An Amazonian Bone to Pick

Whenever my mother looked me in my eyes and started her conversation with, “I have a bone to pick…” I knew she was upset about something or someone.  Or, I might have done or said something she did not approve of, I was often the smart-ass spoiled daughter.  What was bottled up inside my mother that she did not speak on at the time had exploded, and a bone was about to be picked. 

I find that lately people of all ages are picking bones, especially given this current infested administration and lack of competent, educated and compassionate leadership.  People are plain fed up and they are speaking on what they believe is unfair treatment and a lack of consideration by some of their fellow human beings. 

This brings me to a young father of three who spoke out and lead a charge recently over Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos and his lack of compassion and responsibility to protect his employees during the COVID-19 virus.   I have been an Amazon customer for about fifteen years.  I am currently employed by Amazon as an Amazon Prime Shopper at Wholefoods Market – first in San Francisco, my hometown, and currently in Los Angeles, where I now reside.  As a customer I have no serious complaints about Amazon.  As an employee I have, however, a few bones myself to pick, although, I have only spoken out to fellow co-workers. 

My Skype chat with Chris Smalls.

In February 2019 I resigned from a full-time job, was heavy in debt. and I was about to lose my apartment after being there for 17 years;  I was in pain from having suffered familial loses and euthanizing both my 17 year-old cats in the last three years.  But, it was burying my mother in 2016 that triggered the unrelenting, unfair cinder block shroud of grief that had caused me to punish myself for living.  By 2019 I had bones to pick, with God.  

My long-time friend, a Los Angeles native who is employed with Amazon in the Los Angeles warehouse suggested I apply online with Amazon.  “Don’t be dumb, you have to work, you have to eat.  Just go online, they will hire you right away,” my friend said.  I applied, got the job as a shopper and after the orientation and drug test I began working in April 2019. 

Jeff Bezos acquired Wholefoods and placed shoppers at Wholefoods supermarkets, where Instacart once stood.  A shopper picks groceries for Amazon Prime customers at Wholefoods, bags the groceries and “stages” them on shelves and in refrigerators for independent drivers to pick up for delivery.  I actually adore being a shopper, the best part is meeting new people, many of whom had their own life stories to share and maybe even a few bones to pick.  Plus, the job is completely cardiovascular, walking for four and a half hours every half shift, sometimes two shifts.  By the end of the day I was exhausted but fulfilled, I had a job where I felt productive, important and hopeful. There were issues like how shoppers have to get their shifts on a first come, first serve basis and other things, but I let all that go for the simple fact that I was able to feed myself and get back on my feet.  Fast forward to COVID-19 virus that is crippling the world.

My friend, the Amazon warehouse employee, has recently lost a co-worker to the COVI-19 virus.  He has not been to work for weeks and is not receiving stay-home pay.  Many other Amazon employees are at risk, including myself, I commute to and from work, I cannot afford not to work. 

Currently there is so much online about Chris and what he is trying to accomplish, all you have to do is google him to find many articles about his fight with Jeff Bezos to protect his employees during this troubling time.  There are also articles about Amazon being against Chris and trying to darken his name.  But, there are also noted people who support Chris’ efforts including Us Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Senator Bernie Saunders, Alexa (yes, the voice of) and many others.  I am a playwright and creative writer, not a journalist, but I wanted to get to know a little about the determined and compassionate young man and why he felt the need to speak out. 

https://publish.twitter.com/?query=https%3A%2F%2Ftwitter.com%2FAOC%2Fstatus%2F1245874177007116291&widget=Tweet

Amazon’s attempt to smear Chris Smalls, one of their own warehouse workers, as “not smart or articulate” is a racist & classist PR campaign.

If execs are as concerned abt worker health & safety as they claim, then they should provide the full paid sick leave ALL workers deserve. https://t.co/pAubxenDwr

— Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (@AOC) April 3, 2020

Chris Smalls is the eldest of three boys single-handedly raised by their strong black mother.  Born in Passaic, New Jersey and raised in Hackensack, New Jersey, I asked Chris what he wanted to be as a child.  Chris stated that he had always wanted to play basketball, (Chris stands six foot, one inch tall).  He also wanted to be a rapper, The Notorious B.I.G. (Chris Wallace) is one of his favorites. 

Chris began with Amazon in 2015 as a Tier 1 picker in the New Jersey Amazon warehouse then he transferred to the Connecticut warehouse and then Staten Island warehouse.  Chris was impressed that one of his co-workers, a black male, was promoted from Tier 1 position.  After 7 months of very hard work and determination Chris, who was married at the time with a growing family, was promoted to manager with a full staff.  Chris’ pay started at $12.75 per hour, $12 was minimum wage in NYC at the time.  By the time he made manager his wage went up to $18 per hour which helped him to support his family.  Chris “opened” three buildings starting in New Jersey, then Connecticut and finally Staten Island.  For Chris being manager of a hugely successful company like Amazon was what the American dream was all about.

What struck me about Chris’ determination to fight Amazon “big wigs” during the virus situation is that he mentioned he always felt he was a leader, he always knew he was, not that he wanted to be, but he felt he was meant to be a leader especially when it came to leading people toward a positive outcome.  He claimed he got his encouragement from his mother.

When the COVI-19 virus took over the world Chris noticed measures were not taken to protect Amazon employees, there was no testing or proper protection, therefore, sick employees were working at facilities, at warehouses or as shoppers at Wholefoods Markets and risking contaminating their peers and customers.   Amazon offered no stay home pay.  Chris told me he was approached by many Amazon employees from all over the world including Germany, Tokyo, Australia, Canada and Sweden who requested paid time off and retro back pay for the month of March.  They have begged him to continue to speak and have praised him for his efforts. 

Where I work many of us Amazon employees wonder if this virus is so deadly, and from many accounts it is, why are Amazon employees sent to work?  Where are the virus tests given for employees?  Why work if we are not sure if we have the virus?  We still have no concrete idea where the virus came from and how it is transmitted.  Why isn’t everyone tested?  These are questions we Amazon co-workers share with each other but not aloud.  Not the case with Chris Smalls. 

It is my hope Chris’ fervor and altruistic drive will not only gather more hard working Amazon employees to come together in solidarity to make sure we are treated fairly and protected in order to help Amazon maintain its thriving company.  Before we signed off, I asked Chris, “Chris, what do you consider a patriot to be?”  He replied that a patriot is chosen by the people for what that patriot does on behalf of people.  

Until then, here’s to Christian Smalls, a true patriot and American hero, an Amazonian bone picker who stepped up, stood out to lead the charge during the COVID-19 crisis to help raise the voices of Amazon warehouse and shopper employees all over the world for employee protection! Thank you, Chris!  Keep moving forward, sir!

Please see the video trailer for a new film featuring Chris Smalls. HERE.

Social network links for Chris Smalls:

https://www.instagram.com/chris.smalls_/

https://twitter.com/shut_downamazon?lang=en

Chris Smalls Productions

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“A heart is not complete…”

“…Unless it is completely broken.” Steve Perry

Words from a man who walked away from what some of his fans believed was his gift, his calling, but in making his decision he broke the hearts of many.  Then Perry returned and his fans learned he eventually found love, lost love and found his passion when his “love” made him promise not to go back into hiding. 

Many years ago I made a few silly videos where my character coined the desperate phrase, “Where are ya, Perry?” in search of the ever elusive Steve Perry former lead singer of the band Journey. In the videos I poked fun at why he left, where he could be and that I missed the way he sang and danced in circles on stage like a drunken puppy summoning the rain gods.  I had a few fans, people who loved Perry and probably thought if he saw my videos he would return.  I had, however, no idea what Perry was going through at that time.  Eventually, I moved on from making the videos, but I wondered why, when so many artists NEVER give up on what they love, why did Perry walk away?  Hip replacement, failed relationships, nothing, in my mind, warranted the man to simply leave, especially with the talent he possessed.

Photo credit: Columbus News

I had found online a huge and often-times fanatical Steve Perry and Journey fan-base, some of whom I met. These people are the most devoted, but especially to the ever elusive Perry.  I had no idea people were so into the guy!  I had penned a book draft filled with fans’ online testimonies of having seen concerts and their love for Perry and messages and just tons of heartfelt thoughts and cries from fans who wished Perry would return.  But, I gave up on publishing that book.  I am a fan, but I guess I am not that devoted, I figured if Perry didn’t want to sing again then that was that.

Photo credit: The Oakland Press.com

In my research I found that some of his fans did not give up like I did.  They are faithfully devoted to the guy, some with a longing to meet and even marry the man!  Some fans wish Perry would return to Journey as if his voice would register as it did when he was younger.  And some fans make a living being fans, rather, they turn their fan worship into a fan based-business that keeps them connected to Journey and Perry as associates, secretaries, business partners.  I had never before known such admiration, especially of a recluse like Perry.  But, he does have that beautiful voice!  And, I have to think back to when I was a little girl and the fanatical devotion I had for a beautiful black boy with doe-shaped eyes, a big afro and beautiful full lips and bell pepper shaped nose, who brilliantly sang and danced his heart out, the late Michael Jackson.  Oh, how I wished I could have married him and had 10 kids and become the Black Brady Bunch!  Of course as soon as poor Mike went from being the “King of Pop” to an unusual-looking, strange behaving recluse and a converted Caucasian with almost no nose whatsoever, well I just lost interest.  But, anyway, back to Perry.

Photo credit: Classic Rock History

I continue to be a fan of Schon and Perry and all the other Journey members, Valory, Cain and Smith.  And I occasionally see Mr. Schon when his son does venues here in San Francisco, they both treat me like they know me, that makes me very happy.  But, as for Perry, I stopped making my silly “Where are ya, Perry” videos and rightfully so at this point.  Steve Perry has returned to the spotlight and to singing, and most importantly to his PASSION.  And, he has opened up, literally bled out to his audience of his life, his loves, his losses and something I have lived with my entire life, depression, self-doubt, anxiety.  To be perfectly honest, I admire Perry for sharing his life with his fans.  I also admire that his new CD, Traces, is his way of letting his fans know through music that although he is in pain, he is willing to pull through with an open heart.  Good for Perry, as I call him.  I will not give a music review, I’ll just state that I enjoy all of the songs, although, two of them make me very, very sad and cry like a baby – won’t be listening to those songs on replay, sorry.  But, it is Perry’s voice that makes me very happy, I thoroughly enjoy hearing him sing.

Photo credit: Rolling Stone

I don’t know if I agree that “a heart is not complete unless it is completely broken,” but if a broken heart is what it takes to take a leap of faith, forsake fears and other issues, I am happy Steve Perry finally took that leap and I cannot wait until I have the courage to do the same.   Thank you, Perry!

Traces, 2018

Life and Beyond Beads Moves On

I was born and raised on a tiny island that sits nearly 49 square miles on top of the Pacific Ocean.  Nowadays unfortunately San Francisco is nothing more than a place I outgrew.  I no longer feel like I can flourish and shine here, all I do is pay bills, eat and pay rent, been doing that for years.  I have always been practical, but lately while practicality is a necessity, it is also very tiresome, boring and unfulfilling.

It was time for me to move on years ago, but I never had enough encouragement, help and money to do so.  And COURAGE, I am so afraid to take that “leap” only to find myself without food and shelter, the thought renders me physically sick.  But, I am not without hope, I just need an incentive.  

Well, that “incentive” is the high cost of living and constant loss of small businesses that I enjoyed frequenting.  Plus, I have grown older and more set in my ways, that might be part of it, but the beauty that once was my city and the opportunities to flourish for an artist and writer like myself are all long gone. 

Sure, online business are a great way to make money and thrive, but closer and more tactile businesses, places that used to be within reach including “mom and pop” stores are no longer a staple here and that saddens me.  “Working class” can no longer afford to live in a city where Twitter, Silicon Valley and greedy, rude, evil landlords’ money is more valued.  Course, it has always been the case where rich bowls over working class, I get it, but now the “sting” feels worse, mainly because working to pay bills never dies while doing what makes one happy usually becomes more of a dream than a reality. ~sigh~ 

One of the things that made me very happy was to visit  a bead store when I worked for the City & County years ago.  I spent almost all of my lunch hour at Beyond Beads at 1251 Howard Street, my only respite that was housed down the block from my job.   I dreamed creations in my head as I sifted through strands and porcelain jars, trays and table settings filled with glass, stone, pearl and Austrian crystal beads to name a few.  And, all the tools, chains and supplies I needed to make up whatever I imagined. 

It was a small collection compared to a larger bead store, but I love the intimacy of Beyond Beads and the design and decor, high beamed white ceilings and odd drawings and paintings on the walls behind the counter had me feeling like I was in a creative artists’ abode rather than a retail shop.

Beyond Beads is owned by a quiet man who when I first met him was rather stiff, serious and slightly unfriendly at first glance.  But, over time Gal Ben Shaul warmed up to me, well, I can be a chatty handful when I am in my zone.  He was especially friendly when I visited after having recently learned Gal was closing shop. 

I had not seen Gal in over four years since I was laid off work from the City & County.  I learned Gal’s rent nearly tripled and I learned from one of the employees at General Bead that they owned the building Beyond Beads was housed in.  Most of San Francisco commercial and residential rents have gone up, my rent goes up a percentage every year or so.  I was not surprised, but I was a bit sad.

I will miss visiting Gal’s Beyond Beads, but I am sure he and his wife will flourish and find their other passions whatever they may be.  Until then I will continue to move forward in my goal to move to NYC and live my life doing what makes ME happy.  ~sigh~  I keep saying I will LEAP, but I am not yet there, but I am determined.

And when I do move I know living in a city where everyone’s hustle and ambitions is very “real” will work out just fine with me.  Although, hustling is not my forte, I do believe I will flourish and my dreams will see a positive fruition.

As for my hometown?  I was born and raised on a tiny island that sits nearly 49 square miles on top of the Pacific Ocean. Nowadays unfortunately San Francisco is nothing more than a place I outgrew.  But,  I am good with that.  Maybe one day I’ll return to visit SF, maybe to live, who knows? But for now Beyond Beads and LD must move on and find our passions where they will allow us to flourish and shine! And there it is.  Cheers!

 

Yours very truly, Doris Banbury

Doris Banbury, 1980’s

I moved to Los Angeles when I was in my early 20’s, I felt I needed to break away from my mothers’ apron strings.  I originally wanted to go to NYC, but I was scared away by my native New Yorker mother Doris who often told me horror stories about the people, the weather, the “harsh living conditions.”

I lied to my mother so that I could move to Los Angeles.  I told her I had an audition for the touring production of Dreamgirls.  I had studied at American Conservatory Theater, fancied being a sitcom actress. I left San Francisco two years after Dreamgirls opened on Broadway in 1983.  I had no idea how hard it was to break into “show business.”

Doris often phoned and we wrote letters to each other, well she typed and I saved them all.  Doris tried in her way to encourage me and she often sent me money when I was struggling.  Sometimes Doris, who was pretty much Velcroed to me and my younger brother David, but mainly to me, she would phone me after she saw something disturbing on the news.  She’d say, “You know I heard a woman was killed in…”  “mom, if I’m talking to you on the phone I’m not dead, right?”  “Well, of course you’re not dead, I was just calling to see how you’re doing!”

What was funny about Doris was that she often “signed off” on  her letters in quirky ways.  Sometimes she’d sign, “Love, Mom Terrific.”  Or, she’d sign, “Love Doris, mom.”  Once, and I can’t find that letter, she signed, “yours very truly, Doris Banbury.”  I teased her about it, “mom, you’re a Mcgillicuddy.”  “A what?”  “Remember Lucy Ricardo’s mother Mrs. Mcgillicuddy?  Remember how quirky she was?  I think that’s you.  I mean, why would you sign your name?  I’m your daughter, I know your name.”  “Well, I was a secretary for many years, wasn’t I?  I was a 1426 Sr. Clerk Typist, you see, and I had to sign my name, so I got used to doing it, that’s all.  No big deal!”

I stayed in Los Angeles for about 7 years and eventually came back home feeling defeated, sad, depressed and alone.  Lost my job, got evicted, etc.  Doris was kind at first, she even waited for me at the bus stop by our house when I came home.  But as soon as I set my things in my room and lay on the couch in the embryo position in the living room wondering what the hell happened to my life Doris chimed in with her motherly words of wisdom, her no-nonsense New York mentality and that “smart-ass” sense of humor I inherited from her.

Me:  “Mother, I just…I don’t know what happened.  I tried to make it as an actress, I failed.  I tried writing plays and I had a couple of shows, but nothing much came of it.” 

Doris:  “You lost your job, got evicted and your idiot fiancé hit you when you broke off the engagement.  Yet, you’re still standing, that has to mean something.”

Me:  “I just don’t understand what happened to me.  I just want to lay here and have a nervous breakdown, I don’t know what to do.”

Doris:  “Oh, I know, you had it hard, I know!  (mom said clutching her eye glass chain)  Meanwhile, by 1963 I was a single mother of two children by two different men, both who did not want to have anything to do with me or my kids.  That was at a time when having children without a husband was not cool.  What did I do?  I managed to take care of all of us with one paycheck.”

Me:   “Mom, I’m serious, I’m in real pain here!”

Doris:  “Oh, I know you are, my dear, I’ve got a pot on for some tea.  Did I tell you your brother was supposed to be a tumor?”

Me:  ~heavy sigh~ “Mom, c’mon.”

Doris:  “You see I did not know I was pregnant, well I didn’t know with you either, although I think with you the condom broke.  Anyway, with your brother, well I was six months pregnant and I developed a horrible pain in my stomach.  Anyway, I went to the doctor and was on the examining table when the doctor said, ‘you might have a tumor.’  Then when he left the room David started to crown butt first I believe.  Before you know it, I had a premature 3-pound baby boy that I went on welfare for the first three years of his life to support.  Well, I also had the help of the March of Dimes, God bless them.”

Me:  (defeated).  “I can’t…I can’t go on, ma, I’m serious.  I feel like such a failure.”

Doris:  “I didn’t raise you to fail, first of all.  Second, you can’t fail if you’re still living, Lorrie.  But, I can imagine how hard you had it in Los Angeles, poor baby.  Did I tell you when you were three years old I almost went to jail for writing a bad check at the grocery store?  David hadn’t been born yet, but I was humiliated, let me tell you! Thankfully and with the grace of God, the manager felt sorry for me and bought my bag of groceries.  I still tear up when I think about that.  Wonder whatever happened to that woman?”

Me:  “MOTHER I’M TALKING ABOUT MEEEEEE!!!”

Doris:  “I will kindly ask you to stop yelling at your mother, God you’re such a drama queen.  Look, it’s simple, you have two choices, work or school.  Or both!  That’s what you WILL do because you are in a country that gives black folks opportunities, unlike our ancestors before us, remember them?  Wow, what THEY went through!  (shook her head)  Big deal you didn’t make it as an actress, who cares?  You still have to live, you’re young, you’ll get a good job, you’ll find a good man, one who won’t hit you.  But, in the meantime while you’re under your mother’s roof, work…school…or both.  Those are your choices right now.  Oh, the tea’s ready!”

And with that stated Doris jumped up from the couch and scurried to the kitchen to turn off the screaming pot of water on the stove.  My mini break down was over.

There is so much to relay about Doris Banbury, a child of a British Canadian mother and Jamaican father who divorced when Doris was four years old.  But, I cannot possibly put it all into a blog.   What I will always remember about my mother Doris, however, is her funny sense of humor, her loving protective attention to her children whom she singlehandedly raised to a positive fruition, and her love for photography; she studied the works of Immogen Cunningham, Ansel Adams and Gordon Parks.

What will never leave me, including watching my mother pass away and be buried, is her telling me about herself, what little she offered.  What stuck with me; the stories she often told me about visiting the Bronx Zoo and telling her troubles to an aging Lion named King, she was about 8 years old at the time.  Years later when Dementia and Parkinson’s diseases set in, Doris told me she had been brutalized by her “godfather” for nearly a decade.  Never knew mom was a rape survivor.  Although, when we were kids and begged mom to give us a daddy she, and I swear this is true, she would flail her arms and scream, “NO, YOU’ll BE RAPED!”  

I understood why Doris made me promise that when she died I was to bury her with her mother Gladys who resides in a cemetery near White Plains NY.  Mom made all the arrangements for her mother and kept the receipts.  Doris’ beloved mother Gladys Peryl, my grandmother whom I never met, seemed a strong, determined and sweet and attentive mother to her sensitive child.  Gladys actually took Doris in the 1940s to abort the violators child, Doris was a young teen at that time, maybe 13 years old.  And a couple of years later when the violator was in the hospital on his death bed Gladys took Doris to get a verbal apology from him which he generously offered.  I understood why Doris adored Gladys, she often spoke highly of her.

I adored Doris, but in my own way.  While I was not overly affectionate I liked that she saw strength in me and perhaps determination when I did not see it in myself.  What I will remember of Doris is her kindness, her deeply-rooted vulnerability, her insecurities, of course her humor and her strength and love as a mother; she SHOWED my brother and me love, we rarely said “I love you.”  But, Doris attended every single freaking school recital, she was ALWAYS down in front with her camera to take a flash shot…always a FLASH shot!!!  Blinded the hell out of me, but that was Doris.  She kept all our school pictures and our report cards.

Doris showed encouragement and love rather than talk about it.  For that I am grateful. I am also grateful that I caught her last breath as I watched her pass away.  It was a most odd experience, but one I truly believe was meant to happen between mother and daughter.  And when they lowered her coffin into the ground a couple of weeks later, of course humor set in, the guy removed the strap too soon and mom tilted down head first into the earth.  At least the flowers that my brother bought for me to place onto the coffin remained. I am grateful for that as well.

As I write this I am listening to one of mom’s many CDs, mostly of “world” music, Cesaria Evora.  Mom loved good music and reading, she was a voracious reader.  At last count my brother who stored mom’s books, found about 390…so far.

Doris’ major true love besides music and books and of course her mother Gladys, was photography.  Doris loved to photograph animals, architecture, people.  When she was in her 20s Doris took celebrity photos in NYC, some of which I exhibited a few years ago.  In 2010 a select few of Doris’ celebrity photos were featured in a SF MOMA exhibit and were purchased by SF MOMA for their permanent photography collection.  Here is the museum link. 

(https://www.sfmoma.org/artist/Doris_Banbury) 

Doris Banbury in front of a display showcasing three of her celebrity photos from 1950s that were featured in the exhibit: Exposed, by Sandra Phillips, SF MOMA.  Photo: Opening Night, 10-27-2010

n her later years Doris enjoyed photographing lions and tigers, she loved going to the San Francisco Zoo.  And she loved photographing landscapes, San Francisco murals and her two grandchildren, Belinda May (L) and Denise Elizabeth (R).  Denise is my brother’s first born whom he named after me, Lorrie Denise. 

“Rest now, my dear.”

Sunrise: 12-7-1930     Sunset:  12-27-2015     

Earth:  1-8-2016

“Life moves forward, so shall we.”  Lorrie Denise Sargent, 2016

“Viewing” photo courtesy of David Banbury (SFMTA), Doris’ son;  SF MOMA photo of Doris courtesy of Denise Banbury, Doris’ granddaughter

Thank you for reading my most personal blog. LDS

Bay Area Brooklyn Belle

It is not yet official, but my move from the eclectic weather of the West Coast to the seasonally extreme survivalist weather of the East Coast is calling me.  I originally wanted to move to Paris, and I will someday because it too calls.  But for now my decision to move out of my home town is long overdue.  I feel like I have been pushed aside like an unused napkin at my favorite restaurant.  Well, not so much “pushed aside” as I believe there is nothing in this city for me to thrive on anymore.

Case in point:

Few straight men who aren’t already coupled up and those who are my age date 20 year-olds.

Few male/female friends and associates who are my age and single, everyone’s a grandparent looking to retire by now. 

Work is hard to find that isn’t the typical city job with benefits, been there, done that.  And, unfortunately my work skills seem nearly outmoded in this generation with the exception that I acquired some HTML skills from manipulating online websites.

Middle class people who look like me, including some friends, have all moved out of the city to find work making San Francisco nearly less blended.

I am no longer motivated to live in the laid-back environment of California.

Why Brooklyn?  Well, NYC itself is VERY blended, although, some boroughs are more blended than others, obviously.  But, Brooklyn is away from the “hubub,” Manhattan, basically.  I think it is where I need to be, a quiet shut-in of a writer/creative artist who lives in a semi-hip, non-Manhattan-where-everything-exists-only area.  Now, I hate the idea of hustling and holding down ten jobs just to survive like people in New York tend to do, I’ve seen it in action.  And, I don’t plan to “work where I can find it” and live in a hovel with strangers with my two elderly pussies in tow struggling to survive with no heat or air conditioner.  This is the reason I chose not to move to the East Coast last year.  Plus, I had my ailing mom to consider and bills and debt to pay, still do.  Yes, I held myself back from fear of failing, basically. 

But, San Francisco has become an extremely expensive place to reside for a single mid-life gal without a rich boyfriend or “dependents.”  And I have no reason to live here anymore, not really.  I am, therefore,  ready and motivated to move on and live in a town that will push me off the comfort of my flat black bottom and into the world of “movers and groovers.”  I am ready to find the right job, support myself and flourish with my hobbies which is encouraged, I’ve seen it in action in the East Coast.  I was always the type who needed to be pushed forward just a little, might as well be now.  Besides, life is nothing if one is not moving forward and I am truly sick and tired of WATCHING everyone else move forward while I remain in one spot struggling.

I believe I have faced my fears and insecurities and I am actively pushing myself forward and onward.  I am now focused on what I want and what will make me happy.  I am ending one chapter and beginning another to finally carve a name and place for myself before I blend into the earth.

So there it is and here I am and onward I push.  Don’t wish me luck, just wish me well.  Thanks!

L.D., a future Bay Area Brooklyn Belle