gypsycarol

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Watching The River, a Renoir movie from the 50s, a movie I picked up at Scarecrow Video, I realized the world, and myself, had drastically changed. Why did I ever like it, I wonder? This time around it struck me as irritating and racist. The Indians are pretty much props to the central story. I am left wondering, after the white boy is killed by a snake, what happened to the little boy who was his Indian friend. This movie was done by a Frenchman; I always expect the French to be astute, philosophical, broad-minded. I would bet that was the case, for Jean Renoir, and the way The River seemed to me at the time. Times do change.
My brain is not wired for computers and I have a twitchy eye. Last week, grandson Marcus created my blog. My web site took more steps; granddaughter Elicia did the CD, a chap I paid signed me up with godaddy, and, after that, a sweet young man from upstairs with baby Connor on his lap finally got it up and running. A friend, my masseuse Patricia, managed to make the flyers for my book talk next month. My son Colin showed me how to put some Gypsy pictures on a thumb drive; pictures will add imagery to my talk. I have never felt more helpless, and now I find my own egocentric face in the "friend" category on my blog. How did I do that? Can I take it out?

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Born in Spokane, Washington, the first decade of my life I lived downtown in the hotel my father managed. There, my friends were retired musicians, artists, dancers, and I even had trendy lessons in elocution. We moved to a tough urban neighborhood and then to a house in the suburbs where there was a swimming pool and places to ride a bicycle. School bored me and my grades were mediocre, until I began at the University of Idaho. At seventeen, I found I loved learning – I had always read – the Friday afternoon beer fests, and joined Alpha Chi Omega. I married, had two children, divorced, and, with a passion to understand people, what they are like, how they behave, and why. I went to graduate school at the University of Washington in anthropology. In Seattle, I met the inimitable Lola and began fieldwork with the Machvaia Roma. An elusive people, they piqued my curiosity. I dove into their world and became the Outsider/Insider. They called me The Djuhli. Recent publications? Lola’s Luck: My Life Among the California Gypsies and the Church of Cheese: Gypsy Ritual in the American Heyday.

Now I live again in Seattle near my family and far from Gypsies. For forty years, studying, living with, writing about the Machvaia Roma was my mission. Although I still feel part Machvanka, nearly all my dearest friends have moved along to the Other Side and, to get the Gypsy news, I must phone their children and grandchildren.

Several mornings a week I do aerobics at the local YMCA, row there on occasion with one sister, visit the Asian Art Museum with another, walk at the nearby zoo, Green Lake, or in the new habitat restoration wetlands at Magnuson Park, drive my at-work son crazy with questions about computer glitches, read The New Yorker cover to cover, shop the Coop every Tuesday for organic produce with my daughter, check out used DVDs for sale at Scarecrow – I like French movies – and work the crosswords in the NY Times.

Machvaia rituals, beliefs, and the cultural supports that kept them together are eroding. After generations in American society they have lost many of their traditions and knowledge of their past. It is my wish to preserve their history and help bridge the gap between the two worlds. They have entrusted me with their friendship, and I honor them the best way that I know how- by telling their stories. I hope those who read my blog will share some of my fascination for the people I studied and gain a modicum of compassionate regard for the Gypsies among us.