Get your ow
n diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry

11:38 a.m. - 2005-05-12
Hollywood Rant
Did I mention I was raised in Hollywood? As in "Hooray for ..."? Actually, I 'hit the streets' (as Barretta was wont to say) of Hollywood at the age of five, all garbed out in a straw hat with a tall flower protruding from a straight out of Little Women navy blue ribbon. My dad, who had come out from Rhode Island a few months earlier to secure employment, said he was embarassed (probably for me) when he saw me in that decidedly un-hip New England get-up. He picked my mom & me up from the shuttle which delivered us right on the steps of the Hotel Roosevelt, a rather posh establishment. My mom took one look at the digs & thought (what else?), "Hooray for ...". Unfortunately, we were soon advised that, while the Hotel Roosevelt happened to be the stopping point for the airport van, we were in fact staying at the Selma Hotel (not so posh). The Selma Hotel was a colorful place, as I remember. Next to a dance studio (those little heffers can be rather heavy-footed at times) and above a bar. But home it was. My grandma lived with us (three in this tiny room), sewing clothes all day for my imaginary flea-friend (a whole nother story), Edgar. My mom went out daily in search of more appropriate lodging. My dad worked on the assembly line at Lockheed Aircraft (eventually working his way up to a suit & tie position in time standards). We found a duplex at 1418 N. Orange Drive (don't bother looking for it now - they literally paved paradise & put up a parking lot). Our landlady was a kind hearted retired teacher named Mrs. Rowe. The yard was enclosed by a hedge of morning glories. It was enchanted and beautiful. My father, who died two years ago, described the five years we lived there as the happiest of his life. I had an imaginary friend named Marianne and two real friends, both named Susan. They were carefree. I was rather serious. The worst thing that happened back in the day was that the morning glories attracted those big black bees. They would chase me out of my wading pool screeching for help. My mom was always there. At night, I slept peacefully in Tony Curtis' old army cot, left in the duplex when he became a famous star and probably moved to the 90210 zipcode. We would get his mail, addressed to his real name - Bernie Schwartz. Susan D's mother knew his mother. Susan D was fearless while I was afraid of my own & even Edgar's shadow. She got a 19" brand new Schwinn & was flying up & down the street, legs on the handlebars. I got a 14" second-hand bike that my dad had painted purple. It was beautiful & much more individualized. But there was my dad, holding onto the back while I tried my best to trust (not necessarily in this order) those training wheels, my dad (who had never let me down) and God (I was a really good Catholic girl). Even the air was somehow different there. More still. Lulled with whipporwhills. Fragrant with a variety of flowers. It was truly my Garden of Eden. I was loved beyond question. The center of the universe in fact, thank you very much. When did I fall from grace? How did I fall from grace? Did I actually fall from grace or was it a lie I told so often that it is taking on a aura of truth? What exactly IS grace anyway? Stick around.

previous - next

about me - read my profile! read other Diar
yLand diaries! recommend my diary to a friend! Get
 your own fun + free diary at DiaryLand.com!