To my friends and readers:
I have decided to edit some of my journals/blogs of the past before posting them here. I have a running journal that stretches the length of my life, that is, the part of it that I could write, but I want to expose it slowly...
I ask you to please be patient as I slowly insert some experiences during my life and career here in this journal. The jucier parts of my life will emerge, I am certain. I wanted to get something started here and stop procrastinating. In this way, all will be exposed.
At any rate, I am:
Blogging for fun...
Sunday, 2nd April, 2006
Shopping, yes more shopping, yesterday. One of my favorite stores, Rochelle K., owned by a woman, not a corporation, whose buying power is very, very good. I found a line I am enjoying and picked up a few pieces of it. It is called BGN and it’s a very "new classic’s" look. I recommend it by price point and by design. I also bought the second of my "hippie skirts."
To me, who was just a bit too young to be a real hippie and watched them from the sidelines, this was fun. One of the skirts made by Ralph Lauren’s Polo Co. and is a full-length denim skirt, made from jeans. Remember when people would split open their jeans and make long skirts from them, having panels and usually made from old Levi’s? This is such a skirt, but best of all, it has a train! The back trials behind you by about 3 to 4 inches! It is way cool! I loved it and I had already bought a full-length skirt from the same company that was "Camo," (meaning camouflage,) and it has a bustle in the back! I am diggin’ both skirts and so happy to play hippie, even at over 200.00 dollars a skirt.
The other purchases were dresses, spring is upon us and it’s a fine, fine season, the one I was born in.
In my favorite boutique, there are two women whom I enjoy very much, Donovan and Emily. I brought my friend Lynne shopping with me for the first time.
Let me share a bit about Lynne with you. Lynne is a BRAIN, and the sort who does not go all out for clothes for ANY reason. A Masters Degree in the making of Library Science, (now called something like "Information systems and library something, something" Lynne is into archives, and does a great job with things like genealogy. Lynne, that day, tried some designer clothes!
I took Lynne out of her vintage and hip dud’s and into some new looks with Donovan’s help. At first, Lynne saw no point. She was not fighting me about it, but I could tell it was a bit uncomfortable. As she indulged me, she got closer and closer to her perfect piece. She found it too. A cute, but sophisticated-on-her, blue blazer with some navy piping. When she put it on, Lynne lit up like a fashion model! It was a great time.
When we left the shop, the jacket on hold, Lynne said I had "convinced her." By this, she meant that she saw the worth in nicer clothes in boutiques that were special and that one or two pieces now and again could make a real difference in a life.
I felt very, very good about this. Although I couldn’t keep up with Lynne in a heavy, heavy debate with her well-used BA in English Lit, I COULD teach her a thing or two about caring for herself, and a woman’s right to strut!
Still, I can’t deny the thrill of a movie night of "Sense and Sensibility, (The Emma Thompson version,) and Wuthering Heights, after all, those books taught me to crave all things that allow a woman to strut, and that is: respecting oneself.
A fine day all around.
Tuesday, 28th, March, 2006
Last night I attended a huge party, which was served as buffet, being proper for where it was and whom it was for. It was to honor a woman who houses those with Mental Illnesses whom the State forgets. She and her husband who are Ethel and Ed Samuels have dedicated their lives to this, I am told. She is retired now, but never really retired, because these lovely people grow to be your friends. Much like dancers, models, musicians and actors long gone for me, she is the same, that is, we hold them each in our hearts. The payoff for giving all you can to others? For me, it is the personal strength each of their caring has given me, and the fulfillment one has when one helps another. To help en-mass, is an even better warm feeling. One must always hold their place in the world, however, and by this I mean one must never feel as if they are Lord and Master! I believe Ed and Ethel have managed to do this in their lives.
A huge party, to which my mother was invited because she was one person they helped at one time, despite her trust fund that she cannot take control of and which has been out oh her hands for many, many years. MUCH money, spent over the course of my mother’s life, first at my sister’s hands when she was the trustee and much of it went up her nose. If the records were read correctly by my Uncle who is an attorney, much of that money was also used to finance my sister’s lifestyle and home. Still, ultimately, when my sister decided to "get out," of the trust business and this was sped up by my Uncle checking records, my mother was made a "protected person," by the legal papers, or in other words, her money was handled by a fiduciary. THAT would drive ANYONE crazy. My mother is doing well, and accepting her lot, after all, there may not be that much to fight for. Her "Ace in the hole?" She is also her mother’s sole heir, and there are NO strings there! Hooray for Mom! The meal was decidedly Southern, as the Samuel’s are from Alabama.
As soon as I finished setting two of the three tables that Ethel asked my help in doing, as soon as P., who came with me had finished cooking the entire meal we all waited for guests. It seems that Ed was either very tired, or had beginnings of forgetfulness, i.e. "P, what was I dong?" a crowd arrived. When I say crowd, I mean, for a family birthday, a crowd! Ethel had just been released from the hospital, guided back to the car by my mother because her eyes were not yet able to see. She was lying in her room, in obvious pain and on morphine for. When she asked me to set the tables, what could I say? Also, I teach etiquette, so why not me? (It’s always me.) I didn’t mind, and neither did P. As I was asking Ed, when I didn’t know he was forgetting a few things, if we indeed needed three tables, and he said "no," a few people arrived, neighbors, my mother told me.
At one time, and as if a bus had dropped them off, Ed’s family arrived, son’, daughters, and son’s and daughters of his sons and daughters! The house was full and I understood the reason for the tables. A few minutes after that, another crowd entered, but larger. These were Ethel daughters, sons, and their offspring as well as a few cousins and friends from all those years of work with people. It was a LARGE gig. The food was BIG too. BIG chicken, big beef, big hamburgers for the kids and big hotdogs for them as well. P cooked all of this, of course, but what if we hadn’t come? Who would have set up for this dinner party if P and I had not come at the appointed time?
At any rate, I do like Ethel and Ed at this point, but I am protectively tively watching them for my mother, of course.
Dinner with those with Mental Illnesses who are with caretakers and those without, was an experience; there was also a large presence of clergy and the Christian influence.
I plan to check out the LARGE ranch/farm that Ed and Ethel gave to her daughter to run when they retired. I am wondering how people are treated there. I hope well, my concern for those with Mental Illnesses is inborn, having a mother with her own which she is handling very well now.
Sunday, 26th March, 2006
To the street fair today with my friend Lynne. This street fair is the largest on this side of the country, including all of California. Blocks and Blocks of tye-dye and gold worked into one of a kind pieces. So much to see, paintings, the horrid and the "not bad!" We has lunch on the street, "The Fourth Avenue Street Fair," is on, of course, Fourth avenue and held twice a year, spring and fall. Artisans come from around the country and some from other countries to show blocks and blocks of their works. People are 7 to 8 thick walking along the road and on to the sidewalk. There are the magicians and Tarot readers. It was bigger than the last time I went and Lynne along with Philip and I made for some different tastes.
We ended this day with a stop at one of our favorite coffee shops, "The Shot in the Dark," café’, with free WI-FI and good coffee.
Lynne and I tried the wine that was made in the state, (Arizona,) and landed on the unfortunate, "Wine-a-Rita, and this is the truth: It was wine made to taste like a Margarita! As terrible as it sounds, it was a bit like Kool-Aid that tasted like a Margarita. It did make me sad for Arizona vineyards!
I shared with Lynne my newly designed site by Sam, which she loved, of course and we discussed plans to shop on Sat. next.
I returned home to continue to heal my stitches and watch "The Shield" and I finished with the DVD of "Mansfield Park," which, me being an Austin girl/woman, loved, of course. The heroine, as always, had my dark hair and light skin. My mother still tells me how much the actresses look like me in each film.
I badly need rest, but I must attend a large birthday party tomorrow, and I will.
Friday, 24th March, 2006
Up to the mountains to "La Enchanted," a new upper-line outdoor mall of sorts, anchored by the chain of great food, "A.J.’s." I entered into an argument of sorts over a lip pencil that crumbled when I sharpened it at a store called "Maria Martin." Although the owner is kind, as is her husband, she has a little bitch of a manager who makes enemies as fast as she looses customers! The little overly streaked haired, too tightly dressed, thickly drawn on with black crayon’s eyed thing attempted to scold me. I would have taken great pleasure in ending her happiness there on the spot, but kindness came over me and a wish to avoid stress. I DID win the fight, my product was replaced, a "reverse lip pencil," but not without words exchanged and a bitchy attitude displayed. The overly painted unattractive manager, Melissa, caused me to give bad verbal press to the store, regardless of the fact that I like Maria! I should mention that there was a girl, perfectly kind and pretty, with patience and some education that Melissa fired because I can only assume she could not handle the competition, named Kelsie.
I vowed to shop on line, or in Phoenix at the competition, a place called Sephora. (Any of you who are tired of the "F-you sales technique," (see articles,) should boycott as well! Maria, you are splendid but you MUST reinstate Kelsie and she can be found by calling or emailing me, I know where she is.
Whew, I hated that Melissa having ANY shot at an attitude towards me, but then again, with my extra pain, she IS a release.
Thursday, 23th March, 2006
Today I had a nice time shopping and locating dresses that fit. I was more than thrilled to find a Vivienne Tam, long, black, and sleekly transparent. A couple others were nice on me, but all of them were "me," that is clingy, and fitting, I get lost in loose clothes.
I was so happy to find a slip dress by fatigues to wear in the summer in these hot climates I travel between. To find four dresses in one day that fit my odd body it a miracle. The dress I bought for dinner and shoes is beautiful, a Vintage Lillie Ruben, black knit dress, with a great and perfect fit, and it has a subtle military theme in the silver buttons. The placement of a side opening allows for legs to appear when I walk, and show off that part of my body that I worked so hard on all my life as a dancer.
August 7th, 2005
Writing.
Today, I received a compliment on something I wrote from a friend, a person who I also respect as far as taste and intellectual opinion. He spoke of my writing and asked me if I had ever been published. I had, once.
I also have had a book deal for over 12 years now that is still in place. If I take it, I have to write it. I have to write my life. This is probably the most serious subject for me at this time, so I am treating it in a different way and not infusing my humor, which is usually something I cannot avoid. I promise to write "smack," as usual next post! I miss the laughs. However, this is close to my heart and I feel it deserves its respect. I have lived many, many lifetimes in one.
They want more than one book.
They want:'
My childhood, complete with violence, mob and strange activity. I testified in a murder trial regarding a murder I witnessed at 12 years old. They want my abuse described any way I can do it.
My work against the KKK, complete with wearing a wire for the Fed's and the NICS, as well as the local district attorney, (the elected one.) They want my story of being flown in for testifying, being a witness on a per diem for about 3 years including the DA's office hypnotizing me for evidence I was "blocking." They want all the people who signed my baby book because of their connections and they have my baby book in evidence in the Tucson District Attorney's office. They want my information about KKK rallies that my sister and best friend were taken to when we were kids. They want all of this and how I felt about being called a "nigger," by my father as a child because he felt I sympathized with black people. They want, for example, the story of how it broke my heart when my best friend, who happened to be black, was shot by her mother in a fight with the neighbor by accident and how I begged my father to take me to the hospital afterwards and how he broke my heart by refusing to take me to see my "nigger friend," as he called Pam. (my friend.) I wheeled Pam around our school for the remainder of our years together, as the shot paralyzed by the bullet. They want that my other best friend 's story, which happens to be white, and was killed by her husband the day she filed for divorce. I am neither black nor white. I am in the middle. I have my own zip code. They want this stuff.
They want my anecdotes of times with the famous. I only ever felt at home with other artists, except for one place on the Internet I can come and feel "at home," which I will share if anyone wants to email me. I cannot remember my entire life of knowing, working with and meeting the famous, however, I have my favorite memories. From my young, young years with people like Clapton to actors like James Garner who I met as a child. (James Garner I grew to know a bit, he was and is a wonderful man.) He has integrity and told THIS young woman who always thought she was ugly that I was "a beautiful young woman," and I believe him, which was not so easy for me. He never flirted and treated me like I was 'somebody," and what's more, told me when I was 17 that I would be "somebody." They want my stories like when Clapton married a fan and had to have it annulled the next morning because he was so high on heroin that she could con him into flying to Vegas after a gig here in Arizona and marrying her! Or things like the great stuff Taj Mahal told me when we were back stage at a gig and talking about the audience or the gig. They want things like when I met Eric Burden for the first time and he asked me "Annalisa, how would you feel if YOU woke up in handcuffs in the morning," to test me and I said," I don't know, Eric, it depends on what happened the night before. At this time he deemed me "okay." As in "you ok, Annalisa," after which we discussed his concern for his daughter and how he felt about being a father over breakfast after a gig. NO, I did not spend the night with him; I met him for breakfast. The gig included Maria Muldar, (sp?) who was jealous of me, or so I was told because EVERY single time we were at the same gig or party, she would forget my name on purpose... That morning, after a gig that was a fundraiser for Vietnam Vets, Maria had taken a swim in the pool in a rather embarrassing bathing suit and had a silly flower in her died black hair as she strolled to her room. When Eric looked out the window and saw her, he said, with perfect timing, "Look! It's Midnight at the Oasis!" LOL. I liked that. They want my experiences so far with life on the road as a vocalist. Much of this story thus far is "shareable," keeping the confidence of everyone at he same time.
And now they want the tremendous, or so I'm told, story of my neck surgery that is amazing in and of itself. The story of a three times broken neck that finally cost me a healthy spinal cord. It cost me a lot, dollars and daring.
I am certain, if I am certain of anything, that the next chapter of my lie, whatever it is, will be yet another "News worthy," situation. I am used to this and it has been my life all my life.
I understand why they want all this and I want to give it to the world. I can't imagine NOT giving them my experiences... I have lived my whole life in front of them and they, the people, deserve to have this out in the open, and so do I. To be honest, the "people," the "public," and those I barely knew saved my life first when I was a young girl and continue to save me, as the example of this friend I am just getting to know triggering me writing this very personal part of my life, which is the books I need to write. If it had not been for the people, not my family, I would not have survived over and over again in my life.
If I had the emotional backing I need, I would write the first of the books. Whomever provides me with the emotional back up to write some of this will get a credit at the beginning of the book and a bit of the profit of it, it's worth that much to me to have someone who will be there for me emotionally. My family cannot provide this, for some of this ties to them. I would adore the person, person's who stood behind me, and sometimes in front of me while I wrote what they want from me. They also would know me better anyone ever does, including my family.
Does this sound like an offer? A cry for help? It is, and it is both. I am certain that my life will provide that person, persons, now that this friend has influenced me, quite without meaning to do it, to open up about this. I will now put this everywhere I am known. I will post it in writing and I will say it to people I know and meet. (Thank you N.)
I thank you with all my heart for asking the question, N. You are the impetus of this.
Sorry for the serious tone. It deserved my attention. I promise to laugh my a** off next time, I prefer that, don't you?
I wish to write the books they want. The time will come and much is already written. I just need to put it together. I just need a place to go when I am over whelmed and emotional safety to back me up while I do it. I need a bit of taking care of. (Not financially, then again…ha!, but emotionally!)
AMP
July 16th, 2005
The last time, well...every time, I attempt to journal/blog, it all ends up being about what pis*ed me off that day, week, or year. This is not my life. I do not spend my time pis*ed off, complaining or cranky! In fact, I spend my day exploring, making art and laughing quite a bit. I think I laugh more than most. Whether good or bad, I laugh and find humor in much of life, others and myself. It's just easier that way.
So, yes, I have broken my neck the equivalent of three times. I did endure two recent surgeries that amounted to breaking it twice. I do live with Chronic Pain but so long as no one comes near me from 7 to 8 am, 2 to 3pm, or 10 to 11 PM, I am going to be fine, really. I might be tired, I might need to sit down or stand up, and I may need to take a discreet pill from time to time, but I will be fine. I "break through," with "Please kill me," pain at the above mentioned times, yes. BUT, I also dance, sing, shop, talk to friends and most of all, explore life. It is on as usual. I don't remember EVER being well anyway, well, that is, not completely well!
Yesterday when I ventured out I ran into "Harry Potterites." I had no warning, my son has moved on to college so I did not know that my local Barnes and Noble would have a line from hell to pick up their books at midnight starting at 5 PM! What were they thinking? I didn't know, right down to the young girl in "Gothic Retro," who had a frame around her face that she had to hold there at all times. Could she not have rigged it to stay there for her if she knew she would be waiting with her friends in a line until midnight? I wonder, I really do. I wanted to help. With all my years of costuming, I knew I could help her, but I dared not approach.
You see, I do not speak "Harry." But I am learning to speak "Paris Hilton." I try.
I took a photo of the line to add to my "photo's of mass insanity," files. It is right next to the building I pass most every day that reads in letters as large as can be: "Happiness is submission to God." I kid you not, it does read that, clear as day AND at night. It, so far as I know, has never been defaced, not even tagged. God blesses all it appears.
It is the bewitching hour, in keeping with Potterism, which is between 2 -3 PM, so I shall go to drink a bit of champagne and orange juice. I feel this will cheer me. I am not much of a drinker but today, now, it seems fitting. That and a pizza if I can find one tonight and I NEVER want pizza.
July 17th, 2005
I start today raving about the mistreatment of doctors regarding my neck and the failure to diagnose. I am mad this morning at a certain Doctor Jacobs, who in his misguided show of confidence in himself told me WHILE he had me engaging in a weight lifting program and BEFORE obtaining the MRI that would show him my life was in danger, said to me, foot up on one stool, and hand on hip:
"I seriously doubt it is anything structural, but, I'll order the MRI if you like." He was SO sure... He was also SO paranoid when he got the results.... I deplore this man, and I am sickened even by this memory!
Oh well, it helps to dance, especially to do an arabesque, and attitude as well as other poses and hold my own once again! Even a short port de bras can calm my nerves when I have the above thoughts. And... Well, there is always my microphone!
I feel the need to sing less and less of the blues and angrier songs that I know as I come back to good health. I am in, perhaps, better heath than I have ever known! I can do a pirouette and not worry about the needed snap of my neck coming back to haunt me for days and days afterwards! Who can imagine such freedom! I have periods of needing to sing certain types of music. I have to admit, I was stuck in the very blue Blues for some time!
I post on a forum, the only on-line participation I have in any group for those with Mental Illnesses. I enjoy this place because one does not have to be seeing things and hearing voices, one can simply be depressed and be welcome. Also, I appreciate the fact that it is run by a Doctorate rather than some psycho that needed a place to compare pain and complete. Perhaps I shall always have this bit of depression, who knows? It beats the HELL out of "kill me please," pain! I have made some friends there during my recovery period after surgery. They cannot see me, you see, therefore, they are free to love me for who I am. (At least this is what I tell myself!)
I have decided that this forum deserves some donation money from myself.
July 19th 2005
My doctor, (Cox,) a wonderful woman has written that I should not remain seated, even at a computer, for more than 1/2 an hour without a 5 min. break. I am afraid she is right! Damned spinal cord! Damned nerve endings!
I spent awhile last night, well, early morning at about 4 AM, vomiting for some unknown reason, again. I get these sessions of vomiting on occasion and before this surgery on my neck I was among those lucky folk who NEVER vomited! In fact, were I to vomit, one could be sure I was very, very sick. Not so anymore. I am getting used to it, I fear.
Lots of news. I have found a wonderful, inspirational journal, on-line, by a woman who is called "AnneG." I like this blog/journal and I find it inspirational! I will post a URL when I receive her permission. It is always nice to find a person whose journal that is being shared is a positive and accessible person whom one would want to know, oui?
Last night I had the misfortune of returning home so late that I did not bother to pop in a DVD of something worthwhile to watch. Because of this, I ended up watching a horrible, made-for-TV movie about poor Linda McCartney! I have never seen such junk! Being "in the biz," to the point I am, I am privy to some inside stories of people, there are the "classic," stories that we trade amongst each other about each other. Musicians are not given to gossip. Dancers are not as well. There are, however, facts that are traded about one another such as who did the original drumming for Ringo Starr on the Beatles first albums. The real drummer for the early music signed to the effect that he is not to say he did it, so I am not to say he did it to hold confidence, but let's just say, Ringo could not play his drums so someone else did.
This is fine with me. I have no issue with it, but I'm sure those music purists do have a hard time with it. The point of the movie though was that it did her NO justice! God forbid I EVER have a movie made about my life, but if I do, I certainly hope it is not so empty as what I saw last night about a wonderfully eccentric and interesting woman such as Linda McCartney! I had heard the rumor that her family was not happy about this movie. If I were they I would not sweat it, the movie is so lame and says so little, a person would have to be very slow not to know it was "fluff." Still, it pissed me off. Why do they bother, I wonder? Are there those who want SO much to live vicariously through others that this sort of junk is appealing? I'm afraid that those who instruct me on how the "other half lives" would tell me YES.
I missed yet another phone call from my lovely friend Michael...I certainly wish he would make it easier to reach him, but I suppose I would not want to make myself so available either. I can't be upset with him when I am the same way. He lives a sort of public life like myself, and I know, that also like myself, being bothered without taking time for ones own personal needs can be a disaster!
I must run now. I also must update this place, add my journals from days past as well as photo's etc... I promise, I will do this soon. Perhaps some of it tonight?! I hope so!
July, 23rd, 2005
How time flies when one is ill! Yesterday I landed at the Veterans Hospital. No, I did not land there on purpose, I meant to lend support, I really did, but it turned out that I was sicker than my counter part. In triage, a question posed: "Could you take her temperature also?" And so, the nurse did so. I came in at a whopping 100.4 and climbing. Never mind that I had been complaining in my very best and polite technique that I felt ill, even slipping to sobbing towards the end there, no one around me would step up.
You see, I cannot drive myself. I CAN drive myself, but not legally and perhaps not safely. Because of this I try not to be a pain in the a**, but hey, I felt ill!
That early morning, that is yesterday morning at about or exactly 4:13 AM, I awoke and looked into the mirror. I saw a HUGE gland on my neck, the right side, and flipped out. I felt like the Elephant Man without the loving mother! Still, I was so frightened, I woke up P, who was, as usual very, very hard to jostle into an awake state. He looked at my huge gland, which made my neck very unattractive and told me "Yes, it is swollen." Soon after, he feel asleep.
The appointment was his, for his heart, which so far, has given no real problems, knock on wood. Soon after the brilliant nurse, in all of her Harley Davidson garb, plenty of bleach on her hair, and 50 years old if she was a day, told me I "had a bit of a fever there," and raised one overly plucked eyebrow. She had her jeans rolled up in that trendy way that some still sport, but most have retired. She told me my designer shoes were "cool," and that she had never seen shoes like them before. "Never mind that, I thought." "Don't go there." I was sick, reader, you must forgive me, I would have chatted with her about my being a "shoe queen," and how much I love shoes and more so, I would have listened ad nauseam to her stories about shoes but I was ILL. NO question. Had I not been coming in out of over 100 degree temperatures, had I not just chugged my soda to stay cool and had I not had to rush to the bathroom for one of those rough paper towels bought in bulk by such places to wet it and put it on my forehead, I would have made a new friend.
And so, the doctor that was intended for the heart and preventing P's from blowing up before it's time, turned his kind eye to me. He checked out the large bump that was indeed a node and said it was at least "doing its job," and talked about antibiotics. Now...he was talking about antibiotics for P, who had not even broken a sweat, (wink, wink,) and trying to decide what to prescribe for P, or rather, maybe, me, when I was about to "hit the deck," as they say in that occupation that takes one to a Veteran's Hospital. I had vertigo. I could not breathe well, and I was in so much pain that the Oxycodone given me for my spinal injury was rendered impotent! (Now THAT is pretty bad, no?)
And so I excused myself from this very intense session of prevention of heart problems for P's 41-year-old body to wander the halls and look for a rest room and maybe even something to drink!
P. ended up getting me an antibiotic that was pretty monstrous, of course it is "his," by law and he must take it, if one understands the workings of the medical profession in modern times. This morning I feel almost, slightly, human!
I ended up missing two possibly wonderful calls from Dr. Michael, my friend against all odds. I wish I could talk to him and I miss him very much. It seemed that every time he called, I was in the throes of my illness, or in the shower, or both! I sent him up to the min. updates on my progress at the hospital and remain optimistic. Michael and I go back as far a P. and I and I value him so much that I cannot describe it here, now, but will, I am certain in days to come. I think I may trust him more than most of the people I know.
And so, this morning, I think I am improving. It is early to know, but I think things will be okay. I will see my own doctor and explain the series of events. I suspect she thinks I want to be ill by now, as I have been ill so many times under her care. She thinks me "suggestible." This may be so, but if I can "suggest," myself into a high fever I think I am an anomaly - again!
I shall also see, after the first, my Psychiatrist who keeps me medicated against my leaning towards depression and anxiety and ask him for a medication update. I hear from Michael and others that there are better medications that do what mine do while helping with pain.
And so, reader, I plan my wardrobe, which is my main focus at this time. I sing, yesterday choosing to move towards a Bruce Springsteen song, "My Hometown," which is where I am right now, (My hometown!) I am starting slowly because after my disastrous experience with one David Jewell and his Leonard-Cohen-wannabe-poetry that he wished me to put vocals and tones too. I was more than a bit disillusioned by him. I hate to think of it, but among other things, this man writes and speaks his poetry to music and it can be about "Monster Trucks!" I kid you not! Still, I did give it a try and because it was Cohenesque, I wanted to. I should say that I believe my vocal did MUCH for his recording. Those who were present agreed, but did think his material was my thing. It was NOT my thing, the content that is.
I am chalking this up to "experience." Regardless of his typical artist-type personality, I did have an experience and in my life, that is what it is about. I say "typical artist type," because I believe that his demeanor was contrived at times, just my opinion. I developed the black and white photo's he took of me when he was here doing a shoot to promote this city....
GAWD, I cannot tell you how awful they were. I never considered myself a beauty, although I pride myself on trying for beauty from the inside out, but I looked as if I were in an X-RAY machine! They were horrid. I could not tear them up fast enough. Still, the sadist in me kept the negatives. Some poor relative in 50 years is going to have an eyesore from he*l should they develop them! Thank God for good photographers.
I do wonder how terrible he made these desert badlands look? I got a bit "took," but learning quite a bit about how to "sing poems," Cohen style may be worth it, I'll let you know!
Best for today, or now!
Agh.
24.July.2005
I awoke this morning feeling a bit unglued... I've no idea why except for perhaps, the usual reason, which is taking on too much stress and not concentrating on myself. I may have not been grounding in myself, I dare say I am not the most "grounded," individual at times! Still, I try to keep one foot, if not part of one foot, (when dancing,) on the ground. My practise of yoga, and dance tends to ground me. I was taught yoga basics from my Grandfather from age 3 and have continued to use these all of my life, trendy or not, they keep a body well.
Have you ever had that feeling that something is perhaps not right? I have that today. This is not that unusual for me, and it is most often true, that is, something is often not right on those days. We shall see. In the meantime I will do what I do when this happens and focus my energy on those things that make me smile, warm my heart or nurture me.
I had not much nurturing as a child. When one's mother is schizophrenic when one is a child and one's father is angry, violent and absent emotionally for a large part of a child's experience, I have found my feelings are not uncommon. This is not to say I do not recall times that I laughed with my father, learned with him and felt special, I did. I also remember the sort of love from my mother that was possible for her to give, and I don't know what could have been more loving about my Grandfather, who lived on the acreage next door to us! Still, the pain was great and enough to permanently instill a sense of being unsafe unless I watch my feelings. This was helped largely by almost 12 years of therapy until the last psychiatrist told me I did not need "talk therapy," unless something new should crop up. And so...today the unsafe feeling is here. This means, as far as my experience takes me, that I must concentrate on myself...
And so, more shopping? A hair cut? I MUST get a pedicure. I cannot abide by undone toes on myself! I think them rather charming when natural on someone else, but on me, no. I like to take VERY good care of my feet! After all these years of dancing, and pushing harder than a sane person should, my feet took a toll! I had surgery on both of them in a time period of about 5 years recently, to straighten things out and put them back into working order. I should say here that foot surgery, at least the one I had, is the fifth most painful surgery there is. I say this because no one told me until AFTER the first one, and it was my surgeon who told me this. He is correct, at least from where I am sitting! I have had a C-section, I have even had my tongue sewn back on, but when one gets a bunionectomy, it's going to hurt! OUCH
Back to the care and feeding of the Anomaly. Yesterday I went out and spent under four figures on a suit. This is a proud moment, always, for me. When I was a child, all my clothes were made for me and I remember many woman surrounding as my mother pinned and cut and pinned my outfits until they were just right. I love clothes as we all know, cutting my teeth on fashion shows and then doing the choreography for them, I love, love clothes. I love clothes in the Italian fashion, which is for the art and feel of them. The construction if you will. I am 5'8", not too tall, 120 to 125 lbs., and I have a very long inseam as far as pants. I have long legs for my body. I was also born with a missing set of ribs. (Yes, this is a problem regarding the bible story, no?) I don't understand the whole rib thing yet, but it gives me a body that measures like a mannequin.
I used to resent this. I really and truly did. I know many women whine and bitch about their bodies when they appear to have perfectly good ones, but I truly was irritated for being seen and heard only for my body! I wanted to be smart! Besides, EVERYONE in my family was attractive and I was not winning any contest there! My father modeled as a child. My Grandmother modeled. I was nothing new, at least I thought not. BUT, I could DANCE, and that made the body worth while. I took to calling it "the body."
And so, I have this splendid chocolate brown suit from Saks, that I love very much and is one of the richest chocolate colors I have seen in a great deal of time! I could not resist! I bought a shell, pant, jacket and scarf. Yes, I bought the whole thing and there was one in stock so I bought it then! I felt wonderful in it, safe, beautiful and like I could be myself so I am very happy about that. Oh, how can I explain my love of fashion? Manolo Blahnik is said to kiss the shoes he designs that he loves the most. I under stand this! I loved every single pair of Blahnik's I purchased and took not one for granted! I bought most of mine in New Orleans in a little shop in the quarter. The woman, who ran this shop was so very kind to me from my first visit there, I just loved her and her staff. "Victoria's," is the name if it is still there, and it is in the Quarter, (the French Quarter.) Victoria herself was the woman to introduce me to my first Blahniks while I was there to perform and attend an invitation only fundraiser at the New Orleans Museum of Art. The Museum was opened that evening and all of we artists came in our finery, our styles mixed to mingle and for some to take the stage. Remembering that, Aaron Neville closed that party/fundraiser with his famous re-rendition of "Amazing Grace," and I loved it, of course. Crystal Gayle made this, at that time, young girl laugh and feel comfortable, (all that HAIR!) I was stunned by the presence that Boz Scaggs presented with. Total sophistication in movement and oh how he kept me enraptured at the time with his grace and confidence in himself! Many others were there...it was a gathering of "names," but those stood out. Some stood out for less than complimentary reasons but I will not put that here, on this blog. It was a magical night, especially for someone who had only just started singing large concerts and was the only woman in all of the shows! That night I wore a silk blazer that was so soft, it hung on me, and fell off my shoulder...it did not button, it pulled over my head. I remember it had a crest and it was black. I wore a white tube underneath, just a nice, soft white tube dress that the blazers flowing lines covered in some of the places I wanted to cover to maintain a classy look! I felt wonderful in that and I thank my friend Mary and Susan Sutton for having and finding that look for me. I finished it with velvet black pumps, dark stockings and letting my hair down. (I can't pour on make-up, I feel funny, and I don't like how it looks unless it is for a character part...)
As I said, it was a wonderful night. I DID have my usual pedicure and manicure so all was well!
Today I am on a search for shoes. Every good suit needs it's shoes and I want some fall sort of shoe. I love, love, love Robert Clergerie and collect them. I will forever. I always want to tell people: "If you want to do something for me, buy me a pair of Robert Clergerie shoes...size 9 or 9 and 1/2! I will love them forever! Buy them on sale, buy them anywhere and if you are shopping ANYWHERE and see a pair, please buy them, I'll even pay you back! You see, I love them. I think I should like Roberts, or tennis shoes forever with the occasional clog!
And with this, my wonderful friends, I feel better already! Just to write about happy things makes me feel loved! The people, to care for this body that saw the war as a child and as a dancer, is enough to set me straight.
Now...to see if I can find some shoes AND find out what put me into this mode today!
God Bless,
Annalisa
August 2nd, 2005
I just read a friends blog...he fights depression and he has had to go medication free for time. He writes about the "beast," was on his shoulder and as I read this I felt it body and heart. My heart jumped! God have I felt this! I have chronic depression which is wonderfully controlled and has been for many years, however, I have felt that "beast" creep up. When my neck surgery came, went awry and came again I did not know if I could stand up to the beast and had to increase my medication. I remember how helpless I felt and how childlike and insecure.
It is simply something that cannot be described unless one has looked into the face of this thing called "depression," which is so big and bad it needs a better name. Something akin to the devil. One, no matter how accomplished, like my above friend, myself and many, many others, this THING can take you all the way DOWN. It is a monster.
I remember that the monster was coming from the pressure of my neck and it's terrible, terrible pain. I had not yet been diagnosed so you must remember that I thought it was "in my head," and stress, as I was told. I did not know it was structural pain and likely to kill me if I didn't get an MRI. I had such horrible pain from the stenosis in my neck and other complications, as well as nerve damage, and I was told the pain was emotional and connected to my childhood! I, needless to say, saw a shrink as often as possible, only to fail, that is, my neck still HURT, worse and worse.
I was in a wonderful hotel in Minneapolis. I believe it was the Marriott, but I know we had the bridal suite and the Jacuzzi in the middle of the room helped my body as we had driven on this tour. I had been to Princes club, Glad Slam, in it's heyday, which I was set to perform in the following night, the day before. I had been there, with Prince, his entourage, Miles Davis was on the stage as we were seated in the "VIP," lounge and having cocktails while watching from a birds eye view the wonderful Miles Davis. I had never seen him play live. I had not ever made a study of his work. I sat there and became educated. I did not want to make small talk with Prince. I did not want to chit chat with the "VIP," gang upstairs that night, I was mesmerized by Miles. I was in another world I have NEVER seen such a powerful performer. It turned out to be one of his last performances if not his last. Miles Davis died shortly after this. I have to say, with my fashion fetish, that Miles could DRESS like almost nobody I know, except perhaps Boz Scaggs. His scarves where flowing just right, his back or side to the audience as is his style.
We were next. I had to take the stage at the Glam Slam the following evening. I hurt, my neck that is, so, so badly! I know now it was from the long drive and being aggravated by the ride in the vehicle with no breaks and very little sleep. I did not know this then, I did not know what "stenosis" was, or anything even close! I just knew my neck hurt and got worse and worse every year. I knew every doctor diagnosed me with stress. I cried in the hotel from the pain. My husband, bored by the pain by this time said something akin to "screwing up the gig again." He meant that my attitude would suck, not my voice. I wanted SO badly to be able to do this gig and have fun. It was a good one, it was a great club and the management, after some scuffle, was being very kind. I was staying in a bridal suite very near the club. I loved "the cities," and had been to them many times. I wanted to be happy and not depressed by pain.
The neck pain that I was told was not physical got to me. I had taken to self injury to distract myself from the pain and put it elsewhere. It helped a bit, also it made me cry enough to pass out and sleep. I started to bang my head on the walls of the suite. This was my new form of self injury and a dangerous one. It also made me feel even "crazier." I banged it and banged it. I banged it hard enough to kill me. I hit it so hard I should not be alive. I hit it until my head hurt so badly, I did not feel the pain in my neck. My husband told me to "go ahead, you’re crazy anyway." "It's just your fear of success." I could not argue, I did not know what it was. He came at me, furious. This gig was important to him and I ran. I ran into the downtown area, the warehouse district of Minneapolis. I ran by the coffee shop and bookstore in what was a circle of tilled street, cozy and in it's way, very beautiful. I was dizzy, oh was I dizzy. I hurt so bad from the bumps rising on my head. There had to be at least ten, I am not being dramatic here. Worse, I THOUGHT the horrible neck pain WAS in my head! Never mind that I had the neck of a 65 year old woman and could have died with the wrong move...I didn't know it! I believed all he said. I though I was a CRAZY as they come!
I finally got my husband to let me back into my hotel and I passed out from the crying and banging my head, I passed out so easily from the walk in the warehouse district while I waited until I felt he's let me into the room and not hurt me. In the early afternoon we met with the band and went over the sets. I was dizzy and because of that, I could not focus on my neck and head. I also could not focus on the music. We were with a wonderful keyboard player, one of the best. One, I am told that did some work with Prince. I, someone who could dance professional jazz with the best of them, could not keep up with his instrument. This was one of the greatest losses from that period.
I went to a hairdresser after the sound check at the Glam Slam, at Horst Salon and had my hair done for the gig. I had the very best hair for a performance I ever remember, before or afterward...the woman was brilliant. I wish I remembered her name so I could give her credit here. She had been recommended by my hairdresser, Leigh Stivers who was quite international. She made it beautiful and more important, it would hold through out the gig.
And then, I went and played that gig half dead. She had shampooed my head hard, over the bumps, excited, talking about my gig and how she and her boyfriend may come by. I promised to put her on the guest list. I had left there half conscience and walking, refusing any ride from the club, or a cab. I found my way to a gig I could not be "present in." I will never forget this coping mechanism and how it backfired that night. I have the tape of this performance. Annalisa as I know her, is "not there." She is lost, she can't find the music and she can't find her part. She tries to dance and she has a hard time with even that, what she does best. She was so tired from lack of sleep, what was probably a slight concussion, and hurt terribly emotionally by a pain her neck that WAS structural and by a husband that had given up and considered her "crazy," yet still refused to take the stage with out her.
I am not her anymore. I sing, I dance, but I don't hurt. And if I do, I can do something about it. I owe this to about 3 doctors out of what was, over the years about 30+ that I sometimes begged for help, what would have happened if they had attempted, even ran an X-ray. Alas, Miles Davis is dead.
And this can never happen to me again.