The twelve days of Christmas

13 December

My Dearest Harriet,
Claire and I received your partridge in a pear tree today. What a lovely surprise! When you said you wanted to improve our relationship for the sake of the children, I was wary. What a fool I was! You're a wonderful woman. And the private messenger-what a unique touch! Have a happy Christmas, my dear.
All my Love,
St Thank youephen

14 December

Dear Harriet,
The turtle doves are precious! Claire adores them. How can we thank you?
Love,
Stephen

17 December

Dear Harriet,
Sorry I didn't email sooner. So busy opening up and enjoying your gifts. French hens,calling birds,golden rings! Claire actually does a dance every time a package is delivered. Thank you, lovely one.
Best Wishes,
Stephen

19 December

Harriet,
Weren't we the startled pair when the geese and swans arrived! Its causing a bit of consternation, however. Did you realise how difficult it is to clean up after geese? And we had to give up our bathtub to the swans. Do you know where we can donate them? After the holidays, of course :-). We will try to keep up our Christmas spirit as you have. Please forget us for now. You've done more than enough! Concentrate on your holiday. Please.
Your Ex-Husband,
Stephen

21 December

Dear Bitch,
We're overrun with all of these maids a milking a nd ladies dancing! Are you joking? Both Claire and I are trying to clear up things at work so we can go to the continent for the New Year. How can we leave all of this mess?
Have pity,
Stephen

22 December

Harriet you Salacious Slag,
Well, we had to cancel our travel plans. Thanks, Harriet! Are you happy now? These lords a leaping are the last straw! They lock themselves into the bedrooms with the maids and ladies. I can't go further, its too disgusting. Our cleaning lady quit(and as I write this, is bringing up charges!). We can't keep up with groceries! We put a lock on the refrigerator but they order pizza. The lords are demanding fresh venison. This has to stop! Claire cries all the time. I'm warning you!
I hate you,
Stephen

24 December

You fiendish Harpie from hell,
Pipers piping and drummers drumming? Are you a complete sadist? We can't sleep with the constant din. We've run out of food. We can't bear any more. STOP IT! I hate you, Claire hates you. I'm going to get you, Harriet. Just you wait and see.
Your Sworn enemy,
Stephen



26 December

Dear Ms. Sergeant,
I am writing this on behalf of my clients, Stephen Cohen and Claire Enders. This is to inform you that they both have been committed to Happydale Psychiatric Hospital. One can only hope they will make a full recovery but their doctors fear it is hopeless. You are apparently to blame for this. I am in possession of all the police reports. Our legal team is working assiduously on their behalf in an effort to bring charges against you. You must take responsibility for your actions. You may not contact either party in any way. I will be in contact with your solicitor. You have been warned, Madam.

Roland Mayhew
Mayhew,Grumble,Strathmore and Mayhew
London

I'm only sleeping.....

I try not to be predictable but on anniversaries its inescapable. Thirty years ago today, John Lennon was murdered. Its one of those "Where were you?" moments.
The weather was very similar to the weather today-bitterly cold and windy. My friend Sylvia was visiting from England. Time marches on and we are no longer friends but Sylvia holds a special place in the time line of my life. She not only took me to a party where I met my friend Brenda but also introduced me to my children's father.
My daughter Georgy was an adorable but bossy toddler who loved to stomach-butt everything and everyone. She even charmed Sylvia.
She wanted to see some touristy sights so we had gone to Plymouth and this particular morning-to Rockport. We came back on a train and sitting across from us was a man holding a newspaper. The front page read "LENNON SHOT". I let out a squeal. The man lowered his paper, saw my scrunched up,tearful face and handed it over. The only information I could glean was that he had been shot by a demented fan. By the time we got back, we had learned he had died.
There were a couple of things going on in the common so we went. We ended up in a circle of people, just talking and listening to others singing some of his songs. When Sylvia got back to the UK, she said people there didn't react half as strongly as they did here.
Urban legends? There might be a few. It is true that even though he was DOA, they tried surgery and blood transfusions. Reporters wept openly. The only one I'm not sure of is that we'd heard that the NYPD, afraid the ambulance would take too long,lifted John above their heads and put him a police car. But I could believe it. I've always loved the Beatles and do you know what? I intend to get all of their music on itunes and let it continue to be the background music of my life.

Jackie

My Uncle Jack was only thirteen when I was born. He was always "Jackie" to me and my cousins. Sometime between "Jackie" and when he became "Jack",a lot of bonds were broken and there will be no condolence card. So there are only better memories in the past. No regrets because these relationships were not in my control.
Whenever my parents had financial problems (which was often) I was sent to live with my grandmother. I have fond memories of Princeton and loved Voncourt Apartments where she and Jackie lived. One of my earliest memories was of me sitting on Jackie's lap (was I two? three?) when he was trying to eat breakfast before school.
"Mother,(she was always mother to her children which was pretty unusual in that area)make her get down" he would complain. "Oh let her stay" she would say and smile at me. I would be beaming because I had gotten my way.

I remember that very clearly. I know why. I was happy. Those are the only memories I care to keep.
No hard feelings. I'll cherish who I have left now that I am free to love them.
One thing stands out. Now all of Mamo's children are gone.

Yesteryear

Its the fourth of July once again and I can't help but compare it to the ones I experienced years ago. I was new to Boston and loved the history behind this momentous day. Didn't I ever feel this before? Honestly-no. Growing up in a resort town in Florida wasn't exactly Everytown,USA and with a family straight out of a Tennessee Williams play....you get the picture.
I lived on Beacon Hill and until 1976, the routine was pretty much the same except for the cast of characters. About a half an hour before the concert, you'd make sure you're out the door. You'd walk across the footbridge and voila! ...you're at the Hatch shell. When I met girlfriends, we'd usually take beer and pizza. When I went with my gay friends, the menu boasted gourmet food and good wine. Arthur Fiedler was alive then (when he died I cried like a baby) and it was always incredible.
In 1976, it was the bi-Centennial. Against my better judgment, I was talked into going. After having my new suede moccasins ruined by a man with a German accent and
generally being squished by a sea of people, a terrible realization hit me. Our wonderful secret was out. The world had discovered 4th of July in Boston and it was never the same.
But the memories are still nice. Happy Fourth everyone!

With apologies to Skeeter Davis....

My biggest regret in those wild days of the sixties was that I never got to London. Everything cool was there: The Beatles, The Stones, Mary Quant, Twiggy, the Mods and Rockers,etc. King's Road was "The" place to be so when I had to pick a bed & breakfast for one night before my famous(in my mind) grand tour, someone suggested Chelsea because it was a good,safe area. The Joni Mitchell song began to play in my fevered brain. "its on Oakley St., off King's Road" this helpful person continued. "Really?". Well, that settled that.
When my trip was completed and my 3 week sojourn in Oxford was over, I decided to stay at the same establishment. I took a bus from Sloane Sq. tube station. I used to love to ride on the double-deckers but never judged where I was very well and ended up literally throwing myself down the stairs to make my exit.
The bus was going down the King's Road and I obviously went past Oakley St. because the driver shouted"Last stop! World's End". World's End? What? How cool! And I glanced out the window and saw a town clock that had no hands. Was I seeing things? Maybe. On something? No( really ).
So this is the place I have to stay! For a week and after I do my tourist thing, leave for San Francisco. But I was robbed in Leicester Square and the rest is history . Yeah, I know. In my mind.

Prequel or When I was a blank slate

Sometime in 1940, a city bus was lumbering its way through the streets of Princeton, West Virginia. A man, who was obviously drunk, was singing loudly. A young woman told him to shut up.
These people were my parents..and that was how they met. My father was thirty. My mother was all of seventeen.
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My parents were married on Jan. 3, 1941 in Pikeville, Kentucky which is the middle of Hatfield-McCoy country. I have faint memories of a visit to Kentucky as a small child(visiting Aunt Polly & family). I remember incredible expanse of forests and a little general store that I visited with my cousins. My cousin Bobby told me not to talk to several dirty,shoeless children who were sitting out in front. One foggy morning we passed a lone man in our car. He was very tall (to me) and was carrying a shotgun. He turned his head as we passed. Scary stuff.
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I was born four and a half years later. A not so welcome surprise. However, one thing my parents agreed on was that my birthplace would be in Virginia. Facts are sketchy on where they were when I was an unsuspecting fetus but they managed a move just in time. I was born in Roanoke...a week late and thus a gemini. My mother hated the whole "hillbilly" prejudice associated with her homestate and would always remind people that W. Virginia used to be Virginia (that troublesome John Brown!). My father? He was a real native son and moved back to Virginia after he abandoned me in the unfriendly tropics.
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Following custom (superstition?) my parents didn't buy any baby things until I came home. But they were a bit extreme. My mother told me my first bed was a dresser drawer. I had visions of them slamming it shut at night, like covering up a parrot cage. Is that why I've always liked Poe? A more romantic spin, I know.
I was named Victoria after Betty Grable's daughter and given a middle name of Ellen after my grandmother (who was Ada Ellen). My father had opted for Veronica for a middle name which drove my mother insane which of course was the main idea.
After I was born, everyone came to visit. My grandmother (Mamo) came with a 13 year old Jack, My Aunt Polly came with Uncle Harold and Bobby. The doctor who delivered me came to check me out (who does that anymore?). He was one of the few Jewish doctors in the Commonwealth but he was considered one of the best so my parents opted for him. He took one look at my cousin Bobby and said,"Get this child to the hospital NOW". Bobby practically had no white cells in his body. Dr. Schurneman (spelling?) saved his life. They talked about that for years.
These facts are for posterity, for my children and their children. Oh okay...you can read it too.

That weekend.....

The third day...
That was Sunday which was normally a lazy day and strangely, the feeling was similar on that particular day. We were all tired and irritable. The chapel was crowded. Long dark cars deposited stony-faced priests. The hunky Italian priest came but he failed to fill our teenage hearts with the customary lust. We were unmoved.
After a calorie laden pancake breakfast ,most of us headed back to the dorms. Mary came over because she said her parents were driving her crazy. She convinced me to go to the smoker to see Oswald be moved to..from..jail to prison or something like that. I admit I was a bit fascinated-morbid or not.
He was being escorted by a veritable crowd of police in the basement parking lot. Suddenly we saw several flashes and heard a "pop pop" sound. It looked and sounded like little kids playing cops and robbers. Something so shocking takes awhile to sink in properly. Oswald was dead.
All I remember of Jack Ruby was his white hat. As for my fellow dorm mates, there were no screams or yells, just loud gasps of shock or surprise. We were all too drained. I didn't watch the funeral on TV-was it Monday? Instead I viewed it later.
Life got back to normal fairly soon. It tends to do that when you're young.
It was the worst weekend ever. But its just an anniversary now.