• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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Well East Coast Girls are Hip

I’ve been in LA for the last nine days. Why do I love that city so much, every crumbling bungalow and broken neon sign. I love the palms and cypress, a shock of bougainvillea crawling over a cement wall. I love the cars, the traffic, the fumes. I love the lot where my sister’s directing a film, the fridge filled with Popo Gigio and Perrier, the golf cart, the white board, the stars (I didn’t actually see any, but I feel I did). Even the biggest cliche of all, the Hollywood Sign, moves me in a kind of Tarantino way in that I’m both in awe of it and want to torch it. I wish I had brought my cape and leather gloves. I love LA because I’ve been living the dream in my own mind since I was seven years old.

What’s your secret dream?

5 Responses

  1. I have many – one fits the L.A. paradigm – to see one of my books made into film.

    And this post makes me want to come see L.A.

  2. “What’s your secret dream?”

    Well, now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret, would it? I don’t think I have any secret dreams, anyway. I call them all fiction and write them up, send them around to be reviewed for publication.

    Here’s one that’s almost secret (and less secret now), and is not fiction — that someone would make a movie out of Franny & Toby. It would be a sure winner. Think The Fantastic Mr. Fox in the suburbs. With sky-swimmers!

  3. Fancy dress. Long narrow red bathmat. Speech.

  4. Many. One: Actually being a full-fledged geisha for a day. Call it exoticism, call it inappropriate appropriation. I don’t care. It’s my secret dream after all. The preparation, the dressing, padding down streets strewn with falling cherry blossoms toward a destination, removing my shoes, entering in my white-socked feet, demonstrating expert dancing and fan skills, performing, playing a musical instrument. Yes, Memoirs of a Geisha (only the idealized romantic exotic parts) for a day. Done skewer me. It’s a dream.

  5. A cabin in Vermont on fifty wooded acres. And a lake or a river. A big stacked stone fireplace in the kitchen. Lots of birch trees. Hiking trails. A porch for having my morning coffee (or tea) at whatever time I choose to get up. And somewhere on the property, a tree house.

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