Little Story #34

I made it through the little story project month with a few little story posts before it started. It's been ... um ... interesting. Much harder than I thought it was going to be and I thought it was going to be hard. There were a few times when I didn't have any ideas. Then somehow ... miraculously ... I'd start typing. That was affirming.
The reason I did this was to get my writer muscles back so I could rewrite my book. I will (theoretically) self publish and hope to sell enough to pay costs. My aspirations are not too high.
Some of the little stories are in the book. The focus of the book is my experience of being fat and deciding at a fairly young age not to diet. I'm always hoping my writing has an impact on how fat people are seen. But I have friends who make fat jokes, body shame children, valorize thinness when I'm sitting there. I don't want people to not say things in front of me if they really feel them but the fact that I  hear so many same old shit things suggests that my message is not getting through.
Still I feel like I need to make this effort. I need to have the book in my hands.
The little story project gave me a sense of timing. In school I wrote in the morning. These days I'm getting ready to swim four days a week so I don't have time. Three mornings a week I can write and I can write in the afternoons. The project helped me get a groove going.
I'm not sure if I'll keep posting on the blog but I hope I do. I'm trying to think up a food blog project.
When I was writing in the MFA program I talked about wanting a therapist on one side and an editor on the other. Most of us did. Writing the little stories has been painful at times. I sort of stirred the soup to find them. My feeling is that you never get over things. You live with them. You don't let them run you around. Sometimes they rise up when you don't expect them and you just have to take the fall. And then. The trees sway in the wind. The first blackberries taste so good. A friend sends a video of her daughter spinning in a new dress. Life calls you back into the moment.
I am so grateful to the friends who read and left comments or likes. It's always fun to get those but during this push it was like vitamins.
So.
Yesterday I opened the book. I was surprised to find that I'd written an introduction a few years ago. I forgot about it and it was pretty good. Then I went through the first two chapters, which are the most rewritten and edited parts of the book because I always start at the beginning to work on it. And then ...there was no more text.
Freak.
Out.
I mean I have hard copies of the book and I thought I had it on some flash drives so I knew all was not lost. Still, it was a moment. I found a flash drive with it. I have no idea if there is more recent work but ... oh well. I worked a little bit.
So....

Little Story #33

I forgot to mention seeing Allen Ginsberg walking across the street in Boulder and Lawrence Ferlinghetti on a corner in SF in my famous people post. If you don't read poetry that might not mean a thing to you. I had been a passionate reader of all Beat related writers so seeing them made me very happy.
And one more famous person story involves my father. He sold cars in Austin Texas. The dealership was owned by the mayor and LBJ bought his cares there. My grandmother (the Democrat) loved LBJ. We went to his house, although he wasn't there at the time. There was a tiny store in the near by town at which you could buy jars of the grass from his lawn. Seriously.
Dad owned a quarter horse ranch for a while. He raced one of the horses. One day we were at the track. I was in full hippie regalia, patched blue jeans, tie-dyed t-shirt, no bra, construction boots, beads. My half sister and step sister were dressed in matching cowgirl outfits. Dad took us over to meet LBJ. He and I shook hands, limply. I resisted the urge to tell him to end the war. It must have been really hard for my dad to own me in that moment. 
Heh.

Little Story #32

I spent so much time in the little bar off the lobby of the hotel that I got phone calls there. John Steinbeck IV spent a lot of time there as well and eventually we became friends. He drank. And drank. And smoked. I could never keep up. I have one vivid memory of him pouring a glass of Whisky (?) Scotch (?) down his throat. It stayed with me because as I watched I knew he drank differently that I did. I loved hanging out with him and listening to his stories.
I also met his brother Thom. On Sundays my friend Cathy bartended. I'd stop at the front desk to buy the New York Times, the LA Times, the Washington Post and the Boulder Daily Camera. Then I'd work my way through the pile while I ate eggs, drank Bloody Mary's and coffee. In the afternoon I'd eat some lunch and switch to Johnny Walker Black. One day Thom walked up to the bar thinking the pile of papers were for everyone. Without looking up I smacked my hand down on top of them. Then I pointed to the pile on a nearby table of what I'd already read. He found it charming.
He gave me some money once to help me with my music career. It wasn't a lot but it felt like a lot. I (of course) celebrated by going out for dinner. He saw me in the restaurant and shook his head.
John kissed me once. He was really drunk. I'm not saying he had to be drunk to want to kiss me but he was married.
There was a shop in Boulder then, Moon Sun Emporium. They had a wall of great soaps, Mason Pearson brushes and shaving supplies, essential oils, trinkets for the hair and beautiful perfume bottles. There was one purple crystal bottle that I really wanted. I'm not sure how but John and I ended up there at the same time. He bought me the bottle and a Kiel's oil that he loved, which he poured into it. I couldn't forget him even if I wanted to because I use that scent. He lives on my skin.

Little Story #31

Famous people have always been in my life. Mostly because I was cooking them food in a restaurant kitchen.
In Boulder I cooked dinner for Joni Mitchel. I wanted to send her desert but the waiter wouldn't carry it. He thought it would bother her. Desert? Bother?
I served Bill Murray breakfast. He wanted pie for desert and had trouble accepting that we didn't have any available. He said - I'm looking into your eyes and I think I see pie.
I made lunch for William Burrows. I'm sure there's a naked joke I could make but I can't think of it. He had a roast beef sandwich.
Carol King was having dinner in a place when I walked through the dining room.
Leonard Nimoy smiled at me from a car.
Maria Muldaur was in the Diner one day. I had seen her the night before in a small club. I started going off about how I didn't think she'd been very good before I realized she was there. I can only hope she didn't hear me being such a dope.
Joe Jackson (Don't You Know That It's Different for Girls) walked out of the hotel in front of me.
I was sitting at a bar one day. Taj Mahal sat down next to me. We chatted a bit and sang a few lines of I Cover the Waterfront together.  One of the thrills of my life.
I was crossing a street in NYC. Tyne Daly was crossing at the same time. When I realized who she was she was smiling and nodding. I'm not sure but I think she may have thought I recognized her (before I did) and was being kind. It felt a little awkward. I loved her.
I cooked dinner for Susan Sontag. I was the only member of the crew who knew who she was.
Gene Shalit held a news paper up at the pass bar of the kitchen because he needed light. I said - movie section? He smiled and nodded.
Kevin Klein and Phobe Cates ate in that same restaurant. As did Garrison Keillor. As did Tom Hulce.
Danny Glover smiled at me as I walked down the street in SF. Smiled and nodded. Swoon.
Nick Nolte had dinner with me once. We weren't at the same table but ... heh.
The weird thing about seeing famous people is they look familiar. You think you know them at first but of course ... you don't.

Little Story #30

Remember the post about me being uncomfortable with dogs? I do have one really sweet dog story. It happened during the time I was living in the rebirthing training center/commune. I could have become one of the people living there for a long time. Run the kitchen. Hung out in the hot springs. But I had gone there for the India training. The non existent India training. I really thought Leonard might pay for me to go. I can't remember how but one day I realized that he wasn't going to do that. I was really sad and probably angry.
There was a dog living there named Billie. She was an English Sheep dog. I've always loved English Sheep dogs. I'm not sure who owned her but people were feeding her and she got lots of love.
On my sad day I walked down the path, found a spot and collapsed in tears. Billie walked with me and sat beside me, leaning on me. This wasn't something she usually did. I cried for a little while. As I calmed down and stopped crying Billie got up and walked away.
Billie walking away made me feel like I was OK. She didn't need to take care of me anymore.

Little Story #29

There is a line in a Joni Mitchell song -(I could probably do a bunch of posts starting like that)- I didn't know I drank such a lot, till I pissed a tequila anaconda the full length of the parking lot.  
Who else could write a line so visual and kind of beautiful about something so transgressive?
I have a few of those kind of stories. A back alley in Georgetown comes to mind. But it isn't the too drunk in the city and too far from a bathroom stories that are my favorite.
During the rebirthing years I lived in a sort of commune in northern California. Leonard Orr owned the property and called it a training center but he had no real plan and no rules. People had landed there and taken over in a way. Some did workshops. Most just sat in the hot springs. I arrived for the India training that Leonard told me was going on. There was no India training. There was a kitchen.
No one was running it and there was contention about who should be able to run it. I don't remember how but I just ... sort of ... kind of ... took over. The first night I found a bag of carrots. I made carrot soup. I think I may have also made biscuits. I sold that soup and used the money to buy food for the next meal. Eventually I had a nice service going on. Two meals a day. I baked bread every morning.
I'd wake up and start the bread dough. While it was rising I'd take a swim. I'd shape the dough into loaves and as they were rising I'd head to the hot springs for a quick soak. By the time every one else was waking up I'd have filled the lodge with the smell of bread baking and I'd be making eggs or fruit salad or whatever. It was nice.
One morning I was in the hot springs and realized I needed to pee. It was a bit of a walk back to the lodge. I wouldn't have time to get there and back before it was time to put the bread into the oven.
I walked a few feet away from the concrete enclosure where the hot spring flowed into concrete tubs. Squatted and peed. I was naked. I was looking out over a beautiful vista as the sun rose. The smell of trees and water filled the air. The sound of birds and squirrels. I felt feral. I'd like to say I remember my own anaconda flowing through the pine needles and dirt but I'd be making that up. I just know I was happy.

Little story #28

As I was writing the post yesterday I realized that I wasn't writing about a specific thing that happened. A thing that was central to my life and my relationship with the mommie. I told the story the way I've always told it. And it was all true. Our relationship was shaped by the divorce, living with the grandparents (particularly Grandmom) all of the changes and moves, the times. I left out the mommie bringing K into our lives.
She met him at work. He was married at the time. He had a car pool and she joined despite the fact that she couldn't drive. I'm not sure how she contributed to the "pool" or if it was K's way of being close to her. I only know the little red Volkswagen would pull up in front of the house and Grandmom would make a face. She never like him.
I spent the night at his house once. Not sure why. He had a daughter my age. It all seemed innocent to me and when I asked the mommie she assured me that they were just friends. At some point he left his wife. That's really their story but I will say he had good reasons. He became a bigger part of our life. He took us on weekend trips. He helped around the house. He carved out pineapples for the orange sherbet punch at the Hawaiian birthday party.  He was so interesting. The mommie and I were able to move into our apartment because he was around to help with things. Our move was not good for the grandparents. I've written about the falling apart of the family, which was about many things but our moving was a big part of it.
And.
My Me-Too story happened in that apartment.
K moved to Virginia so he could get a divorce. I don't know how it is now but divorce laws then were convoluted and different in different states. He'd drive back for the weekend from time to time. He slept on the couch.
I adored him. I loved pushing my nose into his cheek to smell his aftershave. He was the father I'd never had. He pushed the line of appropriate behavior in many ways. The worst of which was coming into my room when the mommie was in the shower to"say goodnight". There were too many kisses and too much rubbing against me causing so much confusion. He sucked on my breast one night and despite my confusion I knew it was too far. I pushed him away. But I didn't say anything.
His divorce came through. He and the mommie got married. We moved to Maryland. I lived with a constant fear of what might happen next. He continued with a thousand little transgressions.
When I wrote the post yesterday I felt stuck in the old way of telling the story. I never told the mommie. She never understood why I wanted to be so far away from her (him).
I didn't include it in the first writing of the book. The book is a memoir focused on my experience of being fat. I didn't want the abuse to take over those ideas.
But there is no doubt that what he did changed me. Hurt me.
There is also no doubt that he and the mommie were a great love story. He was very good to her.
For me it is a complicated story. Now that the mommie is gone I feel free to tell it but I'm not sure how. I've been holding it for so long.