A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Gratitude Never Comes Out In The Wash
Some people think fancy cars are the sign of arriving. Or the right house in the right neighborhood. The purse that costs as much as a semester at City College. How about that watch the guy on the IRT #5 kept talking about LOUDLY, which is how I found out it cost the same as two months of my health insurance...
My favorite watch is the self-winding Timex my dad got for a dollar at a yard sale and the over-size purse I use most these days was $5.99 at a thrift store. Only later did I find out it was a diaper bag for a hipster-type mom. And the home I have rented for almost forty years didn't start out in the "right neighborhood" (although how "right" it is now is seriously up for debate).
What I dream of or wish I had more money for comes and goes - sometimes it's the desire for a weekly massage and sometimes it's the millions of bucks that could stop the slaughter of elephants while micro-financing thousands of women's new businesses.
But, until those flush days come, what lets me know I've arrived is the thrill of living in a city that has power and water and lets me turn dials and press buttons so I can do laundry in the middle of the night wearing not much beyond my hopes and my pajamas.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.