Characters Who Insprie: From Baby to Burlesque

How One Performer Manages Motherhood & Strip-Tease

 BY: Ashley Gallagher

Published 31 December 2013

As I walked into the house, I was welcomed by four Burlesque performers designing shot glasses for their VIPs who would be attending their upcoming show. The women sat around a card table and the lead was a smiling red-head who calls herself Lady Borgia.

She offered me an exercise ball, a glass of boxed wine and invited me to sit while they finished decorating and brainstormed for their show. Her home is a small apartment, decorated with pin-up models on signs, a recycled Pampers box holding shot glasses waiting to be decorated and a mannequin in the corner near her sewing table. It was draped by a sequined green dress in progress and blocked off by a baby gate.

Her home was split almost in half: toys and burlesque, her passions, her creations.

Borgia's son was asleep in the other room while the other girls were giddy with ideas, demonstrating dance steps, debating colors and what they would use for "pasties," a small prop they would decorate the nipples on their breasts with. They laughed and joked and talked about their introduction to Burlesque. Borgia smiled slyly when I asked her about her first show. She was bartender, she said. She took interest in a group called Hell On Heels, and frankly, she joked, "Every girl dreams of being a stripper at some point."

But Burlesque isn't just stripping, even though it plays an important role in the show. Rather it encompasses artistic planning, very often, retro music choices dating back to the 1950s and women more interested in the design of their shoes and how they'll dance rather than when their clothes come off. They make their costumes, shop at Party City and make plans to rehearse for a big show, which isn't just a weekend gig or a nightly job.

Borgia's story, however, starts in 2005.

LADY BORGIA’S BEGINNINGS

After watching Hell On Heels at the bar she worked, the girls were eager to meet her, talk with her, show off and as Borgia puts it, she “pretty much got molested by one of them” from behind the bar. They invited her to a troupe a meeting, to hang out and learn more about what they do. Her first meeting, much like mine, included boxed wine and sparkles everywhere in a studio apartment of one the performers.

The meeting eventually lead to Borgia’s first performance.

Initially the show was planned in a casino on the Barona Speedway in California, but as it turned out, the stage was far from the glitz of a casino stage. Instead, the stage was a flatbed truck with slatted wood pieces. Being in heels that night, the girls realized it just wouldn’t work, and Borgia says, “my debut performance was in the dirt on the side of the racetrack.” She laughs remembering the sunset show.  

Nearly four years later, Lady Borgia felt her time with Hell on Heels was complete and she went on to perform solo, dancing and developing her own Burlesque style. She would eventually form the Keyhole Cabaret - which in 3 years has grown to be one of the most well known troupes in San Diego.

Borgia says she is proud of the girls who have come through her troupe and encourages their creativity. She wants them to reach for new experiences. She “sets the bar high” working and educating the women who join Keyhole Cabaret  and as a result has “had a lot of the performers that are now out there, producing their own shows, getting their own solo gigs.”

The process to produce a show takes great dedication and patience. While managing to work with 4 or 5 dancing girls at a time, Lady Borgia also sews her own stage outfits, prepares a number for the show and gets flyers out the public. She says the defining element of a burlesque is the “strip teasing.”

“Burlesque is still fantastic costumes, it’s still fantastic performance dance, but to me if you don’t take anything off you’re not doing burlesque.” For Borgia, the show is about women who are empowered, and being able to confidently show off without feeling like they’re “selling their body.” There’s a feminist quality to Burlesque, Borgia says, “there is absolutely nothing wrong with the naked female figure and form. You’re going to evoke emotion.” But she also realizes, some women who get up there “just want to be a stripper.”

Lady Borgia’s performances are often entwined with a comedic presentation and characters, but she maintains an elegant and sexy allure which keeps her audience attentive to her every move on stage.

Burlesque gives Borgia a place to feel like a princess. She tells me, “I don’t mean a princess as in tiara and pretty proper thing of tea princess, I get to be a friggin' princess on stage, I own that stage  it’s mine.”

BRINGING IN THE BABY

But just one year ago, the balance and process of putting on a show changed and the love of Lady Borgia’s life, Reilly Thomas was born. Red-headed, curious and happy, Borgia’s son greets her friends with enormous grin and Borgia switches gears from Burlesque producer to being a mom, trying to keep her son fed and occupied while she multi-tasks.

“I wasn’t going to stop performing,” Borgia says, “but prioritizing was kind of hard for me. Trying to figure out which direction do I run first, it’s my challenge.” From being forgetful, to answering phone calls to managing a theatre performance and being an “eclectic artist,” she admits it can be difficult to know how to divide time between Reilly and sewing rhinestones on a dress.  

“I have definitely had many moments of giving up, how in the world can I do this? I’m a single mom and sometimes you just realize, just feel like I’m way too tired after he goes to bed to pick up that needle.”

But Borgia says, it’s important to keep both passions as a primary part of her life. It became evident while she attended the Burlesque Hall of Fame’s performance competition just a few months ago in Las Vegas. Lady Borgia says the song number she submitted to get into the contest, Song for a Winter’s Night by Sarah McLachlan, was a song she choreographed not long after her son was born.  

“I created a number that, for me, was really passionate as far as feeling the completeness of my womanhood, becoming a mother and getting back up on that stage, owning my body with all the new changes, it was a very ethereal,” Borgia smiles sheepishly - the fierce determination in her face softens. Her son now inspires her performances.

Lady Borgia is balancing her son into the Burlesque part of her life and it’s reflected everywhere in her home, “the entire bottom 3 feet of my house no longer belongs to me.” Her eyes light up and she laughs pointing out the toy box next to the fireplace and the toys cluttering a mannequin head covered with flowers on the mantle. The bottom part of her book shelf is all baby books while hers sit above. She explains her working area, closed off by the baby gate, she says, “mommy gets caged into her sewing area and my son gets free reign of the rest of the house.”

She loves having Reilly exposed to her artistic life,  she says she doesn’t see the need to “protect” him from the world of Burlesque, “He’s going to grow up surrounded by gorgeous women wearing fishnet stockings and sparkly heels!” In fact, she regularly catches him teething on her sparkly heels and he loves rummaging through her closet and trying to pull down feathers and dresses. Her world is his.

PUTTING ON THE SHOW

As the show gets closer, Lady Borgia ended up in a car accident while heading the fabric store. Realizing it would limit her performance, she opted not to dance in Keyhole Cabaret’s show. She admits it was a “very hard decision,” because she knows her fans expect her to perform, but with bruises and back-aches, she says, “the show can go on without me being in the spotlight.” The women of Keyhole Cabaret worked out a plan to fill Borgia’s performance spot and gave Lady Borgia the ability to step back and really produce the show, get feedback from their fans and evaluate their performances. The women of Keyhole Cabaret revere her. They take her advice seriously and give her support to put on a great show.

For Borgia, it’s a community, a family, even.

When the big night arrives, everyone rushes to the venue in costume to help set up tables, candle holders, truffles and decorations. The dressing room sits behind the bar in an overhead outdoor storage area. Brightly colored feathers, red lipstick and roses are spread out while the Burlesque performers prepare their numbers. Borgia gives them last minutes notes, lets them know when they’re going on and creates the seating chart for VIP guests. She prepares to introduce the show and slips on an elegant blue gown, complete with blue stones around her neck and a smile hiding the complications of her car accident.

She left Reilly at home, in the hands of a babysitter and with two other Burlesque children who know their mothers won’t return until well after midnight.

The show is a success, the crowds whistle and cheer the women on as they strip from their costumes, to their lingerie and eventually...their pasties and g-strings. Lady Borgia is proud of their performances and relieved when the night is over, ready for bed and ready to see her boy.  

Eventually, Borgia says she hopes to open her own Burlesque and cabaret club, have a green room for children whose mothers are performing and even travel overseas. But for now, with her son in tow, Lady Borgia will keep bringing strip tease to San Diego, sequence in place and rhinestones shining from her eyes.

Reunited: #OnTheRoad

On the road, once again*, a week from Colorado to New York, actually the Jersey shore. It was a pause in an exploding journey - and at every turn, I was able to take in every sunset. Heading for the East coast, there were moments it felt like the wrong direction. For so many cross country ventures, it is the West coast which has been my final destination, and it will be again. But for now, working in the big apple, and finding a firm place to sleep a commute away on the Atlantic is where I needed to be. Passion is a funny thing, it splits the parts of you to make you whole.

With few cities between Colorado and Kansas City, the ride is nothing more than stripped land with road to spare and patrol cops with nothing better to do. Nevertheless, I was on cruise control and destined for my first stop to spend an evening with a soul-sister and catch up over glasses of wine. And it would be a divine evening with blessed conversation. But until I got there, I had to avoid a nod off on the boring highway of nothingness. A little music, talk radio and finally, I cracked the window open for nothing but the sound and feel of fresh open air. It gave me room, time for intimate contemplation.

And as the sky's light dipped, the clouds and the illuminating color shown through the cracks in the sky. The nothingness of the Kansas road took on a new form. It would be the first of several such moments on my drive east.

It felt like a dream to drive after many months without 'Ol Baby Blue.' Having taken me from coast to coast many times, with room to spare in the back, I had missed the solitary moments she provided.

From Kansas City to Birmingham; I dipped south through Kentucky, and by the time the early winter nightfall came, I passed through the smokey Mountains of Tennessee. The smell in the air was a fresh scent of nature, and it was the home stretch. I would pick up my things, visit a dear friend, and as quickly as I arrived, would leave to finish the last leg of it all. Skid into Jersey, an apartment waiting and then off to work - I was moving fast, faster than I felt I had on road trips before. I had a destination and crisis I was solving and flying by the seat of my Jeep.

Feeling resilient, determined; I worked out a plan, one I know will change as I go, but it was inspiring. I was filled with ideas and silence. No social stigmas to entertain, not one update required, just the road and my head and my prayers, slipping from one state to the next in an effort to accomplish another great challenge of this epic story I live. I was grateful for each mile forward.

While I visited with a few dear souls along the way, there was plenty of time in between to step back, observe the world around me, appreciate the truck drivers I waved to when filling up for gas, taking time to pull off the road to admire the sun and the stars. 

The process of the road trip, even at the speed I felt I was flying seemed more important than it had before. Perhaps because I was breaking into something which would push me forward, perhaps because I felt confident to take on the challenges ahead, perhaps because I knew I was right where I needed to be for the moment or perhaps because my own traveling song was the one I was orchestrating. But no matter the reasons; the process existed and I was enjoying it's company, for once.
*trip: dec 2 - dec 6

Reverbarating Silence

I woke up to silence. A million thoughts racing through my head, but still the environment around me...silent. My body was calm. I didn't feel obligated to move quickly. The change was welcoming. Deserts aren't always geographical locations. Sometimes, deserts are a mental and professional dryness that seem to blow sand in your eyes the faster you move.

So as I lifted myself up, I took in the wave of quiet around me, embraced the cool floor beneath my feet and took a deep breath. A steaming shower would open my pores and wake me up. I fumbled to the bathroom and turned the knobs - really only the hot water. It was that kind of morning.

For a moment, I felt like a real person rather than a crazed scientist experimenting with my present state of navigating. Decisiveness was calling me to think clearly and the silence - was giving me a place to contemplate methodically. A necessary awakening.

Far from the stress of the city, among the fall leaves, in a cottage-house, there was a sense of completeness I would not have traded for convenience of the city subway. The city's charm had worn off and I needed a moment, a place to think. I was gifted with the small commodity on that morning. With no place to go, no straining obligation, I could meditate, focus and figure out the next step if there was one to be had.

As I stood soaking in the steam, a prayer of gratefulness slipped from my lips. I drank in some of the hot water, and swallowed. Process is a wretched thing but oh so necessary in the accomplishment or even the failure of anything.

November was just around the corner and winter was coming. As I reflected where I had been and where I was going and where I wanted to be, I was able to create options, even if they meant the one I wanted least. It was this acceptance which brought about rewarding opportunity, another risk, and another chance to make it alright.

But I wouldn't have known.
I wouldn't have experienced that moment...without the sound of reverberating, bellow echoing...
silence.

No Picture Posts, Just the Galaxy Please

I find divine moments most when I am unplugged.

And this month, I have taken the time to evaluate the world around me just a little more as I have taken a step back, a break, if you will, from the monstrous overtaking the becomes our society in social media: Facebook.

You see; Facebook is nothing more than an audience. Whether or not a person creates a 'fan' page, the very idea of FB itself invites the prospect of what hundreds of people think about you, about me, our status, our posts, our photos, our wall, our about sections, and it is not a graceful place, open to bullying, worrying about who said what when, and if anyone 'liked' anything we may have done. Frankly, it was all a little too much for me. For now, I do not need, nor want an audience.

Those closest to my soul find me outside the madness of Zuckerburg's creation and inside the precious position of humanness and it's grand Creator. While it may be true, I am not void of all social media outlets, I have removed myself from the largest of them and it has been a gratifying escape.

I am able to take time for own my insanity and adjustments. I am able to focus a little more those I wish to keep my focus on and I do not feel obligated to post an update for the world to see or hear. I find myself exploring in ways which are most important - with people - who deserve intimate attention and ultimately I find a place for which I explore my mind and heart as the seasons change once again for me.

There is something in discovering wholeness, divinity, wonder and exposure to creation through my God-given lens - rather than what someone else chooses for me. It becomes my eyesight, my point of view, the reality of the those who need, those who do not, those who would celebrate and those who would mourn. Unlike a post on FB, that friend of mine - I can see them, rather than the mask they display.

I can express my own and I can choose not to and I can find what is divine in *all* that is around me...

Time unplugged is quality time connected to what is most important. There is no stigma attached. There is no irony in this, there is only the truth. Facebook is about audience. For today, for now; I am stepped away from the spotlight - and in this beautiful amphitheater universe, I can see the galaxy and it is so vastly incredible. 

Special Report, Music Review: The Broken Stems

The first inclination I get listening to The Broken Stems, is to follow the dancing notes in my imagination, like Neo following the White Rabbit into the Matrix. The experience of the Stems is emotional and the instrumental impression makes you feel as if they're in the living room with you. The tone is an invitation to participate and find out what more they have to offer.

The Broken Stems rock the indie sounds to keep the listener groovin’. The bluesy-vocals by lead singer, Jesse Gawlik, create a salutary sound which draws the audience into the music. Whether live on a stage or blasting the tracks through your speakers, you're bound to fall head over heels for this band. Their upcoming album promises to provide listeners with delicate balance of dance steps and hip sway to keep you chasing the notes.

As the band has formed and shaped in the past year, coming from a variety of backgrounds, they’ve proven their ability to produce music that stands out from other San Diego bands by simply embracing their blues originality, despite having started - immersed in the reggae scene.

While their anticipated EP will only feature a fraction of their songs, it's undeniable the band's science of sounds are completely soul driven.  

Between the singing harmony of the keys and Gawlik's creative guitar, there's a trance-like lure. Still they often throw in the remnants of a reggae beat, like in the song “Lion’s Den” or “Antibots,” and they are able to lighten the mood, progressing from one state of mind to the next. The track, "Around the Bend," reflects some of the light reggae beats, but has been deeply salted with background vocals and smoother transitions. 

The song, “Just a Man,” the tone carries just the right mood for a classical rock swing. The hard drum beats demand attention and it’s worth adding to a retro-rock mix.In "Castles," one of the band's best new tracks on their coming EP, it takes the listener inside their own mind with self-reflective lyrics and steady beat followed by echoing keys drawing you into their rock and roll vibe.  

But then songs like, "Classico,” a complete instrumental song, shows off the texture of the band’s combined talent. It starts with an invitation from the keys, a modern classical, bringing in a low plucking of the guitar, adding just enough bass and drum to make the song sound completely improvised. The interlude is a gracious pause between the song’s impressive rock entertainment. 

The Broken Stems are stepping up and preparing to release an album that will surely electrify their fans and keep them coming back to shows for more. You’ll feel like you’ve taken the red pill for this one; the experience of the Stems is a realistic embrace of the new generation’s cultural attraction to blues-rock music. 

The band's summer performance at the Muir Fest in Ocean Beach and 710 Beach Club proved their ability to keep a crowd entertained. The Broken Stems will be releasing their first ever EP, We Are Home, October 26th at 710 Beach Club in Pacific Beach. Meantime, I recommend you check them out at http://brokenstems.com.

Exercise Review: Free Yoga (NYC)

http://www.yogaworks.com/

I fumbled through my bag for my keys. The young woman behind the counter seemed oblivious to my flustered ransacking but was gracious enough to wait for me. It was day 3 of a free yoga week. The first 2 days had kicked my ass and I was quite sure my back was only getting worse, nevertheless, I was sleeping so perhaps the aching was just a natural progression of working my body, pushing myself to the physical limits I needed. I picked a slightly slower class, asked the girl where the locker room was, and dashed to get in, barely on time and still a few minutes behind. 

Having been through a dry spell and my back painfully belly-aching, I decided it was time to find a studio. So after a thorough New York search and online review session, I found Yoga-Works. With expansive descriptions of each class, I decided it would be a good fit. Some of the locations even had showers, which proved useful when I needed to run off to a meeting afterwards. 

The studios offered a free week, but usually only to New York residents, and it took a little convincing I would be in town longer than a week and really needed the practice. They allowed me to sign up. While my stay in the big city is to be determined, with multiple locations around the US, they probably felt they could hook me into a membership. It's not something I'm ready to sign up for, but that's okay. This week was a trial week and the therapy was needed. 

There was always that moment when I would reach my fingertips above my head, feel the tingling and sit slowly into a chair pose, I thought, I can do this, I must do this - for me. Deep breath in, deep breath released. Hands folded down, feet stepped back, sinking into upward dog, then downward and preparing for Warrior-2. Focusing on my movement and each muscle stretch, I worked out how spine lengthened along with the varying positions. When finally retreated on my back, the hard straight wood floor felt to be the most comfortable place I have been in lately. It was a need more than a want and it was the most calm satisfying space, particularly in the overwhelming monstrosity of the city.

The instructors are patient and willing to allow students to adjust as necessary - though I admit, I wish they had been more hands on with physical adjustments. I appreciate when an instructor positions me exactly - it ensures I'm getting the full experience of the stance. Some of the instructors seemed too hesitant to touch anyone, though the last instructor I had was super fun and very interested in making sure students got the full experience of the practice. Each class also opened up with 'Oms,' and I admit, I'm not a fan of Om and usually just take another deep breath. Being a little more athletic, I am more accustomed to the 'Core Power Yoga' style practice than getting in touch with a Yogi Monastery. 

BUT that did not deter me from engaging in the physical flow of the Vinyasa classes and gaining the benefit from each instructor to help me adjust my body, feeling the lengthening in my spine and muscles. Overall, I was pleased with Yoga-Works and would recommend it to anyone looking for a week while traveling and needing that extra space to block out the daily distractions, focusing body, soul and mind on the one thing that counts: You. 

Malala - Bravest Girl In the World

The Daily Show

Writing lately seems to come harder than it has in the past. Maybe it's because I feel so uninspired. And last week - the most incredible girl in the world inspired me and now, I just can't seem to put it into words.

You know whom I am speaking of…Malala Yousafzai She came to the US, blowing us all away, only a year after being targeted by the Taliban in Pakistan, nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize (which I believe she should have received). She's recovered, healed and she won't stand down. She keeps speaking out on the importance of education, women and she attributes her own miracle to the heavens above. Malala is truly remarkable. Her young 16-years of life is a testament to the meaning of 'true heroism.'

But I fear many Americans, in particular, are missing her message.

You see, while many praise her efforts, they disregard what she truly represents, what it means to love your enemy as yourself, what it means to believe so strongly in something – that no matter the cost, she’ll keep her head up even when her critics would rather see her dead, what it means to represent her faith and most of all, what it means to be a woman and powerful.

One year ago, she was the target of a terrorist attack. Malala defied them. She survived. She wrote a book. And she would do it again, she says, the Taliban need to be educated too. Despite the moments when she would rather throw a shoe, instead she tells us, "I’ll tell him how important education is, and that I even want education for your children as well. And I would tell him, ‘That’s what I want to tell you, now do what you want."

Her ambition is become the Prime Minister of Pakistan, and the Pakistan People’s Party, the same part that backed Benezir Bhutto, has voiced their support. And I think she’ll do it too.

But while she’s changing hearts and minds, dropping Jon Stewart’s jaw and giving Christiane Amanpour a reason to smile non-stop, I believe there are too many Americans who just missing it.

Malala is faithful to her beliefs, she denounces that extremists are any representation of her faith and she believes women are more powerful than men. Her life is evident of a message Americans brag they live and breathe and believe, but they are yet to practice it.

"Persecution" has become the normal cry here, fear of a belief system, suing for defamation and fussing over which group is the most prejudice, violent or who spews more hatred. Isn’t time we let the 16-year Muslim girl humble us all?

I don't know everything in this world. But this I know, friends, we can no longer spew hatred for our Muslim brothers and sisters. God is proving his purpose and his plan for her life - and one - we all need to emulate. We don't have to agree on theology, that's okay. But if we are to be followers of true freedom and love, then we cannot dismiss the message we claim the Gospels preach. It was truly radical. Friends, are you radical enough?

Are you radical enough to receive those less fortunate than you? Are you radical enough to live with less, believe in more.

I see a woman like Malala take over the world by standing against evil with peace. Just as incredible as she is, her father stands behind her, her cause and what she believes in. He lets her lead the way and gives her the courage she needs to face the days, I guarantee she doubts.

You may hate my words, you may try to tear apart mine with references and scripture. That's unfortunate – because what I'm asking from you is to just stop for a minute, consider this: what message do you really want to live? The one you’re living, criticizing and blaming every faith, race, poor, rich or schmuck with opposing views? Or the one Malala is sharing? – You know, educating others, becoming educated and striving for perfection in peace. It’s worth a shot.  

No, it’s not about being a pacifist; it’s about Malala Yousafzai --a hero. And this week she gave a dumbfounding interviews. She's the definition of humble bravery and she believes educating people will reveal justice, equality and truth. My friends;  Malala is right.

While our government is recovering from a ridiculous shut down and we're debating whether or not the ACA is biblical - let's stop for a minute to consider Malala's life, her story - let's stop extremism by not being extremists, let's change the world.

Elephants in New York

While walking through the jungle of skyscrapers in New York City, I felt like the Tiniest Elephant, yesterday. I felt small (and not in stature, I hear you giggling) realizing I'm taking on the biggest "dog eat dog" city in the world, and it's a whirlwind.

New York is a place where one is expected to be puzzle pieces all in one place - hair and yoga pants included. Everyone has an ear piece, conducting business and the brisk bustle of the streets almost requires underwater survival skills. Fall below the expectations, and you may be not come out alive. People watching is like information overload. The city shadows the sun, but the pockets of rays are a welcome warmth.

I couldn't help but wonder what chance I had trying on the "hustle" in America's darling city. But I check myself and realize it's temporary, and so what if I stick out like a sore thumb? Must I conform completely? Nah. I can pick up the pace, but I dare not change me. 

And it's true, there are those slices of charming humanity, like the other day, during one of my less successful days. After feeling on the run from a jealous king, there was James, the union-construction worker who picked up a load and helped me down the street. He had time to kill before his union meeting and told me to be careful in NY. Then later there was Connie, the elderly woman with a bulged cheek, hunched over a walker. She walked up to me, said hello and asked my name, just for the sake of being kind. There are these people, these circumstances, when for just a moment, the harsh skyscrapers are down to earth, acting like gemstones in the rough, worth millions. 

New challenges require sacrifices, for the better and even for the worse, I'm learning. But at the end of day, the push just might be the potion I need to stretch a little taller...and that's coming from five feet of insanity.

Teaser: Borgia's Burlesque, Part I

The following clip is a behind the scenes look at a larger profile piece done in San Diego, CA. The full story's publishing is to be announced.* 

In the underground of culture, beyond the societal definition of glamour is a beautiful world of unimaginable artistry. Recently, I had the amazing privilege to go behind the scenes with Burlesque performer, San Diego's Lady Borgia and watch her balance her passion for the stage and her passion for her son. 

I found Lady Borgia one of the most driven performers. She certainly makes a profound impression not just in her sphere of influence but for women who are working-single moms. The other women I met who in San Diego Burlesque circle are also mothers, seamstresses, artists, dancers and models. The glow of the stage is the glow of their life and it's very personal.

So as I am pitching a full profile piece to educate and highlight a little Burlesque, here's a behind the scenes taste from my interview with - the one and only, Lady Borgia.*

*More to come from this story soon, stay tuned with http://ashgallagher.com

Rain & Tide

It was one of my last days; I was dipped below the Cliffs on a quieter beach. The sun was pulsating. I laid down my towel, hesitated behind my friend who was going for a free-body surf. I wanted to experience the water. So, I waded out, and then dipped underneath. The ocean was shallow. I waded out a little further, away from the surfers. The sea chilled my skin, but I was breathing deeply; it was peaceful. As I stood looking out beyond the horizon, I slipped my fingertips underneath the clear waters and waited. For a moment, my mind was blank.

In the middle of the cold waters, I felt warmth around my legs. The seaweed like grass was moving with the waves and hugging my thighs. I had walked into an ocean-field. I watched as the wave pushed it back and forth. The surf-grass was long and stretched out, reaching for the deepest parts of the ocean, as if it wanted to pull from the roots and escape. I watched with sheer fascination, it moved in unison with the wave. Constant motion. 

It was beautiful and it defined my life. An orchestrated change of tide; I would be on the move again soon. And suddenly, I was okay with that. It would cost something, it may still cost everything, but it was worth the risk, I decided, standing there, watching long strands of grass under the water.

***

The plane landed with a slight bump. The 4-hour flight had been rather uneventful as I gorged on the new Star Trek movie and caught a sloppy travel-nap. Moving through the airport would be a rush, I knew. I was ready to be at my destination, and frankly was starving so dinner would have to be a priority once I was in the city.

I found my way through JFK. Thankfully navigation was easy and I was able to find a shuttle to the city, ask directions from a returning New Yorker and get a subway card. It was like any other day, September 11^th. Colleagues told me even the ceremonies were not as eventful as they had been in years past. It was an average day for most New Yorkers. And I joined in the workaholic feeling, my head already creating a long to do list.

My first morning in New York was early, the city was still semi quiet, but I knew that would change. On the upper west side of Manhattan and only one story up; I could see grey skies. The rain was coming. The muggy temperatures would drop and the reality of a much cooler place would set in – which only meant one thing, I would have to move fast to stay warm.  I slipped into a hot shower, and stood in the heat, letting the running water relax my shoulders and back. The coming days would be long – was I ready for it? No. But that didn’t matter, I would have to push hard anyway.  

Another season, fall…forward, the common state of my humanness. So, let’s see where this city takes me.

A Functional Addict's Life

A FUNCTIONAL ADDICT’S LIFE

How an Opium user justifies his addiction

            BY: Ashley Gallagher

Poppies

The lighter goes off with a snap, and Henry Orich* snuffs a little louder, his nostrils filled with Opium. It won't be long before he turns to the pipe, inhaling and smoking in continuous waves.

“It's for chronic pain,” he tells me, “it’s better than a doctor’s visit, my back doesn't hurt anymore. That's all. I'm not even high at all.” He sounds convincing but his speech is getting slower, his voice raspier. He snuffs a little more from the foil, shifts in the passenger seat of a moving truck, leans back and sighs.

Orich was introduced to opiates and prescription medication at the age of 13. By 15, he admits he was a heroin addict, but he says he managed to still make it through high school, help raise his younger brother when his parents were missing and held onto a full time job. But after he graduated high school; Orich went to live with his mom who had left the family years before when his father was in prison for 10 months. His mother was a strung out addict and his father, intensely involved with drug cartels just across the Arizona border. Orich says his father moved over 10 thousand pounds a week of marijuana into the U.S. and sold the seeds to his providers in Mexico during the 1970’s and 80’s. The money was good, says Orich, he wanted for nothing at home.

Orich recently met a guy who shared the same contacts as his father and bought seeds from the same cartels, seeds his father had supplied. Orich said that’s why  “the buds coming up from Mexico for [nearly] 10 years were so good.”

But it wasn’t always easy for his father. Orich says his father told him stories about conflicts he had with the cartel, “he’d been threatened because people were making up lies about him and when the cartels confronted him, there was always evidence” to the contrary, that his father was telling the truth, “he never did wrong by them.” Orich says his father admitted to being at gunpoint during  a game of Russian Roulette but the cartel members stopped realizing their mistake.

Orich says his father gave up buying and selling drugs with Mexican cartels after he was released from prison. Ironically, however, he was rarely around. Orich and his brother were left to fend for themselves.

But moving in with his mother didn’t stop his drug abuse. “I met my first fiance, the first girl I ever had sex with...but that didn’t work out, she started fucking around behind my back.” Orich admits he used the drugs to hide the pain, but he prides himself on his continuous work ethic, “that's also when I became my most successful in the restaurant business.” Orich worked in the service industry and became both a kitchen manager and later a general manager at a PF Changs. He admits he was taking nearly 300mg of Vicodin, 380mg of Oxcodin and other opiate based drugs every day, but for him, it was justified because he says, he was able to function and no one could tell him otherwise, “I was running a 20-million dollar restaurant and I was operator of the year, two years in row.”

Orich says his only regret is introducing drugs to his brother, whose childhood face is tattooed on his left arm. “I try to remember the good times,” Orich says. His brother died nearly 5 years ago, at the age of 23, after years of drug induced medical problems and a drug overdose. His older sister, he says, is a different story. At the age of 11, she was sent to live with an aunt and uncle who helped get her clean. His sister graduated salutatorian of her high school class and received a full ride scholarship to Iowa State University for Veterinary school. But the college party life caused her to relapse, and she was hooked on Methamphetamines, sexually promiscuous and “partied hard” until she became pregnant, for which Orich says, “that day, and since that day, she's never used it again.”

He brags about his nephew, saying he is “Absolutely brilliant. He's the smartest wittiest kid you've ever met. My sister, she’s a great mother; now she just recently graduated college, and she's an RN - she's doing great for herself.” Orich is quiet for a moment, his family’s fate and lives are evidently on his mind. He lights his pipe and inhales the opium, there’s a long pause as he slowly exhales.

Orich’s drug needs became greater over time; he admits searching for an alternate reality, so he tried his hand at psychedelics, “I really like psychedelics, mushrooms, and acid.” Orich says he never was a fan of cocaine or methamphetamines, though he spent several years taking them. LSD gave him the out of body experiences he was looking for, it was his way of changing perspective on the world.

As he reminisces over his psychedelic use, he leans over, lights up his pipe and smokes, “I could look at a cube from all angles and realize that it doesn't just have 6 sides but there's also a center. You take things from different perspectives, I mean if you analyze things and come to different conclusions, then all of a sudden you can see things from other people's perspective and relate.”

Another long pause, his speech takes more time. When asked if he thought all drugs should be legalized, his facial expression becomes defiant, “That's not my stance, my stance is if I want to put something in my body, you shouldn't be able to tell me fuckin' no.”

His tone is angry, but with another hit of the drug, he calms and rests his head on the back of the seat.

“I broker weed,” he states matter-of-factly. He buys and sells marijuana to high paying clients. He explains and he hasn’t had a job in nearly a year. When a client comes with 125K for a 70lbs of marijuana, he sees 9000 dollars of it. He doesn’t admit he’s taken on his father’s profession. He’s not providing the seeds, he not involved with cartels. As for his Opium use, he grows his own and he gives it away. It’s not something he believes he should charge his friends when they’re smoking it together. Orich says it takes approximately 6 weeks for buds to start sprouting from the poppy seeds and if he plants continuously, his opium supply never really runs out. But if he does, Orich claims he goes weeks without it, often instead, smoking weed or drinking, “sometimes nothing at all.”

He admits the withdraw from Opium is the same as it is with heroin. “It feels like shit because opium and heroin, they they cause constipation, they close your internal organs down so um, you can go 24 hours without effect. First off your stomach starts to turn uncontrollably, you start getting cold sweats. You're restless, your legs, uh have you heard of restless leg syndrome? Your legs you try to hold them still. You feel like you're crawling with shit. And start kicking uncontrollably You can't sleep for 2 or 3 days. You don't want to move or do anything because you feel so bad, all you need is one more hit and it'll be okay.” He doubles back, then states Opium isn’t as bad, not like heroin at all.

Orich pauses, lights the pipe, smokes, and exhales again. He says he’s never missed a day of work because of withdraw. He knew his responsibilities and he took care of them. He showed up, worked to the best of his ability, made money and went on his way.

But that might change now. “It’s time to move on,” he says. Orich wants to go back to school, become a civil rights attorney, maybe pick up a part time job and take care of his dad. His father recently called him, diagnosed with cancer. Orich is moving back with his father, hoping to help him, and maybe change his own life. 

He says he’s ready to give up smoking Opium, this is the last of his supply, he tells me. I told my friends if I call you up asking for dope, no matter how much of an ass hole I am, do the right thing and say, stop being a fuckin' hippie, say no.” He hopes that will give him the friendly support he needs.

His views on drug use, however, hasn’t changed. “Will I take it again? Sure I will, but not on a daily basis.” He also admits he has people who work for him who still conduct business with his clients and he can still earn a cut from their work.

Orich says he’s able to give up his Opium use “cold turkey.” He went to rehab for 8 months once, he quit once before, he says, he’ll do it again if he really puts his mind to it, “You can do anything you want to if you just believe, people that say I can’t, what they’re really saying is I don’t want to.”

The question hung in the air, did he want to? His head drooped low, his eyes heavy, deprived of sleep and the opium takes effect.

*Name changed for privacy of source

Surfers Reaching Out

The story in it's entirety will be published in Surfer's Path come October 2013. The Video-Blog below is a simple introduction to two of the characters in Tel Aviv who are reaching out to their local communities and the Arab neighbors.* 

In Tel Aviv, surfers say, there is "no religion in the water" and firmly believe in promoting a peaceful community. 

Just 8 years ago, Arthur Rashkovan created Surfing 4 Peace as a way to reach surfers in Gaza, Lebanon, and Turkey. This year, the group added Paddle 4 Peace promoting paddle boarding. Paddle 4 Peace will be participating in this year's International Peace Day in France, with the the support in Paris on the Canal Saint Martin. It will be the first 'Paddle 4 Peace' event of it's kind. They are inviting surfers, non-surfers and peace supporters to join their event which will be followed by a presser at the Comptoir General where Surfing 4 Peace will officially announce it's first Mediterranean surf contest to take place in Marseille in 2015.  Tel Aviv's Arthur Rashkovan will be attendance and you can check http://medcup4peace.org for more information.

Maya Dauber is also a strong community leader teaching young people and women of all ages to surf the waves, paddle-board and even skateboard. Her goal is to engage her students not only in sport but a unifying experience. 

*You can see my full report in the October 2013 in Surfer's Path Magazine, UK. Stay tuned with http://ashgallagher.com 

Black Forest Residents Look for Hope in the Ashes

(Colorado Springs) The blaze is the worst Colorado residents have seen. Nearly 500 homes destroyed and 18,000 acres turned to dust. When the flames ignited last Tuesday from Black Forest, hundreds of families were evacuated with little more than the clothes on their back.

Now, a week later, residents are slowly being allowed beyond the barricades securing the area as firefighters are are putting out the last of the remaining embers of a monstrous fire. 

For Kathy Miller, she knows her family will have to start from scratch because she says, their entire property was burned to the ground.

We met just a few short miles from her home, near a military checkpoint guarding the area. Miller says she is surprised how far up Black Forest Road She is able to drive without seeing signs of the massive fire.

The scene is quite different from a week ago. It was just after 3 in the afternoon last Tuesday when Miller heard about a fire engulfing the area. She says her mother woke her from a nap and after conferring with her grandfather, they realized, the fire was coming their way and they had little time to get out.

Miller had just enough time to grab a few days worth of clothes, video games for her 7-year old son and a few family heirlooms. But it wasn’t enough time to pack everything before she, her son, a cousin, her father, grandfather and 6 dogs rallied into two vehicles and fled the scene.

“As we were driving out, we could see huge plumes of smoke and actually came straight down Black Forest Road, we never could see the flames,” Miller states. 

After seeing the news, shortly after, Miller knew her family left in the nick of time. The fire reached their house within 30 minutes after they fled.

“We know that the windmill is standing in the front yard, she tells me, “but that’s the only thing we know.” Miller is nervous about seeing the property, the thought of not knowing what to expect when her family is allowed back is “hardest part.”

The family home was a 5 acre property which included a long fenced area, a trailer, storage sheds, stacks of hay and of course the house itself.

“I got two paintings my grandma made that were hanging in my room,” Miller tells me, but those were the only heirlooms she was able to retrieve. She says one thing she will miss are the silver spoons hanging in the dining room and collection of dolls her late grandmother gave her every birthday growing up.

But Miller says her son is “handling it like a champ” and is hanging onto a positive attitude much more than she expected. “We’ve started getting stuff replaced and he’s getting a few toys,” She quips, “We were able to save one of his favorite video games, Skylander, he’s starting to get back to normal.” Miller realizes it may change when the boy sees the property completely gone.

But even with so much loss, Miller finds strength in the fact that everyone, including their 6 dogs made it out in time. She says there was a scare over the weekend when 4 of the dogs had run off, but with the help of the Humane Society and a tireless search, all the dogs were brought back to safety. There are many families however, who were not able to rescue their faithful family pets in time.  

FINDING FAMILY COMPANIONS

According to Gretchen Pressley, the Colorado Springs Humane Society Spokeswoman, “At all of our locations, we’ve taken in more than a thousand animals including horses, livestock, chickens, cats and dogs.”

When the fires first swept through Black Forest the Humane Society worked with law enforcement to retrieve animals whose owners called in having been forced to leave their companions behind. The Humane Society has nearly 20 rescue teams working with officials to find stray animals as well. Once the pets reach the facility, they are cared for by “trained staff and volunteers who make sure everyone is fed.”

Pressley says they’ve been working tirelessly to help animals who may have suffered injuries running through the fire, “We had a cat a couple of days ago who had come in and her whiskers were burned down and she had burns on her paws and she was just very singed overall.” But the vets were able to treat the cat’s burns and Pressley said the family was “overjoyed” to retrieve her as the cat escaped while they were packing to evacuate.

As the days go by, owners are able to match their lost ones with the Humane Society’s found animals and come to the facility to receive them.

Walking through the kennels, many of the dogs were retreated and appeared too scared to come close to the Humane Society staff, while others were barking and eager to get out after being in a closed space. Black Forest residents often own a substantial amount of land for pets to run and play. Naturally, Pressley notes, cats are a bit easier because they will eventually adapt to their surroundings.  

Pressley encourages the owners to always have a backup plan in case of a similar situation, but understanding it can be hard for the residents and so she says, they are continuing to do everything they can to rescue missing critters and treat them while they wait for their owners to come for them. 

While the public heavily relies on the Humane Society for immediate help there are still owners are still making attempts to go on to their property with police escorts in hopes to draw animals to food.

SURVEYING THE DAMAGE

The Millers are finally sifting through the remnants of their home and at her family’s first visit back to the property, Miller says the scene - “is devastated.” Walking through the ashes and soot, indeed the house had completely burned down. The two story home is now a pile of rubble and charred pieces. 

Where a piano once stood, only the strings are left, coins from a jar rusted and spilled on top of dust. Kathy Miller points out the kitchen and says, “this is where the back-door was and the refrigerator was here.” She surveys the scene still shocked at the pile of black the family home is now under. 

As we cross over the property, we notice glass from windows appears to be more melted than broken. Piles of metal singed but still standing, cars - discolored and rusted; and if they had tires, those too were circular strings of metal on the ground, the rubber melted off. Toy trucks and bikes burnt to a crisp and lying in the dirt, Miller says her son played with toys that had been in the family for a long time and now it’s gone. 

As if a scene from an apocalyptic movie, the Miller’s house and the aftermath the fire’s destruction is surreal and Miller says, she’s still taking it all in. She’s surprised their grill’s propane tanks and closet full of ammunition did not explode, but grateful for the small things, such as the few colorful coffee cups she discovered lying in the dust. And almost as if to prove it to herself she points out her grandfather’s windmill still standing. “My cousin was going to buy a new one, but then we saw on the news it was still there.” She says with a smile.

In fact, several yards around the windmill had not been touched and green grass still graced the bottom of the small stand. Against the burnt rubble of the Millers home, the Windmill gives them a small symbol of hope and remembrance of what they’ve been through. 

WHAT'S NEXT?

“We’re going to rebuild in the same location,” Miller says, “We’re going to have the same address, we’re going to have somebody come and professionally lay the foundation and our family is going to actually build the home ourselves.”

She says the home has been in the family for nearly 30 years and everyone in the family has lived in it at one time or another, so it’s important for them to rebuild it. Miller notes their insurance company, has “been amazing” and is even helping them rent out a home “until we get rebuilt enough to live out here again.” The house was “over-insured,” and she says her family more than enough to rebuild the inside and outside of a new home.

It’s a new beginning and sad ending for so many families. So, as the Black Forest checkpoints open and the Red Cross steps in with relief efforts, the residents return to where their homes once were to wade through their memories...in ashes.*

*View more of Ash's work at http://ashgallagher.com
*More photos to come