In past years, as satirized on Saturday Night Live, Oprah went full out -- often causing a case of 'the vapors' for many women -- during her annual "Favorite Things" show. This was the day that so many viewers wished they could have had the luck of the draw to be in the audience for -- to be able to leave the studio with a truckload of coveted loot. But -- due to the recession, Oprah has announced over the last couple of years that it would be in poor taste to do a show that focused on such pricier items and instead concentrated on free things that could bring as much joy (oh, the crestfallen looks on the poor audience members' faces when they heard this!).
Well, this writer asks, "Why can't we do a favorite things edition, with just a little restraint, instead? In other words, why throw the baby out with the bath water?" To that end, Christabelle presents the top ten items to present your favorite lady in Mandeville this year -- and each is under $50!!!!!!!
1. Bare Escentuals Bare & Healthy Lip Polish. Ohmygosh, I'm not even a girly girl and I'm crazy for this one. If you have lips that are feeling dry and chapped from the onset of winter weather, and are tired of the sameoldsameoldsameold gloss or -- worse -- lipsticks that seem to never be the color on YOU that they are in the tube, then get yourself over to "About Face" in Mandeville http://www.aboutfaceco.com/AF_Home.html and spend the best $18 that your lips have ever seen on one of these. And it's just about impossible to go wrong with any shade.
2. bareMinerals Maximum Coverage Concealer Brush. The most important brush you will ever own. I had mine for years, then lost it several days ago and rushed over to About Face to get another. Would have eaten peanut butter sandwiches for a week to fit this $20 essential into my weekly budget!
3. About a year ago I bought -- for under $30 -- a pair of CZ stud earrings in a truly one-of-a-kind crown setting. They go with jeans, a little black dress, and even with my dance leotards when I want to feel great in ballet class. I bought them during a fun-filled neighborhood show presented by Premier Designs. Click here to find local info: https://gem.premierdesigns.com/public/contactform_pdi25.asp
4. Head over to Fresh Market http://www.thefreshmarket.com/and pick up Republic of Tea's Acerola Cherry Green Tea for your favorite tea drinker. This is one of the 'prettiest' tasting teas, with a high Vitamin C content, and it will set you back a slim $10! While you're there, pick up a fragrant bouquet of roses for your sweetheart. Their flowers last FAR longer than any I have purchased anywhere else and the price couldn't be be better -- under $10 for a dozen!
5. You can't go wrong with a PJ's http://www.pjscoffee.com/ gift card for your favorite giftee -- they start at just $10, which will provide a few fragrant lattes (I prefer chai, myself) inside an Acadian-style cottage on Highway 22.
6. Kmart -- yes, Kmart -- on U.S. 190 in Mandeville, sells a package of 15 environmentally friendly natural wood hangers,http://www.kmart.com/shc/s/search_10151_10104?keyword=wood+hangers&vName=&x=20&y=5 for $14.99. I have bought several packages of these, and they are fantastic for everything from slacks to knits, with no rough spots to snag your clothing.
7. I've got to promote my friend Abby Sands Miller's latest collaborative project -- with OR nurse by day/cougar by night, Rosemary Donnelly: a one-of-a kind cookbook that's fraught with cougar-isms! Being released this month! http://www.cougarinstincts.com/
8. That piano in your living room shouldn't be a still life during the holidays -- it's meant to make music. Why not start making THAT, instead of the television over the mantel (ugh -- whoever came up with that decorating faux pas?!?!?!?!) the focal point of the room? Just a $40 registration fee at the Louisiana Academy of Performing Arts, with its several locations, including one on Girod Street in Old Mandeville, will get the love of your life started or re-started as a musician.
9. While you're out and about, why not take a lunchtime breather at La Madeleine in the Premier Centre, on Highway 190 in Mandeville, with its consistently good fare. My favorite is the grilled chicken Caesar salad with an accompanying cup of hot potato soup, topped with cheddar http://www.lamadeleine.com/menu/lunch#fresh%20salades. If fate shines upon you, you'll be able to snag a table by the fireplace. Cost, including a glass of wine -- under $20 apiece. Yum!
10. Although dessert is tempting at La Madeleine, you might want to take a walk over to T.J. Maxx, also in the Premier Centre, and pick up a few boxes of Harry & David high quality chocolate truffles, discounted at just $5.99 for a dozen! Right now, for the holidays, you can find the special edition of Peppermint Truffles. Double yum!
See, it really doesn't take a whole lot to make a Mandeville lady's holidays a bit brighter. Enjoy!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Fleur de Fall ... From My Diet
Last night was Mary Queen of Peace's 3rd annual Fleur de Fall, a fundraiser of food, music and auctioning. I have never, and I mean NEVER, seen that array of food anywhere else in my life. And I partook of most of it. From station to station, I noshed on pecan crusted fish; vegie spring rolls and mini chicken tenders with hot mustard sauce; an incredible (worth 2 servings) roasted sweet pepper and smoked chicken bisque with cilantro cream; fried catfish and garlic fries (decadent!); turtle soup, salad remoulade (3 servings worth -- amazing!); chicken and andouille gumbo; jambalaya; a variety of cheeses; some wonderful chocolate truffles; and several tastings of dry red wines. For a church function, this felt rather gluttonous, but all for a good cause, and I intend to work off those calories and concomitant sluggishness in a few minutes.
Despite a little gastronomic over-indulging, I can at least congratulate myself for not being tempted by all those odd-colored drinks I saw making their way about. Bright blue liquor -- especially with food -- just doesn't hold much appeal. I understand they fit in with the "sailing the high seas" theme, but those kinds of beverages would likely find their way into the high seas of my bathroom commode at some point in the wee hours of the morning. "Let's not and say we did," is my motto for such whimsical drinks.
The silent auction was every bit as impressive as the food in terms of quality and quantity. I was particularly impressed by some of the art that the school children turned out. In fact, my sole bid was on a wonderful seafood platter that depicted a large red crab in the shape of a fleur de lis with lots of tiny little crabs created by thumb prints (it was accompanied by a gift certificate for seafood), but I did not let the spirit of the evening let me lose all control of my senses and bank account.
Speaking of bank accounts, I feel like the poor relation of this entire city after sitting in awe, watching numerous high rollers bid thouands and thousands of dollars, with apparent abandon, at the live auction. Trips to sporting events, travel packages for Vegas, the French Quarter and so forth, all manner of items signed by the Saints coach or players ... even a meal for four prepared by Monsignor Bill and served at his home went for something like $5,500! The one thing I especially would have loved to have been sufficiently flush to buy ($4,000 was the winning bid) was a very large, antique icon Father Ronnie brought back from Greece. Having studied Russian architecture and icons while at Tulane, and possessing one small icon from my former ballet instructor (now retired in his homeland of Yugoslavia), I really felt the pull for this item, but it was not to be at this time.
I'll bet a lot of parishioners are sleeping in this morning ...
Despite a little gastronomic over-indulging, I can at least congratulate myself for not being tempted by all those odd-colored drinks I saw making their way about. Bright blue liquor -- especially with food -- just doesn't hold much appeal. I understand they fit in with the "sailing the high seas" theme, but those kinds of beverages would likely find their way into the high seas of my bathroom commode at some point in the wee hours of the morning. "Let's not and say we did," is my motto for such whimsical drinks.
The silent auction was every bit as impressive as the food in terms of quality and quantity. I was particularly impressed by some of the art that the school children turned out. In fact, my sole bid was on a wonderful seafood platter that depicted a large red crab in the shape of a fleur de lis with lots of tiny little crabs created by thumb prints (it was accompanied by a gift certificate for seafood), but I did not let the spirit of the evening let me lose all control of my senses and bank account.
Speaking of bank accounts, I feel like the poor relation of this entire city after sitting in awe, watching numerous high rollers bid thouands and thousands of dollars, with apparent abandon, at the live auction. Trips to sporting events, travel packages for Vegas, the French Quarter and so forth, all manner of items signed by the Saints coach or players ... even a meal for four prepared by Monsignor Bill and served at his home went for something like $5,500! The one thing I especially would have loved to have been sufficiently flush to buy ($4,000 was the winning bid) was a very large, antique icon Father Ronnie brought back from Greece. Having studied Russian architecture and icons while at Tulane, and possessing one small icon from my former ballet instructor (now retired in his homeland of Yugoslavia), I really felt the pull for this item, but it was not to be at this time.
I'll bet a lot of parishioners are sleeping in this morning ...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
When a Treehouse Turns on You ...
Quel weekend! And it's not even over yet. Friday afternoon, I had just finished a stint at the keyboard, doing some legal writing, when I started experiencing what I not-so-nicely (but accurately) refer to as "butt death." Time to stretch, get out of the PJs, get cleaned up, go over to Franco's for a workout, and then resume some writing in the evening. After washing up, I gave my vanity mirror a typical quick wipedown when I heard and felt its mammoth weight descend upon me.
This is no ordinary vanity mirror. It's bigger than a door -- covers the entire wall. So when it started coming down, I knew, at once, one really good reason to be married. So I could shout, "Honey, the vanity mirror is falling on me!" But since there was no such person to shout that to, I mustered up all the brute force I could, one bicep supporting the mirror, while the other tended to clearing the counter below. Then, using both arms and not just a little bit of lumbar spine, I eased the mirror down to the cabinet to rest for the time being.
Since the mirror now was taking up the entire dressing room, which leads to the commode and shower, I needed to create an alternate path, through my home office. My office was all a'clutter, so this took well into the evening. A task I'd wanted to get to eventually, but was now necessitated. Meanwhile, I checked on line and in the yellow pages under headings like "rent a husband" or "save writer from losing her mind with one more way her house is betraying her" and left voice mail messages on a couple of home repair numbers.
I received one call back eventually from a guy who said he could be there no earlier than Monday. Meanwhile, my real estate agent/friend called me back -- I'd also left her a message asking if she knew of resources. She said that maybe her very capable husband could find some time over the weekend.
On the bright side, the mirror was not broken. On the not so bright side, I was envisioning another unexpected hit to my bank account, just after, earlier in the week, I'd forked over nearly $700 for new eyeglasses -- and that's with a vision plan discount! On the even dimmer side, was the backache starting to manifest itself, after the initial adrenaline had enabled me to hoist that mirror while emptying the counter -- an awkward and cumbersome task.
My lower back is a cautionary area to begin with, by virtue of my having a hypermobile SI joint. Added to that, I'm not anywhere in the kind of shape I was when I retired from the dance company some 14 years ago. And, I took a brutal trip and fall in August. But -- having decided to give it a go this year for their 30 year anniversary, I was elated last Wednesday night at having a really great rehearsal. I hated to think that my behemoth vanity mirror could be my ultimate downfall.
The next day, I went into the city to teach my round of Saturday morning classes to preschool ballerinas who were in some kind of collective mood. Due to a major function going on in Audubon Park, traffic was crazy and I arrived with no time to catch my breath, cue all of my music, greet the children individually, and proceed calmly. Instead, I felt as out of sorts as they apparently were. It's true, I think, that children do mirror (no pun intended) our own moods. On this particular day, I was all too happy to get out of there, skip afternoon company rehearsal, and get back to Mandeville to see about home repairs. It was small consolation, as I left the studio, to have my arm grabbed by one of the mothers who told me, "Sophie just LOVES you! She thinks you're SO funny!" I mustered up some response about how desperation makes me a real riot by the third class of the day.
As it turned out, my friend's husband had a small window of opportunity, before an LSU game/party, to fix my mirror. He assessed the situation, made a 20-minute run to the hardware store to get what he needed, and then -- following some justifiable cursing about not finding the studs where they should be in the wall -- got the mirror back up there to stay with 35 minutes to spare before his. Turns out that the mirror had never been properly anchored in the first place and was an accident waiting to happen -- much like, I am sorry to say, other aspects of this often traitorous treehouse.
While Mark was re-affixing the errant mirror, I noticed something familiar happening outside my window. Once a year, in late autumn, dads and sons pitch tent out on the Cedarwood School lawn that abuts my back yard. It's a time for a little cross-generational male bonding under the stars. I watched as more and more multi-colored geodesic domes dotted the landscape, resembling a convention of hot air balloons that have made a happy landing. At this point, the boys were dashing about in happy delirium.
What I needed after all of that was some time at Franco's. Nothing like a workout, a long shower, and a sauna to set me right. I stopped home to change, noting that as nightfall loomed, the boys on the school yard were now bursting with excitement, shrieking and running barefoot about the lush green grounds. Minutes later, I headed over to the grand opening of Jose Balli's new gallery/store in Covington featuring his Louisiana-inspired art and jewelry http://www.joseballi.com/?show=Home. N'tini's http://www.ntinis.com/ was on hand with some crab meat dressing, turkey gumbo, jambalaya and bread pudding.
By the time I arrived home, the evening was well settled in. The din from the school yard had abated to just a few young voices in the moonlight calling out "hello,"to anyone within earshot. They couldn't see my responsive smile. I was not without memories of my own about such nights. I recognized their invitation to note, "hey, look at us, we're still up and we're sleeping outside, isn't it great?" Yes, it was. All was right with the world again.
This is no ordinary vanity mirror. It's bigger than a door -- covers the entire wall. So when it started coming down, I knew, at once, one really good reason to be married. So I could shout, "Honey, the vanity mirror is falling on me!" But since there was no such person to shout that to, I mustered up all the brute force I could, one bicep supporting the mirror, while the other tended to clearing the counter below. Then, using both arms and not just a little bit of lumbar spine, I eased the mirror down to the cabinet to rest for the time being.
Since the mirror now was taking up the entire dressing room, which leads to the commode and shower, I needed to create an alternate path, through my home office. My office was all a'clutter, so this took well into the evening. A task I'd wanted to get to eventually, but was now necessitated. Meanwhile, I checked on line and in the yellow pages under headings like "rent a husband" or "save writer from losing her mind with one more way her house is betraying her" and left voice mail messages on a couple of home repair numbers.
I received one call back eventually from a guy who said he could be there no earlier than Monday. Meanwhile, my real estate agent/friend called me back -- I'd also left her a message asking if she knew of resources. She said that maybe her very capable husband could find some time over the weekend.
On the bright side, the mirror was not broken. On the not so bright side, I was envisioning another unexpected hit to my bank account, just after, earlier in the week, I'd forked over nearly $700 for new eyeglasses -- and that's with a vision plan discount! On the even dimmer side, was the backache starting to manifest itself, after the initial adrenaline had enabled me to hoist that mirror while emptying the counter -- an awkward and cumbersome task.
My lower back is a cautionary area to begin with, by virtue of my having a hypermobile SI joint. Added to that, I'm not anywhere in the kind of shape I was when I retired from the dance company some 14 years ago. And, I took a brutal trip and fall in August. But -- having decided to give it a go this year for their 30 year anniversary, I was elated last Wednesday night at having a really great rehearsal. I hated to think that my behemoth vanity mirror could be my ultimate downfall.
The next day, I went into the city to teach my round of Saturday morning classes to preschool ballerinas who were in some kind of collective mood. Due to a major function going on in Audubon Park, traffic was crazy and I arrived with no time to catch my breath, cue all of my music, greet the children individually, and proceed calmly. Instead, I felt as out of sorts as they apparently were. It's true, I think, that children do mirror (no pun intended) our own moods. On this particular day, I was all too happy to get out of there, skip afternoon company rehearsal, and get back to Mandeville to see about home repairs. It was small consolation, as I left the studio, to have my arm grabbed by one of the mothers who told me, "Sophie just LOVES you! She thinks you're SO funny!" I mustered up some response about how desperation makes me a real riot by the third class of the day.
As it turned out, my friend's husband had a small window of opportunity, before an LSU game/party, to fix my mirror. He assessed the situation, made a 20-minute run to the hardware store to get what he needed, and then -- following some justifiable cursing about not finding the studs where they should be in the wall -- got the mirror back up there to stay with 35 minutes to spare before his. Turns out that the mirror had never been properly anchored in the first place and was an accident waiting to happen -- much like, I am sorry to say, other aspects of this often traitorous treehouse.
While Mark was re-affixing the errant mirror, I noticed something familiar happening outside my window. Once a year, in late autumn, dads and sons pitch tent out on the Cedarwood School lawn that abuts my back yard. It's a time for a little cross-generational male bonding under the stars. I watched as more and more multi-colored geodesic domes dotted the landscape, resembling a convention of hot air balloons that have made a happy landing. At this point, the boys were dashing about in happy delirium.
What I needed after all of that was some time at Franco's. Nothing like a workout, a long shower, and a sauna to set me right. I stopped home to change, noting that as nightfall loomed, the boys on the school yard were now bursting with excitement, shrieking and running barefoot about the lush green grounds. Minutes later, I headed over to the grand opening of Jose Balli's new gallery/store in Covington featuring his Louisiana-inspired art and jewelry http://www.joseballi.com/?show=Home. N'tini's http://www.ntinis.com/ was on hand with some crab meat dressing, turkey gumbo, jambalaya and bread pudding.
By the time I arrived home, the evening was well settled in. The din from the school yard had abated to just a few young voices in the moonlight calling out "hello,"to anyone within earshot. They couldn't see my responsive smile. I was not without memories of my own about such nights. I recognized their invitation to note, "hey, look at us, we're still up and we're sleeping outside, isn't it great?" Yes, it was. All was right with the world again.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dear People of Mandeville
For all who were not at City Hall yesterday, I'd like to share the gist of my initial address in my quest to become interim mayor.
Five months. That doesn't seem like a lot of time in the great scheme of things, does it? More on that in a moment. I first want to establish that I am well acquainted with the mechanics of local government. As a young journalist, I spent many years covering both state and local news, from city hall meetings -- like the one we're having today, to elections -- such as we anticipate here in the spring, to public works projects projects -- ranging from something as enormous as deep tunnel sewers in a large city, to getting a working snow blower in a small town. But in addition to my experience in journalistic and legal matters, I also know a thing or two about children. I not only grew up the oldest girl of 10 of them, but I've also been an educator for nearly 20 years. I have taught children of all economic backgrounds, ethnicities, and capabilities -- both physical and intellectual. One of the local papers reported that "Rukavina's focus seems to be on children." Well, yes it is. Because they comprise a large segment of this community's population. And what all of these children have in common is one thing: They are going to inherit, in a few short years, the vestiges of the mess that this country is in. I want to put a positive spin on that looming challenge. As interim mayor, I intend to light a fire under them -- to get them excited and interested in local government as a living, breathing entity that not only affects them, but which they themselves can positively and profoundly affect, long before they reach voting age. This is not only an important step in their development, but will also serve the rest of us well, as we all become older and they assume more responsibilities and control. I know something else about children, too. They are a lot quicker on the uptake than you or I. They have shown me time and again just how much they can learn in a few short weeks. What I can do with them in just five months as interim mayor could be astounding. On another note, you are all aware that this is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and accordingly, I am also doing this for all the women like myself who have to fight this insidious disease -- to urge all of them to dream big. I have already demonstrated that a 48-year-old cancer survivor can become the oldest person ever accepted into a dance major program in the history of Louisiana, and achieve a 4.0. I would love to show you what I can also do with the challenge of serving as interim mayor. Thank you.
Five months. That doesn't seem like a lot of time in the great scheme of things, does it? More on that in a moment. I first want to establish that I am well acquainted with the mechanics of local government. As a young journalist, I spent many years covering both state and local news, from city hall meetings -- like the one we're having today, to elections -- such as we anticipate here in the spring, to public works projects projects -- ranging from something as enormous as deep tunnel sewers in a large city, to getting a working snow blower in a small town. But in addition to my experience in journalistic and legal matters, I also know a thing or two about children. I not only grew up the oldest girl of 10 of them, but I've also been an educator for nearly 20 years. I have taught children of all economic backgrounds, ethnicities, and capabilities -- both physical and intellectual. One of the local papers reported that "Rukavina's focus seems to be on children." Well, yes it is. Because they comprise a large segment of this community's population. And what all of these children have in common is one thing: They are going to inherit, in a few short years, the vestiges of the mess that this country is in. I want to put a positive spin on that looming challenge. As interim mayor, I intend to light a fire under them -- to get them excited and interested in local government as a living, breathing entity that not only affects them, but which they themselves can positively and profoundly affect, long before they reach voting age. This is not only an important step in their development, but will also serve the rest of us well, as we all become older and they assume more responsibilities and control. I know something else about children, too. They are a lot quicker on the uptake than you or I. They have shown me time and again just how much they can learn in a few short weeks. What I can do with them in just five months as interim mayor could be astounding. On another note, you are all aware that this is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and accordingly, I am also doing this for all the women like myself who have to fight this insidious disease -- to urge all of them to dream big. I have already demonstrated that a 48-year-old cancer survivor can become the oldest person ever accepted into a dance major program in the history of Louisiana, and achieve a 4.0. I would love to show you what I can also do with the challenge of serving as interim mayor. Thank you.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
An Elevated Lifestyle
Back in the late 1970s, when I first began my newspaper career, I researched and wrote a piece about underground homes. Even in the smalltown, semi-rural area where I cut my teeth as a journalist, there were a few mavericks who opted for this type of residence. What fueled interest in such homes at that time was a combination of the energy crisis and heightened fear about the prospect of nuclear winter. But make no mistake about it -- these new age dwellers wanted you to know that their homes might be "low" in stature but high in amenities and comfort.
In fact, not long after I wrote my article, the founder of Celestial Seasonings Tea Company, John Hays, "carved out" what had to be the most opulent underground dwelling of all, in an Arkansas mountainside, complete with stalactites, in preparation for what he believed was the looming holocaust. This luxurious bomb shelter later became the subject of a layout in People magazine, when John's wife, several years later, decided that the couple was no longer in imminent danger and tried to sell the multi-million dollar property.
The property was sold to a fellow who thought it would make a fantastic nightclub; he fixed it up further and even added a heliport. The grand opening saw the likes of Michael Jackson, Liz Taylor, Tom Selleck and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Although the club was an initial hit, it closed after a year for not being sufficiently profitable. The property was sold again and again (in fact, at one point, back to the original owner) and went through various troubles until finally being converted into a lodge in 1998 which has served it well ever since.
Now I bring all of this up because the topic of underground living has been making recent headlines -- but not at all in the same way or for the same reasons as previously.
You see, in the several years that I've owned my "treehouse," I've come to love the feeling of sleeping in the trees, even though that might be a bit of a stretch -- literally. That is, if I reached my hand outside any window on the 2nd floor, I could touch one of the towering pines that surround my home, and so I feel I have made a presentable case for deeming this a "treehouse," which, by definition, connotes a physical loftiness. A sanctuary in which to transcend the travails of common life.
That is why I've lately become fascinated with the lives of underground dwellers, such as those romanticized in the former TV series, "Beauty and the Beast." TV magazine shows have focused recently on people who live in the underground drains in Las Vegas. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people there have found a niche in these dank, cavernous places, and somehow made them "home," with beds, books, perhaps even a rigged up shower. There is no ventilation, no light except for flashlights or candles. There is the ever present danger presented by co-residing black widow spider, as well as by the prospect of rain/flooding, which has claimed some 20 lives to date.
These creatures, which call to mind the "Omega Man" mutants who can't stand daylight, periodically emerge to make their "living," scouring the slot machines for coins and credit slips, "earning" as much as $500 a day. Yet, they still cannot permanently pull themselves out from their hovels. As it turns out, many of them found their way into this lifestyle via drug and alcohol dependency which they now claim to have beaten, although a few still fear coming back up in to the general populace due to outstanding drug-related arrest warrants.
Reading between the lines, it also seems that these folks have found a strange comfort level in living immediately below the glitz and glamour and cacophony that defines the Vegas strip. And who's to say which is more aberrant?
This way of life is getting a lot of press because of the ongoing deep recession that has affected all of us.
But, it is actually nothing new. Decades back, stories abounded about the "mole people" of New York such as this one dating back to 1990: http://www.nytimes.com/1990/06/13/nyregion/in-tunnel-mole-people-fight-to-save-home.html
And now that more people than ever are out of work or underemployed, uninsured or underinsured, such tales of Hades-esque survival are resurfacing: http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/notes_from_the_underground_cBpY2m15R9J0ysIm58QK1M .
Not exactly the kind of New York that would ever show up in a segment of "Sex and the City," but compelling nonetheless.
Oddly, resorting to the underworld is not relegated solely to major metropolises: http://www.clickorlando.com/news/14673988/detail.html
In these times, I am more grateful than ever to be "above ground."
In fact, not long after I wrote my article, the founder of Celestial Seasonings Tea Company, John Hays, "carved out" what had to be the most opulent underground dwelling of all, in an Arkansas mountainside, complete with stalactites, in preparation for what he believed was the looming holocaust. This luxurious bomb shelter later became the subject of a layout in People magazine, when John's wife, several years later, decided that the couple was no longer in imminent danger and tried to sell the multi-million dollar property.
The property was sold to a fellow who thought it would make a fantastic nightclub; he fixed it up further and even added a heliport. The grand opening saw the likes of Michael Jackson, Liz Taylor, Tom Selleck and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Although the club was an initial hit, it closed after a year for not being sufficiently profitable. The property was sold again and again (in fact, at one point, back to the original owner) and went through various troubles until finally being converted into a lodge in 1998 which has served it well ever since.
Now I bring all of this up because the topic of underground living has been making recent headlines -- but not at all in the same way or for the same reasons as previously.
You see, in the several years that I've owned my "treehouse," I've come to love the feeling of sleeping in the trees, even though that might be a bit of a stretch -- literally. That is, if I reached my hand outside any window on the 2nd floor, I could touch one of the towering pines that surround my home, and so I feel I have made a presentable case for deeming this a "treehouse," which, by definition, connotes a physical loftiness. A sanctuary in which to transcend the travails of common life.
That is why I've lately become fascinated with the lives of underground dwellers, such as those romanticized in the former TV series, "Beauty and the Beast." TV magazine shows have focused recently on people who live in the underground drains in Las Vegas. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people there have found a niche in these dank, cavernous places, and somehow made them "home," with beds, books, perhaps even a rigged up shower. There is no ventilation, no light except for flashlights or candles. There is the ever present danger presented by co-residing black widow spider, as well as by the prospect of rain/flooding, which has claimed some 20 lives to date.
These creatures, which call to mind the "Omega Man" mutants who can't stand daylight, periodically emerge to make their "living," scouring the slot machines for coins and credit slips, "earning" as much as $500 a day. Yet, they still cannot permanently pull themselves out from their hovels. As it turns out, many of them found their way into this lifestyle via drug and alcohol dependency which they now claim to have beaten, although a few still fear coming back up in to the general populace due to outstanding drug-related arrest warrants.
Reading between the lines, it also seems that these folks have found a strange comfort level in living immediately below the glitz and glamour and cacophony that defines the Vegas strip. And who's to say which is more aberrant?
This way of life is getting a lot of press because of the ongoing deep recession that has affected all of us.
But, it is actually nothing new. Decades back, stories abounded about the "mole people" of New York such as this one dating back to 1990: http://www.nytimes.com/1990/06/13/nyregion/in-tunnel-mole-people-fight-to-save-home.html
And now that more people than ever are out of work or underemployed, uninsured or underinsured, such tales of Hades-esque survival are resurfacing: http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/notes_from_the_underground_cBpY2m15R9J0ysIm58QK1M .
Not exactly the kind of New York that would ever show up in a segment of "Sex and the City," but compelling nonetheless.
Oddly, resorting to the underworld is not relegated solely to major metropolises: http://www.clickorlando.com/news/14673988/detail.html
In these times, I am more grateful than ever to be "above ground."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Last one out, please shut off the lights ...
There's a reason, I'm beginning to see, that I have somehow found myself residing in a treehouse of sorts in Mandeville, Louisiana. It's apparent that divine intervention led me to a place which -- although creating the inherent need for me to commute quite a bit -- offers me solace during stressful times.
It's not just the stress that is concomitant with continuing to assemble a new life after Katrina.
And, it's not just the stress that accompanies the enormous medical and financial challenges I've dealt with since May 2008, arising from the actions of an unscrupulous dentist.
There's something else going on. Something much bigger. It's the animosity that people display these days. Ted Kennedy dies and the Times Picayune's comment section below the story is bursting with largely vitriolic barbs, seemingly written with great pleasure. Not only do the posters jab at the deceased, but at each other, with a "can you top this" relish.
Just when I wonder if perhaps this is something attributable to demographics, I read, several days later, in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (the newspaper of my hometown where I maintain a very modest lake retreat), that the Wauwatosa (suburb) school superintendent now regrets his decision regarding our president's recent address to school children. Seems that Mr. Ertl actually "banned" the address from being heard. And now -- perhaps due to not gaining as much support for his decision as he'd anticipated -- he waffles after the fact.
You know, I remember these comic books we received in grade school in the early 1960s, during the Cold War. They actually more resembled the type of graphic/comic works that have become quite the trend as of late. The ones I recall reading as a 10-year-old portrayed Russians as being sinister creatures lurking everywhere, under my bed, just outside my door, in the closet ... just waiting to pounce upon me and turn me into a Communist.
Well, I have news. The bogeyman is alive and well. And he's right here, even in my bucolic semi-rural setting. He lives in you and he lives in me, every time we pre-judge and condemn, every time we practice intolerance, every time we react with knee jerks and fear and ignorance, instead of with compassion, independent judgment, critical thinking, and the willingness to lend consideration to the beliefs and ideas of others.
We don't need anyone else's help to diminish our country and the principles upon which it was founded. We are doing just fine on our own.
It's not just the stress that is concomitant with continuing to assemble a new life after Katrina.
And, it's not just the stress that accompanies the enormous medical and financial challenges I've dealt with since May 2008, arising from the actions of an unscrupulous dentist.
There's something else going on. Something much bigger. It's the animosity that people display these days. Ted Kennedy dies and the Times Picayune's comment section below the story is bursting with largely vitriolic barbs, seemingly written with great pleasure. Not only do the posters jab at the deceased, but at each other, with a "can you top this" relish.
Just when I wonder if perhaps this is something attributable to demographics, I read, several days later, in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (the newspaper of my hometown where I maintain a very modest lake retreat), that the Wauwatosa (suburb) school superintendent now regrets his decision regarding our president's recent address to school children. Seems that Mr. Ertl actually "banned" the address from being heard. And now -- perhaps due to not gaining as much support for his decision as he'd anticipated -- he waffles after the fact.
You know, I remember these comic books we received in grade school in the early 1960s, during the Cold War. They actually more resembled the type of graphic/comic works that have become quite the trend as of late. The ones I recall reading as a 10-year-old portrayed Russians as being sinister creatures lurking everywhere, under my bed, just outside my door, in the closet ... just waiting to pounce upon me and turn me into a Communist.
Well, I have news. The bogeyman is alive and well. And he's right here, even in my bucolic semi-rural setting. He lives in you and he lives in me, every time we pre-judge and condemn, every time we practice intolerance, every time we react with knee jerks and fear and ignorance, instead of with compassion, independent judgment, critical thinking, and the willingness to lend consideration to the beliefs and ideas of others.
We don't need anyone else's help to diminish our country and the principles upon which it was founded. We are doing just fine on our own.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sometimes an ordinary notion ...
It's been 8 years since 9/11. A little over 4 since Katrina. And, gosh, how many years, or months, or weeks, or days, can we say since THE RECESSION began? No wonder, that feeling unsettled has become my modus operandi.
Of course, we know it's important to be present and to live in the moment. We're told that all the time by many who are sagacious on paper. People who never really needed reason to be counseled about fixating on the moment at hand. But when the timeline of your life really is a roller coaster, it's not so romantic a notion.
I love my treehouse in the semi-woods. And, I love my Sarah Crewe garret in Wisconsin. And, I don't mind working hard to hang onto both of these places. But, I do mind working at my main job in an atmosphere in which I really don't know, from day to day, what will happen in terms of staff, much less raises, bonuses and such. There's a pall, like a heavy duty nun's umbrella that casts a shadow so vast that sometimes I have to stretch very hard to see the sun.
The truth is, I wouldn't mind these days being a little bored. To have a routine that is fixed and stable long enough for me to exhale for a minute or two. And I wish that for those of my friends whom I know to be going through similar breath-holding.
It's not easy to be optimally creative when what's just outside the proverbial cave is potentially ominous.
So, tonight I won't write of the traveling I've done, the people I've reconnected with, or the various irons in the fire that I've got going on these days. Instead, on this anniversary of an event that took more than a little of our collective innocence away, I'll just sip a glass of red wine, take a hot bath, and pray for a tomorrow for all of us that contains just a little more joy and a little less stress.
Good night.
Of course, we know it's important to be present and to live in the moment. We're told that all the time by many who are sagacious on paper. People who never really needed reason to be counseled about fixating on the moment at hand. But when the timeline of your life really is a roller coaster, it's not so romantic a notion.
I love my treehouse in the semi-woods. And, I love my Sarah Crewe garret in Wisconsin. And, I don't mind working hard to hang onto both of these places. But, I do mind working at my main job in an atmosphere in which I really don't know, from day to day, what will happen in terms of staff, much less raises, bonuses and such. There's a pall, like a heavy duty nun's umbrella that casts a shadow so vast that sometimes I have to stretch very hard to see the sun.
The truth is, I wouldn't mind these days being a little bored. To have a routine that is fixed and stable long enough for me to exhale for a minute or two. And I wish that for those of my friends whom I know to be going through similar breath-holding.
It's not easy to be optimally creative when what's just outside the proverbial cave is potentially ominous.
So, tonight I won't write of the traveling I've done, the people I've reconnected with, or the various irons in the fire that I've got going on these days. Instead, on this anniversary of an event that took more than a little of our collective innocence away, I'll just sip a glass of red wine, take a hot bath, and pray for a tomorrow for all of us that contains just a little more joy and a little less stress.
Good night.
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