"Cabaret" at Grace Arts Live Main Street Theater, Lake Havasu City, AZ

It’s been a while since I had anything to say on my Blog and since no one likely reads it I’ve asked myself why continue? Since I haven’t figured out how to cancel the whole thing I’ve let it sit there. However, now and then a happening comes along that puts me right back on the soapbox and I just have to write. I’m not sure if a blog is supposed to be funny or if it is meant, “write what the hell you want and take your lumps”, and so I will.

A week or so ago my husband and I bought the three show packet for Grace Arts Live our Main Street theater. The first show “Cabaret” is on and we decided on the Matinee on Sunday at two pm. I saw “Cabaret” years ago in the movies with Liza Minnelli, but sadly remembered nothing about it.

For a local theater we thought the actors were terrific and laughed when appropriate with everyone else in the audience. The second act rolled around and for me things got serious. I saw my first Swastika armband since the 1940’s Germany and my instinct was to leave the theater. Sadly I did not but continued to watch. I did not want to embarrass my husband. I no longer laughed and especially when the last scene came on.
 
In the background there was this man sized opening and flames sizzled loudly. The Emcee who played a gay actor ripped off his long, black coat and revealed his Jewish POW uniform of striped, cut off at the knee pants. He wore the Jewish Yellow star and a red patch under it. The red patch during Hitler’s reign signified political prisoner, the “pink” star was for gays. He stepped back into the opening, flames sizzling in the background doing a happy little dance, when he stepped back lightening flashed signifying electrical currents.
 
Now I know that directors take artistic license and I’m okay with that, however, the Holocaust is too serious a matter to show someone doing a happy little dance going into the gas chamber, besides….gas did not give off an electrical sizzle and only dead bodies went into the ovens. I know this because my friend was the daughter of Holocaust survivors; her father’s job at the camp was to sort through the clothes prisoner’s had to shed before going into the gas chambers. I could tell you endless stories about my time at Harvard University in Boston during a seminar conducted by the then Dr. Mona Weimar “Children of Holocaust Survivors meet children of the Third Reich”. I learned about the Holocaust then because in the German school system it was pretended the Holocaust did not happen and some say to this day “it didn’t happen”.
 
I wrote this to a friend who has a Jewish parent and she said “write to them” which I did and also wrote one to “Orchids and Onions”. I’m sure most think I am taking this way too serious and I will assure you, I didn’t come home crying for hours finding joy in this guy’s happy little dance. Shame on Grace Arts Live for portraying the Holocaust with a happy little dance. I suggest you bone up on the Holocaust.

Christmas Memories

Christmas is around the corner and living in the desert it’s hard to get in the mood. There are no, no real cold days although we consider 70 cold. I’ve not been in the Christmas mood until I started baking cookies yesterday. I continued today, wanted a friend to have some like I make every year.

I thought back to what Christmas used to be like when the girls where small, back when I lived close to my sister and I remembered many of them going back to my Childhood. We had a real tree with candles on it. Being next to the youngest we had to go to our parent’s bedroom on the 24^th when the tree was put up. Our presents were cookies Mama had spend weeks baking, perhaps an orange or some chocolate, that was when we were back in the city.

I remember telling Audrey to take her sisters for a walk on the 24^th, that’s when we open presents. When they came back Santa had been there. The youngest asked me year after year “where were you when he came”? I was in the bathroom I would answer year after year.

I remember going to Church Christmas Eve with Audrey, Jason and Alexander, we did not know that we were late and that our paper had the wrong time. We arrived in time for Communion, they passed a platter with Wavers and Jason said “oh goodie, Matzo crackers”, who was I to correct that. Later “wow that’s a little glass of juice”…After Communion the Pastor blessed the offerings ending with “Jesus Christ, Amen!” When four year old Alexander piped up and said “Mommies, the man said a bad word”. We didn’t exactly flee, but we left as fast as we could.

Christmas in Evergreen the year Pedro our 29 year old friend from Venezuela decided to come spend a month with us. He was overjoyed being knee deep in snow and couldn’t stop making snow angels. We had a great time celebrating the Season.

Norris, Tennessee our our "Ghost Crossing" house with Christine, Frankie and Joey, we’d moved from Colorado and I couldn’t find the ornaments. I sprayed leaves of Holly and any other leave I could find, pine cones silver, gold and copper. It was the best tree ever.

I remember when Nikki, Eric, Ella and Riley visited us here in Lake Havasu City. The twins are now fifteen they were six at the time. After opening their presents they were not happy and my daughter wondered why. I pointed out that all they got were educational toys and not much in the way of fun stuff. We had a great time with them.

Most of our Christmases though were spend with Audrey, Jason and Alexander. We always had the Menorah up as well remembering what no one should forget. They often made the trip by train and I will be grateful until my dying day for the wonderful time we all had. It was a privilege for me to be with the boys from the time they were small and this tie is still firmly in place and always will be.

I remember the year Nate gave me a hand made Dulcimer when we lived in Tennessee, he said lessons came with it but an hour and a half away. I was too scared of failure, tried it when I was alone and in the end I gave it my son-in-law Eric who I hope plays it now and then. There were other great presents from Nate and as life winds down there are still great times ahead and today, remember all this and more I am thankful for all of life’s blessings.

from the Rubyat by Omar Khayyam

Every now and then we look back on our life and remember things. I remember getting the book "The Rubyat" by Omar Khayyam as well as "The Prophet" by another favorite poet from long ago Khalil Gibran. I cherished those books, read them over, took life lessons from "The Prophet". Life happens, life changes and on a snowy day high in the mountains of Colorado I tore the books into tiny little pieces and burned them. I could buy them again, but it wouldn't be the same, for one thing there would not be an inscription inside. However, I remember the voice that read the poem below, the voice has stilled, the poem still speaks.


A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness-
O, Wilderness were Paradise renown!

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

Look to the blowing Rose about us-'Lo,
Laughing,' she says, 'into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.'

And those who husbanded the Golden grain
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

II

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter-the wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean-
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

Ah, my Belov�d, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend-ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust unto Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

III

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side....

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again-
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look or us
Through this same Garden-and for one in vain!

And when like her O Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One-turn down an empty Glass!

Khalil Gibran's the Prophet - memories of the 60's, 70's

"Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."
— Khalil Gibran (The Prophet)

The Story Of Daniel

In school we learn that a story has a beginning and an end, this story has neither, it starts somewhere in the middle.

About six weeks ago I noticed a dark haired, bearded man walk down Main Street mumbling to himself, he had a backpack and a drink cup in his hand. He walks loose limbered, but can't exactly call it lumbering. From then on I kept noticing him, always walking, always muttering.

Two weeks ago he sat in front of "Scoops", an ice cream shop on Main Street. He clutched his backpack and had a drink in front of him. He laughed and had a good time with whatever story he saw in his head. I walked by not noticing him until I heard the  merry laughter. I turned around and looked and he met my eyes still laughing. His eyes were light colored, and clear as a bell, the whites a healthy white and his complexion where the beard didn't obscure his face, was clear and had good color. It is not the face of an alcoholic.

Last week I noticed that his backpack was gone and he no longer carried a drink in his  hand, he also seemed to have lost weight. For some reason he kept crossing my mind. He must have a family somewhere, a mother and father, siblings did they know where he was, did they miss him and why was he on the street?

Yesterday I went to the police department to inquire about Daniel. They are aware of him, had many calls from shop owners who did not want them in their shop because he smells. The police officer said they had no complaints about him so they can't do anything about him since he had not broken any laws, and that he is not dangerous. I asked the officer where/how Daniel got food; he said they have seen him look in garbage cans. The officer had heard that he is from Kingman and that friends had driven him to Lake Havasu and dropped him off. The officer also said he is not dangerous.

After I talked with the officer I drove down Main Street and sure enough, Daniel was sitting on a bench 20 feet from "Wired" a cafe on Main Street. I approached him casually and kept my distance "Daniel I said, are you thirsty would you like some water"?  He answered in the affirmative and told me they didn't let him in their shop. I said it was probably because he had no way to get a shower. He smoothed back his hair and asked me if he should try and get one somewhere. I told him it was not necessary. 

I went into Wired to buy a bottle of water. She asked if there was anything else and I told her no, it was for this homeless man, "in that case I won't charge you" she said. I thanked her and went back to Daniel to give it to him. He thanked me and wished me a nice day. His voice was clear and polite. He must be hungry I thought, turned back to ask him and he said yes he was. I told him to sit tight I'd get him a sandwich from Schlotzki's. I asked if he wanted anything in particular and he said anything was fine. I got him a sandwich and a large drink and went back to give it to him.

I sat at the other end of the bench and handed him his food and he thanked me. I asked if he was on any medication and he said no he was not. I noticed his clothes up close, his short pants were once a light color and they were filthy. I left Daniel to his food and he thanked me again. I told him I am Karin, and he said "I am Daniel".

Today I called Interagency and talked to someone. I was told they have tracked Daniel for four months, they offered him shelter and he refused, they don't know where he comes from or what is wrong with him, clearly something is. He said that Daniel sleeps in a culvert and that people are very kind and give him food and water here and there and as long as people did that he would refuse help. I told the man at Interagency that my fear was we'd find him dead in a doorway one day and he said quite calmly "most likely". So, one day we'll find this bearded man who up close did not look older then twenty-five dead in the culvert and we'll all remember that we did nothing, if his parents are still alive and turned him out without getting him help, damn them.

Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, old stories from Taos

In 1992 I spent a week in Taos at the Mable Dodge Lujan house in a Natalie Goldberg writing workshop. We used her book " Writing Down the Bones" Freeing the Writer Within", we were sixty eclectic people from all over the U.S. I loved this workshop so much I went back that fall for her "Wild Mind" Living the Writer's Life.

To this day "Writing Down the Bones" is the best book ever written on writing, it truly frees the writer within and is used in many University writers’ classes.

Yesterday while wondering how to spend the day, trying to make a choice between cleaning out my office and doing nothing? I am a great fan of doing nothing, Buddha tells us "doing nothing is doing something?" Who am I to argue with Buddha?

I decided to read old stories I wrote in Taos; one of them was "Coming into the Light". It was written when our topic was “what is in our baggage”, meaning the emotional baggage we carry. In this writing session I remembered being three years old and refusing to say "Heil Hitler" to the Kindergarten teacher. In Germany Kindergarten is like the nursery school in the U.S. I remember the day, don't remember what I wore, but remember that my arm would not rise up, perhaps I got out of the wrong side of the bed. I don't think it was a conscious decision.

 The teacher grabbed me by the neck and hauled me down to the root cellar of this old building, during the war years it was the village hall where the Buergermeister resided or made his decisions, today it is a private residence again. She told me "the black man will get you", it was a threat used by many parents to make the children mind. It did not mean a black person would get you, just some evil undefined, we had never seen a black human being. She left me in the dark, I don't know for how long. The farmer who owned the cellar found me and carried me into the light.

I was impressed that I remembered the story and only through Natalie's writing method did it come up out of my subconscious. Natalie and my group mates thought it was a great story. To me it was just a memory, not a good one, but after that whenever I saw a child who was approximately three years of age I cringed. That was I, refusing to say "Heil Hitler". I was a baby and this damn Nazi bitch locked me in a cellar for not raising my arm and clicking my heels.

I sent the story to my oldest daughter via email and didn't hear a thing; finally I asked if she got the story, she said she did. "What did you think of it?” I asked. Her answer was "it's not very exciting". To say I was offended is putting it mildly and I wondered if she ever looked at a three-year-old child and remembered it was the age her mother was locked in a dark cellar for refusing to say "Heil Hitler"? She is older now and has a one year old granddaughter and I will remind her of this story when the child is three years old. Have I forgiven her? Yes! Have I forgotten it? No!

So much for old stories and whether to burn what I wrote in the past or keep it for those that follow me, will they be interested? I am still undecided.

Summer in Lake Havasu City, to say that it's hot would be an understatement, it's blazing hot and humid to boot and we are not used to humidity. We've had rain a couple of times, nothing to brag about and yet we are grateful for any drop coming down.

Summer turns me into a slug, I'd be content to hang on the couch with my nose buried in my Kindle, reading yet another trash story for the umpteenth time. Summer reminds me of winter in other places, where they celebrate mother earth sleeping, here mother earth just gets scorched. My garden looks like a dried out mess and I refuse to clean it up until the last plant has dried up. I find some small animals like lizards hiding there and later on birds will come out and harvest the seeds leaving me enough to grow new plants in fall and winter.

Summer is a time when I can't get over being a slug and I ask myself if I am depressed? I don't think so; on the other hand ever since cancer stormed into this family on my sister's side I find nothing much to leaugh about. There is the guilt that my side of the family was spared, but then there is the guild I feel over World War II and I sure as hell didn't start that. Are some of us born feeling guilty about everything or do we make the choice to feel guilty, I haven't a clue.

It's July now and I'm wishing the time away until we reach October, what am I, stupid? It means I get older faster and I'm in no hurry to do that. So, I wile away the time until we reach cooler weather.