My lips are puckered up like duck lips.  My hair sways back and forth mimicking my hips.  My eyes are sultry bedroom eyes. This is not Marilyn Monroe in “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend”.   This is just ME! My imagination runs wild when I dance.  I visualize myself moving like a character in a movie – but this is a secret. Please don’t tell anyone that I go into this trance.  Music on the Hill in Santa Fe is the perfect stage for me to fall into my trance-like dance state. I look around and I can see that I’m not the only one feeling the music, twisting, twirling and making sexy faces. It seems to me that the people around me are into their own trance-like dance.

Ohhh, yeaahhh. They start playing a Brazilian samba, one of my favorite rhythms! Here I come to dance!! As I walk out to the dance area, I transform into a Carioca Brazilian Dancer. I don my beautifully embellished costume with feathers coming out of my headdress and my ass! I don’t care if I poke somebody’s eye with them. All of us in the dance area are twisting and writhing in our own ecstasy. The afternoon is stunning. And by stunning I mean a typical sunset in Santa Fe –  little bits of blues and pinks filtering through the rays of sunlight.  It’s so damn beautiful that it’s cheesy! On these dance days we all love each other, call each other “sweetie,” “darling,” and “baby”.  Now the Brazilian music changes to a classic song from the 70’s, Aquarius…….Aquariusssss!!

I remember when I arrived in the US in the 70’s, people would dance to all the peace lovin’, groovy tunes.  Back then I was scandalized that women would be braless.  Their breasts would move up, down, and all over around. And men didn’t even wear underwear! This was not the time for Victoria’s Secret and definitely not the time for stilettos.  Today most of us are dancing barefoot, feeling the grass in between our toes and letting our imagination have us believe that we are a reincarnated combination of Marilyn Monroe and free spirited sex fiend from the 70’s.

I feel raindrops.  It’s time for me to leave. As I walk toward my friends, I leave a trail of my imagination of characters behind me. I’m sharing this secret with you because I know MY SECRET is safe with you!!!

IF YOU WANT TO SHARE YOUR OWN STORIES WITH ME, VISIT MY BLOG, J4KICKS.COM OR EVEN BETTER, COME AND SEE ME AT THE STORE.

I’m not sure what’s going on in Santa Fe but… I feel there is an extraordinary amount of bad ass women that live here! It seems that all of my friends and even the women that I just meet in the shoe store, are empowered, hard working, successful, intelligent, deep thinking and feeling women! And of course they all have good taste in shoes! Is it just me that notices this phenomenon? Does Santa Fe have some powerful energetic magnet that draws incredible women here?

The drawback that I noticed about this however is that there are too many amazing women and too few men to match them in this town. You all know this too: there are way too many single women here! While we women are great at satisfying and fulfilling one another with our friendship, we need our counterparts (I.e. the opposite sex) to balance us out and to connect with. There MUST be men here who are equally as extraordinary! And I don’t mean exclusively for relationships but for true friendships as well. Gay men count for this too!

I feel like about 10 or 15 years ago, I had some incredible friendships with outstanding men here. They were deep thinking, loving, emotionally connected, and very masculine men. And no, no I’m not talking about lovers! These guys were just my friends! It was so wonderful to have them in my life, bouncing off ideas and experiences with one another. … I guess you could say they were platonic lovers, lovers of life and of exploring experiences together. . One by one they started vanishing, either they got into serious relationships or they literally just disappeared! Sadly, a couple of my closest friends passed away.

I have nostalgia for those friendships. They were very satisfying.

Where are these men? Are you at Home Depot? In the galleries? Stuck in Starbucks? Or are you off on some spiritual retreat with no return? In any case, we women miss you! Come back! We are thirsty for these friendships… there is a severe drought.

My Mother.  She’s like an illuminated two-story house glowing white, grounded on a hill on the top of my mind.

Both mi Madre and my home are clean and orderly smelling of Mexican house cleaner- do you know that smell? I love it!! Ask any Mexican. It is the coziest ever! This house of my Mother in my mind’s eye is very white; it almost glistens.  The windows are always open because it is warm outside with the curtains flowing in the soft breeze. This house has many rooms and each one is filled with light. I can always find my Mother in this house.

My Mother is 87 years old and little by little, the light in each individual room has been starting to dim as her health has also been dimming. I have witnessed her lights going out; sometimes suddenly, sometimes gradually.  When one of the lit rooms extinguishes I say to myself, “Oh no. That room doesn’t have light anymore! But this white house still glows for me; my Mother is still there for me.”  I often feel scared.  I wonder if my children, now adults, see me the same way as I see my Mother.  Am I the same strong, warm, illuminated foundation for them?  Will my lights start going out eventually?

Although my Mother is fading into the darkness of dementia and Alzheimer’s, I can still call on her and she is still thrilled to talk to me even though she does not know not how old I am, where I am or what I am doing.  She is still perfectly glowing, warm and orderly for me.  Her voice will always be my home. The front porch light still shines.

Tell me about your Mother.  Write me at

Guada755@outlook.com

YOU COULD MAKE A MOVIE OUT OF MY LIFE

Just like a good Santa Fean, I like to go gallery hopping occasionally.  It’s a great way for me to run into friends, make new friends and of course, to see (and maybe buy!) fabulous art.  The other evening I ran into a friend of mine and we were doing our usual chit chatting.  If you know me at all, you will know that I’m not a very good chit chatter. I like to go to bigger, more profound conversations right away.  I can’t help it. It’s my nature!

I dove right in with my friend. I asked him a big question. I was wearing my high heels after all, feeling confident: “Can I ask you something personal?”  “Honey, of course!” he responded as he looked at me intently, yet with an open smile.

“How old were you when you realized you were gay?”  I asked.  I’ve always been curious about that, not just about him specifically.  Such a definitive thing about oneself that requires sudden disclosure to those who love you, your own self included.  “Oh!  I knew since I was a little boy.”  My mind immediately constructed an image of my friend, now in his mid-sixties, as this cute, little, sandy blond haired five-year old looking in the mirror with a profound understanding of himself.

He continued to narrate to me part of his childhood and young adulthood.  “You could make a movie out of my life, Guadalupe.” He proceeded to describe to me what his parents were like and what life was like amongst them. Although he had my complete attention, we kept being interrupted by excited hellos from other friends. Our conversation was perfectly intimate and he was perfectly generous to open up to me like that… He shared with me just enough information, just enough description, that I could see the reel of his movie playing in front of my mind’s eye.  We separated ways and continued our social  (art) crawl.

That same night I decided to go to La Boca for dinner, my absolute favorite. On the corner of Washington and Marcy Street there was a man on the street corner playing a smooth saxophone sound.  My attention was captured his music as I walked past him. He noticed he had me. I was like a fish that took the bait.  He watched me walk and started serenading me with his beautiful music- directing his saxophone toward me. A woman and two children were playing near him. They were homeless and this was his family.  How could someone so musically talented be in that kind of predicament? I know that an amazing movie could be made about his life.

We all have a movie waiting to be made about ourselves.  I wonder if we are all the main character in our movie or do we give the lead acting role to someone else in our life.  Did they deserve that Oscar?  If they did, how lucky you are.  If they didn’t… if you’re reading this, there’s time to change that.

I know you get what I’m saying.

Write me!  Guada755@outlook.com

Back in the 60’s when I was a little girl… ahem, a VERY little “girl,” my parents used to send us to spend our summer breaks in Mexico City where my aunt lived. My two sisters and I were put on the night train so that by morning, we would be in the city. We could hardly sleep through the night. The excitement of going to the city was too grand to get any rest! As we lay on our bed on the train, we would periodically peek out the window- but it was always pitch black. Eventually sleep would find us in the wee hours of the morning and we would wake up with the extreme halt of the train, finding ourselves in the gigantic city.  My Aunt Carmen would be there to receive us.  Year after year, the excitement would always be the same. We knew that she would take us to museums, the state fair which had the biggest roller coaster I had ever experienced, and we would also get to spend weekends in Cuernavaca.  It was way better than staying at home!

My sisters and I were on our BEST behavior. If we started becoming difficult to manage during our visit, we knew that our chances to stay longer would decrease.  My Aunt Carmen lived with her husband, Clemente, and their daughter, Tete. I can understand now that they lived a middle-upper class life and lived in a middle-upper class apartment in Mexico City. But as it is usual in a big city, the apartment was not very big so we were all in each other’s way.  In order to accommodate us, we would have to sleep in the living room which was perfectly exciting and fun for my sisters and me.

My Uncle Clemente was a writer and most of his life he wrote radio novels. You know radio novels were big time before TV, before Netflix, before podcasts! One of his famous characters was  Kaliman… Google him! Every day we would wake up with my Uncle Clemente blasting opera music. He would say that the music would stimulate his creativity and imagination. He was a massive chain smoker so there would be ash trays all over the house mostly filled with half smoked cigarettes. He would go into a different dimension when he would write.  We didn’t exist for him during this time, his mind full of scenes and dialogues. My sisters and I wouldn’t mind waking up with Maria Callas in our ear.  To us it reminded us that we were in the big city and that’s all that mattered. We would awaken in the room full of cigarette smoke and we’d quietly get up trying to stay out of his way as he paced up and down through the apartment. The floors were made out of wood so we would tiptoe quietly to a part of the apartment where we would not disturb him.

I wish he was still alive.  Now as an adult I can see that he was brilliant with his creativity and very smart, savvy.  He didn’t care what people thought of his eccentric ways.  He just did what he knew best to do- write! I never told him how these summers around him influenced me, how they inspired curiosity in the artistic process, appreciation for the eccentric and the adoration for the imagination.

We as human beings are a product of our childhood. If you come into the store, you can see me pacing up and down the store blocking out everything around me as I’m narrating my thoughts and emotions to one of my colleagues as she types furiously to catch up with my thoughts.

Who was that person in your life that inadvertently made you who you are?

Write me!  Guada755@outlook.com