The ninth day of Christmas: As if out of thin air

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Glad to hear the sound of  flamenco feet again. Then I see Mitchell, the business manager. The Noche dancers are rehearsing again. Performances in Connecticut. Martin stops in to catch up. He’s been preoccupied with his recent run at the Joyce and other pressing issues. But now that it’s clear we’re going to be here awhile, it’s time to talk about the future.

Zeljko appears in my office via Skype. He’s working on a grant to fund our Dream Project film. Wants to draw Sekou into the discussion. Get moving forward on this again. (See the trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLy-EvgEBEA&feature=c4-overview&list=UUtm1-KK9crvRywTCFSPPY_Q ). Still mystifies me how someone can appear in your office from Serbia as if they were just across the street.  (I have a counselor friend who works with a client in China via Skype.)

And just as Zeljko is disappearing from my screen, Angelo, the mysterious artist,

appears as he always does, as if out of thin air. Along with his muy querida amiga, una  artista argentina muy famosa, again. She wants to take pictures of his paintings for an article or show. He wants me to come to un reunion muy importante  Monday night at La casa puebla, the consulate from the Mexican state of  Puebla, to deal with some issues of concern with local authorities. There are so many poblanos in the Upper West Side that the state has to have an official office here. Our neighborhood is like un estadito pueblacito en exilo. When our conversation is complete, he offers me a special bendicion for un prosepero nuevo ano.  And I respond, y tu tambien, igualmente.

Rachelle has been here going through her things again. Brought me a giant Starbucks iced coffee. Please, all I want is just get your things ready to go.  And I am dreading that  it’s not going to happen and on Tuesday we’re just going to have to put them out. Which we will have to do. She must head out into the bitter cold and coming snow. She cannot stay here. Where will she go? The fact that she turns down every offer of assistance and housing does not help me much.

Walking down Amsterdam, I cross RL heading north. Due to the coming storm and falling temperatures, he has decided to cancel tomorrow night’s open mic.  My father habitually watched the weather report every night.  I tend to not worry about the weather. RL’s concerned about safety and an unsecured building. I reluctantly agree.