Frida Kahlo's Mexico City

I have wanderlust. I've been caring for my baby in Santa Cruz for over a year, and I want to travel internationally so bad it hurts. Thats not going to happen, so I am revisiting an adventure I had years ago, imagining myself in Frida Kahlo's Mexico City. 

I was inspired to write this post by a New York Times Article here, about Frida's current popularity, 60 years after her death. What most caught my attention in the article is the show about Frida at the New York Botanical Garden. Oh how I wish I could go!

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo, which translates to: Museum House Studio. Juan O'Gorman designed and built the twin home studios for Frida and Diego, who lived and worked
"next door" to each other for 7 years here. Frida moved back to her parents' home in 1941, when her father passed away, but Diego stayed in the twin houses until his death in 1981.

Exhibits like this make me miss New York so much! The New York Botanical Garden opened the show "Frida Kahlo: Art, Garden, Life" on May 16th. The exhibit features Kahlo's art work, plus a reimagining of Frida's garden at her parent's home in Coyocan, Mexico City. Special events will feature dance, music, food and film inspired by Frida's artistic influences.

A Letter to Lucius the Cat

Lucius,

You came into my life starved for food, attention and love. Soon after I adopted you into my Fort Greene flat I thought I killed you with a dumb cane flower from Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Your chin swelled up to three times it’s size after you nibbled on the poisonous plant. I was racked with guilt, but you survived. 

You terrorized Mona the cat, came between my boyfriend Tim and I, but I never held it against you. Soon, we moved on up to South 1st street in Williamsburg, to a big old bedroom with lots of windows for you to watch the Puerto Rican schoolchildren across the street, blizzards, and an Ethan Hawke movie filmed on our intersection. During the muggy summer I melted ice cubes on your hot fur to cool you down. You hated the New York heat.

I had to leave you for months when I returned to California. I worried you would think you’d been abandoned again. I left you with an engraved collar that disappeared under our roommate Agata’s watch. Edward brought you to Oakland on an airplane. He was grumpy in the airport because you were so heavy. 

I snuck you into to the sunny studio on Laguna street in San Francisco, with big bay windows, in the art deco building where cats weren’t allowed. We stayed there 3 and a half years. I took a series of polaroids of friends holding you on the big magnolia-decorated vintage couch. The polaroids lived on the fridge - a permanent art installation.

Next, we moved to Dolores Street, to a Victorian flat with three 19-year-old girls, including my sister Melissa and her best friend Ari. You insisted I keep the door open at night so you could walk in and out of the bedroom. It made it hard to sleep with all those roommates. When painters put up scaffolding to paint the building, Liz left her window open, so you jumped out and jogged on the wooden planks, past my bedroom window, to the living room window, peering in from outside, looking matter-of-fact. I panicked and tried to get you in the house. You developed a habit of pawing at Ari’s head while she watched TV, then viciously attacking her scalp. She still loved you.

Next we moved to a 2 and a half bedroom Victorian worker’s cottage in Fruitvale Oakland. The house was surrounded by stray cats and chihuahuas. Occasionally large stray dogs wandered over from the pound, a few blocks away. We kept you inside. Stray kittens sometimes snuck in the back door to eat your food in the kitchen. You let it happen. You claimed the guest bedroom for yourself. 

Your last stop was the house I grew up in in Santa Cruz - the nicest place you ever lived. Two-stories, high ceilings, a porch to lounge on and watch the birds, including the neighbors’ fat chickens. Your new sister cat, the beautiful Fritz moved in around Thanksgiving with her person, Kimo. You were intrigued and sometimes picked on Fritz, but she knew how to stand up for herself. Once she scratched you good on your pure white nose, leaving a thin red scab that lingered for days. 

When baby Wilder came home we let you and Fritz explore the outside world. At first you were timid. You slept in the closet during the day. Then, one day, I looked out the window and saw your bright white and dark grey fur against the sparkling blond dry grasses on the banks of the lagoon. You were exploring, looking exquisite in contrast with the natural world. You looked like an exotic creature, a stuffed animal come to life. You sat still, facing the lagoon, ears twitching. I swooned.

A few days later I spotted you sitting on the church property across the way and watched you climb underneath a storage building. A short time later you emerged and walked down a zig zag path towards the center of the church camp. Brave house cat!

The last time I saw you, you slept between my calves. I woke up at 2am to attend to the baby and you hopped out of bed. You must have gone outside. I didn’t know you were in the habit of exploring at night. I knew something was wrong when you weren’t there for breakfast. I looked for you in the afternoon. Fritz was acting strange, staring out from the deck all day. She’d tried to lead my downstairs early in the morning. Did she see you? She knew something was wrong. 

Kimo found your body in the greenery between the ice plant and the lagoon, your midsection missing a crescent-shaped piece. Completely gone. Coyotes? Its the last thing I expected for you - a violent, natural death. You were grumpy, but you were a very domestic cat, like a big stuffed toy. 

We buried you under the redwood tree I planted as a child. I added your rainbow catnip toy that drove you mad with ecstasy and a bouquet of dried flowers tied with a green ribbon. Kimo took care of the details of burial. I couldn’t bear to see your lifeless body. 

A few days later you had to be reburied in our backyard. Animals had tried to dig up your grave. My mom brought a ceramic praying angel to place on your grave.

You brought me great joy and gave me love. Amused me and worried me. We lived together for ten years, from Brooklyn to Santa Cruz, from 25 to 35. I miss you every day.

I love you Lucius. 

Your human forever,

Madeline

The Giant Dipper vs. The Cyclone

Neptune's Kingdom Miniature Golf, the view from the Historium
Photo by Madeline Horn

Some might say I have an obsession with amusement parks. Can you blame me for loving carnivals? My sisters and I grew up with season passes to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk allowing us to ride the Giant Dipper roller coaster over and over and over. Basically, my mom used the Boardwalk as a day care during the summer.

When I lived in New York I visited Coney Island as often as possible, even in the dead of winter. My friends and I would ride our bikes across the gigantic city of Brooklyn to reach Coney’s boardwalk. I had never seen anything like Coney Island. Carneys were everywhere. Coney is not owned by a corporation like Santa Cruz’s Boardwalk, where never a carney shall step foot. Quite the opposite, Coney has carnival games, freak shows, shoot the freak, fried clams, and dive bars on the boardwalk. So many changes have taken place at Coney Island in the past five years, which my good friend Sonny made a film about. One of the greatest achievements of my life was acting in a TV commercial, directed by Sonny, for Astroland, former owners of the Cyclone rollercoaster. As actors, my friends and I rode all of Astroland’s rides, including the Cyclone, for free while Sonny filmed us. That was the first time I ever made myself sick on rides. On another memorable visit to Coney Island, I brought my mom and sister when they visited me from California and the entire park was filled with Hassidic Jews, mostly children. Honestly, I lived adjacent to their neighborhood, yet hadn’t realized they could let loose like this. We watched a yamaka fly off a little boy’s head on the Cyclone, inciting panic amongst the adult supervision.

Laughing Sal, at the Musee Mecanique you had to feed her quarters,
but she'll laugh at the push of a free button at the Boardwalk
Photo by Madeline Horn

I recently found my new favorite spot on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk – the Historium. Old school pinball, beer, air hockey and museum: the perfect combination of amusements come together on the mezzanine overlooking Neptune’s Kingdom at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Neptune’s Kingdom is a pirate-themed miniature golf course in the historic natatorium on the boardwalk. This magical mezzanine has historic arcade games, air hockey, beer, exhibits and photos on the Plunge, the huge indoor pool that used to fill the building. The Historium is less crowded than the rest of the boardwalk, and probably more fun than waiting in line for rides outside.

Hockey men with hand-knit sweaters at the Boardwalk
Photo by Madeline Horn

Cyclone vs. The Giant Dipper

These two wooden roller coasters from the 1920s appear to have lots in common, yet the ride on each is very distinctive, much like the character of Brooklyn vs. Santa Cruz. The Giant Dipper, built in 1924, is a smooth ride with sweeping movements, which feels like flying. The Cyclone, built in 1927, is a rougher ride. The Cyclone will jerk you around and rattle your bones. The hills are steep. The ride is terrifying!

Experience the difference in the feel of the rides in these POV videos:

Cyclone POV video 

Giant Dipper POV video 

The Giant Dipper
Photo by Madeline Horn

Coaster Tips

When riding a roller coaster choose the last seat for a more exhilarating ride. You will feel the hills as soon as you are on them in the back seat and your entire ride will feel faster. If you want a more mellow ride, choose the front seat, where you’ll get the best view, but you will have a major lag in feeling the hills, since you can’t feel the sensation of free fall until the last part of the train drops over the apex of the hill.

Cyclone at Coney Island
Photo Courtesy of Holly Koffler

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The Fabulous Neue Galerie

My favorite museum in New York is the Neue Galerie. Located in a townhouse across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a trip to the Neue Galerie feels like a relaxed visit to a sophisticated acquaintance's house rather than a marathon day of navigating hordes of tourists, as the Met can feel sometimes. The museum's collection consists of German and Austrian art from the years 1890 - 1940, including painting, sculpture, photography, works on paper, and decorative arts.

Gustav Klimt, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, 1907, oil, silver & gold on canvas, courtesy of Neue Galerie

The beautiful painting, Adele Bloch-Bauer I is a notable new acquisition whose fascinating story of repatriation you can read about here. 


To cap off your visit, order coffee and a delectable dessert from Cafe Sabarsky on the ground floor of the museum. The dark wood paneled walls and high ceilings will transport you to a turn of the century Viennese cafe fantasy.

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Taking in the Setting Sun on the High Line, New York City

The High Line is an inspired park in Chelsea, NYC made from a converted elevated train track that runs right through the city. I took these photos as the sun was setting:

Access to the High Line is possible via all of the access points  in New York City:

• Gansevoort Street
• 14th Street (elevator access)
• West 16th Street (elevator access)
• West 18th Street
• West 20th Street
• 23rd Street (elevator access)
• West 26th Street
• West 28th Street
• West 30th Street (elevator access)

View The High Line in a larger map