Hello Dear Dolls o’ Mine!
Here’s hope hope hoping that you enjoyed your yummy Thanksgiving feasts and that you had a whole lot to be thankful and grateful for. I know I do, and try to thank the good Universe many times a day for all my blessings. Just drawing breath is a glorious gift. It’s been a busy dizzy season for me already, and I’m just popping in to give you dolls some lovin.’ My darling Mike Stinson was here from Houston for Thanksgiving and I prepared us heaping platefuls of free-range turkey (god love the gobbler!) yams, mashed taters, many many veggies and some incredible gluten-free organic berry pies that I get from a savvy baker here on the Westside.
The next morning we got up and drove to Vegas for a couple of nights. Primm, actually, which is the border into Nevada. It’s really for people who are salivating to gamble and can’t wait another 40 minutes to hit good ol’ Lost Wages proper. One of our mutual faves, Dwight Yoakam was playing Buffalo Bill’s, so it was a perfect opportunity for a little romantic getaway. Our musician whiz pals, Josh Grange and Eddie Perez are in Dwight’s band and we spent some quality time with them under a huge fake tree with gold-mining dummies above us panning for faux gold and holding phony guitars. Once inside the casino, you’re surrounded by an ersatz version of a vintage western town amidst the shrill clink clank beep beep of the one arm bandits. It’s kind of like a bizarre version of Disney’s Frontierland. I think the powers-that-be want to lull you into a fantasy world where you might believe your money is as fake as the bewigged western mannequins, and toss it around like Monopoly dollars. Luckily, neither Mike or I have any interest in throwing our dough down the fictitious drain of folly.
Dwight was on fire, especially with his hot young raging band revving him up. He was in divine voice and still sliding those long skinny legs around the stage at age 52. The gals were screaming and swooning. Dwight recorded one of Mike’s genius tunes, “Late Great Golden State,” a few years ago and its on 2 of his albums. The drive to Primm was cool, but coming back we got stuck in Vegas traffic . . . so what, just being with Mike ANYWHERE is magic. I sure do miss his face now that he resides in Houston. It’s my turn to visit him next. I realized that I have been in love with him longer than any other fella except my ex hubby, Michael. 6 years in February. Sigh. If you haven’t heard his music, dolls, check him out! www.mikestinson.net. We did get into Vegas for some fine vintage thrifting. Mike got the most wicked pair of 70s Larry Mahan patchwork boots you’ll ever see.
On another note…whenever I have guests, they wonder who the heck is that old man with the long gray beard, positioned prominently on my wall. My precious soul brother, Walt Whitman, is often mistaken for my grandfather. It’s comforting to know that Uncle Walt is out there, whirling around in the cosmos, singing the body electric for all eternity. It’s a very long story, my attachment to Walt, and he will be heavily featured in my upcoming tome, ‘Blinded By the Light-Confessions of a Gurupie,” but I’d like to share a little tidbit with you now. A tale of manifestation. I knew that Walt’s fave image of himself was a photo taken towards the end of his robust life, and I set out to find a copy of it for my very own. I called several photographic agencies to no avail. Frustrated, I was still determined to find that photo! Aha! “Why don’t I just ask Walt to find it for me?” I thought. After all, I felt very close to his spirit, indeed. So I beseeched Mr. W. to lend me a cosmic hand. A couple of weeks later, my ex, MDB took me to a swap meet in Malibu. It was a lovely day as we strolled among the collectibles and treasures, hand in hand. As we turned one corner, I saw something miraculous and actually stopped in my tracks and rubbed my baby blues. Could it be? At the very end of the row, a large painting sat high upon an easel. As I got closer, I realized joyously, yes! It was the very image of Walt Whitman that I had been seeking. A flawless, living, breathing oil painting of the Great Poet smack dab in front of me. Breathless, I asked the seller “How much is Walt?” he was so impressed that I knew who it was that he offered me the majestic artwork for $600. I didn’t have that much, so he kindly let me pay it off, and one fine day I brought Walt home with me. That was about a dozen years ago and the painting continues to bring me constant joy, and a reminder that we create our own miracles by believing in them. Recently I discovered that the artist, Roberto Lupetti, worked on the restoration of the Sistine Chapel before he passed on in the mid nineties, and that dear old Walt is worth quite a bundle! Of course, he’s staying right where he is, under a poster of my all-girl band, The GTOs.
“Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself!
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around!
How the clouds pass silently overhead!
How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on!
How the water sports and sings! (surely it is alive!)
How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches and leaves!
(Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living soul.)
Oh amazement of things-even the least particle!
Oh spirituality of things!”