so alive right now

here's another from way back that just felt right for the moment:

originally dated April 28, 2006

Today, I saw a man lie down in the sun by the elementary school on 4th street and die.

I don't want to give the impression that this kind of thing happens often around here or anything...it certainly does not. We don't even really have any homeless people in my neighborhood, except Buster, and he doesn;t really count. I'm not sure if this man was homeless and giving up or whether he had some kind of heart attack....I have no idea.

But the people on the street tried to wake him up and then me and another girl called the police. We waited and waited. Eventually most people broke off and the girl's boyfriend came to wait with her. They told me they would stay and wait for the cops and so, after giving him a sansho, I left.

Everything is so alive right now, it's a real jolt to remember that anyone could die. Life is so long and so short. And lately, despite all these new beginnings, I had been feeling in kind of a funk. Not any actual negative thoughts or depression...just a lack of the ridiculous glee that had taken over my life since moving to New York.

I'm all about being grateful in the moment...often I am overwhelmed by gratitude and have to take a moment... so I guess it's easy if I'm not careful to be annoyed when I feel unappreciated. But what's nice about life, is that it's always teaching me patience (something I am only recently starting to grasp) Patience to know that in the end, I am appreciated. In the long run...at first, most people think I'm a nut (and I am). But those are the people the normally end up as my best friends. Eventually, they accept the weirdness of me, see the method in my madness (I hate that cliche, but it's true) and I feel more importantly than being appreciated, that all the energy I expend....has a purpose...a mission....that I have done some good in the world.

I mean, that's what I'm in it for. In the long run...

the mission that is.

which always leads me back to Broadway.

As funky as I had been feeling, in an instant, it can all turn around, like it did a few days ago, in the very same spot that this man lied down and died.....

I was walking home at night, and I passed a couple. The man was pretty young, and was using a song to illustrate his point. He said:

"New York, New York, helluva town...."

and INSTINCTUALLY, without even thinking about it, I replied:

"The Bronx is up and the Battery's down..."

and there I was. I was back. That uncontrollable grin on my face...who am I??? But the guy laughed and looked at his girlfriend and said, "See?!"

:(

For the first time since all this drama started happening in the lives of my friends, I'm really allowing it to affect me. It's my last full day in Vegas-- a trip I planned to celebrate the wedding of one friend and support another for the birth of her first child (during a very difficult time.)

Well, I haven't mentioned it, but the groom called off the wedding (that was to have been this past Saturday evening) last Tuesday and it looks as though I will leave Vegas tomorrow still having not met Tigerlily. I'm feeling so... useless. Or thwarted. The same kind of powerless frustration to affect ANY kind of positive change on a situation I've felt a majority of my life.

I didn't even see my dad on this trip.

And the idea that this wedding and baby trip would end with no wedding and no baby just makes me want to cry.

thanks a million, corinne!

Super fantastic thanks to my dear friend, Corinne who was so kind as to solve my on-going problem of not having any photos of myself I can use for professional purposes. She's the greatest! (And she donates 30% of all her session fees to charity-- what a gem!) It was really windy, so my hair looks maniacal in almost all of the pictures. hahaha.

I'm still in Vegas anxiously awaiting a baby, but I'll be back writing for real soon enough! xo

home sweet vegas

My view on this beautiful Vegas morning. So happy to be here, driving around with the sun roof down up Sunset, me and Emily hollering at dudes in a tricked out van. And spending time on Mother's Day with one of the only people that genuinely makes me feel like I want to celebrate Mother's Day... Adi Mommy. Emily's mom is easily the best and most accessible mother figure I've ever had. And today, I'm thankful for her.

Last night, we read our cards: everyone's...Emily's, Mike's, Adi's, mine, Tiger Lily's.... they were very thought provoking. We talked about what Tiger Lily's middle name would be on our walk. I think she's coming tomorrow. Everytime I think, "Tiger Lily is coming tomorrow," the wind picks up.

tigerlily

I'm off to meet her tomorrow! Emily isn't in labor yet or anything, but we've got 5 days for her to decide to come on out and say hello to all the people who love her. I'm predicting Monday. I hope she's been listening to my thoughts.

Not just anyone could get away with naming their child Tigerlily (TL) (I think it's such a cool-girl name by the way) but Emily sure can! She's had this as her daughter's name for years before TL was even close to being conceived. She'd always follow it up with, "...and I'm going to dress her only in costumes. Exclusively costumes."

I feel like I already know what her personality will be like... mellow, stealthy sense of humor, feisty when necessary and extremely loyal. I think she'll be really artsy and will super super love her eccentric Auntie Ryann.

For more on Emily and TL, you might enjoy this entry

we feel fine

Do you know of www.wefeelfine.org? I've been obsessed with this website for 3 or 4 years...back to my most demeaning job of all time-- when I was a receptionist for a children's television company. They treated me kinda like an idiot while I was translating the Japanese business deals for one of the VPs. Yeah, it was a low point.

But when your job doesn't require much of you, it means you can start writing musicals while you're there (VOTE), research the limited PhD opportunities in Scotland (or anywhere) in creative writing. Funny where things are born.

It also gives you lots of time to truly get lost on the internet. Which is what I did with the phenomenal, truly modern multi-media artist, Jonathan Harris.

All his stuff his amazing, but I used to spend ages on here, looking at the feelings pulled from blogs all across the world. In some ways, the process is more like computer science than art (essentially, it's large scale blog analysis) but the results are nothing short of luminous.

I could isolate by my area, my age group, my gender. It felt a bit like poetry and looked an awful lot like art. Especially the photo montage area that pulled photos from blogs with the feeling or a phrase posted on it. No matter what, they always seem to be inspired. Ironic or hilarious or touching. There's also the ability to email that image as a postcard to people. Beautiful.

It's also a kind of fellowship. To see who is feeling what you're feeling. And a kind of hurt to see how many days I would check the site and see the most common feeling was "abandoned."

Part of Jonathan's bio goes a little something like this: Combining elements of computer science, anthropology, visual art and storytelling, Jonathan Harris designs systems to explore and explain the human world. He has made projects about human emotion,human desire, modern mythology, science, news, anonymity and language, and created the world's largest time capsule, which was translated into 10 languages.


I mean, who is this guy, right? But it seems to me that his work is just one more really brilliant way to experience appreciation for the day to day.

It's kind of been one of my New York goals to meet him. He gives amazing lectures too. So check out We Feel Fine, which was recently made into a beautiful hardcover book. I also recommend love-lines.

Story telling. Amen, brother.

More story telling after the jump...

plastic surgery

If you hang around me long enough, you'll probably hear me rant about plastic surgery. Or more specifically, boob jobs. And while this video is a genuinely disturbing demonstration of some sad self esteem type things, here is one of my biggest issues with plastic surgery: it's not fair.

I know what you're thinking-- Ryann, you have great boobs (why thank you!) why ever would you care about boobs??

It's not fair.

That's right. I said it. I got the boobs-- me. That's what I got. That's my little genetic flourish. You got something too! You got those legs or perfect skin or no bags under your eyes... depending on who you are. But me (and all the other well-endowed ladies) we got boobs.

It disrupts the balance of power when you can pay for yours. Because there's no surgery that make me 5'10 or speed up my metabolism. Not gonna happen. You can get what I have, but I can't get what you have.

Here's why else it's not only unfair, but disturbing-- building femmebots gives men an incorrect idea about what they should expect from women physically. It creates in their already spoiled and reckless brains the idea that women are supposed to look like that. And that they come a dime a dozen. There will always be another one. I get that men like boobs (supposedly). But I've noticed in the last several years, that men are so used to fake big boobs, they actually prefer them to real ones. I heard an actual friend of mine say, "I think real boobs look weird. I only like the way fake ones look..."

???

My comments on plastic surgery are by no means the best or the first on the subject, but they're mine. Just like my boobs. So back off, ladies. :)

That's all she ever thinks about; Riding with the wind

Tonight, I was reminded a lot of people who aren't with us anymore. It was Erin's going away party (and of course grad school is certainly a more benign "not with us anymore.") But we were at Arctica Bar and Dion & Pete played. Then their friend, Tucker, who was a fantastic guitar player. Back to back, he played two songs that both make me think of funerals. By missing those people, all the people came flooding into my mind.  


First, he played "Little Wing" which will forever and always remind me of my dear friend Gia's mother's funeral, when we were 22. I remember literally every single thing about that day. It was August, it was really hot and dry and blazingly sunny (like always- it was Vegas.) Everyone was squinting. And crying. It was a bad day for eyes. We were at a huge Catholic church and it felt like there were about three thousand people there. All Kathleen's sisters and extended Italian family.


The whole thing never seemed real. It came out of no where. Kathleen was so young and so pretty and was engaged to be married to a great guy that it had taken her a long time to find after she and Gia's dad divorced. Then, all of a sudden, on a desert road near their house, her Escalade flipped and it was all over.  

I remember that this was the first time I ever felt like I knew what I should do in regards to someone else's tragedy. What do you do with someone else's tragedy? I've been on the other end, for sure, and seen really great friends be at a total loss. So often, what starts as an attempt to comfort and "be there" for the grieving person only leads to the grieving person having to be there for the other person. It becomes about the wrong person.
But this day, this one day, I finally felt like I knew what I should do. Not say anything unless asked, and not call attention to myself as "someone to lean on." I said this one thing to Gia: "I'm going to be no farther away than 5 feet from you at all times today. I'm not going to say anything or buzz around you, like I know is going to happen. I'm not going to offer you food or advice or scripture. I'm just going to let you know that if you need me, I'll be no farther away than 5 feet."
The moment in the day when everyone really broke down (there were several almosts, but this was really the climax) was after the last speech of Kathleen's fiance and it lead right into this video montage of her with "Little Wing."
Just...
"Little Wing" is a truly perfect example of not over-writing lyrics. That with very few words and images, if they're that good, you hardly need anything.

Well she's walking through the clouds 
 With a circus mind that's running round 
 Butterflies and zebras 
 And moonbeams and fairy tales 
 That's all she ever thinks about 
 Riding with the wind. 


 When I'm sad, she comes to me 
 With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free 
 It's alright she says it's alright 
 Take anything you want from me, Anything. 


 Fly on little wing

Lullabys, Legends & Lies

I’m a big fan of cross-overs—something-slash-something else (I guess probably with the exception of model/actress—bleh--) and favorites from different genres collaborating.

I even have a whole diatribe about Grace Kelly. Some clueless kid in college once said to me, “I don’t get why everyone was so obsessed with Grace Kelly. I don’t get what the big deal is…” At which time I cut him off, “DON’T SEE WHAT THE BIG DEAL IS?!? She is the only person...ever... to achieve the conjoining of the two most sacred things a young girl can dream about—she was a movie star AND a princess! (!!!) A movie star AND!  a princess… ??”

I digress.

My point is, taking something amazing in its own right and adding another artistic element to it whips me into a giddy frenzy. My writing partner did a musical composition in college based on Keats’ La Belle Dame Sans Merci… and you can bet that it’s right up my alley.

Shel Silverstein, in addition to being a spooky-cool mysterious poet (whom I fawned over as a child), was also a song-writer (just to name a few of the things he was). He actually wrote the Johnny Cash hit, “Boy Named Sue" which I had forgotten about until today when my Cash greatest hits vinyl arrived at my office. Then, serendipitously, John Lundberg, via the Huffington Post discussed a new album from Sugar Hill Records featuring Shel Silverstein covers.

“Twistable, Turnable Man” features some of my favorites, like Lucinda Williams, Nanci Griffith and (sigh) Kris Kristofferson (also wrote for Johnny Cash), as well as a some other folks I’m not hip or indie enough to be well versed in.  

Just listening to a few clips, I remember reading Shel Silverstein late at night when I couldn’t sleep-- feeling  ghosty and haunted.  The feeling that, not only was my house haunted at night, but that I might even be the ghost.

It’s almost like Shel’s stories were the beginnings of an idea which I’m still working on, writing about, and writing through—my idea of urban magical realism (perhaps one day I’ll elaborate or post my college thesis about it here). Or suburban magical realism. At the very least, small, cold coastal town magical realism. A spooky amplification of ordinary life.

Finally, I’d like to say thank you to Shel Silverstein, who, as I’m re-reading some of his stuff now, I feel fairly confident is how I derived my sense of rhythm. I suppose Steven would be the best authority on how I tend to pace lyrics, but even just looking at this little snippet, I think: “Oooh, that’s the kind of thing that just makes me melt.”

And I can say that there are no moments in which I feel more satisfied with myself than when I put all the pieces I want into some lyrics, and they become something whole. Something that makes me think, “Oooh,” like I didn’t even write it.

"Lullabys, Legends and Lies"

Gather round fellows I'll tell you some tales about murder and blueberry pies
And heroes and hells and bottomless wells and lullabys legends and lies
And gather round ladies come sit at my feet I'll sing about warm sunny skies
There's mermaids and beans and lovin' machines in my lullabys legends and lies

"Twistable, Turnable Man" Available June 8th. (You know what else is available June 8th??)

a new orleans point of view

Watching Treme, and hearing stories from friends still living in the area, I've spent a lot of time thinking about New Orleans. One of the things that made me love Rice so much, even after I had graduated, was the wonderful & gracious way they accepted all Tulane students, no questions asked, full transfer credits into Rice. I felt proud to be a Rice grad. 

A fellow Rice grad (and Cronin's creative writing class cohort) Lamar White reminded me tonight that John Goodman's character in Treme is not only fully quoting the late fantastic blogger, Ashley Morris, in tonight's episode, but that the entire character is based on him. I seriously recommend reading Ashley Morris as well as my excellent friend Lamar. When I miss workshopping his short stories, I go read about his wacky capers on his website and feel better :)

For another point of view on New Orleans, I'm including some wonderful shots by the exceedingly talented, Corinne, who finally got her professional photography site up-- don't swarm her all at once, but her stuff is (clearly) amazing and not only is she economical, but she donates 30% of her profits to charities. 

I'll be back tomorrow with more theories on the universe. 

new music friends

Happy Sunday! I'm working on some blog posts, but for this lovely afternoon, here's some new music. My new friends Grant & Mike of 6th Street. I went to their show last night & had a total blast. They have a great rapport with each other, which is always a delight in a live show. Not to mention, they're named in honor of a great place in a great city, where they went to school, the lovely Austin, Texas. And I always love some fellow surrogate Texans. Good times, ya'll. Enjoy!

Sponge-y

S ince I talked about VOTE! yesterday, I thought it was funny to see the first real time I talked about it in my old blog. So I've excerpted it here...man, I really used to be on fire. A part of me misses that. Another part of me is happy to be mellowed out (a little. I mean, I'm pretty sure most people would still put me more on the manic end of the spectrum than the mellow end).

Orginally dated December 4, 2007

What can I say, except that the line between feeling dried out and utterly saturated is very very thin.

More and more, I am channeling my energy, recycling exhaustion back into energy, but all in a chase of the three things I have chased my whole life... to inspire people with Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, to see my work on a Broadway stage and to encounter the kind of love that the mere idea of it makes us both want to be the best people we can be.
All of these things have been happening in various degrees all my life, but now...now is really the crucial phase.

Each day, I feel it move the earth more, rumbling below the surface. I feel it shake the way things have been, the way the subway shakes the foundation of my building.
 A guess a little explanation: I feel like I work with every waking and sleeping moment of my life. It is absolutely paying off...and when I think about where I was one year ago, it seems like a cut to another movie.

For anyone who could somehow not know, I work on Broadway all day and I write musicals too.
 A producer I used to work with asked me for my project, which is called VOTE!

From there, the big word seemed to be inertia, or I guess momentum, because inertia suggests a certain powerlessness, but the word is certainly true in the sense that a lot of the great things with this project have seemed to catapult themselves simply by their own weight. Sometimes I felt like I was pushing (indeed, I work until 2 AM, I work all day in my mind on it. I always always working), but mostly, I feel like I made some extremely correct decisions, aided by the wisdom, support, and fearlessness of my father and the weight of the material-- without a DOUBT the weight of my life condition; the weight of my daimoku and prayer-- propelled them in the direction I wanted to go.

I know things are really moving when I feel everything. When everything makes me want to cry-- Legally Blonde even!-- when my skin feels as tender as a peach. And every letting go and pushing forward, every song, every strike and strike's end has made me long for the first moment I could get myself to my room, all seafoam and white and fresh, to cry.
With things in my life so poised for triumph, it makes the missing of people sharper. Everyone really. Everyone I've lost and not lost, the ones I can't lose and the ones who just can't be here. I feel them there too and...every once in while, if someone tells the right joke, I can hear them laugh, and it breaks my heart that they aren't there for the perfect moment I'm having.

My mind has always spun, and I have often been prone to spinning out of control with it. But more and more, no matter how little sleep I've gotten, when I can wake myself up, as early as I can, to chant Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, the more I feel the words of Nichiren are true: "summon deep faith that Nam Myoho Renge Kyo IS YOUR LIFE ITSELF."

And I experience boundless joy in the law. And even when I feel self-conscious, as though I am reaching past my capabilities, I try to remember that the wise will (Always!) rejoice, while the foolish will retreat.

By challenging my life, these past few months, I have met some of the greatest people in my life so far...some people who redefined my standards, some people who made me understand why the standard I made was worthy of being the standard in the first place, some people who reminded me that I might NOT be an alien after all, people who SELL it, all the time, in great and sincere ways, people who've helped me sell it. Lots of new people. People with joyous, travelling spirits, people who reminded me of random Nevada pride, and Georgia pride, and taught me about Alaska, and planes-- both real and invented. A new person named Charlie Woffinden was born, and even though new, he was one reminder in a daily stream of reminders how much I love the ones who are still around: my heroes- Erin and Emily and Lauren and Texy and my friends from when I first moved here.

In my chase to understand what people say and what they do-- to understand the hearts of others-- my pursuit of dreams, of family, of changing the world, I am in the Second Act. I am both mentor and disciple all the time. A sponge, sometimes dry as bone with nothing to give that day. But mostly, saturated with all that I feel. So full you could wring me out.

And ready. Ready for what's next. For what I deserve. Ready to work. Ready to meet the next great love . Ready to welcome back the old. Always.
Ready to listen to music and to write it. Ready to sing it and to sing it with you.
Ready to talk about anything with you. Who will win the election, my musical, your boyfriend, the best hair products, love, the Saha World, Buddhahood, and the Human Revolution.

And finally, I want to say this: "When we find something important enough that we are not willing to lose it; when we can say that pursuing or keeping this makes us want to be a better person-- that is the moment when Human Revolution begins."

I know the exact day that happened in my life. July 31, 1999. 

But the inertia and momentum of that moment has served as a model for my human revolution in every instance.
While so often I may be like a sponge, my determination? Never. Never dries out. Never saturates.

Earthly desires are enlightenment.

Opinions Are Like...

"If a woman writes about herself, she’s a narcissist. If a man does the same, he’s describing the human condition. But people seem to evaluate your work based on how much they relate to it, so it’s like, well, who’s the narcissist?" 
-- Emily Gould, via Curtis Sittenfield, New York Magazine

One of the things I find odd about being a writer is that people think just because you’re putting it out there, that you’re asking for people’s opinions. I can tell you right now, I read/see/watch a lot of artistic work where a writer is involved and NEVER EVER did I feel I had the authority to personally critic the writer to his or her face. Or even really express them in a public forum. I tend to get very upset when anything is dismissed as “terrible” or “amazing” as a whole, particularly without specifying why, which parts, what about it. Because typically, what  “amazing” or  “terrible” really means is “I liked it,” or “I did not like it.”

Which is to say, we’ve built a certain amount of (to me, nauseating) arrogance into our own opinions (of which, certainly, I have many.) As though we are the standard bearers of taste. So I try to be at least constructive in my opinions about what didn’t work for me.

The ability to comment on things on the internet has made everyone a critic.

No such time was this MORE evident than this past summer, when Steven & I premiered our musical, VOTE!, at the Minetta Lane theatre downtown as part of FringeNYC. They put us in this massive theatre, we had an uber-professional cast, a great website and marketing campaign (it is, after all what I do for a living.) But behind the front we put up, it was still just me and Steven and all the lovely folks we could get to help us for next to nothing.

So while the public seemed to think we were some ready-to-go big guy musical, we were, like everyone else, just a musical in development. My company is not called littlewow productions for nothing. It’s just me, running my little empire from my computer (command center alpha).

I read a great article in New York Magazine this week about a pair of “controversial” female blogger/authors Emily Gould & Meghan Daum. Think what you want about them, or whether the points they make actually apply to them personally, but I think the points they address are valid. Particularly when it comes to the public commentary that arises from people’s writing—especially if it’s in any way personal. Gould said, “Or if you write about personal experiences, it’s like people think you want advice about how to live, like you’re holding a public referendum. Recently I read reactions to Sandra Tsing Loh’s Atlantic essay, “On Being a Bad Mother,” and some of the comments were cowardly, bullying, and also weirdly normative and conservative. What on Earth gives people commenting on a blog under aliases the right to judge Sandra Tsing Loh’s parenting skills?”

Here’s the deal—at least with me—and writing: While I am not ruling out a conversation, (Indeed, some of the best things blogs and other pieces of writing have ever done is build a sense of community and dialogue around issues) I don’t write for that reason. I write because I literally cannot stop myself. I don’t do it for your consideration, approval, pity or empathy. Particularly from “people commenting on a blog under aliases.”

Now, I mean this more when it comes to non-internet based endeavors. (On this blog, I most certainly welcome commentary—though it is odd how when I talk about relationships, people seem to want to console me, write to me and tell me that one day, I’ll find the right person—which is certainly not the intent of my discussing relationships at all.)

What I mean when I say non-internet based endeavors is my theatrical works. Sure, we use the internet as a conduit to spread our work to people who wouldn’t normally be able to see it. But it’s not based in the internet, (like a blog) it’s based on the stage. Yet, people use the internet to completely trash things while they’re being developed.

Other than blogs (which are still relatively complete by the time you post them—it’s not like each word you type appears in real time on your blog as you’re typing it) I can think of no other artistic medium that is subjected to criticism so intensely by the public WHILE it’s being developed. Think about if you had post on the internet for everyone to see each chapter of your new novel for every bored/entitled/perhaps well-intentioned, but (probably) ultimately unqualified person to evaluate.

That’s insane. And damaging to the artistic process if you ask me.

Artists create because they HAVE TO…not because they want to know what you think about it. Unless they ask you, in which case, by all means. I do write for fellowship in some way (ah, fellowship, one of my favorite words!) But here's the thing-- if I DON'T LIKE a piece of work, I walk away and leave it alone. I don't call it "AWFUL," I don't go online and smear it, say it's terrible, talk about the writer personally or call them untalented. Who has that kind of energy to spend so much time getting pissed off about what they don't like. I'd rather spend hours and hours articulating what I found AMAZING or what I did like about a piece and why I liked it. If there's something that didn't work for me and I can't walk away, I think of fellowship and try to come up with a great solution using the resources the piece already has available. 

I don't root for anything to fail. Only that the really good stuff be duly rewarded, and that everybody works hard together on the way up and learns a lot. And that's why I like everybody. At least a little bit. 

photo lovingly stolen from one of the most fantastic art people I know, Corinne

the real world

"The real world isn't a place, it's an excuse. It's a justification for not trying. It has nothing to do with you." 


-- from Re-Work, a book I'm not sure I like yet, by Jason Fried & David Heinemeier Hansson

and I don't even get a free subscription...

Meet Mrs. William McManus, a Vogue fashion editor. She sits on a train, alternating her reading material between a book and a newspaper, in this portrait by Leombruno-Bodi, which appeared the April 15, 1955, Vogue. She wears a long overcoat with piped trim, a small cloche hat, and slightly oversize sunglasses. Punctuating her elegance is an intent expression, making this work not only a historic photograph but also a true study in style.

It's kind of amazing how things can perpetuate themselves on the internet. One inaccurate citation or reference from an official source, then unofficial sources start citing that, another source will link back and link back and link back. All to something incorrect.


Where I'm going with this is a bit of investigative journalism I did when a google search for my great aunt, the staunch & all business Editor of Vogue Magazine from 1952-1963, Jessica Daves, yielded numerous photos of her as a kind of Grace Kelly look-alike model. There are very few pictures of Jessica Daves (or Aunt E/Ainee, as she was known in our family, although no one can seem to remember why). She was no frills.  She was an editor and business woman, not a style icon.


Which is why I was truly shocked that the above woman was shown over and over again as my aunt (because, in truth, Jessica Daves looked more like Coco Chanel than she did Grace Kelly.) Don't get me wrong, I would be honored for this gorgeous, glamorous, well-dressed woman to be my relation...it's just that she isn't.


Nevertheless, for many months now, I have been trying to get to the bottom of this. For a moment, I thought perhaps I was wrong. All the pictures I had ever seen of Ainee were from when she was older. Perhaps, she really had been a dish in her youth. But they kept saying she had married a Mr. McManus. Uncle Robert's last name was Parker. But... maybe she had been married twice and we just didn't know it.

Mrs. William H. McManus (née Jessica Daves) dances with a gentleman companion in this delightfully romantic photograph. The Vogue editor wears a full-length organdy ball gown, with a pleated skirt and fascia top. She finishes the look with a rhinestone necklace and earrings, and dramatically long gloves. Roger Prigent's photograph appeared in the April 15, 1952, Vogue.

So I kept digging and finally found even more photos identifying this woman as Mrs. McManus (nee' Jessica Daves) Editor in Chief of Vogue Magazine in the Conde Nast Photo Archives!

Who was William H. McManus? Certainly not my uncle, Robert. McManus, as it turns out, was one of the co-founders of JC Penney. And this may be his wife, & she may have even actually been named Jessica Daves (surprisingly little biographical info on McManus, actually) and this woman may have even been some kind of fashion editor at Vogue. But she isn't Jessica Hopkins Daves, granddaughter of the founder/first president of Georgia Tech, from Cartersville, GA--that's for sure. 

Somehow, Conde Nast, followed by a whole heap of blogs, has rewritten history a bit, albeit for the more glamorous. I wish there were more available information about a super great lady who called Coco Chanel & Yves St. Laurent as her two best friends. There are a few articles that I know I have somewhere in my archives of family history (I've always been the family historian-- it started with my first novel, and I subsequently made my grandmother trek me across the entirety of Georgia). If I can find them & dig them out, I'll scan them. My favorite picture is of her at some awards dinner with Yves on one side and Coco on the other. Amazing. But in the mean time, this will have to do. 

Yes, in real life, she was married to novelist Robert Allerton Parker & owned an amazing Park Avenue home that we somehow sold at the worst possible time (the 70's!) much to the chagrin of my cousin Lindsey and me. She wrote & was editor to several books including the massive The World In Vogue & Ready-Made Miracle. She had no children and she died in 1974. She's buried next to Uncle Robert in the Oak Hill Cemetery in Bartow County, Georgia. 


And though she built an empire, shored up Vogue's finances & did what had to be done without much concern for being  fabulous, mostly people just talk about Diana Vreeland. 


But I am proud to be her relative, even if she wasn't a Grace Kelly. It's an interesting phenomenon, our need to romanticize our past, our role models-- especially our female role models. And I sure hope all this perpetuating of her as a model model isn't some way to re-write history to help her fit into the mold of other editors who hid behind huge sunglasses. In fact, I feel certain Ainee never hid behind anything in her life. She was the one who always said, "Don't worry about what the dress code for an event is. If you wear a hat, a hat is the dress code. If you are casual, the dress code is casual. What you're wearing is what everyone else should be wearing."

fences

"Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength." 
— August Wilson