winter gear

 winter 

 

non-haiku falling autumn winter

the odd incongruence 

of a shatter of golden, ochre, autumn leaves 

upon a near foot of white snow 

illuminated under the lamppost 

Fritz

The first day Daphne arrived she was thrown into the whirlwind of the WB Ashbridge universe. “Fritz” apparently was Daphne’s assistant; he handled scheduling her meetings and prioritizing her duties to focus on how to comprehensively rebuild the site.

On Saturday she learned all the secret lock combos and how to navigate their security codes. Then given a tour of the grounds which were vast and they had even supplied her with a map to help get her bearings. The detailed tour took up most of the day with Fritz making sure not to leave out a single detail. On Sunday Daphne was introduced to the entire headquarters staff at a Sunday meet and greet that took place for the entire day. She was exhausted by the time the evening meal was through and fell asleep fast by ten o’clock. 

Which was a good thing because Monday started bright and early with a nine o’clock meeting with her new immediate staff.

And when had she the time to even sift through and organize all her own decades worth of physical paper notes they had specially flown in on a temperature controlled carrier, when the meetings never stopped? She had tried on Tuesday evening to start the work but the room where they had all the sealed boxes of her work had a coded lock they had forgotten to share with her. By Wednesday Fritz said he’d find out the code for her.

Fritz ? It was a nickname he said that stuck as it didn’t quite suit him.

“Fitzgerald —I don’t know why but the former ceo never got it right so it sadly stuck, but— do you see me complain?” he gave her an odd wink, “I’ll answer to whatever they call me, how about you—are you just Daphne?”

The Ashbridge Headquarters

From behind the mirrored glass she watched the meeting take place in the east wing reception room. When the meeting was over the parties dispersed but one walked to the heavy velvet draperies afterward and slipped through the secret door 

“What did you think of her?” the long time friend from Flintlock Publishing House asked the stately elderly woman who sat on the other side of the glass. She was an intimidating woman, despite her age, with sharp glassy pale grey eyes that missed nothing behind her wire frames that, with her upswept and elegantly pinned hair gave her a remarkable appearance of resembling her mother whose well known face always graced the backs of her famous novels

Celest Ashbridge Rathbone, only daughter of the great author but not the only product 

“Hmmm….” the elder woman looked back at Simone with a thoughtful glint before she said, “she will do….now come sit by me, we have much to plan.”

<<I’m sorry I can’t get away until later in the week, I have meetings every day until late in the week.>>

<<why don’t we meet up later? When is your last meeting at?>>

It is awhile before the reply comes 

<<I have two days they owe me for holiday—I can get away by Wednesday night>>

<<then meet me then>>

modern day angst

      i find myself disturbed by the surreality of life—the filters of self images of a fictional fantasy; of false representations of selves; those claiming guilt for how well they reap the backs of their followers/their slaves

who is real? nobody is real so why not put on a costume you? what does it feel like to be fake too? Try it on …. It’s bullshit armor …. she cannot move her face for the pounds of make up and filler ….a mask to hide behind that you are a miserable tool pandering to the big guy

But isn’t it the best way to navigate —what’d they used to call it…. the internet highway…. low-way, subway, underground lowest common denominator dinosaur mind

Be fake at all costs because they will laugh at your frailties 

these prisms I speak of, look at life today 

Nobody is real

I just want to meet just one person who is real 

marginal scribble

Today, with full intention, I choose to think about my time at the art suppliers on Hempstead Turnpike East Meadow New York; just off the Meadowbrook Parkway 

I choose to on purpose— no, not because I became nostalgic about it 

No …. it is more that I want to look at it with fond objectivity but also cruel eyes 

Cruel? ….yes

     because I fear to admit this but I guess it always persists that I walk as an outsider yet again

   like the comic book hulk —I just meander through cultures and observe in search 

     Remember that book “Are you my mommy?” 

maybe it is like that exactly —like a scientist I wish to observe some place I’ve been from the vast distance of time and other experiences in which to compare things to 

My first self posed question is ….What did I like about that art store—or was it more working there?

That art store was like Mecca to Long Island artists. 

It was like a super store just for artists. 

For scale? Now it is an actual supermarket. The building, I mean.

When I was there? When I was its worshipper? It was the second incarnation of their store. 

Their first shop on Ling Island was also in Hempstead Turnpike East Meadow. Or was that Levittown? The borders there overlap and then there is Bethpage and Wantagh 

But no, this was paradise to any true artist. 

I loved the original shop before the one I ended up working at. That one was such total grunge. It was awesome. Buckets— literal buckets— of things like pastels and charcoal ….drool….  You go firm isles like a museum and it could be the jewelry bead section with unbelievable variations of colors and textures could capture you for hours …. or the art paint brush isle with soft brushes that make your lips tingle when, with closed eyes, your rub it upon them; I know 

the sound of your boot upon the hollow floor as you go further into the recesses of the inner domain and step down into the dungeon below 

All clearance of …. more drool …. things people passed up at original prices 

and here I nearly always would faint ….. 

I loved that place …. it was sanity. It was calm. It was the beach after a storm. It was …. me

Back in those gritty days mom was still alive and I’d tell her about what I’d bought as she knew the famous original on Canal Street in Manhattan where even Stieglitz shopped 

Today, by choice, I choose to recall …. 

on this autumn day that is frozen in a polar winter storm in the mountains ….

If I went by expressway, I’d take the exit off the Meadowbrook Parkway passed the architecturally cool shaped Snapple Tea Corporation Headquarters building; a fun way to approach my job from further south the island at sunset, about 6:30 pm when the sunset turns such a lovely orange pink and the way it hits the cubes on the Snapple building is worth the moment to look

That began my work shift day; dinner at home sorted; child got from school, sorted at home, set to work when other parent arrives at 5:45

drive the Southern State to begin— but go against traffic —the New York City commuters returning to their suburban Long Island homes —as I was leaving Cedarhurst, by the City, to work in Long Island ….at dark

The shift officially started at 6:45 pm

      My then “boss” ….a twenty year old Italian American boy graduate from Pratt

I confess looking back, I loved that place— and? I knew it too— I knew it then ….and so did everyone who worked there 

   It was the worst of times in my life —but the best of times too

Worst as — I’d just lost my mother 

                    I’d just lost my custody battle 

                    I was sleeping on the floor in the living room of my ex husband who’d win custody and I had to pay half the rent —and? I had to pay Child Support 

But —the second incarnation of that Art Shop on Hempstead Turnpike that shall have to remain nameless because of touchy exposure; I loved it fondly though and I knew the family connection despite the shocking scandle there — doesn’t it just go with the whole wild life Art thing anyway? Scandal? Embezzlement ….? that just gives them more validation as artists in this oligarch world anyway — no, I’m joking but just slightly 

I’d arrive at the art store — the size of what had once actually been an airplane hanger!— to give one a sense of its hugeness! And it had every related imaginable type of art craft that could exist …. Isles and isles devoted just to art crafting 

That I pick today why? Why pause in this glass globed snow globe day to think on there —an Art Topia …. Now a supermarket ….

It was the chance to …. be among other many other artists who also were struggling ….to eat and survive …. though different from myself ….we celebrated this and —it helped get through the day because there was actual visible beauty we shared and in the —moment—created 

    so I bonded with …. my most valuable counterparts whom for such a utopian moment of bliss gave me a great …. moment to —whilst working until 3AM— pause and know ….i was not alone in the universe 

And I’d leave by 3:30 AM — return to a sleeping apartment at home in Cedarhurst and settle on the living floor; relax for a few hours before getting Persephone breakfast, then ready for school ….

I guess how I managed to not fall into depressive misery was that Mecca ….itself …. Art…. became my strength…. my faith ….and all my recreation