Coffee Club Newsletter
Volume 16 No. 3 - November 16, 2006

Good morning friends. You may already know that the Coffee Club has disintegrated into four or five coffee clubs within the Department – you may as well, therefore, also be advised that this may be the last Coffee Club Newsletter. Not surprisingly, against the backdrop of all the pent-up ill will created by the demise of the official Coffee Club, Tom persuaded the now different clubs to combine their resources to pay the Timid Reporter his modest fee ($25.00) to do this last interview with Natly, who is again retiring. As always, any similarity to persons actually living or events actually happening is strictly coincidental.
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TR: Good morning. Here we are again.
NP: Yes, again.
TR: May I come in?
NP: Yes, of course do come in, but be careful not to wake my dogs.
TR: Wow, it smells so nice in here.
NP: Oh, probably because I have coffee and some of my own special tea brewing.
TR: May I have a cup?
NP: Sure, but it’s not done yet - in a few more minutes maybe?
TR: Ok.
NP: You look better than the last time I saw you.
TR: Thank you - you too.
NP: Sit here in this comfy chair.
TR: The house looks a little different.
NP: Yes. I have redecorated some parts of it. Do you like it?
TR: It’s very attractive.
NP: Not only that, I have also finally converted one of the bedrooms into a fully furnished, fully equipped office. I have state-of-the-art computers and every imaginable electronic gadget in there. You know, I should have done it sooner. Maybe you can see it later.
TR: That would be nice. I feel like I caught you in a mellow mood this morning.
NP: Well, yes, but I also just finished my second Margarita of the day. That’s why I’m brewing coffee.
TR: Oh. Are you ready?
NP: For what?
TR: My questions.
NP: Well, you know, I know your questions already – they’re always the same. Why don’t we do something a little different since it’s a special one-of-a-kind occasion? When has anyone ever retired twice from the same Department and the same position?
TR: Never?
NP: Precisely. So instead of questions, maybe I can tell you the very interesting story of my life and you can ask questions when you need to know more about something.
TR: Ok. That would be nice, but will I still get paid?
NP: Yes, of course. I’ll make sure you get your exorbitant fee.
TR: Ok, thanks.
NP: The last time we talked, you got to know something about my love of nature and animals and the environment, my Russian ancestry, and my love of Democracy.
TR: Yes. You said you were a Democrat. I remember.
NP: Well yes, but don’t get Democracy mixed up with the political parties. There are a few Republicans who love Democracy too, I’m sure.
TR: Oh.
NP: Now, I will tell you about some of my background from when I was young - before I came to City Hall. I mean, I was pretty young when I arrived at City Hall – I was in my twenties - but what I really mean is, from before my days with the City.
I graduated from Nine Brothers High School in Raleigh, North Carolina. I was only sixteen but I was smart for my age. There was no Community College available so I went straight into a real college from there. It seems like yesterday.
TR: Why was the school named Nine Brothers?
NP: I knew you would ask me that, I just knew. As it happened, there was a very large and influential family living in the area at that time and the School Board could not decide which family member to name the school after. There were sixteen kids in the family, nine brothers and seven sisters, but, in those days, girls hardly counted for anything so it was assumed the High School had to be named for one of the boys. Since they couldn’t decide, it was named after the nine boys, without being specific with the names. Today, it’s named Sadie Moore High School after one of the girls.
TR: Things have changed.
NP: Yes, they have. Anyway, as I was saying, I enrolled at Duke University in Durham and three years later had my degree in zoology. I was very studious but my dear mother – bless her heart – thought I should have another degree – something more practical, so I spent another two years getting my degree in urban planning. That was something new in those days. There were only two of us with degrees in that field and I felt really awkward about it, though I shouldn’t have. Then my mother – bless her heart - encouraged me to go to Washington.
TR: D.C.?
NP: No, the State. Keep in mind I was only twenty one at the time and Washington seemed a world away, but being the obedient girl that I was, I packed up and left for Seattle to go live with my aunt and look for a job in a zoo or in government.
TR: But, you were afraid?
NP: No, not really. I just thought it was very impractical to go from one coast to another to look for a job. Besides, I didn’t like my aunt Ludmilla all that much – she was very stodgy and had gotten into the habit of rationing everything because she had been a survivor in Leningrad during the siege.
TR: What siege?
NP: Oh, my - the siege during World War II when the Nazis almost overran Russia. They surrounded Leningrad for three years and lots of people in the city simply starved to death. She wasn’t one of them. Anyway, after she came to this country, she was lucky in that she found herself a very wealthy husband who, after he died, left her a wealthy widow. She could afford anything she wanted but she lived very frugally and she rationed the food and everything else in the house. I remember that toward the end of the month, she would have us use candles so that the electricity bill would not go beyond $4.00. It was a very large two-story house so you can imagine the number of candles and, of course, I was assigned to light them all. She made me pay rent, too, though it was not much - $20.00 a month. And, she only spoke to me in Russian, although she had learned to speak English fluently. After a while, I found me a pretty good job in King County with the surveyors. I don’t remember what they called it but it was a neat little place to work. Even back then, Seattle was growing into something special. I would stay as late as I could at work because I knew that once I got back to my aunt’s house, I would enter another world, a world full of old books, antique furniture, heirlooms, old paintings, old draperies, old rugs, wine cellars, oak wood staircases, chandeliers, her old starving cat, and an old Steinway which nobody played. On weekends, I would leave the house early and tour the city leisurely. My aunt thought I was working overtime and she approved of that. Probably the most interesting thing that happened to me back then is that Bill Gates asked me out. I was sitting in a little coffee shop reading a magazine one fine Saturday morning and he was at the next table working on some gadget with a friend. He just came over very confidently and asked me out, just like that. I was so shy I absolutely had to say no. Who knows what might have been if I had said yes. That was certainly a missed opportunity. Later on, I met someone at work who had Communist tendencies and we got along nicely.
TR: Excuse me, but, how did you know it was Bill Gates?
NP: Well, what do you think? He came over and introduced himself and gave me his business card, which, of course, like an idiot, I threw away later. Anyway, I try not to think about it that much. Where was I?
TR: Someone at work….
NP: Yes, my Communist-leaning friend introduced me to friends of his. To make a long story short, I got caught up in the whole romance of the Communist movement back then. There were late night meetings and long discussions on political ideals, history, the nature of man, and a whole host of other things. My brain and my heart were on fire so I ended up running away with a man in that group.
TR: Where to?
NP: First, it was Los Angeles, then, New York, then, in quick succession, Chicago, Boston, Princeton, Hartford, Miami, and New Orleans. I was not working and neither was Vladimir – that was his name - but he didn’t need to – he was living off a trust fund his father had left him. In other words, he could afford to be a Communist. We simply had a blast in the truest sense of the word. Then, one evening, while we were in a bar in the French Quarter, he excused himself to go get a pack of cigarettes and never came back. I waited two hours for him there but finally decided he had gotten caught up in something so I left for our apartment, which was only two blocks away. There, I found a pile of cash he left me and some scribbled notes.
TR: Was it something bad?
NP: No, just the usual man stuff. He wanted his space and he simply didn’t have the courage to tell me face to face. He had decided to head for Spain to study flamenco guitar and flamenco dancing.
TR: That sounds very unusual.
NP: He was an unusual man, but I try not to think about it that much.
TR: I can understand. So, what happened next?
NP: In one of his notes, he asked me to look up a friend in Mexico City, so that’s where I went. I knew the money he left me would probably keep me for at least two years, especially south of the border. I just went straight there, without thinking twice about it.
TR: But, how did you get yourself there?
NP: I drove. I had always driven us around because Vladimir was afraid to drive. He had been brought up in England where they drive on the opposite side of the road and he could never remember which side was the right side so he let me drive. Sometimes it’s better not to have choices, you know? Anyway, when I got to the border in Brownsville, I didn’t have trouble getting permits because by then I was pretty fluent in Spanish. I took the highway all the way to Monterrey and then Mexico City. It took me a week and a half in the little Volvo but I had no trouble. The city was very congested with traffic even back then and after a little while, I figured my best plan would be to give my car up entirely. Public transportation was good enough and I actually liked it – the subway was brand new back then. After two weeks, I decided to look for Vladimir’s friend – Wilfredo Bronstein Mochilas.
TR: That’s an unusual name.
NP: Yes, I agree, but that was his name and he was actually listed in the phone book. When I called him, he agreed to meet me at the Museum of Anthropology because he worked in a book-binding place a block away from there. As soon as I saw him, it was love at first sight. He was of medium height with broad, square shoulders, had blue eyes, and thick black hair – lots and lots of it – and he was very fair skinned. He was so polite and well-mannered I could not figure him out at first. He kind of spoke with a Russian accent, but I think the only thing he and Vladimir actually had in common was that they were both Communists. We talked a great deal that afternoon and I got to find out that he was the love child of Leon Trotsky and Frida Khalo. Very few people know that Trotsky’s real name was David Bronstein and that Frida’s full name was Frida Lay Khalo Mochilas, hence his name – Wilfredo Bronstein Mochilas. You see, when Leon was in exile in Mexico, he had an affair with Frida and lots of people were aware of that but almost nobody knew that they had had a child. Before long, Willy and I fell in love and I married him. We soon moved to Tepoztlan, an idyllic and picturesque town close to Cuernavaca, which is not far from Mexico City. We lived a lovely and leisurely life full of intellectual, artistic, and stimulating friends – there were lots of foreigners living there at the time, French, German, Swedish, English, and Americans. Money was not a problem – my father-in-law had stolen a considerable amount of money from Russia before his exile and Willy knew where all the cash was. Life was simply perfect – free of hassles, free of worries, free of stress, free of annoying people. It was full of love and fulfillment, too. We enjoyed the most beautiful moonlit nights anyone can imagine. Nevertheless, we started a business creating brochures for the hotels, restaurants, and markets in the vicinity of Tepoztlan. He designed them and I wrote them.
TR: That’s an unusual story.
NP: Well, that’s only the beginning. You know, thinking back to those days, it’s too bad you can’t put happiness in a sort of spiritual bank to draw out as you need it. We also did a lot of traveling. Let me get you your coffee – or, would you prefer tea?
TR: Yes, tea for a change. That aroma is so nice.
NP: It’s from the tea – it’s my own blend – I invented it or created it or designed it, as some people would say. Here you are.
TR: Mmmmm…. Delicious…. You should market this.
NP: I’m planning to. I just haven’t got a name for it yet. Ramon is going to help me come up with a clever name. I think it will sell really well. That’s why I set up my home office.
TR: The taste is really unique. May I have more, please?
NP: Certainly.
TR: It is really satisfying. How did you think of doing this?
NP: Actually, my daughter gave me the idea for it. She has always been very creative and, knowing that I am retiring – again – she thought I should get involved in something that would take up gobs of time and all the while start me off in a new direction. I think it’s just perfect. I’ll need to be distracted from all the writing I plan to do and this is the thing. Here you go. Ramon also needs to spend his time in something other than collecting rents and fixing leaky faucets. My daughter sent me formulas for the tea and she helped me pick the final blend. She’s a botanist and knows stuff about traditional Indian herbs which make one feel really good. It’s got rare things in it and doesn’t even have to be sweetened. You should be feeling a little euphoric right about now.
TR: Yes, I feel wonderful. Is it legal? heeheehee
NP: Yes, very. Before I left City Hall, I looked up all - and I do mean all - the FDA Pharmacologic Regulations and none of them prohibit the stuff I use in my tea. It’s one of those providential loopholes. It does not cloud your judgment or affect your motor skills or reflexes or reaction time – it just sort of momentarily turns you into a good and happy person. You can drive under the influence.
TR: Heeheehee…. and if I drink too much?
NP: You’ll just want to sit there and enjoy seeing the clouds go drifting by and the sound of the wind whistling through the tiny cracks in the old windows or just watch the grass grow and not feel guilty about it – all day long. All the freaking day long….
TR: You have a good daughter. Heeheehee
NP: She’s my one great gift from my relationship with Wilfredo. Everything else we had between us just sort of went poof.
TR: What happened?
NP: Well, he started acting like a man. After Patsy was born, he became jealous of her. Then – maybe to get even – he became a middle-of-the-road kind of person. He gave up his left leanings and his right leanings as well.
TR: That sounds unusual.
NP: I know, but, in his case, it’s true. He could be the most conservative dullard in some things, but also the most beautiful left-leaning Communist in the world in other things. But, one day, without warning, he became Mr. Bland.
TR: Who’s that?
NP: Never mind. All I can tell you is I could not bear to bring my daughter up in that kind of innocuous, gray, meaningless environment. Our friends started to drift away because they couldn’t stand to talk to someone who didn’t have a solid opinion about anything. I finally lost patience when he told me he was running out of cash and we would have to start cutting back on expenses. I knew that couldn’t possibly be true and I felt he was simply lying to me. He had also lost interest in the beautiful tourist brochures we were producing and in our flower garden as well - literally and figuratively.
TR: I don’t know what that means.
NP: I’m not going to explain it to you.
TR: But, my readers need to know.
NP: Trust me, they know.
TR: Ok, ok. Then what happened?
NP: What do you think? I left him. I had to. I packed up and drove back to the States with my precious little girl. We went to my mother’s place first – she had relocated to Tucson - but I only stayed for a month because by then, my mother and my aunt were living together and my aunt’s frugal ways had rubbed off on my mother. The cupboards were mostly empty, the refrigerator was almost empty, we only drank water, we had only one couch, we had no TV, and the cat was still starving – it was terrible. However, there was one bright spot – that’s where Patsy became interested in botany. She and I would go out in the desert to admire the giant Saguaros and to try and see who could find the biggest tarantula. Thankfully, a serendipitous sort of thing happened right around the time I had decided to leave. My daughter and I were having breakfast at this Mexican Restaurant on Broadway downtown when I felt a light tap on the shoulder. It was my Communist-leaning friend from Seattle. He was passing through on his way to El Paso where he had gotten a job with the Boundary Commission. He said he had gotten fed up with all the rain and humidity and Canadian tourists in Seattle. He had a wife and three children but they were already in El Paso. He strongly encouraged me to move here and, since I still had enough money to last me at least six months, I did. Any place was bound to be better than my mother’s house. Bless her heart. Strangely enough, my first job was as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. There was nothing available at the zoo then but I immediately applied with the City and the County. Before long, someone called from the City and so here I am or was or have been, thirty years later.
TR: Now what?
NP: Well, I plan to write. I think I will start with a biography of Henry Cisneros. He’s a classic case of someone who lost a golden opportunity. Then I’ll write one on the rise of the subsidized class, like Mr. Florida did one on the Rise of the Creative Class. Finally, I’ll write a biography of Josef Stalin. I might write it in the form of a novel. I need to understand why he hated my father-in-law so much. Who knows what might have been if Leon had stayed in Russia? These are all things I know something about.
TR: And the tea?
NP: Ah, of course. There’s a wonderful opportunity there. You know, there’s a lot to be said for names. I need to come up with something truly good. I often think about whether people with nice-sounding names would have succeeded if their names had been different. For instance, if Pablo Picasso had not changed his name, would he still have been as famous?
TR: What was his real name?
NP: Pablo Ruiz.
TR: I see what you mean.
NP: What if Elvis had been named Frank Smith? What then? There’s something to a name. I think I will need to adopt a pen name once I start writing, too.
TR: Natly Prise sounds good to me.
NP: Yes, but not as good and alluring as Natalya Priszenskaya. Oddly though, that is my real name. I only left out the Rostropovich part but that’s on purpose. I think if I use all three – Natalya Priszenskaya Rostropovich - people might feel a little intimidated.
TR: Yes, for sure. How about the tea?
NP: You want some more?
TR: Well, yes, but, what are you going to name it?
NP: Ramon already suggested Ramon’s Own but I turned it down immediately. Maybe if he were as famous as Paul Newman…. It will have to be something mellow and appealing and Southwesternish. You know, come to think of it, I have known at least six Ramons in my life, but none of them famous.
TR: Really?
NP: Yes. First, there was the Anthropology Museum guide – Ramon Cuevas. Then, our landlord in Morelia, when we lived there for six months – Ramon de las Casas. Our gardener in Tepoztlan was named Ramon Flores. The Cuernavaca dressmaker’s husband was named Ramon Alcocer. My father-in-law’s assassin was named Ramon Mercader. Now, I hang out with another Ramon. Do you suppose that’s a coincidence?
TR: Only time will tell?
NP: Well I suppose. Life takes strange turns. You know, I still get postcards from Vladimir, though Ramon doesn’t know. He’s done very well, but I knew he would. With some people, you can just tell. He’s in Lisbon and owns the biggest art gallery there – represents the biggest names in French and Spanish art. All the European nobility flock to his store – people he used to look down on. And, of course, he’s very rich.
TR: And the flamenco dancing?
NP: Well, he had to give that up. He was gored in Pamplona a few years ago – the bull got him in the upper rear right thigh, if you know what I mean.
TR: I think I do.
NP: Good. He wrote to me saying that with the injury, he lost the ability to execute some of the more subtle flamenco movements, so he gave it up. Without the subtlety, it simply wasn’t worth it. I must say I respect all that he’s done – the man is fearless. Sometimes, fear is the only thing that separates those who do from those who won’t. I will say this to your readers: what you do will probably not make any difference at all in this town, but, by God, you have to do it – after all, it’s your job.
TR: And, any regrets?
NP: Well, yes, but not so significant. For instance, I know that with my leaving, a new letterhead will have to be drawn up and that will mean that more trees will die. I regret that, and feel somewhat responsible because even though people leave all the time, their names are not usually found on the letterhead. I also regret I was never able to get a job at the zoo. That would have been my dream job – taking care of the elephants and the baboons and the boa constrictors and the donkeys, if they had any.
With that, Natly thanked the Timid Reporter and gave him a tour of her home office and one more cup of tea to send him on his way – back to the real world.