La Vida Yaya

Funny how we are raised to imagine certain cities as part of our collective thread and historic consciousness. New York City, where immigrants from ravaged European countries arrived on steamy ships in black & white film; Chicago, where pin-stripped suited gangsters carried violin cases and raged war on banks and cops, filmed in black & white; San Francisco, where the fog doesn't allow you to imagine it in color so you settle for sepia-toned ships sailing across Alcatraz to the smell of clam chowder in a bread bowl on a chilly morning; Miami, where tanned and slick-haired Cubans men in wife-beaters smoke cigars and shapely blondes walk the beach in tiny bikinis, in full tropical color; and Los Angeles, where the colors are in vibrant shades and spotlights blind you from the diamond-encrusted celebrities and bold murals that race across the sky hovering over dirty sidewalks. Then que Hail to the Chief   . . . enter Washington, DC. Not a city, not a state. A district

On the road to Texas. Photo by Yaya. My goodness, has it been that long since my last blog? I've since chopped off my dreads, got a humungous tattoo and moved to Texas! I admit that I suffered from a case of pillow-on-head writer's block. I was going through so much turmoil in my life that I couldn't find the time, energy, or inspiration to sit and write. When you are in the mix of the chaos, all you can do is survive. Can I get an AMEN?! So, sadly, I've said goodbye to my beloved LA. My bad lover, LA. My heart and soul, LA. I miss you. I love you. I hate you. Goodbye.  . . . but I hope to be back! Nineteen years. Nineteen years I spent there. My entire adult life was spent in that metropolis. It taught me, it inspired me, moved me beyond belief. The world at my fingertips. Dark backgrounds with glittering lights. Streaks of lights across waves of freeways. I always picture LA in the dark, at night, when something special happens to the city. People unwind and mo