Although, I am as fragile as glass? As delicate in my dreams as a simple whisper. I imagine? I remember, I recall… A few of my favorite things.
When I was around 11? I have glints and murmurs, gleanings or shimmering memories.
When I volunteered to work in a thrift shop on Vermont avenue in Los Angeles. Carrot juice at 8 in a glistening curvy deco platinum counter with ice cubes made of madagascar vanilla ice cream. These are a few of my favorite things.
The strange man whom I worked with, whom brushed his hair with ivory Victorian hair brushes, with smooth bone milky ivory handles. His hair platinum bleached white. A David Bowie kind of goblin. My boss had no arms? Every day she hiked up her toes and opened the door with keys with her feet. She wrote letters with her wood scented lead pencil. In the back near the velvet smoky gowns.
Pink mischievous pale orange pink deco slips, There…high on shelves, these wonderful depression era glasses. Mostly green mixed amongst some aurora borealis Northern lights hues on a caramel glaze. There was cobalt cosmic blue glassware too, albeit rare. My job was just fussing over everything and listening to T-Rex with my platinum goblin in his David Bowie hairstyling’s.
I guess Los Angeles is not a very old city after all. There is stucco in pale pastel colors like old wedding cake all dusty as the length of this suburban sprawl encapsulates you. The entire city reminds you of living inside of pastries with the smell of jalapeños and tamales. My life was so simple. Deciphering my mothers mysterious beguines. She told me once that she was Mona Lisa’s poodle and she did not have to smile.
She said I am going to catch all the family photographs on fire in the freezer. I asked why? She said because you are going to finally pay attention as life leaps before you as the dragonflies wings burn like stained glass of sacredness. Don’t you want to remember where you came from? You never remember the important things? So, I watched her as the ice melted and fire burned. Century of warm expressions glazing with kodak banana smelling developer. My Mother was right! I never forgot what I would not remember otherwise inside of amere book. She said pay attention. This is our story and you have one chance to jump thru these rings of fire like a trapeze star.
My mother was so mysterious to me. She would read me the biography of Charlie Parker with her tiny legs on an African stool, which barely reached the floor. Lissen up she said, because music will pass you by and you must remember the scent of jazz. Each night before I went to sleep, she read to me about the stirrings if jangling bells, xylophones and flutes. Do you remember the scent of the soprano in June? Looking back, my mother was like a zen master. She was a pioneer. She worked so hard at the bank so my father could practice drums and horns. My mother told me freedom is everything. We were all alone and she would sew and sew and practice her fencing with swords. She made all of my school costumes and cheerleading dresses. I have come to realize, that we had o money and we never knew how we would survive. She made certain that I knew that I was very much loved.
But, now? I really would love to design some organza with these lovely delicate patterns. I’m sure there is a way to design textiles which are embossed and so smooth. I can become my memories and my future by remembering precious things which are my heart. I can become a lace glass teacup filled with my favorite tea. No matter what life throws at me? I shall always remember John Coltrane’s musings on “A few of my favorite things”