My American Dream

38 years ago yesterday, I entered the United States in the middle of the night never expecting to become a US citizen. I wore wide trousers my best buddy Joe had made for me from curtains and a wide comfy wool/cotton top and on my feet cheap chinese tai-chi canvas shoes. I carried only one shoulder bag Joe had created from old carpets that had 3 compartments. The middle held another set of clothing, the back side pocket held a pack of miso and chopsticks and toiletries and the front held my red Chinese-style diary and special fat coloring pencils. My valuables I wore in a belt around my waste underneath it all. Pay from a 1 1/2 year stint in a psychiatric institution as a nurses aid, I imagined then would be enough for half a year of exploring the US. 

I settled in the back on a bench at Kennedy airport and dozed off as I waited for public transportation to resume. A caring black worker noticed me and alerted me to the first overcrowded bus then guided me into Manhattan. The man insisted I show him an address and as I pulled out the only one I had on me for New York he got us on the A-train that bypassed 72nd Street. So he got us to turn around and he was not satisfied until he had brought me safely to the nearest subway station to my contact, despite my on-going protests. What an outstanding, kind and generous introduction to the people of New York!

With nothing better to do, I called my one contact, the actor, teacher and therapist Alec Rubin, the inspiration for my jump across the ocean, and as luck would have it he had just returned from Fire Island, invited me over and asked me to stay until I got my footing in what was once Billie Holliday's digs. I was so lucky, or blessed, or else had a watchful, protective eye over me. I was young, white (a revelation then) from a relatively protected upbringing in a Swiss working class environment. I was a Hippie, a drop-out, at a loss of how to fit in, but in search of my soul, my creativity, my bliss. Well, I had a taste of it all, and I wanted more, hence my adventure to the US. 

32 years ago yesterday, almost broke, we arrived in The City Different in The Land Of Enchantment, in a funky pick-up truck. He found work the very next day, I was at a loss. I had overstayed my visa, I had never learned to drive (no subways and at that time no bus service to speak of either in the City Different.) I was unfamiliar with American mainstays such as Wal-Markt, K-Mart or Walgreens, in short, everyday American culture.

Only 2 1/2 years later I owned my first and my only home, my tiny studio on the wrong side of the tracks in the Railyard, I have been inhabiting for almost 30 years, the last 10 years with my furry buddies. In 1992 I became an American citizen and promptly experienced what seemed psychosomatic symptoms of a painful split right through the middle of my body (a psoas contraction that kept me upright for that one whole night.)

I am still feeling like a mermaid out of my element here in the high arid desert, in a foreign and very strange land that speaks in very strange tongues. I am a first and only generation immigrant. I own my own home free and clear, but I live an existence below the poverty level. 

Am I living The American Dream? Better yet, am I living MY dream?

ALEC

 

ALEC

The American Legislative Exchange Council

ALEC is a powerful  institution of corporations that manipulates corrupt legislators behind closed doors to promote legislation for corporate profit and against the people. There are 23 active ALEC members in the NM Legislature. The Koch Brothers, Exxon Mobil, Coors, Verizon, Coca Cola are known to fund ALEC.

 The People's Protest

An Alternative Pizza Dinner

was held outside the Eldorado Hotel

while inside ALEC affiliates dined on $250/plates.
www.occupynewmexico.org

www.alecexposed.org/wiki/ALEC_Exposed

6.14.12 Update:
Major corporations have distanced themselves since from ALEC. House Representative Kinkaid, involved in the altercation with Lisa Law, the seventy-some year old photographer, did not win his re-election, but he is still getting sued by Lisa, for the rough shot handling she had to endure by him.

Thanksgivings

1978, about 5 weeks in to my US stay, when I had no idea yet that I would make my permanent home here in the United States, I was dragged along to my very first Thanksgiving event. I was 24 years old, a vegetarian for about 6 years with a disdain for family events, meat and fast food. Here I was in the cabin of a prominent New York psychiatrist in the Poconos, stuck, waiting for that damn bird to be ready to be served already. I was hungry, everybody was hungry after the long drive out of Manhattan. I doubt anyone did actually venture out of that cabin and in to the woods We all laid around on a bed, hanging. We, meaning my mentor Alec, who had graciously offered me a place to stay, had welcomed me with open arms in to his fold of acolytes, and had insisted on my coming along. Of course I had never heard of Thanksgiving. Finally when the bird came out of the oven and was ready to be devoured, of course I abstained. There were barely any side dishes, barely a thing for me to eat. Horror of horrors, for dessert I remember those cream donuts; white flour, white sugar and lots of oil, yiks.

1984, new to Santa Fe, Marge invited us to her humble abode, a school bus converted into a mobile home that she shared with her two boys and occasional lovers. I remember Marge fiddling with a soup, adding more and more miso, but somehow just not getting it right. I felt for her, I have been there, done that - lousy cooking. Marge believed in free and open sex and I believe she messed up the mind and heart especially of her older teen aged boy pretty good. It was the eighties, times were wild and crazy for some.

2000, Paradise in the East Bay, Northern California, the pool was steaming at perfect temperature, a variety of fish were grilled, my Fufu, made from Plantein flour was ready and a dessert of tofu pudding served with soy whipped cream found delighted approval while not exactly easy on our digestion. We had a blast in the most enchanting home I ever had the good fortune to occupy. The Carriage House was converted to a European style witches den.

Overgrown with bright burgundy Bougainvillea,  with cute white lace curtains on all the little windows, a balcony that overlooked the pool surrounded by banana trees and exotic blooms.

 The sounds of the water overflowing from the hot tub in to the warm pool mixed with the distant sounds of laughter and dancing to Soucous music.

With me, my Nigerian lover and my dearest friends, many of them colleagues, with more then a few that shared my Cancer birth sign. We were in our element, an amicable lot and we really liked each other professionally and privately. Heaven, I was in heaven!

2010, Thanksgiving at home alone in the City Different in the Land of Enchantment, once again. Well, I am not alone, I got my 3 furry ones, but I am nobody's mom. I celebrated Thanksgiving with a "feast in my mouth" as Dr. Phil would say. There is nothing like oral gratification. Celebrating Thanksgiving without family stressors is nothing to sneeze at either. How I hate dysfunctional family dynamics. I had enough in my youth to last me life times. Now I have no family and no friends either.

I am grateful to still have my home, to still have some cash, to still be able to buy food, and dessert. I am grateful to have been granted an easy life in so many respects. I am grateful for all the horrors that so far have not befallen me. I am grateful for the kindnesses bestowed upon me. As when my mentor Alec offered me his home to stay and so I could find my bearings on this new and oh so different continent. As when Dietmar, a young father in Switzerland, offered me his place to stay when I, 17 years old, lost my room, because the landlady objected to the weekend stay of an American tourist during my absence. I am grateful to Dwuno who bestowed her light, her attention, her beauty and her wisdom on me and I was never to be the same again. I am especially grateful to my now deceased Mom who gave me the cash for the down payment on what has been my home now for the last 24 years. I am grateful that whatever stood between me and my Mom and my Dad dissolved before their passing, that we resolved whatever it was, and that we found peace together.

On a different note I am grateful for Tina Fey who still can give perspective to a Sarah Palin and so deservedly won the recent Mark Twain award. I am grateful to Michael Moore who endured a personal vendetta by big pharmaca and the former president, but keeps on trucking and keeps on inspiring us to take action and make a difference and believe in the power of the people, against all evidence so it seems.

Gratitude does not come easy to me, I really have to go fish to find morsels of it. I will do just that, go fish, be quiet and see what might bite and if, I then will report back.

9/15 Part IV - My Seventies

I wanted to give a bit more of a flavor of my seventies, so I dug up some old photos to share with you.

This is Alec Rubin in performance at The Theater Within in a very characteristic pose of his, focused simultaneously inward and outward, likely in process of making his artistic choices at that very moment; what feelings to follow and reveal, which to ignore.

 

Stoni, my Swiss buddy, friend and New York room mate. Later he would have his own dance company in Berlin. Together we were able to afford an apartment on the 'very lower east side' of Manhattan.

717 East 5th Street (Avenue C - D)

New York, NY 10023

A seriously rough and tough neighborhood.

This particular building resisted gentrification for long. 

Odd that later I would move in to 717 Manhattan Ave..

Out of the drab neighborhood, inside my first home of my own (Stoni, a dancer soon moved on to study Skinner Releasing Technique in Seattle) cheerful colors pleased me. 

I was happy in my abode despite the roaches that were aplenty, and one freaking rat next door.

 

What I left behind was my dear friend Joe, 

artisan, actor, and painter 

with a truly artistic, sensitive soul.

 

Here he posed for me in front of his store

with one of his own, gorgeous carpet shoulder bags 

(so like the bag that held my belongings

when I first entered the US.)

Joe was able to create anything he put his mind to, so it seemed. Joe's Creations were masterly crafted pieces of practical art, be they furnishings, as he was so generous in gifting our The Stuebli with, or clothing as with his intricate vests and house shoes or accessories like hand and shoulder bags with secret compartments created with the use of recycled silken ties.

9/15 Part Two

We had listened to Krishna Murti in Brockwood, England, spent a few days in London and it was time for me to leave everything I knew behind and board the cheapest flight to America. I wore my  favorite Genie pants,  created by dear Joe just for me from old soft curtains that flowed wide down my legs and gathered around my ankles. The other pair was at the bottom of my carpet shoulder bag, another work of practical art from recycled fabric by gifted Joe, a former actor turned artisan. I had perfected the art of traveling light and had become a true carpetbagger! There were two convenient outside pockets. The front one held my money,  passport, pen, special color pencils and Chinese diary, the back one held my toiletries, no room for a  hair brush, but chopsticks and a package of Miso (Barley Paste.) Little did I understand that plenty of Miso was to be had in the Asian parts of New York City.

The stewardess would come around to offer drinks and food. I did not accept. I heard them wonder out loud if maybe I was afraid of cost and if maybe I did not understand it was included in the fare. True I barely understood English and was not sure if I was expected to pay, but I also felt snobbish, as I had been eating very clean, involved with the Macrobiotic Restaurant in Amsterdam for over 2 years and limited to vegetarian fare ever since I had moved out my parent's home. I despised conventional meat based meals. Of course I also was young and anxious, in no mood to eat. Now I am old and eat any time anywhere, although I am still a snob of sorts as to the quality of food. But then I often preferred to abstain from eating for extended periods of time, especially while traveling.

When finally I arrived in the US, at Kennedy Airport, it was after midnight and the buses had stopped running. Of course I would not dream of spending my money on a cab, much less would I have known where to take it to. So I settled on one of the benches in the back, prepared to spend a few hours until the first bus would take me in to Manhattan proper. This black worker noticed me and asked where I was going to and assured me he would wake me and take me right after his shift to the first running bus. This he did and as we were crammed in early morning traffic he inquired about where exactly I was going. No idea I told him, he insisted that I must know someone in New York. So I took out my address book and showed him my only New York address, the one of my mentor/teacher. I was not even sure how, if and when I would contact Alec, but this black guy decided this was where I was to go and he would bring me there safely. He got us in to the A train that of course would not stop on W 72nd street which did not deter him, we got out and right back the other way until he safely deposited me at the proper station. All the while he would comment on my incredible calm. And he was right, I was on alert, focused and present. Say what you will about New York and black guys, but that man gave me an impressive welcome. Talk about the kindness of strangers, specifically from a black guy to a white woman, with no strings attached! He did more then got out of his way and this after a long night's work.

I was Alec's guest for several months. Barely able to speak English, I took part in an extemporaneous performance series that kept us busy most nights in to the early morning hours. I practiced the slipping in and out of altered states. Form Follows Feelings was Alec's motto and we worked hard at perfecting our form at any given moment and were diligently in the pursuit of our feelings. I practiced my Mermaid  persona at the edge of the pond in Central Park. On my way I would pass the Dakota where John and Yoko had their home. (The night of John's murder we were attending a piano concert by the amazing Keith Jarret, only blocks away.) Alec had taught at the Actor's Studio, had been a Ballet Dancer and had developed his very own style of performance art. The man had charisma with a great sense of humor. Our rehearsals were adventures in to inner space. We never knew where it would lead us and if we would have the guts to follow - all the way. We practiced our emotional vocabulary and grounded ourselves in to our bodies.

I took up Contact Improvisation a form of movement that relies on gravity and a smooth, uninterrupted flow. I gave up on Tai Chi, Chinese martial arts, too boring in comparison, so it seemed to me then. Although with my Dutch master Joe Onvlee, Tai Chi had never ever been boring, but Joe with his beer belly, greasy hair and sparkle in his eyes was extra-ordinary and employed methods by Gurdjieff that kept us on our toes, or rather in our core or Tantiem. He would yell at us: "Relax, relax, relax" and then burst out laughing. He would tell us funny stories while we had to hold our space for what seemed an eternity, with no adjustments to alleviate any discomfort. He would have us practice in front of a mirror, confusing us. He would pick a senior student to invent a form we had to follow, on the spot, as if we always had done so. Joe Onvlee was phenomenal and had an international following and was likely the first to spread Tai Chi in and through out Europe and beyond.

Yeah, it was the seventies and I had the good fortune to have come upon some charismatic folks: Dear sensitive Joe the actor turned artist and expert crafts man, the one that made it possible to leave my parent's home while I was still a student, Dwuno, the powerful and mysterious Dutch/Indonesian puppet maker, bohemian and Taoist, Joe Onvlee, the Dutch sailor with his wicked smile, that introduced Chinese martial arts to us Hippies, Paulo Knill the Swiss director of the Lesley College Theater department, who gave us absolute permission to be ourselves, even sleep through his classes in order to please ourselves rather then him the teacher. Last but not least Alec Rubin, former ballet dancer turned therapist and acting coach along the lines of the Actors Studio. I had been deeply involved with each of those gigantic souls. They each transformed my life. And all of this happened outside any formal school or institution, with no need to pledge future income for decades. With no aspirations, at least on my part, to garner certificates or titles and letters behind my name. We were driven by our own excitement only.

to be continued ...