hesitant at first. “What about my friends, our house, our family?” Walt gave Abby the positive points of moving. “You will be in a sunny place, your parents are still in Bakersfield, and at least we will be in the same state! No more greenhouse! You can have a lovely tropical outside garden and a pool!”
Abby thought about this transition long and hard and agreed with Walt that this was a good move.
Walt travelled to LA and scouted out a place to live. He found a beautiful cottage-style home and was able to rent it with intention to buy later in the year.
Several months later after the house sold in Seattle the couple made their move to Los Angeles.
Abby loved her new home and felt much more content in a sunnier climate. She was impressed with her husbands decisions and this motivated her to begin a new hobby…taxidermy. She would read in detail about Victorian taxidermy and how in those times pets were preserved and set around the house as part of the décor and an endearing memory…or in some people’s eyes, a grotesque and cruel act. But not Abby. She loved the idea of preservation and was determined to give all her taxidermy projects toothy smiles.
Life became very interesting for the couple with Walt attending classes to become a costume designer and Abby attending Taxidermy school. They spent their evenings sitting on the patio at night eating dinner and enjoying beautiful sunsets and warm weather.
For the first time in Abby’s life she felt truly happy. A new life was like a new suit made of the finest wool and Abby’s suit fit perfectly.
Abby disliked the winter so much that she went to great lengths to disguise the season. Her home was full of flowers year round and pictures of Hawaii on every wall. Her furniture was comprised of lawn chairs and aluminum loungers made of strapped plastic. Buckets of sand were strategically placed around the house and little water features trickled calmly in each room of the house.
Abby even went so far as to have special lighting installed so her home would be extra sunny. It was an extreme home but Abby never did anything half way…it was all or nothing for her so the environment she lived in was very important.
At the end of every summer Abby would throw a garden party with several of her close friends; it was a way for her to mentally prepare for the changing season - in her eyes fall was just a band-aid on winter…a season of crisp dead leaves and cool air.
At the garden party she would repeat this as if it were her mournful mantra, “Fall is a heartbreaker “. She would then return to drinking her gin and tonic with key lime and pretend that summer was never ending.
Abby should have lived in sunnier climes but she chose the Northwest or it chose her. A native of Bakersfield, California and the best speller in her seventh grade class, she travelled to Seattle for a spelling bee against another class. Abby was in a national competition and if she won this spelling meet she would go on to the finals in New York!
At the spelling bee she met Walt. Walt was on the opposing team and Abby could not take her eyes off him. He was tall with brown curly hair, glasses, and a Roman nose. She was smitten!
Abby was so distracted by the look of Walt, she lost the meet. He must have felt a little taken with her as well, as he too stumbled on his spelling.
After the meet they talked a little and exchanged phone numbers! The rest is history. The two wrote letters once a week and talked on the phone on Sundays. After high school they married and Abby ended up living in the North West with dark days and lots of rain.
Walt tried to make her happy. He built a greenhouse and grew lemon trees and white blooming Camellias.
For Sunday lunch he would turn the heat up so it was super hot. The table would be set in the greenhouse with ice cold lemonade, chilled Waldorf salad, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. Still, Abby would look outside the greenhouse windows, see winter, hear the rain, and feel more and more dismal.
This year Walt decided to get creative so on Thanksgiving he invited all Abby’s close friends and their family for a feast in the greenhouse. This was not the traditional meal you would have on Thanksgiving. The first course was green salad with mandarin orange slices; the main course was barbecued salmon with garlic, fresh dill, and white truffle oil; for desert…Key lime pie.
Now Abby noticed there was a platform in the corner of the greenhouse and when dinner was over Walt asked everyone to bring their chairs to the stage and wait for the show! Walt disappeared behind the makeshift curtain and the music began!
A few minutes later Walt appeared wearing a costume made entirely of Watermelon! He wore a scooped out watermelon hat and a suit with a tie! His shoes were so large they looked like they belonged to a clown! The audience roared and Abby just grinned shyly with her hand over her mouth!
Walt took a bow and again disappeared behind the curtain! A few minutes later he marched out wearing a costume made of Saltines! This was fantastic and silly! Saltines were Walt’s favorite and Abby was surprised that Walt would sacrifice his crunchy snack. The construction was superb…Walt had stitched together the Saltines in rows attaching them by the little holes in each cracker, and it was a handsome edible suit. Abby loved that Walt had gone to so much trouble to cheer her up but she was still in her vortex of sad and nothing Walt did would lift this gloom .
Something had to be done. Walt had to make a rash decision. A few days after Thanksgiving he began research and decided the only thing left to do was to move to a sunnier climate. Abby grew up in California so that would be a good place to start. Walt has always wanted to live in LA. He was an engineer but had always wanted to pursue costume design and LA would be the place.
That night Walt told Abby over dinner his plans to re-locate them. Abby was hesitant at first. “What about my friends, our house, our family?” Walt gave Abby the positive points of moving. “You will be in a sunny place, your parents are still in Bakersfield, and at least we will be in the same state! No more greenhouse! You can have a lovely tropical outside garden and a pool!”
Abby thought about this transition long and hard and agreed with Walt that this was a good move.
Walt travelled to LA and scouted out a place to live. He found a beautiful cottage-style home and was able to rent it with intention to buy later in the year.
Several months later after the house sold in Seattle the couple made their move to Los Angeles.
Abby loved her new home and felt much more content in a sunnier climate. She was impressed with her husbands decisions and this motivated her to begin a new hobby…taxidermy. She would read in detail about Victorian taxidermy and how in those times pets were preserved and set around the house as part of the décor and an endearing memory…or in some people’s eyes, a grotesque and cruel act. But not Abby. She loved the idea of preservation and was determined to give all her taxidermy projects toothy smiles.
Life became very interesting for the couple with Walt attending classes to become a costume designer and Abby attending Taxidermy school. They spent their evenings sitting on the patio at night eating dinner and enjoying beautiful sunsets and warm weather.
For the first time in Abby’s life she felt truly happy. A new life was like a new suit made of the finest wool and Abby’s suit fit perfectly.
My Encounter With Chef Bronsnamiel and His Mysterious Ways
The first time I met Chef Brosnamiel was on my porch. I was not aware of the fact that my visitor had arrived - my cats were silent in their greetings and I thought I was alone with my work.
The painting I was working on that morning was becoming a struggle. Time for a break. A cup of tea and a look around the house…sometimes this helped when a painting went into stall mode.
I went outside and sitting on the porch was Chef Brosnamiel! I recognized him by his costume. He was just looking at a piece of driftwood as if in a trance, but I knew better, I was aware of the kitchen berating that was about to begin.
Chef Brosnamiel always dressed in disguise; I read many an article in "Gourmet" magazine about the great man and his eclectic ways. He was a secret Chef who was hired privately to come into the kitchens of household cooks and refit their kitchens with fresh herbs and spices, rearrange the pots and pans, and restock the larder with the staples of a prideful pantry.
A chef was a luxury only the very wealthy could afford. I was able to hire this kitchen maestro because I had just come into a large sum of money from an inheritance and it was burning a hole in my pocket. I needed an extravagance and this was just the thing - a mystery chef in my home! I like to cook but it is not my strongest skill. My guest was dressed in outlandish Halloweenesque attire. I did notice that the sheet he wore was a very fine Pima cotton - crisp, clean and white. He wore a wooden mask which looked like a sheep with big intense eyes, drooped and pointed ears, and a set of wooden hands.
I knew the chef had a phobia about germs. There was a stipulation in the contract which stated the chef would never touch anything. I was required to sign off on that demand and I, of course, complied.
Chef Brosnamiel did not speak English so when it was time to go to the kitchen he summoned his interpreter.
The first thing that happened was the chef changed his sheet to a mid-brown color and changed his wooden hands to a much broader set. I was not allowed to watch the costume change. The tall amorphously sheeted man began his inspection of my kitchen ordering me (via his interpreter) to empty out all the herbs and spices into the trash.
I did as I was told and we went on to the next task. Everything was omitted from the pantry. He explained that a fresh slate was required in order to obtain flavor and optimum essence in cooking. He moved on to the pots and pans and spent a long time gazing at them. I was sure that he would have me throw out every last one of my old war-wounded pots and my less seasoned pans.
Many minutes later he looked up and explained his slow inspection (via the interpreter). "These are quality cooking vessels but they must be seasoned and not used at high temperatures. Your kitchen equipment is like your hands; they must be moisturized and used with care. The soul of the food is in the hands of this cookware and everything must be combined with care and passion otherwise the result will be gruel."
He taught me to season my cookware and store it properly; we bought fresh herbs and re-stocked the pantry with only the best tinned tomatoes, Spanish olive oil, fine Italian dried pasta, White Truffle oil, salt cured capers, Mexican vanilla, and fragrant Basmati rice.
My kitchen was becoming a cooking haven! I was happy about this but mostly I was curious what Chef Brosnamiel looked like under that sheet and mask
I paid for this service and was not going to be intimidated by this grandiose chef! So as he was preparing to leave I tugged at the sheet and pulled it off! Chef Brosnamiel was a woman!!! A frumpy, middle-aged woman! She pulled off her mask and bristled out the door muttering "merde" under her breath with the interpreter scuttling behind her. Off they went - speeding away in their white Town car.
I decided to keep this a secret, a woman chef posing as a man. I needn’t ruin her reputation, I was happy to know the truth, besides the chef refunded my entire rental purchase! I had no hard feelings.
Several months later I read an article in the New York Times about Chef Brosnamiel. The chef had admitted she was a woman, she was moving back to France to start her own cooking school and Bistro, it will be a themed restaurant and all the wait staff will be wearing the costumes worn by the Chef throughout the years. Wait staff serving soup in sheets! I need to plan a trip to France!
The first time I met Chef Brosnamiel was on my porch. I was not aware of the fact that my visitor had arrived - my cats were silent in their greetings and I thought I was alone with my work.
The painting I was working on that morning was becoming a struggle. Time for a break. A cup of tea and a look around the house…sometimes this helped when a painting went into stall mode.
I went outside and sitting on the porch was Chef Brosnamiel! I recognized him by his costume. He was just looking at a piece of driftwood as if in a trance, but I knew better, I was aware of the kitchen berating that was about to begin.
Chef Brosnamiel always dressed in disguise; I read many an article in "Gourmet" magazine about the great man and his eclectic ways. He was a secret Chef who was hired privately to come into the kitchens of household cooks and refit their kitchens with fresh herbs and spices, rearrange the pots and pans, and restock the larder with the staples of a prideful pantry.
A chef was a luxury only the very wealthy could afford. I was able to hire this kitchen maestro because I had just come into a large sum of money from an inheritance and it was burning a hole in my pocket. I needed an extravagance and this was just the thing - a mystery chef in my home! I like to cook but it is not my strongest skill. My guest was dressed in outlandish Halloweenesque attire. I did notice that the sheet he wore was a very fine Pima cotton - crisp, clean and white. He wore a wooden mask which looked like a sheep with big intense eyes, drooped and pointed ears, and a set of wooden hands.
I knew the chef had a phobia about germs. There was a stipulation in the contract which stated the chef would never touch anything. I was required to sign off on that demand and I, of course, complied.
Chef Brosnamiel did not speak English so when it was time to go to the kitchen he summoned his interpreter.
The first thing that happened was the chef changed his sheet to a mid-brown color and changed his wooden hands to a much broader set. I was not allowed to watch the costume change. The tall amorphously sheeted man began his inspection of my kitchen ordering me (via his interpreter) to empty out all the herbs and spices into the trash.
I did as I was told and we went on to the next task. Everything was omitted from the pantry. He explained that a fresh slate was required in order to obtain flavor and optimum essence in cooking. He moved on to the pots and pans and spent a long time gazing at them. I was sure that he would have me throw out every last one of my old war-wounded pots and my less seasoned pans.
Many minutes later he looked up and explained his slow inspection (via the interpreter). "These are quality cooking vessels but they must be seasoned and not used at high temperatures. Your kitchen equipment is like your hands; they must be moisturized and used with care. The soul of the food is in the hands of this cookware and everything must be combined with care and passion otherwise the result will be gruel."
He taught me to season my cookware and store it properly; we bought fresh herbs and re-stocked the pantry with only the best tinned tomatoes, Spanish olive oil, fine Italian dried pasta, White Truffle oil, salt cured capers, Mexican vanilla, and fragrant Basmati rice.
My kitchen was becoming a cooking haven! I was happy about this but mostly I was curious what Chef Brosnamiel looked like under that sheet and mask
I paid for this service and was not going to be intimidated by this grandiose chef! So as he was preparing to leave I tugged at the sheet and pulled it off! Chef Brosnamiel was a woman!!! A frumpy, middle-aged woman! She pulled off her mask and bristled out the door muttering "merde" under her breath with the interpreter scuttling behind her. Off they went - speeding away in their white Town car.
I decided to keep this a secret, a woman chef posing as a man. I needn’t ruin her reputation, I was happy to know the truth, besides the chef refunded my entire rental purchase! I had no hard feelings.
Several months later I read an article in the New York Times about Chef Brosnamiel. The chef had admitted she was a woman, she was moving back to France to start her own cooking school and Bistro, it will be a themed restaurant and all the wait staff will be wearing the costumes worn by the Chef throughout the years. Wait staff serving soup in sheets! I need to plan a trip to France!
The Red Convertible
The days were getting shorter and the leaves were dropping. It was fall and what a summer we had. We drove thru town. It was a humid airless night and cruising in the convertible was an evening ritual that changed the muggy weather into a breezy pleasure.
At dusk the town started cookin’. People came outside to sit on their porches, old guys out on their significant wooden chairs drinking whiskey and beer, barbecues out in force filling the air with the aroma of cooked meat and smoke.
In the heat of the day people stayed in their homes safe from the humidity in air conditioned comfort. Around dusk out they came, drifting from their wood houses to take in the cool breeze of the evening.
We preferred a faster mode. Our red convertible with its jet black top, was a classy, flashy get-away car with attitude. On hot summer evenings we would race through town and take in the sights.
Now there was a reason for us not sitting out on our porch. We were already the talk of the town and couldn’t just sit around, people would stare. After a hot day, I was not in the mood to be stared at. I grew up in this town and everyone knew of my malady. For the most part I was proud, but in the summer the tourists would make a big fuss and point, laugh and try to take snapshots of me.
I will get to the point. I was born with a duck head attached to my head. Removal would be impossible - it would kill me. This was a living breathing duck head. It ate, it quacked. It was part of me. For the most part I was proud to be unique. I was famous in my town and I liked it that way. I was a bit of a ham.
On those hot summer nights, my cat Winslow, Lila the duck head and I would go on a high speed tour of the town to get some relief from the heat and drive fast!
The town actually presented me with a red convertible Porsche. Instead of the key to the city, I got a car. I was being thanked for all the community service that I had performed throughout the years. I worked closely with the police department. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I cooked meals for the prisoners in the county jail. I cooked both lunch and dinner including homemade pie. I was a good cook and the inmates enjoyed their meals immensely. I would also make food for the policeman and I think that is why they let me speed through town! I would race around. I never got a ticket and sometimes I would even pose for pictures.
Lila and I were the show stopping event. I was the bread and she was the butter. Winslow was the sidekick. I might look strange but I have learned that there is an upside to everything. Riding in my red convertible I am fabulous.
The days were getting shorter and the leaves were dropping. It was fall and what a summer we had. We drove thru town. It was a humid airless night and cruising in the convertible was an evening ritual that changed the muggy weather into a breezy pleasure.
At dusk the town started cookin’. People came outside to sit on their porches, old guys out on their significant wooden chairs drinking whiskey and beer, barbecues out in force filling the air with the aroma of cooked meat and smoke.
In the heat of the day people stayed in their homes safe from the humidity in air conditioned comfort. Around dusk out they came, drifting from their wood houses to take in the cool breeze of the evening.
We preferred a faster mode. Our red convertible with its jet black top, was a classy, flashy get-away car with attitude. On hot summer evenings we would race through town and take in the sights.
Now there was a reason for us not sitting out on our porch. We were already the talk of the town and couldn’t just sit around, people would stare. After a hot day, I was not in the mood to be stared at. I grew up in this town and everyone knew of my malady. For the most part I was proud, but in the summer the tourists would make a big fuss and point, laugh and try to take snapshots of me.
I will get to the point. I was born with a duck head attached to my head. Removal would be impossible - it would kill me. This was a living breathing duck head. It ate, it quacked. It was part of me. For the most part I was proud to be unique. I was famous in my town and I liked it that way. I was a bit of a ham.
On those hot summer nights, my cat Winslow, Lila the duck head and I would go on a high speed tour of the town to get some relief from the heat and drive fast!
The town actually presented me with a red convertible Porsche. Instead of the key to the city, I got a car. I was being thanked for all the community service that I had performed throughout the years. I worked closely with the police department. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I cooked meals for the prisoners in the county jail. I cooked both lunch and dinner including homemade pie. I was a good cook and the inmates enjoyed their meals immensely. I would also make food for the policeman and I think that is why they let me speed through town! I would race around. I never got a ticket and sometimes I would even pose for pictures.
Lila and I were the show stopping event. I was the bread and she was the butter. Winslow was the sidekick. I might look strange but I have learned that there is an upside to everything. Riding in my red convertible I am fabulous.
Dana Finds Her Calling
The weather was dark and gloomy but the color yellow of the taxi and the matching interior helped to cheer Dana up. As she sat in the back of the cab with its reinforced metal screen separating her from the driver, Dana pictured her hands growing into long, wormy talons that wiggled into the metal screen and captured the cabby and stunned him with an electrical current. Dana had a vivid imagination and when stressed, her imagination went into overdrive!
Dana was on her way to a job interview and it had been a very long time since she had spoken to anyone about work. The job market was beginning to recover and employers were starting to hire. Dana was attempting to get a job with a small hardware store in her neighborhood called U-Need It, a very direct name and lacking in finesse, Dana thought to herself, but she was intrigued by the amount of stuff that was crammed into the store. Peg boards full of keys, boxes of nails, piles and piles of garbage bags, tools for the yard, and paint swatches.
Dana felt at home in the mishmash of useful items. There was something consoling about the goods that U-Need It stocked. She was confident that she had a good chance to land this job. Her father had a general store when she was growing up and every day after school and on Saturdays, Dana would work there. Dana loved helping customers and making sales. Her father always gave her a thumbs-up every time and, as her dad put it, “sealed the deal “.
Dana spent hours in front of the mirror wondering how to dress for an interview at a hardware store. She tried on dresses, skirts and dress slacks. She finally decided on a red cashmere sweater, black slacks and waffle soled boots. The sweater and slacks were professional looking but not too dressy and the boots were meant to be worn in this particular field…heavy-duty and made to last.
Suddenly, as she saw the chosen outfit lying out on the bed, she envisioned the fleshless figure getting up waltzing about the room and then returning to its flat form. Prying the bedroom window open, flattening out and travelling outside, the red cashmere arms stretching and stretching longer and longer, the black dress trousers growing taller and taller, the arms and legs each grabbing onto huge trees and forming a huge slingshot. Out popped the big serious boots and centered themselves in the middle of the clothing slingshot and WAM! - the boots slammed into a neighboring house knocking it down to the ground, roof and all!
Back to reality...the job interview. Dana entered the ramshackle hardware store with her most confidant stride, up to the counter she marched. A small man of about forty with thick glasses and a tiny mustache , dressed in a crisp white shirt , narrow brown tie and a blue sweater vest met her eyes and said, “Can I help you? “ He had a very low voice which startled Dana. “Yes! I am looking for Mr. Castille; I am here for an interview. The small man very politely said, “Please come this way. “ He led her to the back of the store and into a dark and narrow hallway full of boxes. At the end of the hall was Mr. Castile’s office. He was at his desk, which was piled high with paperwork. Mr. Castille was a very, very tall man with ashy skin, a Roman nose, and curly salt and pepper hair. “You must be Dana Wintch. Have a seat. I see on your resume that you have had some shop experience but perhaps this is not all I sell!”
Dana watched as the lanky man raised a narrow eyebrow and said, “How do you feel about wigs? “ Dana was puzzled; this place looked like a dusty old hardware store to her. Wigs? What was he going on about! Dana looked at Mr. Castille with her most obliging smile and said, “I love wigs!”
Dana had never had any experience with wigs, but she liked the idea of transforming her look with a new head of hair. Mr. Castille looked pleased and said,”Good! Come this way. “ There was another door that leads out of the office and into another room…maybe another universe! A cross between a dance club and a hair salon! Hanging from the ceiling was a huge glass disco ball and all around the walls were shelves of wigs! Every color, every length - not to mention curly, straight, wavy and crimped! Elegant tan leather quilted salon chairs flanked the sides of the rooms facing large gold gilded mirrors and the floor was wood parquet with a center inset of a gold crown! Dana just stood in the resplendent room with her mouth wide open taking it all in. Mr. Castille nudged her “Snap out of it girl! You are not seeing things, this is Salon Vinchenzo! Welcome!” The small man from the front came in but was wearing different clothes - a sleek grey sharkskin suit with a black satin bowtie. He said to Dana, “I am Vinchenzo and this is my secret wig salon!” Then Mr. Castille said, “I am Gregore Botwatsan and I am really Vinchenzo's assistant! We need you to run the front store full time so we can concentrate on the salon.” Vinchenzo broke in, “Men and woman come from around the world to purchase our wigs. People that need to change their identities, or just want to transform their looks for some special evening. The former Mr. Castille (now George) chimed in, “We have a website and membership to the salon, a secret code of conduct, and a secret knock to enter. This is a conservative town and we need to remain discreet…that is why we have the hardware store - it is our cover!” Vinchenzo moved in close to Dana and asked, “We have shown you our secret ………now can we trust you? “ Dana thought it over for a moment. “Yes, but I would love to try on all the wigs, would that be allowed?”
Needless to say, Dana was hired for the job as front desk clerk at U-Need It
but after hours she was allowed to enter the secret salon, put on a red satin lab coat, and learn the skills for her to become a wig stylist. Dana had never been happier. She had a new job and was apprenticing in her spare time. Her imagination and distracting visions had diminished since taking on this new job and her life felt full of possibility. As for Vinchenzo and George, they became very successful and opened secret wig salons around the world turning the business into a corporation and selling franchises. The two stylists eventually moved to Bucharest where they infused new style and verve to the people of Romania. Dana was the first franchise owner and would hold a themed dance party in the salon every Wednesday night. After all, Dana discovered that she was an artist and artists follow their own rules!
The weather was dark and gloomy but the color yellow of the taxi and the matching interior helped to cheer Dana up. As she sat in the back of the cab with its reinforced metal screen separating her from the driver, Dana pictured her hands growing into long, wormy talons that wiggled into the metal screen and captured the cabby and stunned him with an electrical current. Dana had a vivid imagination and when stressed, her imagination went into overdrive!
Dana was on her way to a job interview and it had been a very long time since she had spoken to anyone about work. The job market was beginning to recover and employers were starting to hire. Dana was attempting to get a job with a small hardware store in her neighborhood called U-Need It, a very direct name and lacking in finesse, Dana thought to herself, but she was intrigued by the amount of stuff that was crammed into the store. Peg boards full of keys, boxes of nails, piles and piles of garbage bags, tools for the yard, and paint swatches.
Dana felt at home in the mishmash of useful items. There was something consoling about the goods that U-Need It stocked. She was confident that she had a good chance to land this job. Her father had a general store when she was growing up and every day after school and on Saturdays, Dana would work there. Dana loved helping customers and making sales. Her father always gave her a thumbs-up every time and, as her dad put it, “sealed the deal “.
Dana spent hours in front of the mirror wondering how to dress for an interview at a hardware store. She tried on dresses, skirts and dress slacks. She finally decided on a red cashmere sweater, black slacks and waffle soled boots. The sweater and slacks were professional looking but not too dressy and the boots were meant to be worn in this particular field…heavy-duty and made to last.
Suddenly, as she saw the chosen outfit lying out on the bed, she envisioned the fleshless figure getting up waltzing about the room and then returning to its flat form. Prying the bedroom window open, flattening out and travelling outside, the red cashmere arms stretching and stretching longer and longer, the black dress trousers growing taller and taller, the arms and legs each grabbing onto huge trees and forming a huge slingshot. Out popped the big serious boots and centered themselves in the middle of the clothing slingshot and WAM! - the boots slammed into a neighboring house knocking it down to the ground, roof and all!
Back to reality...the job interview. Dana entered the ramshackle hardware store with her most confidant stride, up to the counter she marched. A small man of about forty with thick glasses and a tiny mustache , dressed in a crisp white shirt , narrow brown tie and a blue sweater vest met her eyes and said, “Can I help you? “ He had a very low voice which startled Dana. “Yes! I am looking for Mr. Castille; I am here for an interview. The small man very politely said, “Please come this way. “ He led her to the back of the store and into a dark and narrow hallway full of boxes. At the end of the hall was Mr. Castile’s office. He was at his desk, which was piled high with paperwork. Mr. Castille was a very, very tall man with ashy skin, a Roman nose, and curly salt and pepper hair. “You must be Dana Wintch. Have a seat. I see on your resume that you have had some shop experience but perhaps this is not all I sell!”
Dana watched as the lanky man raised a narrow eyebrow and said, “How do you feel about wigs? “ Dana was puzzled; this place looked like a dusty old hardware store to her. Wigs? What was he going on about! Dana looked at Mr. Castille with her most obliging smile and said, “I love wigs!”
Dana had never had any experience with wigs, but she liked the idea of transforming her look with a new head of hair. Mr. Castille looked pleased and said,”Good! Come this way. “ There was another door that leads out of the office and into another room…maybe another universe! A cross between a dance club and a hair salon! Hanging from the ceiling was a huge glass disco ball and all around the walls were shelves of wigs! Every color, every length - not to mention curly, straight, wavy and crimped! Elegant tan leather quilted salon chairs flanked the sides of the rooms facing large gold gilded mirrors and the floor was wood parquet with a center inset of a gold crown! Dana just stood in the resplendent room with her mouth wide open taking it all in. Mr. Castille nudged her “Snap out of it girl! You are not seeing things, this is Salon Vinchenzo! Welcome!” The small man from the front came in but was wearing different clothes - a sleek grey sharkskin suit with a black satin bowtie. He said to Dana, “I am Vinchenzo and this is my secret wig salon!” Then Mr. Castille said, “I am Gregore Botwatsan and I am really Vinchenzo's assistant! We need you to run the front store full time so we can concentrate on the salon.” Vinchenzo broke in, “Men and woman come from around the world to purchase our wigs. People that need to change their identities, or just want to transform their looks for some special evening. The former Mr. Castille (now George) chimed in, “We have a website and membership to the salon, a secret code of conduct, and a secret knock to enter. This is a conservative town and we need to remain discreet…that is why we have the hardware store - it is our cover!” Vinchenzo moved in close to Dana and asked, “We have shown you our secret ………now can we trust you? “ Dana thought it over for a moment. “Yes, but I would love to try on all the wigs, would that be allowed?”
Needless to say, Dana was hired for the job as front desk clerk at U-Need It
but after hours she was allowed to enter the secret salon, put on a red satin lab coat, and learn the skills for her to become a wig stylist. Dana had never been happier. She had a new job and was apprenticing in her spare time. Her imagination and distracting visions had diminished since taking on this new job and her life felt full of possibility. As for Vinchenzo and George, they became very successful and opened secret wig salons around the world turning the business into a corporation and selling franchises. The two stylists eventually moved to Bucharest where they infused new style and verve to the people of Romania. Dana was the first franchise owner and would hold a themed dance party in the salon every Wednesday night. After all, Dana discovered that she was an artist and artists follow their own rules!
Alonso Learns His Lesson
Alonso was a big fan of nature. When he wasn’t hiking in the mountains, river rafting or bird watching in the woods he would watch the Natural Geographic channel constantly. Nature in HD! Every morning he would wake up and have his coffee and watch the splendid vistas that were shown around the world - vivid colors made for a vivid start to the day.
Alonso got out his maps and began planning his next adventure. The trip would be a solo one. His wife Rita left him for another man. This happened over a year ago but Alonso was slow to heal. He was not ready for a new love in his life and made sure to never look any woman straight in the eye. His theory was if you never make direct contact people will ignore you.
Alonso was hard to ignore. He was a huge muscular man and when he came into a room people paid attention, especially women!
The upcoming trip had to be a fairly short one. He was a welder and good at what he did. Welding was hard work but it paid well and his good reputation would get Alonso more work then he could handle. An idea suddenly came to him! A Louisiana swamp tour! He had always wanted to experience that area…strange and dangerous things to be seen and heard, fantastic music and down-home food - Jambalaya, Po’ Boys, Gumbo laced with Tabasco! An exotic taste treat of the senses.
The flight was booked the next day. Alonso packed his duffle bag and set off for Louisiana.
On the plane Alonso had a window seat. The middle seat was occupied by a very attractive redhead, and of course he turned his head towards the window so as not to make any conversation. A pretty temptress was not on his travel menu.
At mid-flight snacks and drinks were served. Alonso had a Johnny Walker Black on ice and a token bag of wheat crackers. He did notice his seat-mate took out a small Tupperware container which was filled with little carrot sticks and a sliver of cheese - a healthy snack! The red head turned to him ”Would you care for a carrot stick? I’m sure carrots would be perfect with whiskey!” Her tone was sarcastic but playful. “Sure,” Alonso said. He took one of the delicate sticks and chomped it down.
So the two got to talking and it turned out they were both going to Louisiana! The redheads name was Rinatta. She loved to travel as well and they had so much in common with their love of travel that they decided to merge their trips together. The trip turned out fantastic. They quickly fell in interest with each other.
Many months later the two decided to move in together. Early on there were problems. Rinatta was a Vegan, she did not approve of TV, her Bassett Hound pissed all over the house, and in the evening she would sit out on the porch, talk on the phone all night and pay no attention to Alonso. Things went from bad to worse! Rinatta started writing poetry and painting abstract paintings only using the colors grey, army green, and orange. She began eating a raw food diet and would not allow any cooked food in the house. She claimed the basset hound was her muse and she would sit around the living room face- to-face with the dog discussing her next poem or painting. Rinatta did not care for cleaning so she did none. When Alonso returned home after a long day at work he would have to face a mad woman and a crusty dog.
Alonso had to do something. His serene home had been turned inside out, and his calm oasis was a wreck.
Rinatta had to go! So Alonso began plotting a way to get her out of the house. On Saturday he invited the mad woman out to a local bar to meet some of his welding pals. He encouraged her to dress up and talk off the shapeless flowered caftan {one of many garish sacks!} She agreed and put on a nice pencil skirt and fitted pima cotton blouse. Welders tend to be a big strong handsome bunch so Rinatta was overwhelmed with this new attention. She could drink like a fish and flirt like a French poodle. I guess she took a liking to a swarthy guy at the bar and left with him .
The next day while Alonso was at work, Rinatta packed up all her paints, paper and hideous wardrobe and of course the dog, and moved out of the house. She left a brief note for Alonso it said: I guess carrots and whiskey don’t go together after all
Alonso cleaned that house for a week and when he was done he sat down in his chair and reflected on the last few months. From now on he would travel by car or watch the world on his flat screen TV in peace and quiet. Later that year his cable went on the blink and he had to have a service call. The technician was a very pleasant woman - smart and loved TV and travel They fell in love and are together to this day. Alonso never had to leave his home…the woman of his dreams had arrived at his doorstep.
Sometimes things just happen that way. Too much effort can result in storms.
Alonso was a big fan of nature. When he wasn’t hiking in the mountains, river rafting or bird watching in the woods he would watch the Natural Geographic channel constantly. Nature in HD! Every morning he would wake up and have his coffee and watch the splendid vistas that were shown around the world - vivid colors made for a vivid start to the day.
Alonso got out his maps and began planning his next adventure. The trip would be a solo one. His wife Rita left him for another man. This happened over a year ago but Alonso was slow to heal. He was not ready for a new love in his life and made sure to never look any woman straight in the eye. His theory was if you never make direct contact people will ignore you.
Alonso was hard to ignore. He was a huge muscular man and when he came into a room people paid attention, especially women!
The upcoming trip had to be a fairly short one. He was a welder and good at what he did. Welding was hard work but it paid well and his good reputation would get Alonso more work then he could handle. An idea suddenly came to him! A Louisiana swamp tour! He had always wanted to experience that area…strange and dangerous things to be seen and heard, fantastic music and down-home food - Jambalaya, Po’ Boys, Gumbo laced with Tabasco! An exotic taste treat of the senses.
The flight was booked the next day. Alonso packed his duffle bag and set off for Louisiana.
On the plane Alonso had a window seat. The middle seat was occupied by a very attractive redhead, and of course he turned his head towards the window so as not to make any conversation. A pretty temptress was not on his travel menu.
At mid-flight snacks and drinks were served. Alonso had a Johnny Walker Black on ice and a token bag of wheat crackers. He did notice his seat-mate took out a small Tupperware container which was filled with little carrot sticks and a sliver of cheese - a healthy snack! The red head turned to him ”Would you care for a carrot stick? I’m sure carrots would be perfect with whiskey!” Her tone was sarcastic but playful. “Sure,” Alonso said. He took one of the delicate sticks and chomped it down.
So the two got to talking and it turned out they were both going to Louisiana! The redheads name was Rinatta. She loved to travel as well and they had so much in common with their love of travel that they decided to merge their trips together. The trip turned out fantastic. They quickly fell in interest with each other.
Many months later the two decided to move in together. Early on there were problems. Rinatta was a Vegan, she did not approve of TV, her Bassett Hound pissed all over the house, and in the evening she would sit out on the porch, talk on the phone all night and pay no attention to Alonso. Things went from bad to worse! Rinatta started writing poetry and painting abstract paintings only using the colors grey, army green, and orange. She began eating a raw food diet and would not allow any cooked food in the house. She claimed the basset hound was her muse and she would sit around the living room face- to-face with the dog discussing her next poem or painting. Rinatta did not care for cleaning so she did none. When Alonso returned home after a long day at work he would have to face a mad woman and a crusty dog.
Alonso had to do something. His serene home had been turned inside out, and his calm oasis was a wreck.
Rinatta had to go! So Alonso began plotting a way to get her out of the house. On Saturday he invited the mad woman out to a local bar to meet some of his welding pals. He encouraged her to dress up and talk off the shapeless flowered caftan {one of many garish sacks!} She agreed and put on a nice pencil skirt and fitted pima cotton blouse. Welders tend to be a big strong handsome bunch so Rinatta was overwhelmed with this new attention. She could drink like a fish and flirt like a French poodle. I guess she took a liking to a swarthy guy at the bar and left with him .
The next day while Alonso was at work, Rinatta packed up all her paints, paper and hideous wardrobe and of course the dog, and moved out of the house. She left a brief note for Alonso it said: I guess carrots and whiskey don’t go together after all
Alonso cleaned that house for a week and when he was done he sat down in his chair and reflected on the last few months. From now on he would travel by car or watch the world on his flat screen TV in peace and quiet. Later that year his cable went on the blink and he had to have a service call. The technician was a very pleasant woman - smart and loved TV and travel They fell in love and are together to this day. Alonso never had to leave his home…the woman of his dreams had arrived at his doorstep.
Sometimes things just happen that way. Too much effort can result in storms.
