19 September 2007

Dear Chica,

Today is Josh’s twenty-ninth birthday. I have been thinking of the details: birth, infancy, toddlerhood, little boy, teenager, man. And then my mind rolls over to his father—living with his sister in New Jersey. Josh said that he sounds depressed and angry with him for not taking him in. This is tough for Josh but hopefully Bill will understand that this was the best decision for all and ease up. I wonder if he will call Josh today. Oh god. I just got an email from Josh that Bill is now living with Joe in Bushwick. I wonder how my young son will fare with his wayward pop.

Joe is good. He is working and one of his dogs is pregnant. He is looking forward to the experience of helping her with the births. What an education. If only he would get a formal one.

Things are so wild here. The investors fired the Korean CEO and the new one started work a couple of days ago. He seems great but who knows. I just got a call saying not to go to the school because the old CEO was barring (physically) the new CEO from entering the building. Wow! Loosing face, getting fired is a very, very big deal here. The suicide rate is extremely high. You can imagine what this guy is going through.

It is fascinating to sit on the sidelines and watch this drama uncoil. It is both freeing and confusing as I am usually in the middle of such things, as you know.

This old dog is learning new tricks. Ruff! Ruff!

I watched the Emmy’s tonight and every time Tony Bennett got up I was reminded of you and George. George and Tony have a similar look, Italian men in their 80’s. You and George had wonderful times. Joys that very few people experience in a lifetime. Cherish those and feel lucky, blah, blah, blah. I know, I know, what can I say? And now you are having this interesting experience with Ray. Hang on for the ride, dear Chica. You know what you do not want and that is the great thing about being in your fifties. I just read that being in your fifties can be the best time of your life. I’m so glad you are in your fifties!! Have I used the word fifties enough for you? I know how much you love that word. Glad to hear you are dancing again. How is the foot? And that is the lousy thing about being in your fifties. The feet abscond with the waistline.

I really get you not wanting to stay up all night drinking and dancing anymore. The teachers all went out to the gay bars two weeks ago . . . without me. I really wanted to settle in and fix my place. What a joke. I have a bed. A table. Two chairs. A TV. One fork, spoon, knife, frying pan, a blue plastic colander and a very small pot for boiling two eggs. I have not yet begun to miss things. Though my studio apartment is small I could use a few more amenities, a dresser and a plant perhaps. My shoes are in the cabinets above the sink and the sweaters are in the drawers below the burners. I have two tiny side-by-side closets (the other teachers have none and use a wrack on wheels to hang clothes) and I am grateful for their existence. My place is a little bigger than the others. I am in a building apart from the rest, which is fine with me. I like coming and going alone. That being said I also enjoy being with them and having lots of laughs. I am not a total monk yet. Getting close though.

It really is a great group of folks from ages twenty-eight, forty-six, almost forty, just turned forty, thirty something and Milton is sixty-going on sixteen. He and I are the seniors. I am glad that everyone is so easy going and friendly. No divas.

Bad news: yesterday I fell. It has been raining non-stop for three days. We had a typhoon in the middle of the night. I have a wall of windows and I thought the rain would burst through. It didn’t. Only the very tiny, but deadly mosquitos. The radio says it will be sunny on the weekend. None of us believe it.

I slipped on the wet pavement and my legs flew out in front of me. It was one of those old time slapstick comedies where the goofy guy slips on a banana peel that sends him flying off the ground landing on his back. That was your amiga! I fell squarely on my lower spine. Thank god I was sporting a child’s backpack. Milton picked it up for me from the school’s store. I took it as my default Institute for Creative Arts bag. So did the other female teachers. The adult bag is too large and clunky. Let the boys struggle with the duffle. Did I tell you that one of the teachers is a Rockette? My shoulders go up to the top of her legs. It is great for my ego to stand next to her. She is a love despite her perfect body. I think her calves may be a bit flabby. Not.

As I was sprawled on my back in a big puddle a lovely Asian female face loomed from above speaking sure-fire Korean. It was the face of an angel. I could not move for a short while as the wind was knocked out of me and tears were rolling in my ears. It was really painful. Eventually with her help I got up and called the school on my wet phone to say I had to go home. My pants, jacket and even underwear were all soaked and dirty. I had been lying in the big puddle and the rain started up again. The tears kept coming as I dragged my right leg behind me . . . looking for the bell tower. I am better today, but sill sore. Now it is just another funny story.

Don’t worry about living up to the dancing night owl reputation. If they are still in that mode then they will have to go on without you and just get over it. My guess is that some of them may not have enough fun in their lives so when they come to NYC they depend on you for entertainment. Not your job. They may also be searching for their youth or some such shit. It was really hard for me to say no to the trip to the gay bars in Itaewon. I kept feeling that I would be missing something or worse yet that they would not think me cool. Horrors! But shreds of reason and my fragile back won out. I stayed home and quietly rearranged my two kitchen chairs, made the vacuum cleaner box into a nightstand, the lamp box into a low magazine table, neatly placed a green cloth napkin on the newly formed magazine table put wooden plates under the candles, two scarves over the nightstand and threw a lime green shawl across the bed to heighten my design. Very cutting edge!

I loved your email especially the part about you lying on the beach in your “hoodie” and bathing suit bottoms. A stand out visual! I miss being your beach bum. Want to go in December? Of course we may need more than bathing suit bottoms and a sweatshirt, but with Global Warming. . . .

Yes, I know my home is waiting there for me with all of its fun and problems if I want to come back. I am so grateful to have my East Village pad with all its entanglements and ecstasy and wild neighbors. I am still communicating with the group of former squatters/current homesteaders in my old building. I am happy to not be the one running the meetings and doing the work. All I have to do is remember the building’s history and submit an interrogatory for our suit with the City. I am glad to be far away so I don’t have to attend building meetings as I hang onto to that apartment for my sons. Josh came to a couple of meetings, and continues to do so, but I am sure that he has no real idea as to what it means to be part of a Lower East Side, lower income coop.

I remember how Bill was when we first moved to 7th St. He was such a leader. Can you imagine being in his position at age fifty-four? No job, no place to live. What happened to him? Every time I think of him I feel so sad/angry. Remember how handsome and smart he was? He was a leader in our building as well for a while. But he just could not get it together. And when I speak to him now I think as you do with some of your old beaus, “what did I see in him?” He is all full of excuses and no action. He lies about everything. I hope he gets help. I first met him when I was fifteen. Chilling.

What is happening with your jobs? Do you have both of them or just one? How is your brother? That is a great relationship. You are both so lucky.

It is still very hot here. Wet and hot. Yippee! I have absolutely no fall or winter clothing. No one knows when we will get our boxes. It is such a disaster, but so it goes. I have some skirts and one pair of flats and a pair of sneakers. I’m good! I have three sweaters and a jean jacket. I’m good! I have two knit hats. I’m good! I have two pairs of leather gloves I snagged at Filenes one green and one black with multi-colored fingers. And I have about six pairs of socks and underwear respectively. I’m good!

Well, dear it has been great “talking” to you. I promise that I will make soup and a dirty martini (without the olives) for you when I return. Anything to help you nurture that foot! And the next time someone tells you that your foot ailment is due to high heels and too much dancing just do the adult thing: put your finders in your ears and sing LA, LA, LA!

I do miss your knock on my door. It will be great to see you in December. Unless we all get deported and then I will see you sooner!

Love from your Amiga,
Joanne