Rancho Tarzanadu: Miss Linda's Lucid Dreaming

Miss Linda had a recurring lucid dream. This time she knew she was in the lucid dream before she tried the things that usually signaled to her that she was dreaming, like trying to turn on light switches that would not produce light. She decided to test her dream theory; she turned to her bedside table and tried to turn on the light switch. No go. She tossed back the covers and stepped out of bed (within the dream) and swiftly started to flap her hands against her thighs as if her hands were hummingbird wings. She started to gradually rise off the floor. This unnerved her a bit, but she proceeded. She leveled herself out so she was parallel to the floor, but a few feet above it. She flew around her own bedroom for a few seconds, then ventured outside to her balcony. There was a full moon, which filled the backyard with cool blue-white light and lit up the ground with the imperial shadows from the tall pine trees cast upon it. She sailed and swooped over the backyard, dipping and flipping in the air as if she was performing in a circus trapeze act, and she gained more confidence which fed her momentum. There was a cool Autumn breeze, not cold, but cool, moist and buoyant. She felt supported as if she were floating on the surface of the sea.

An owl hooted in the trees, and airplanes flew high above her head. She could hear the creatures of the night rustling in the bushes, and dogs barking faintly in the neighboring backyards. Frogs were sing-croaking from the country club golf course pond nearby.

She was free as a bird and weightless, spiraling this way and that, diving in close to the ground and skimming over small ground plants, then rushing back up towards the sky, soaring above the tops of the pines.

The more frequently she had this dream, the longer she could remain in this state of bliss, floating and flying in mid-air.

She caught herself thinking that she was flying and dreaming at the same time, and realized what an unnatural state that was to find herself in. She started to lose her balance.

She woke up abruptly, safely in her own bed, in the same position she had fallen asleep in.

She turned to her bedside table, turned on her lamp which illuminated instantly, and made a few key notes in her dream journal. She was determined to master this technique of dream-flight no matter how long it took her, even if it was a slow, methodical process over the course of her lifetime.

She turned out the light, snuggled into a comfortable position, and went back to a smooth, sound, seamless sleep until morning.

She awoke in the early daylight with remnants of stardust and sticky Blue Plumbago flowers intertwined throughout her hair.

Rancho Tarzanadu: 'Little Johnny' and the FBI Agents

'Little Johnny' (his code name) was brought to Rancho Tarzanadu for refuge, and a place to explore his creativity in a non-judgmental and supportive atmosphere. It was carefully studied for months previously by FBI Psychiatrists, and had been deemed the perfect place for 'Little Johnny' to study, get fresh air in a (relatively) safe environment, and a place for him to open up and expand his strategic craft of war. 'Little Johnny' had a special talent, although he still spoke no words at age six, of strategizing military manoeuvres with miniature military tanks, vehicles, personnel and weaponry. It was a rare gift, indeed, especially considering his age and lack of practical experience. He was a child to be closely watched and observed, to be taken note of. The FBI was abuzz like a hive surrounding its Queen about 'Little Johnny's' talent, and his very large brain.

They had tried keeping him on an actual military base for observation at first, but this proved fruitless. He curled up in the fetal position and started sucking his thumb. Again. His parents had both disappeared earlier that year, and being a boy of six, he was greatly affected. He felt isolated and alone, abandoned. Not being very creatively profuse in this condition, the FBI had to reconvene about his placement, in an environment that would nurture his abilities, yet give him the space to explore on his own. He needed to be somewhere he felt safe, in a community atmosphere, but not heavily doted on or interfered with.

Apparently the FBI had been keeping tabs on Rancho Tarzanadu for some time, unbeknownst to Miss Linda. When they showed up at her door she had a sudden, sinking feeling, and events from her past came rushing to the surface of her brain and she felt like she was drowning. She must have swayed a little bit, for the next thing she knew two FBI agents had her by each arm and were ushering her back inside the house. They sat her down in her own living room chair, and ran through their list of terms and conditions. Miss Linda was relieved. They wanted a little boy to live there, room and board paid in full (and then some) for his protection. Miss Linda was curious as to how they sought her out for this 'mission', since she had no military training of her own.

"Your father," the male agent spoke, "was...well-connected and well-respected. We've been here before...'we' being the 'collective we'."

"I see," Miss Linda replied, looking at the amount of the check that they had presented her with. And as she folded it and tucked it away she said, "I'm sure we can work something out."

Miss Linda had never wanted children of her own, and still did not. She liked children fine (well-behaved ones), but she didn't want the responsibility of caring for one of her own. In fact, the thought of it made her somewhat nauseous. Ex-boyfriends of hers had mentioned having children with her in the past, but she ended up leaving them, or jeopardizing the relationships to get out of it. But this child would be different; he would just be another boarder. Her first official boarder.

'Little Johnny' took to Miss Linda immediately. He could sense her uneasiness, but being an idiot-savant he could also sense her true essence and the light that shone out of her (some would call this an 'aura'). Whatever it was, 'Little Johnny' saw it clearly, and bonded with her in a silent and distant way, but with a psychic cord attached to her soul.

It took Miss Linda a while to warm up to him, but it was a slow and steady pace of blossoming toward his little spirit like a flower in the sun. She gave him plenty of space, but when they did spend some random moments together, it was profound, and they both realized this without having words for what it was or needing to express it. Miss Linda felt as if she might have known him in a previous life, but she was not even sure if she believed in that sort of thing. He kept to himself. The only physical affection Miss Linda showed him was a gentle tap-tap on the head every now and again, and sometimes she would give him a genuinely warm hug, when the mood struck her. He always held on longer than she did, and hugged her a little bit harder. He adored her. She was reticent, but open-minded, and kind by nature to animals and good-natured children.

Miss Linda was actually kinder than she liked to let on. She had her guard up. She had her creative pursuits to focus on, and didn't want to lose track of that.

"As long as he doesn't get in my way," Miss Linda told the FBI agents. "I have things I need to get done, and can't be babysitting all the time."

"It won't be like that, Ma'am," the female agent replied. Miss Linda did not like that she called her "ma'am", and wasn't that thrilled with her tone, either. "We would be 'Little Johnny's' caretakers...we'll bring him his meals, via a daily food delivery service...all organic, healthy and tasty meals and snacks. We'll have someone tidy up his room on a regular basis, provide a teacher for his lessons, and we'll be around once a week for observational purposes to make sure he's doing okay. There will be more helicopters flying slowly by your house, however, and sometimes hovering. That's something you'll have to get used to. We'll be taking photographs of 'Little Johnny's' work from above, and need to document that."

"I understand," replied Miss Linda. "I agree on one final condition: you bring me fresh, organic, tasty meals also. Including dessert. And for Manuel as well."

The FBI agents gave each other a look.

"You drive a hard bargain, Ma'am," the female agent replied. "But I think we can accommodate you."

Miss Linda was secretly pleased with her own bargaining skills, and also greatly relieved; she was a horrible cook.

Rancho Tarzanadu: Miss Linda

Miss Linda is a dichotomy, in many ways. She dislikes attention, but she is always doing things to draw attention to herself. She dislikes being photographed, but she loves dressing up. Her fashion sense would be best described as 'strange'. Some have commented that she has an 'ugly-pretty' style. She is mostly drawn to fashions of the 1960's and 1970's and does not follow any modern day fashion trends. Much of her wardrobe is polyester psychedelic floral prints. She is very much a homebody, so mostly wears these outlandish clothes at home.

She has been doing yoga for twenty-seven years, and has a certification to teach it, although she doesn't like to be in a room full of people telling them what to do, so she hasn't taught for several years. She is currently studying massage therapy, and hopes to do that part-time while she pursues her creative endeavors, such as writing, songwriting, and making objects d'art from broken vintage dolls and thrift-shop oddities. Hence, the need for prospective boarders to bring in extra money. Although she loves being creative, and it makes her very happy, she realizes that she may never make any money from any of her endeavors, and thus, is trying to be practical. Miss Linda is not very practical at all, by nature. She likes to think of herself as 'mystical' and 'otherworldly'. Mostly others just think she's weird, although they are inexplicably drawn to her, as are children and animals. Miss Linda doesn't understand this herself, as she finds most people annoying. But she also enjoys their company when partaking in food and drink and most holidays. She enjoys the camaraderie of some, and probably more than she's willing to admit to herself, but she needs a lot of quiet time to pursue what's meaningful to her. She tends to feel nothing for someone, or too much, and sometimes both, simultaneously.

Miss Linda has been in Junior College for the last twenty-eight years. She met with a school counselor, who told her that she had enough credits for three degrees, but she needed to take Algebra in order to graduate. Miss Linda is horrible at math, which is ironic considering her father was an electrical engineer at Hughes Aircraft and did math problems for fun in his spare time. She keeps putting Algebra on the back burner, and instead takes classes such as Abnormal Psychology, Oriental Philosophy, World Religions, Women's History, and The Hero's Journey in Literature. She is well-versed in many things, but horrible at math. Ironically, she pays all of her bills on time, and is good at budgeting her money. She has grown to believe that the necessity for math in the school system for a Liberal Arts major is a governmental plot against artists, to hold them back from achieving their goals and reaching their true potential. She believes the government sees artists as 'dangerous', therefore throwing them a calculated curveball of calculus to screw them up, preventing them from making any real difference in the world or in the collective unconscious. Miss Linda thinks too much, which is also ironic because sometimes she is perceived as a blonde nitwit. She scored higher than her father when they took an IQ test together, one rainy afternoon. Just a few points higher. She was also in the 'gifted' program in grammar school, but she doesn't like to brag about it. People don't listen, anyway, or they're caught up in their own lives, thinking their own thoughts, or overwhelmed by the onslaught of media and are sitting brainwashed in front of their television sets, mouths slack and eyes wide, absorbing endless waves of nothingness.

Miss Linda has been very interested lately in energy work, and has been practicing the powers of levitation. She has told no one, not even Manuel, but she thinks he might suspect because of the looks he gives her sometimes when she enters a room a little too noiselessly. So far she has only been able to rise a couple of inches off the ground, and only for a few seconds at a time. Frankly, she finds it a little frightening. But too compelling to stop. She has also been having vivid dreams more frequently, dreams in which she is flying, mostly over the backyard, too scared to branch off into the city. Yet.

Miss Linda has three cats. She acknowledges, herself, that she is probably a crazy cat lady. That used to freak her out, but now she's okay with it. Two of her three cats play the piano, mostly in the wee hours of the night. Miss Linda praises them for this, and the more praise she gives them, the more they play the piano, and the better at it they get. She's hoping to record an album of cat music sometime in the future, once they have enough material worked up.

She has been working for the last thirty years, slaving for 'the man'. She worked for nine years at an Advertising Specialty Company that promoted things, mostly movies and TV shows. She came up with the ideas for these products. She enjoyed it at first, but then felt like her soul was dying. She felt like she was contributing to the giant landfill of the world, that was somewhere, out there. The company that she worked for  got acquired by a larger company, and one year later fired all the original employees after meticulously studying their work systems and taking all their clients. Miss Linda, along with her co-workers were out on their asses on the pavement, with no ice-cream cakes or gold watches to show for it. She got drunk with a fellow co-worker twelve years her junior and had sex with him in her ex-boss's beach condo in Santa Monica, while he was out of town on business. She'd do it again; it was a good night.

Miss Linda does not behave very well when dealing with authority figures, and tends to 'talk back'. When she is told what to do, she usually ends up doing the exact opposite. One of her ex-bosses told her that she was 'giving her attitude energetically', even though Miss Linda had remained silent, biting her tongue. Miss Linda rolled her eyes and snorted while walking away, and eventually got fired. She also throws her jury-duty summons cards in the trashcan, then claims she never received them, if questioned.

She wanted to change her life now, for the better and do something to further the world growth into one of serenity, harmony, and love. As much as individual people may bother her, she had grand hopes for the collective whole. She was not sure why she felt this way, however.

Miss Linda believes, above all else, of making lemons into lemonade. This is her saving grace.

Hippie Canyon Vintage Voicings: What Should I Be for Halloween?

"What should I be for Halloween?" A phrase I've heard repeatedly for the last six weeks or so, ever since the beautiful vintage clothing store I work at has been turned into Halloween Hell. I complain about it every year, but I'm still here. I was never told in my job description that two months out of every year is like working at the zoo; that was sprung on me like a nanny who is called to a giant mansion on a hill, thinking she is only to be responsible for one child, and then it turns out that there's about eight or nine of them, but she's already stuck in the middle of nowhere, out on the moors somewhere, and has to stay and try to keep it together. Except in that story she probably ends up marrying the wealthy, lonely father and becoming the matron of the manor.

'Matron of the Manor' would be a good Halloween costume, for example. But the General Public has no imagination, generally speaking.

As the days drew closer to 'the big day', people became more and more frantic in their behavior and questioning, like the end of the world was drawing nigh.

"I don't know what to be!" they would exclaim. "Can you help me?"

I think, this is an existential question. The Great Void rearing its ugly head. Or maybe a question for a good psychoanalyst.

I tried not to fall into their trap of complacency.

"There must be something that you can think of, that you want to be," I would coax them. "There must be something that 'calls' to you...something you feel drawn to."

They would stare back at me with glassy eyes and a slack mouth. "I don't know what to be for Halloween!" they would say again, at a louder, frenzied pitch. "Can you help me?"

"Maybe you could try using your imagination?" I suggested to one teenage girl with a particularly Zombie-like demeanor.

"I don't have one," she responded.

This same girl brought a pair of thigh-high black high-heeled boots to the front counter, tossed them in my direction, and said "I found these...what can I be with these?"

"A hooker, obviously," I thought to myself, but was fortunately saved by a ringing telephone. I answered. "I don't know what to be for Halloween!" the person on the other end squealed. "Can you help me?"

"If you come in and look around, I'm sure you will find something to be," I told them. I would hope so.

People come to me in the store as if I were a psychic, or able to sum up their entire character in an instant. That I can tell them what to be, and they will accept my answer and be it.

One man walked in first thing in the morning, right when we opened. He was waiting outside when I pulled up in my car. I hadn't had my coffee, yet.

"I don't know what to be...what should I be?"

He followed me around the store, as I turned on lights, and drug the many racks of Halloween costumes outside onto the back patio, as I fed the fish in the fish tank and lit some incense. He was carrying a baby in his arms, and had a little girl with him.

I thought to myself, this guy's had two kids and he can't figure out what to be for Halloween. He wants me, a total stranger, to tell him what he should be.

"How about a Vampire?" I suggested. He shook his head no. "A Zombie? The Devil? A Gorilla? An Evil Surgeon? A Roman Emperor? A Police Officer? A Fireman? A Caveman? A Warlock?" I continued to make suggestions, and he continued to shake his head no.

He finally settled on the Gorilla costume. "Do you think it will be too hot and itchy?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Oh, no...I'm sure it will be fine," I told him. It was by far our hottest and itchiest costume. "All sales are final," I told him as he left.

People ask you what they should be for Halloween, but they themselves don't really want to know.

Rancho Tarzanadu: Manuel

Manuel (pronounced man-u-el...like a book you study, a manual) came to Rancho Tarzanadu years ago by way of Miss Linda's father, whom he met at the Van Nuys flying field for hobby plane enthusiasts. They took to each other immediately and became fast friends. Miss Linda's father had been studying Spanish, and wanted to practice what he was learning with a native speaker, so he would spend hours at a time talking with Manuel about Politics, World War II, the engine of his 1964 grey Pontiac, the best method for frying chicken, and various assorted other topics. They also took to playing lengthy games of chess for hours that sometimes carried into days (with breaks for meals, sleep, and bathing). These chess matches usually involved large quantities of Scotch on the rocks and grilled steaks.

Manuel was from an unspecified locale, or rather one that kept changing, specifically. Miss Linda had overheard him, over the years, tell various and sundry different people that he was from Spain, Mexico, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Argentina, Costa Rica, Venezuela, and Paraguay. Miss Linda never challenged him when she overheard him telling someone that he was from somewhere other that where he had said he was from the last time. She was sceptical of Manuel, but she also found him disturbingly charming. She was wary of him, but he annoyingly grew on her. His company made her father very happy, and her father was aging, so she wanted him to be happy. Manuel seemed harmless enough, although it did appear to her as if he was running from something. The background of his life was always changing and shifting, but the stories of his family remained constant, and he held great love for his family, whom he stayed in contact with, although they, too, were spread out all over the globe, and not always reachable by phone or internet.

A couple of years before Miss Linda's father died, he built Manuel a guesthouse on the half-acre of land on the hill below their house. Miss Linda's mother agreed to this because she had come to think of Manuel as a son. Although he didn't help out much around the house, he did sit in the kitchen for long periods of time while Miss Linda's mother would prepare delicious meals from her Southern Heritage cookbook. Manuel would enjoy a beer and possibly be persuaded to snap some beans or shell some peas while he chattered and snacked on hors d'oeuvres. He didn't do much yard work, either, but would stroll for hours in the backyard, seemingly deep in thought. He would examine growing things in minute detail, and capture strange looking bugs in glass jars to ponder, then let go, unharmed. He would talk to the animals and secretly feed the squirrels table scraps. Miss Linda's mother felt safer with a younger man on the property, and found his antics endearing. When she moved in with her new husband after Miss Linda's father had died, she made it clear to Miss Linda that Manuel would be staying on in the guest house, indefinitely. Miss Linda found this annoying, but reluctantly agreed, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. They would have separate quarters, after all, so it couldn't be that bad having him around.

Miss Linda would never have called herself 'Miss Linda', but Manuel started calling her that the day he met her, and the name stuck. She sometimes wondered if he called her that out of affection or irritation. Since she was moving in to the main house, she also wondered if he resented her returning  to her childhood home. She brushed these thoughts aside when they arose...why should she care what Manuel thought of her? If anything, she should resent him for weaseling his way in to her family! Although she couldn't help admit that she actually did like him herself. He was a charmer. And he seemed to have a gentle, kind heart. He made friends with her three cats, and one of them even took to sleeping in his guest house with him. This upset her slightly, but also made her trust him. He had charmed her scaredy-cat, the little grey striped tiger kitten she found in an alley, abandoned.

Manuel self-described himself as the 'Majordomo' of the house. He tended to wear a maroon colored smoking jacket, or military fatigues for some unexplained reason, but these were his clothes of choice. Miss Linda just rolled her eyes, shook her head, and went about her own business. In her own mind she thought of Manuel as the live-in house servant, although she realized quickly after she had moved back in that he didn't actually do much work. When she noticed something was broken or needed fixing around the house or property, she would ask Manuel to take care of it, and he would then hire someone to fix the thing and present her with the bill afterward.

Miss Linda and Manuel were very close in age (he was exactly one and a half years older than her) so they developed a brother-sister like way of squabbling and pushing each other's buttons. They also genuinely enjoyed each other's company, and would frequently take their meals together, listen to records, and have cocktails on the veranda at sunset on most evenings. She, like her father and mother, took to Manuel fairly quickly once she spent some quality time with him, despite her reservations. They became close companions and confidantes.

When Miss Linda told Manuel of her plan to take on borders to bring in extra money, he was against the idea at first, but when she explained that it was necessary to kept Rancho Tarzanadu afloat in these trying times and a way to stay there without actually having to work themselves, Manuel took a good look around his guest house and came to the conclusion that she was right. He solemnly vowed to her that he would protect her and keep things running smoothly on the property and with the new borders. Miss Linda thanked him, rolled her eyes, and went to place the ad.

It was time to start interviewing tenants.

Rancho Tarzanadu: How Rancho Tarzanadu Came to Be

Miss Linda (pronounced 'Mees Leenda') had come to the conclusion that she was in dire straits. It was time to take action.

She lived in her family home, the one she had been brought back to when she was born. Her parents had purchased the house in 1959 'for a song'. Her father had insisted on buying a house in the hills, with a beautiful view overlooking the San Fernando Valley. The house also overlooked the El Caballero Country Club, of whom none of the family was ever a member. Her father, who grew up on a cattle ranch in Texas, preferred to golf at the less expensive public courses. Her father, to put it nicely, was extremely frugal.

Miss Linda was brought back to the house when she was born in March of 1966. She was greeted by a white cat named Breathless, who guarded her crib as if he was on patrol.

Miss Linda's father was a fighter pilot in World War II (The Big One). His plane was shot down in New Guinea, and he survived there for three weeks in the jungle, contracting gangrene from a machete wound (his own, accidentally), but he survived. When he was discovered, he begged for his leg to be amputated because it hurt so badly, but the doctors wouldn't listen to him. He kept his leg, and was later glad that he did. After the war, he put himself through college, obtaining a Master's Degree from UCLA as an Electrical Engineer. He was hired by Hughes Aircraft, where he worked for forty years, until he retired. He worked on several 'Top Secret' assignments that he would never discuss with anyone. He would drive, or fly, to secret locations and be gone for days at a time. He was forty-four when Miss Linda was born, and seventy-nine years old when he died, in his den, at the house. His ashes were buried in the backyard, which was always his very favorite place to be. Miss Linda was heartbroken at losing him, as she had always been 'Daddy's Girl', his only child.

Miss Linda's mother was raised on a Tennessee farm with four brothers and one sister. Miss Linda's grandmother used to wring the necks of the chickens that she would later cook for dinner. She had a sick chicken at one time with something literally 'stuck in its craw' and she pinned the chicken down, gave it a shot of whiskey (so the story goes), sliced it's craw open, took out the damaging elements, then sewed the craw back together. The next day, the chicken was fine and laying regular eggs again. Miss Linda's grandfather was a preacher-man, and had various other odd jobs as well. Miss Linda's mother grew up very poor, but she married well, three times (four times if you count the time she married her first husband twice, but Miss Linda's mother does not like to discuss this and conveniently leaves it out when speaking to most people, or changes the subject if it is brought up). Miss Linda's mother is beautiful, has always been beautiful, except for a gawky childhood stage at one point. Her skin is like velvet, and she has a heart of gold. She can also be very shrewd, however, and practical. She can see through bullshit from a mile away, a trait that she has passed on to her daughter. Miss Linda's mother got remarried three years after Miss Linda's father died, and found true love at the age of seventy-eight to a man two years her Junior. Miss Linda's mother asked her if she would like to move into the family home because she was gong to move in with her new husband, who had lived in the hills of Pasadena for the last forty years and didn't want to leave his house, which overlooked the Rose Bowl. Miss Linda said she would be a fool not to move in to the family home, and made plans immediately for the move and started packing. She had recently been laid off from her job of nine years, at an Advertising Specialty Company, and was grateful for the move on several different levels. It was her 'Tara', and she had returned home to where she had been brought back to when she was born, where her father had died, and where his ashes were buried. Her half-sister and half-brother could not understand her attachment to the house, but Miss Linda did not know how she could express it any clearer. It was part of her, and she was part of it.

Her specific problem at this moment was money, as is the problem with many. She was in the process of figuring out how to stay in this beautiful house for the rest of her life, and be able to pay for everything like house taxes and insurance, property upkeep, the gardener, the pool man, the utilities, clearing of the half-acre of land below the house, etc. She was presently studying to become a Massage Therapist, as she had always enjoyed working with 'energy', but until her new career took off, she had to come up with some sort of a plan.

The economy had just crashed. Badly. Depression-era badly.

She decided that the quickest solution to her problem would be to take on boarders. She reluctantly placed an ad.

She decided that another solution would be to rent out her beautiful property for events, such as archery lessons, dance lessons, kung-fu, pagan rituals, prenatal yoga classes, weddings, bar-mitzvahs, film shoots, puppet shows, etc.

Miss Linda would not relinquish her family home. Desperate times called for desperate measures. 

And so, 'Rancho Tarzanadu' was born. A boarding house for certain few (who could pay regularly). And an Events Rental when the bills were coming up short. A get-away spot. A retreat. A refuge.

Little did she know that the house was sitting on top of a magical vortex, and was unique and highly prized by many beyond her realm or capacities of understanding at this present time. She was about to embark on a journey, however, that would lead her straight into the eye of the hurricane.

All Miss Linda knew is that she would never give up her home.

The Show Must Go On

'The Show Must Go On' made by Linda Benskin at Doll Parts Art.

Wallflower

'Wallflower' made by Linda Benskin at Doll Parts Art.

After School Playground

'After School Playground' made by Linda Benskin at Doll Parts Art.

Live or Die

'Live or Die', made by Linda Benskin at Doll Parts Art.

Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar

'Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar', made by Linda Benskin at Doll Parts Art.

Here is 'Alchemy', the latest video from Red Felt Heart. It's a little tale about the powers of attraction, and the light and dark aspects of love.