I've Moved!

Mangos from the mango tree keep falling onto the driveway. A scorpion as long as a child’s hand just crawled into the bushes. The mosquitoes are out in full force. It’s The Heart of Darkness meets Love in the Time of Cholera.

I loved my balcony. I really did. High above a canopy of lush trees, six stories above the natural and unnatural world below, on that balcony I smoked cheroots and clove cigarettes while talking with friends who were poets and musicians and travelers and artists and lovers.  In the distance shone the city’s most important pagoda: night or day, it lit up the sky. I had a wide collection of plants there: orchids, ferns, spider plants, and a large Bird of Paradise. That balcony was my own little paradise, whether I shared it with friends or sat there at sunset in solitude.

This week, I moved (again!!!) into a lovely old house with high, high ceilings, a garden, and a funky kitchen.  I traded in a balcony for a lovely porch; I exchanged a view of the pagoda for a view of the garden. The past few mornings I’ve had my coffee out on the porch bench. I've walked on grass in my bare feet. A big and fluffy neighborhood cat comes and rubs up against my legs and purrs. If this isn’t “home,” I don’t know what is.

So many people  have helped me in the big move: MT helped pack the boxes, UT ordered the movers, PK lifted heavy things, Ale and Frida K. helped me decide what colors to paint to walls, Nanny helped me unpack and gave me a much needed shoulder rub, Dancing Shoes helped me measure for curtains, and Frida K. took me sari shopping. [Those sweet men in “Little India” who sold us saris and gave us orange Fanta would be appalled to know that those beautiful wedding saris we bought (after much bartering) will be hung as curtains!]

I still have boxes to unpack. My computer needs to be hooked up. I can’t find my toothbrush or the box that has my underwear. But, I was able to find  the vodka for the Cosmopolitans I served at Saturday Morning Art Brunch, where four of us –a Brit, an Australian, a German and an American- sat out in the garden and drew, using charcoal and getting our hands all messy. (Thank God for the numerous  airline “refreshing towels” that Flying Monk left. They sure came in handy! Heaven knows we wouldn’t want to smudge our cocktail glasses.) We discussed Gertrude Stein… and all the great patrons and patronesses of the art world.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to find my writing journal for next week’s writing group that I'm hosting. And, I hope to install another mirror in the yoga room so Muffins can teach a jazz dance class. There’s been much talk among The Grappa Crew about using this house for a photo exhibition: we could accept submissions, create the show, and the proceeds could go towards charity. Shoulder Pads has suggested the theme of “Humor in Y.” (“Y.” being the city we live in), which is a challenging topic, indeed, but one only has to look at local billboards for inspiration.

Sometime soon, I’ll buy a TV so I can hook up my DVD player for a film night. I’d love to follow in Finally Has a Hot Chick’s footsteps and host a night of film where film buffs gather to watch and discuss their favorite flicks. Last Sunday we watched “Before Sunrise” and “Before Sunset”, with a break in between for Indian food. Interesting discussion, though I wish the “no talking during the film unless you put it on pause” rule had been enforced. (Did anyone else notice the symbolism of the vertical lines and the vanishing points in both films?)

It’s Sunday morning. The monsoon rains have arrived. The natural world is lush and humid and fertile. The human world has to deal with leaky roofs, mold, gigantic water puddles, and matches and candles that are too damp to light. Mangos from the mango tree keep falling onto the driveway. A scorpion as long as a child’s hand just crawled into the bushes. The mosquitoes are out in full force. It’s “The Heart of Darkness” meets “Love in the Time of Cholera.”

And I love it all: the mold and champagne and scorpions and mangos and jazz of the natural and the human world.

Comments

[Datta]

You always inspire me. Here I am in Taos, USA and I find myself a lonely and isolated stay-at-home-mom who jumps when there is a knock on the door because I rarely see other people here.
I need to start a movie night and a writing group here.
I hope you find your undies soon!

[shamash]

Hey, Datta! Go for it. Start a writing group! Heaven knows there are more writers per capita in your town of Taos than any other town in the world (or was that "artists?} Whatever the case, I remember the first writing group I joined on the mountain: it was you and I and Ivy, the winter circle, and a woodstove. Weren't those the days? Then, there were so many other taosenos who I connected with through writing or writing groups.

I know how much your writing has inspired me: your honesty and lack of inhibition helped me to get over my fear of "writing down the bones". You were single, then, and unmarried, and we all had a lot more time to be artists. But, if you need inspiration, think of Anne Lamott and JK Rawlings (of the Harry Potter series)- both well-known writers who wrote their first books as they were raising a child. Plus, even if your goal isn't to publish, writing can be cathartic.

Tonight is a gathering of the first writing group to gather in my new house. I will light a candle in your honor, sending out good vibes to you in that enchanted desert-town.

[Tish G]

absolutely beautiful! I understand the HoD and Cholera references...also made me think of Duras' The Lover.

friends here, and I, are looking to put together a little writers' group so that we might have some support during our down-times. Being undisciplined, bohemian types, we tend to lose focus a bit when the pressure isn't on, so we feel it will work better if we pressure each other.

I'm looking to move at the moment myself. A friend who recently moved into her own home misses my proximity, and found a very pretty apartment for me a few blocks from her house. The question though becomes whether or not a bohemian with little credit and less income can convince a realtor to rent to her. It would, though, be nice to get out of my garret and have enough room for friends to visit.

[shamash]

Hey, Tish. I'll have to check out Duras' The Lover.

As for a writing groups: I've been a part of six in the past five years. One was a serious one, with deadlines and critiques. We self-published a small volume. The other five were based on the "writing practice" guidelines in Natalie Goldberg's bestseller Writing Down the Bones.

The basic scenerio is this: one member of the group throws out a topic, or poem, or line from a poem. Then she says, "Go". Then, in timed sessions of 10-20 minutes, everyone writes non-stop for the given time. Everyone's pen must keep moving. If you can't think of anything to write, you write "I can't think of anything to write" over and over again until you CAN think of something to write. Often, writers don't write on the topic; the topic is simply a springboard for getting to what we really want to write about. Then, when the session is over, without reading the piece to ourselves first, we read out entries to each other. If there's a piece that you feel is too personal, you say "pass."

The proces is simple, but it can be quite poweful. It's not unlike the personal "writing pages" in Julie Cameron's The Artist's Way. The main difference is that it's done in a group.

It's very important that each writer feels safe with the other members of the group. So, no new person is invited in without the agreement of all members of the group.

The one group I was a part of in Taos (originally started by Natalie Goldberg, and continues to this day) was the catalyst for three now-published books. Our writing group is mentioned in the acknowledgments.

According to Natalie, just like soccer players need soccer practice, writers need writing practice. So, showing up at the page on a regular basis is a discipline that reaps great rewards.

Plus, it's a hell of a lot of fun.

If you get a chance, check out Natalie's book. It's the one of the books I'm always sure to take with me, no matter what country I live in. And, as a teacher, I use some of her ideas in my writing classes.