Looking for America

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Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner’s pies
And we walked off to look for America
Cathy, I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
Michigan seems like a dream to me now
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I’ve gone to look for America

Laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said, be careful, his bowtie is really a camera
Toss me a cigarette, I think there’s one in my raincoat
We smoked the last one an hour ago
So I looked at the scenery
She read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field

Cathy, I’m lost, I said though I knew she was sleeping
And I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They’ve all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America

 

Songwriter
PAUL SIMON
Read more: Simon And Garfunkel – America Lyrics | MetroLyrics

It feels to me like we have lost America. Come on. You know the one – the America we know and love. Of the people, by the people and for the people. What happened to that one?

I believe we have not only let ourselves down but the entire world, as we fumble around for the country we used to know – the one that was a shining example of what might be possible if we all worked together toward the honorable goals we had taken centuries to set.

We seem to have lost our collective minds.

I thought, we all thought, that we knew where we were going. We seemed to be headed, for a minute there, in a positive direction. I thought it was going to be better than it had ever been before – the economy, the environmental issues, the education we could provide to every child, the end of hunger, the improvements in medical research bringing cures and hope….I even thought we were making progress in enlightening people about tolerance of others who are not exactly cookie cutter copies of our supposedly fine selves. There were clues we were making some headway, I swear.

I don’t know what the hell happened, for a second there, when we blinked and became distracted, because it only takes a second, apparently, to lose our grip on what we all wanted to become. We lost our direction and our bearings. We lost our balance and our moral compass. Look what has happened to us. Look what we have settled for in our exhausting struggle to  keep our heads above water and not drown under the weight of doing what is right for all Americans. We are on life support. We seem to have lost our passion.

While our heads were turned, some of our neighbors and friends, people we elected to represent us and advocate for us, have grabbed the reins and taken us careening full speed down a wavering path not of our own choosing. They all know who they are, we are learning who they are and yet they continue to smile…and lie, as if…..

As if we would never figure it out. And I do wonder what has taken us so long. Poor judges of character are we, Yoda would say. Gullible. Easily fooled. AMAZED that someone’s agenda might not be honorable. Unwilling to do our research. Too busy to read excerpts from 6 -10 respectable newspapers and journalists a day to uncover the ugly truths about those we so willingly threw our votes toward. I have been guilty of not being as informed as I should be – but recently I have learned the hard way that I need to grow up and inform myself about such things. It takes time. REAL NEWS happens at lightening speed now and if you miss a day you miss volumes of information. I can no longer express my opinions based upon hope. I have to hold myself to a higher standard of knowledge so that I can limit my discussions about what is actually happening to America to those discussions where my fellow conversationalists are actually informed about the issues and not basing their shallow pronouncements on what they thought they knew 2 months ago.

 

 

 

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Life Interrupted by LIFE

dscn0469 Photo taken in Cuba, 2016

Have you ever heard the expression, “Life teaches us about LIFE” – ?

Have you ever observed an incident, or a long unfolding story happening to another person, watched it play out, been shocked by it and learned from it and become sympathetic to it, only to have nearly the same thing happen to yourself?

Well…life opened a door for you (maybe more than one door…) and gave you a glimpse inside. You were fore-warned. Perhaps in having a preview it helped you know what to do and how to cope.

Since I have been absent, MIA, not writing this blog for nearly five months or more (which was far more difficult than writing it, by the way), a handful of incidents have happened to me that you might lump under some eye-catching heading such as The 10 Life-Changing Events That Bring The Most Stress. Stereotypical yes, but true.

I have been on a proverbial roller coaster ride, experiencing days when almost hourly I flew, hanging on for dear life and hair flying,  from the top to the bottom and back up again….then down. Of course I wanted to write about it, but there was no time. I was frantically coping, white knuckled, traveling emotionally fast and loose by the seat of my pants in my own little world bubble, hoping to land somewhere safe in one piece and just stay there for a while. They say that bad things happen in three’s; I seem to have been on a streak of five or six. Sometimes seven or eight, coming and going, up and downing me every day, 24/7. This personal sampling, in no particular order because it was pure chaos, as I re-read it now still seems staggering.

The  challenges ran the proverbial gamut from soup to nuts, hitting all the bullet points and covering all the chapters from all those self-help books that try to get you to calm down, compartmentalize and focus. It was a gourmet buffet of difficult, nuanced issues that began to arrive early last fall. The months rolled by and the roller coaster ride never slowed. Everything influenced and effected everything else, of course. The domino affect.  Throw the holiday season into the middle of it all, just for extra intrigue.

First, surprising relationship issues came roaring out of the blue (whhhaaatt? Are you kidding me?), coupled with serious illnesses within my core family, all of which left me feeling angry, vulnerable and scared. Those uneasy, sleep-depriving feelings were echoed metaphorically and enhanced by a community-wide infestation of RATS as big as racoons in the neighborhood where I was living, seriously impacting my personal freedoms of having windows open during the day and walking to and from from my car at night. Then technical impossibilities (just when you need those tech devices most, they all crash and burn and turn on you, because they are alive and they know things about you). When I got the dreaded blue-screen and the PC crashed in the middle of making the big decision to change my residence once and for all….well I screamed at it. I was already anticipating the inherent, enduring pain of “the search” in Denver’s science fiction-ish otherworldly, surreal real estate market, and my Geek managed to capture most of my data but I decided not to get a new computer until after I moved…which was still months away. Trying to purchase a home without a computer is next to impossible here in the 21st century when everything happens at break-neck speed. All of your initial searching is done online and bidding wars are the norm. You need to be nose to the PC all the damn time – you snooze for a couple hours (as in night time) and you totally loose. You stop to eat a sandwich and you have missed a dozen new listings. Slow Laptops just do not cut it. Long 20 page documents to survey, teeny dot-sized boxes to initial and e-sign signatures and Yahoo fading in and out of internet connective-ness were minute to minute problems.

Then, of course, a ridiculous and expensive fender bender with my car which was entirely the result of my own stupidity. I knew that tree by the side of the driveway in the mountain home where I went every weekend like the back of my hand but I became temporarily unaware of its presence (it is huge – a tall pine tree – not unnoticeable) in a hasty exit of blind rage/frustration over all the other bullet points, and CRUNCH. Also a mysterious hot pink fungal infection on my arm that would not go away, a twenty year friend who disappeared from my life without explanation or even thanks for the Ipad I gave her…. you know. It all adds up quite nicely to a rotten string of events. I was a moving target, bobbing and weaving. Super stressed. I canceled my customary winter trip to Hawaii.

I know these spells of misfortune have a way of turning themselves around after a period of time but this one was showing no signs of dwindling. I began to doubt that it would dwindle off in my lifetime, but I am surfacing now to tell the tale. I cannot tell the entire tale in detail but I can certainly talk about what I have learned. The events I experienced are the plots and subplots of a universal tale – more like a mini-series of universal tales – all told in Cliff Notes now to prevent your boredom or mine. You can fill in the blanks for yourself. The stories have elements familiar to all, they are not new, except they were happening in rapid fire like balls out of a pitching machine, to me.

I lost four or five condos that I thought I desperately wanted during my months of searching – several were in construction litigation for faulty parts like balconies nearly falling off, one had not passed the interior inspection, I was out-bid on another even though it did not appraise at the asking price…only to realize that all this inconvenience and agonizing was leading me to the one that was meant for me – the one that out-showed and out-classed all the others. The one that had the  WOW factor in spades plus every one of the items on my wish list. The one that reminded me, in its interior finishes, of a former house that I absolutely adored in California which I had had lost seven years ago. The new home enfolded me like a blanket and with the purchase of it I turned a corner for the better.

Life is like a mosaic; a puzzle; almost like a labyrinth. You might not know for years why things have happened to you, when suddenly they flash through your mind, coming to you in realizations that dovetail with what is currently happening. Hinting at the order of things. Reminding you that there is a rhyme and a rhythm to life. Reaffirming Karma.

So I am back, better than before, with a new PC, car fixed, windows open and quite happy in my new home. Hope you are all still out there reading this and that maybe you missed me just a bit.

Photos of mosaic walls from the Royal Palace complex in Bangkok, Thailand

Waiting on the World to Change

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The lyrics of this John Mayer song ( from his 2 CD album titled “Where the Light Is” ) keep monopolizing my mind space, underlying every daily routine, haunting my thoughts like a benevolent ghost reciting a mantra. Other lyrics included in this selection of songs are also meaningful to me and play significantly in my mind – “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” for instance. I doubt Mayer, in 2008, could have foreseen the state of the world and its rapid dissent into the chaos in which we now find ourselves, but you never know. The artists, the musicians, the writers, the poets, the dancers, the dreamers and the writers of songs are often the canaries in the gold mines of our minds and our world, are they not?

It is difficult to sustain creativity under and against the weight of such difficult times as these, but we must. It takes more work but we must express our recognition of current events whether that means being a brilliant light in the darkness or recording your misery from your unique place inside the darkness. If you prefer to paint in direct denial of the times, then by all means do that, and your enlightened, uplifting  images will offer people refuge in the storm. If you prefer to paint in direct opposition to what is happening in the world, screaming and capturing the chaos and the mayhem then by all means do that as well. You might feel one way on Monday and a totally different way by Friday morning. There is room for white or black and all points in between. Life is way more than 50 shades of gray, by the way. Whether you are a painter, a writer or a photographer – express yourself in the authentic voice of who you are at any given moment in time. You just have to do that, even if it shocks and stuns. You are the barometer of the weather you are experiencing;  what you record is a journal of your personal progress and your ability to cope in the complex world surrounding you. Express it; just bleed it out. It is all a part of the universal picture.

http://www.thecreativeepiphany.com    acanaryfliesthecanyon.com

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Hemingway’s Home in Cuba

For weeks since returning from our trip to Cuba I have been agonizing over how to do justice to the Ernest Hemingway experience. This cold Sunday morning as I mindlessly began to paint an abstract composition while listening to the music of the Buena Vista Social Club, one art began to feed the other. I begin to write about Hemingway in my mind as I painted. Ten minutes in I drop the brush and move to my computer, where the calling was loudest.

I had been stuck, because I knew that there was no way I could ever do justice to the man. I like to think of myself as a (somewhat puny) writer, having published three books of my humble thoughts. I know something of the torturous endeavor of letting the words bleed out in a steady stream all the while wondering if anyone on earth will care. Hemingway is one of my idols; he was the master of the short, declarative sentence and the raw brutality of the honest word. He was the “no frills” genius. For that reason and many others his words have remained relevant; his prominence has not faded, his presence in Cuba is still palpable. You hear his name everywhere.

Oddly enough, the following quote from John Donne which provided the title for Hemingway’s war novel For Whom The Bell Tolls is eerily relevant in today’s volatile political climate. Hemingway decided to include it on the page that precedes Chapter One of that war novel.

“No man is an Island, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thin owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.    

John Donne 1572-1631 English poet and cleric of the Church of England.

Hemingway was born in Oak Park, Illinois in 1899. While volunteering in the infantry during WWI he was wounded and sent home. By 1921 he was living in Paris and became one of the expat community of writers there, including Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald and others who would become prominent writers of that time and all time. In the 1930’s Hemingway settled in Cuba and the mutual love affair with that island nation began, but he still traveled extensively to Spain, Italy and Africa. His reports on the Spanish Civil War led to his highly acclaimed war novel For Whom The Bell Tolls (1939). His novel The Old Man And The Sea, probably his most popular work was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1953, and in 1954 Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in Literature for his powerful mastery of the art of narration.

He wrote seven books while living in Cuba including The Old Man And The Sea, A Moveable Feast and Islands In The Stream. He was the only American with permission to conduct patrols off the coast of Cuba, hunting German submarines in his fishing boat with a machine gun and hand grenades. Hemingway met Fidel Castro at his own fishing tournament ( The Ernest Hemingway International Billfishing Tournament which is still ongoing, in its 65th year) and there are photographs everywhere in Cuba of Castro and Hemingway at that event. One of Hemingway’s favorite “watering holes”, La Floridita, is still a wild and crazy, thriving bar and restaurant which I heartily recommend that you visit in Havana when you go to Cuba – and you must go to Cuba. There is a life-sized bronze bust of Hemingway there, planted forever in his favorite spot in the corner of the bar so he can watch who comes through the door, and you can have your picture taken with him. Sort of. Next best thing. Yes I did.

His tropical home in Cuba, the Finca Vigia, (Lookout Farm) is a magical place with lush grounds and far vistas – he was often photographed there with prominent friends and film stars partying down the path at the pool, and his boat “Pilar” is there also. The rooms are fascinating, frozen in time; we were only permitted to look through the windows to his interior world. It is now a national treasure, which we visited and where my photographs were taken. In his bathroom, on the wall next to the toilet and the scales, are periodic scribblings made by Hemingway, recording his weight over a long time. All of his personal belongings and collections including one of his many typewriters are there. His main typewriter is located in an adjacent white stucco “writing” tower which his wife had constructed for him but which he really did not like to use for writing. From the looks of it, he spent more time using the gigantic telescope there. All of his honored belongings are still exactly where he left them; never knowing that his hasty departure was going to be permanent. Because as much as the Cuban people loved and admired Ernest Hemingway and claimed him as one of their own, during the 1959 Revolution in Cuba Hemingway was forced by the powers that be (Castro) to leave the country. This exit, this deportation, was a source of profound sadness for him, and shortly after he returned to his home in Idaho (1960) he took his own life.

There is also a modest room that he called his own in Hotel Ambos Mundos in Havana where he stayed while in the city, complete with his own desk and another typewriter, with nice views of the water and the old castle fortress from the balcony. It is certainly worthy of your time if you cannot make it to his country home. It is open most days – the door will be locked, but be sure to knock – someone is always inside watching over things.

There might be more about Ernest Hemingway – one little blog is hardly going to do it.

Jo Ann Brown-Scott, author and artist

http://www.thecreativeepiphany.com

http://www.acanaryfliesthecanyon.com

FACEBOOK under the name jo ann rossiter brown-scott

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The Faces of Cuba

This selection of people (including one shot of the rooftop across from our room, which I could not stop watching as the days unfolded) reveal Cuba – and yet of course, they only scratch the surface. The people are genuine, generous, resourceful and inventive, sad below and funny on top, hopeful yet discouraged but always determined, forever musical and artistic as you might find (almost) anywhere in the world under a dictatorship. Whatever is squashed in people will find its way out, somehow and some way. Spirit and energy seize the day because everywhere people are always people. But Cubans are heartbreakingly suppressed, crushed and pounded into obedience, held captive on an island 100 miles from our coast, where every boat owner is under constant surveillance. Whatever your beliefs are in regard to immigration, anywhere in the world, on any shore and in any border town, you should visit Cuba. It is a country with an old soul that is dying to be set free. The people will enchant and surprise you with their indomitable spirit. You need to go to Cuba. Stay in Casa Particulars with Cuban families who are trying to make an extra buck by opening their homes to tourists and  where you can eat a home-cooked meal in their immaculate kitchen and you are able to have a real conversation. You do need to go to Cuba.

My next post will be about Ernest Hemingway; his home and his legend, and his love affair with Cuba.

Jo Ann Brown-Scott – Author, Artist, Photographer

New novel – A Canary Flies the Canyon, Amazon & Kindle

Non-Fiction – The Creative Epiphany, Amazon & Kindle

http://www.thecreativeepiphany.com

Cuba -The Beauty and the Beast

By the time we left Cuba we were in love with the country and its people. We had many discussions, political and otherwise with our various hosts in the Casa Particulars where we stayed, inside the privacy of their homes and in cars whenever the driver could speak a bit of English. No one would dare to speak about the dictatorship freely in the plazas or the restaurants for fear of being overheard; the police were ever-present. We spoke, sometimes in whispers, about the inevitable change of power when Castro died, having no idea how eminent that was at the time of our conversations.

Since that trip to Cuba in early November Castro has died and the country has mourned. There was no dancing in the streets – that would have been foolish. The next shoe might already be dropping. The beast of communism is very much alive as I write this and the uncertainty of Cuba’s future looms large. The industrious, inventive, energetic, constantly musical and delightfully humorous people of Cuba wait and wonder what is to come next. There is a high degree of melancholy underneath the bustle of Cuba but hope is very much alive; I hope that their powerful hope is rewarded in the months to come. The contrasts are sharp between the arrival of the cell phone and the women lowering their baskets on ropes from 4th story windows in the early morning light to buy bread from a kid on a bike yelling “Panooooo.”

Change is a constantly grinding wheel and it will not be denied. But at what cost?

Attached are some photos; for more please visit my recent Archives about this enlightening journey to another exotic world just 100 miles from our shores where dictators deny their people freedoms and basic staples of daily life. The beauty is evident, the evidence of brutality is everywhere. More blogs to come, including the Ernest Hemingway experience…

Author & Artist Jo Ann Brown-Scott – http://www.thecreativeepiphany.com

New novel – http://www.acanaryfliesthecanyon.com

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The Confetti that is Trinidad, Cuba

Trinidad is a gutsy but laid-back lady of many moods and faces – she has a twinkle in her lovely eye, lives with constant music, she loves Americans, she enjoys a hearty laugh, she offers you her roof-top restaurants and a day at the beach, she has contemporary art for your viewing pleasure hung on old painted fresco walls because she likes the contrast of the very old with the brand new, she becomes one loud and crazy broad when the sun goes down and she dances and sings with wild abandon. You would love her – she will become your best friend in Cuba. She knows everyone!

We took a bus trip across country of such deep green density and beauty that it took our breath away and reminded us of Hawaii…wandering valleys and streams, endless rolling hills toward distant mountains, and finally into the beachy little coastal village of Trinidad. Our Casa Particular hostess had walked to the bus station to meet us, greeted us by name from pictures she had seen of us on Air B&B, and led us back to her home with white grillwork fronting the street and then directly through the door to her life. The magical little world we entered was colorful, to say the least, with grape vine roof over head (and clusters of hanging purple grapes ) on the secluded outdoor patio,  a tiny but comfortable air-conditioned bedroom behind a window-paned door, and a newly tiled luxury bathroom, all to ourselves. (see photos in my gallery with this blog)

We could not wait to get acquainted with Trinidad. Such contrasts – the shops with fresh hams hanging in the open windows, the bread delivered daily along each skinny street by a horse-drawn buggy clop-clopping along and a guy yelling “PAN! PAAANNNOOOO!”, the stray dogs and cats, the music coming from several homes at once, the garlic salesman, the produce guy with his cart on the corner, the old ladies hanging out of windows watching as we passed, the 2 amigos posing for my camera as one says “Amigos!” and loops his arm around the others shoulder. It was all as if from a storybook.

Trinidad gave us one particular treasure we will never forget – Manuel G.- a hysterically funny guide who we enlisted to drive us around for about 2 days, including a day trip to sugar plantation country where we saw ruins being restored of an old but very extravagant mansion house accompanied by a slave village just a few hundred yards away from the house in a grove of trees. A tall bell tower for keeping watch on the entire operation was strategically placed so that there were no slave escapees. In the event of that occurrence, the bell was rung and other plantations for miles around knew that there was a runner; everyone dropped what they were doing and gave chase until he or she was tracked down and returned. We saw exactly where the sugar was distilled in gigantic copper pots and the ingenious process that made use of every single part of the sugar cane plant so that wealthy families in America and Europe could enjoy the new imported sweetener that was sugar. When it was discovered that rum could also be manufactured from sugar cane, the wealthy plantation owners became even richer. I will do another blog with pictures of this plantation…

In the several hours spent with Manuel as he drove us around in his AC car, we were treated to some crazy funny conversations about women, marriage, old cars, new cars, and Cuba in general, frank as frank can be in a car where no one could be overheard. You do not want to say anything about the Castro brothers where you might be overheard by the Policia and they are always listening. But with everyone we met, humor is firmly intact in the Cuban people and it is brutally honest at times, because if you are sick and tired of crying and complaining about the dictatorship and the food rations and the impossibility of ever getting off the island, you try your best to make it funny.

I would be glad to provide links to Casa Particulars that we used on this trip if you can manage to get my email address and contact me personally – I do not want to get any Cuban in trouble by mentioning them by name in a blog where I talk so openly about my strong distaste for the dictatorship.

The long, nearly deserted beach just outside downtown Trinidad is gorgeous in its privacy and simplicity. But we were way to busy for the beach. We are both artists. We soak stuff up like giant sponges and take pictures until our arms fall off and we talk in paint color language. The confetti colors of Trinidad are there for us.

For music – and I do mean !MUSIC! – that is authentically Cuban and nearly free almost every night please, please go to Café de la Musica, with its large outdoor stage situated at the side of some wide old stone steps just off the main plaza. You cannot miss it by late afternoon, if you are wandering around looking for a place to have some cocktails and have dinner later. You will hear it! You will feel the ground vibrating! Or just ask anyone… The band and singers number 11 or 12 guys and gals and they are energy personified. You sit at café tables on the steps and order whatever you want to drink and you might be there for hours on end. The people watching is magnificent and the entertainment is the best we had in Cuba. One little snapshot in this gallery does not do it justice.

Our best sunset dinner in Trinidad was eaten on the rooftop terrace of a restaurant near Café de la Musica – there are several rooftop hot spots in that area – just pick one and go with it. They are probably all good. We ate grilled shrimp, onions &black beans with dark rice of some kind, vegetables, shrimp cocktails, bread and salad with flan for dessert. It was delisioso. Of course we continued our research about where to find the best Mojito in all of Cuba, an extensive study requiring hours and hours of dusk time and beyond into the dead of night.

to be continued…..