Junior League Loveliness

In the morning, I found Kim still wrapped sleepily around the little baby camel’s neck. I’d have loved to stay and run my fingers through her hair, but I needed to get ready for my daily trip out to visit the school classes with the animals.

Life was pretty sweet for a 22 year old kid traveling the freeways of Houston with a van load of animals and some great looking Junior League women to help me with the presentations. We had furry little creatures that loved to snuggle in your arms, hyperactive birds, slinky Rosie (the boa constrictor) and a baby elephant before he got too wide to get in the van. It was a fun job from start to finish. Some of the most endearing moments were showing up to a group of blind children. They had no preconceptions about whether you were supposed to be fearful or aggressive to animals (seemed to be an attitude passed down from some Texas parents and something I tried to counter in my talks). The blind child would just take the little fur ball to their heart and hug it and love the moment.

Every day brought a new exploration out into the classrooms that I greeted with my entourage. No GPS and a ton of traffic.

Houston sprawl. I drove it all.

I’ll say one thing about working with the Junior League women. Absolutely nothing fazed them. If the birds started getting agitated and borderline ready to bite someone, they would be cool as cucumbers as they got between the small fry crowd and the bird and then whisk them into a cage to settle down (or not). If the furry weasels turned into little fluff bundles from hell, the women just handled it with no muss, no fuss. I can’t say they were enamored with the snakes but they didn’t mind making the best of it and let the small ones wind around their arm or place them over a willing child’s shoulders and neck.

At any rate these ladies were true Southern Belles and quick to shoulder any task that was asked of them. And they handled it all with a lot of grace. Those of you who have known Southern Hospitality and social poise and elegance know what I’m talking about here. And they really looked fantastic. All dressed up and just a delight to be around. This was an era of skirts, high heels, the whole 9 yards. I liked it. Here is a great example of the Junior League look of the time.

So driving had it’s challenges when we moved out towards our student destinations.  On a particularly hair raising day, there I was rounding one of Houston Freeway’s cloverleafs right after a fuel oil truck had overturned and dropped a ginormous oil slick onto the pavement. The tires touched the greasy stuff and we got a little unbalanced. Sliding a little right, my sleepy menagerie stirred out of their slumbers. Counter correcting in the best manner possible settled things down but the grease got the upper hand. Sliding a bit left, the birds let out an alarming squawk. We slid to the right again. The ferrets covered their eyes with their paws (hey, I gotta have some artistic license here)
One more slippage to the left and the baby elephant trumpeted a blaring blast in my ear. The Junior Leaguers just acted like they were a flight crew and prepared for impact. I’d loved to have seen the wiggles our 4 wheels left as it did a little dance.

It’s amazing how much rear weight bias results when you have some Pachyderm Poundage stuffed in between the hind end wheel wells. So we got tail happy… in a hurry. Oh, it was an exciting time but I finally got it straightened out. Fortunately, we’d hit absolutely nothing.

That day, the animals oscillated back and forth in their behavior between hyperactive and looking like they wanted to hide and tell me: “stop bothering me”. That little piece of roadwork got them a little perturbed.

I looked over at the women seated across from me and they looked at me like we’d just dodged a bullet and escaped with our lives intact.  I took a deep breath, smiled and turned the radio up just in time for Simon and Garfunkle to launch into:

“At the Zoo”

Angel in the Air

I don’t know why I was surprised that the 17 year old looked so great during the reception. After all, I was the one that had painted the black “dress” on her earlier that afternoon.  But the way she pulled the look off and the accessories that she donned, brought an air of elegance and sophistication that I hadn’t considered when we were doing the body painting.

The house I was living in was previously an art gallery in the Montrose district of Houston. The walls were covered in burlap and had that sense of having been an exhibition hall in earlier years. We were a diverse group of “counter  culture” dropouts that somehow kept our bearings in the midst of a social sea change that involve sex, drugs and rock and roll.  My close friend, John Biroti was attending Rice University as an engineer but had connections in Mexico that would deliver bales of marijuana to our house.  Half black and half Cherokee, John was often pulled over by the Houston police for various “non compliance” issues surrounding his little VW bug. He emerged from these encounters just fine and seemed to be immune from getting busted around the dope that flowed into and out of the house.

We’d often got into mescaline and wound up taking our hands and fingertips to run all over the burlap walls.  I think it was my first experience at really “feeling” with my hands the little nuances of the bumps and valleys of that topography, as though it were Braille messages telegraphing a sense of connection to my “massage brain”.

At any rate, I brought the 17 year old (Kate was her name) into the house for the body painting, and we were under the influence of ecstasy during that time. She seemed completely at ease with having her body used as a mural. We’d already had a lot of play time in a structure close by that let us “fly” into the air.  It had been a church originally, but had morphed into a little circus playground.  The tall ceilings and long dimensions were perfect for a large trapeze and swing arrangement.  I’d swung Kim back and forth across the length of the structure until she was flying high and gracefully across from one end to another. She was a natural at acrobatics and relished the moments in the air. Her slender body seemed to levitate at any moment she chose to breathe that energy into it.

Back at the house, we also had high ceilings and a rather unsophisticated set of silks cascading from the ceiling. I strung Kate upside down and hoisted her towards the roof as she opened her limbs to create a  playful dance in defiance of gravity. Moments later, she stripped down to nakedness, leaned against me as she handed me a paint brush and said “do me.”  Taking a deep breath, I embarked on an adventure in putting color to her skin and following the hills and valleys of her body as smoothly as I could.

When I let her go off into the late afternoon, I didn’t know if she’d be available for evening fun. Once I gathered her up at the reception and we found our favorite Houston water fountain, I knew it would be a memorable end of the day.  We jumped in the water, not quite naked, but close enough.  The warm air beckoned endless fun.

She finally said to me:  “Take me to the zoo.  I want you… to take me to the zoo… yes, I want you.“ We did eventually manage to surmount the security mechanisms and I had some keys for some of the animal areas. I laid her down in the hay and wrapped my body around her as her face turned into a pleasant smile. A few hours later, I wrapped her in a blanket as she laid against the baby camel as though to sail into a dream while I departed

That night a beautiful full moon expressed it’s ease to me and I realized once again, life can have an element of charm at any moment.

As I passed a parked taxicab on my bike, I heard the warbling sounds of Dean Martin coming to my ears with that wonderful song:

“Blue Moon”

Written by Richard Rogers in 1934.

What a wonderful ballad with lyrics that let the heart to soar.

Dino… in all his ease and slow adoration of the lyrics

She’s Seventeen and Makin’ a Scene

Houston Texas 1970

With a college diploma firmly in my hand and a double major in zoology and chemistry, I headed South. I needed a new perspective and a new environment. And I needed to get out of Missouri. Arriving in Houston to visit a friend, I decided to stay and find out what I might be able to do for money. A little ad in the newspaper stirred my imagination. The Houston Children’s Zoo needed someone to teach respect for Mother Nature while driving a van load of animals out to the school systems. It was a definitely a dream job. I had volunteer aides from the Junior League to help me.  They were all dressed up, very professional and seemingly unfazed by any unexpected moves the animals might make.  I was dressed up like a mini version of Jack Hanna.  We had squawking birds, wriggly balls of fur and a baby elephant. I started the talks off with a 6 foot long boa constrictor over my shoulders (donated by a local strip act so she was used to being handled).

The trips out to the classes were energized and playful. This wasn’t work as far as I was concerned. It was enjoyable recreation.

And the return to the zoo around 2PM was even more fun. Afternoons were for washing the baby elephant in the warm Texas sun. Intrigue was also aplenty as a young lass sailed into this circus atmosphere soon after I got the job. She was there recovering from a drug addiction and taking care of the animals was her special therapy. She loved them big, she loved them small, she loved them all. But her particular affection was reserved for a baby giraffe. She was probably 17 years old, I was 22 and we hit it off swimmingly. In fact, we were wet most of the time as we wound up showering off the baby pachyderm, hosing down each other and basically ignoring the stares out the administrative windows of the “main zoo”.  Those guys had absolutely no sense of humor and with our mindset we could not help but enjoy each other’s company no matter what. And I was shielded from the disapproving glare of upper management by my immediate supervisor. After all, my boss at the children’s zoo compound gave me glowing reports and thought I was “interesting”.  I thought it was “interesting” that she was smoking a joint with me at noon time while we enjoyed lunch.

So the 17 year old was lithe and lean with a winsome smile and a whole new attitude now that she was drug clean. She was also an artist from a rather well to do “old money’ society Houston family. Her art was spirited, easy and free flowing.  It was almost like she breathed the colors onto the canvas. Her work was inspirational to behold and it was only natural that at some point she would have an exhibition that would be attended by a wide variety of people and given some attention in the press.  The reception for her gathering had professors, lawyers, judges, business tycoons and a complete array of well dressed Houston elites. She was simply stunning in a little black outfit that hugged her body like a glove. Her blonde hair offset the inky outline of her body. Her outfit looked like it had been poured onto her like liquid silk.  As the line of well wishers passed by her to shake her hand, there were murmers and surprised inhales emitted from a couple of women. I’d just caught a glimpse of her as I’d moved up to congratulate her.  On really taking her in, I realized that this “little black outfit” was nothing more than artful body paint and her torso was the canvas. She looked breathtakingly ravishing. Mid handshake, a guest would realize she wasn’t wearing a damn thing, even though the black paint provided some sense of modesty. That is, if you consider pert nipples to be “modest”.

Oh, my.  What a night. This girl knew how to have fun and enjoy life. We would certainly enjoy each other in the coming weeks. At one point, she broke out laughing uncontrollably and I determined I needed to get her out of there. She was already a spectacle enough without bringing more attention to herself. Someone else could deal with the business of buying paintings.  I bundled her cuteness up in a long shawl and whisked her away out into the night as the sound system indoors hit the opening licks of the Doors:

“My eyes have seen you.”

Lakeside Liveliness

The Smoky Mountains have an undeniable charm to them and one of the best photographers to capture that charm is Doug McPherson. The above shot is reminiscent of my initial impressions of the area and I’m grateful for his visual skills in capturing the magical qualities of the area.

Photo credits: Doug McPherson                                                                            Link to his special body of work:                                                    http://douglas-mcpherson.artistwebsites.com  http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/douglas-mcpherson.html

Coming into Western North Carolina on silent wings, one of the most striking things you notice is how lush the landscape is and yet how ancient and sleeping the hills are underneath this  green blanket of energy. My Aunt Betty and Uncle Clyde had arranged for me to work at Camp Mondamin in Tuxedo, N.C. on Lake Summit. Frank Bell was their friend and owner of the Camp and that alliance gave me entrance into a job as Camp Counselor.

The job was another one of those dream jobs that seemed to drop into my lap without any effort on my part. I was hired to teach art to the boys. I’ll readily admit that I had absolutely no understanding of what “art” in a camp setting would encompass.  So I made it up.  We played with clay, paint and wood.  We got creative and played with whatever materials were in the area. With chisels and hammers we sculpted and carved to our heart’s content. When it seemed we ran out of things to fool around with, I found an abandoned air cooled VW engine under one of the cabins and we tore it down, rebuilt it and loved it.  With a lot of unartfully applied grease and some artfully applied pinstriping, I gotta admit that it qualified as a “work of art”

It was a summer of sun, fun and the time was second to none.  There is a lot to be valued in breathing fresh air, running thru the pine trees with abandon and impromptu swimming in a great lake in the mountains with the sky overhead. At the same time, the camaraderie, excitement and time spent providing guidance to a bunch of youthful, energetic and seemingly inexhaustible wildcats made the moments memorable and somewhat magical as the long sunny days set everyone at ease. Adding to the beauty of the setting were the beauties who worked across the lake at the neighboring camp for girls. Those young female camp counselor counterparts were a delight to frolic with and engage in canoe races, swimming contests and fun with volleyballs. These efforts usually resulted in a lot of playful horsing around with everyone getting wet and laughing in the warm summer air.  The lively atmosphere also set in motion some “unauthorized” get togethers in the woods that would rekindle my desire to dance in an uninhibited fashion with a heart that was as light as the Carolina air.

The first indication that there was intrigue a brewing in the future was the eye contact made with the camp counselor girls during a campfire evening. A knowing look, an admiring glance and a smile set in motion a set of dreams of flirtatious dalliances that would have to be acted upon in the coming weeks.

Amidst the dreams of charming and disarming young ladies, the setting sun on the water began to relax  my breathing as the rhythmic sounds from the lodge fell fully into Otis Redding’s “Sittin’ on the dock of the Bay”

I sat on the dock and smiled at my thoughts…. “What a life amidst the wildlife and zero strife”

The coming weeks would show me just how lovely life could be in the woods.