The Impoverished Gentlewoman

The twelve days of Christmas

2011-12-23T22:10:00.003-05:00

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.....

2010-12-08T12:14:00.003-05:00

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

2010-09-11T14:04:00.004-04:00

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

2010-07-04T16:55:00.003-04:00

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....

2010-03-21T16:34:00.003-04:00

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

2010-01-17T14:30:00.003-05:00

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.
___________________________________

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.
_____________________________________

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.
______________________________________

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.....

2009-11-24T18:43:00.003-05:00

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.

That weekend.....

2009-11-23T18:08:00.003-05:00

The second day..
I lived in the dorms at Marymount for two years but went home for the weekend VERY rarely. Beyond the obvious reasons, there was good food,central air and even maid service so whats not to love? Boca Raton was little more than a retirement village then. We generally headed for Ft. Lauderdale if we felt dangerous(haha). My friend Mary went to high school there and we'd hang out with her friends. Locally, we'd go to the movies or hang out at the beach.
That Saturday was different from any other . It was very quiet-"hushed" was the word. It was claustrophobic for some. Some girls who lived in Palm Beach or Miami left to escape. But I knew I'd prefer the "cloistered nunnery" feel than a trip to the land of tiny-brained folk. Life at Marymount was sheltered and even going to Publix for groceries could be a shock to the system. That night after dinner, I saw a group of nuns walk to one of the man-made lakes for prayers. The sky was a mixture of pastel blues and pinks. They lit candles. And I was consoled.
But it got to us after awhile. One of the wealthiest girls at the school, Monica (from Norwalk,CT) was also our best dancer. Her "dirty dog" was banned at the school dances. She and a few other girls were dancing in the "smoker". This was the student lounge and the only place where smoking was allowed. Its also where they had a TV and music system. One of the nuns came in and screamed at them,"Have you no respect?!!!". And Monica screamed right back at her ,"We can't stand this anymore!". The nun just turned around and left.
Things get better with time,right? But the next day was no help.

The Adventures of Aunt Ollie, part 1

2009-11-22T16:03:00.004-05:00

I met Aunt Ollie once and it was a memorable meeting. It was that summer in 1963. She came to Polly's house to see my mother and myself . I think she invented the term "colorful character".
The true tale that I'd already heard:
It was during the depression. Ollie and her husband George were driving through those twisting roads late one winter night. Ollie was normally very distrustful of everything but felt sorry for the lone,shivering figure on the side of the road,trying to hitch a ride.
"Pick him up,George." she said. Uncle George knew better not to argue. the hitcher got into the back seat, unsmiling.
Aunt Ollie felt uncomfortable. "Where are you going" she asked, trying to be sociable as well as feeling curious as to where he was headed.
"I'm going wherever you go" he answered.
For some reason, this terrified both of them. Uncle George gasped and began driving very fast. Ollie put her hand in her purse ,turned towards him and croaked ominously,gritting her teeth, "I've got a GUN".
I'm not sure which scared the hitcher more, the car careening wildly on mountain curves or Ollie about to pull out her six-shooter(which didn't exist) but he begged to be let out."Please,just stop the car!Please!".
When Uncle George finally found a spot to pull over, the unfortunate hitcher jerked open the door and then proceeded to run away, slipping on the icy road,looking over his shoulder with an expression of pure terror.
So a scary story he might have told to his children later on was a funny family story for us.
The blog-the modern campfire.

That weekend.....

2009-11-22T15:26:00.003-05:00

I was coming out of Spanish class with Susanne Carvalho. It was Friday afternoon and I don't remember if there were any plans that weekend. There usually were. Our mutual friend Mary Cunningham was waiting for us. This was very strange because Mary was a commuter student and would normally have waited in one of our dorm rooms.
"Kennedy was killed" she blurted out.
"Very funny, Cunningham" I shot back. But then she started to cry and she never cried-she was the cool,unflappable one.
We sat in her car in the parking lot for a long time, listening to the radio. I was too much in shock to cry. But then I rarely cried.
Marymount was a Catholic college of course and portraits of Kennedy hung proudly all over campus. That evening there was a special Mass, the first of many. We all slapped on our mantillas and clutched our missals. We were never so well-behaved. I was a brand new convert and yes, it was so comforting.
Susanne's father called her from Fall River that evening and told her,"You're now a part of history!" and she replied "But I don't want to be!" and thats how we all felt.
That was the first day.

Bimini Goomba

2009-10-31T14:02:00.003-04:00

My friend Hallie has a story all of her own and an interesting one to boot but I felt inspired to focus on one chapter. Or maybe I figured if I wrote about it now I wouldn't have to think about it..that much anyway.
A prequel: During my freshman year at Marymount, we went on a day trip to Bimini. This is in S. Florida,remember-not exactly far away. The main attraction was that three miles out, there was no drinking age. And the Bimini excursion was just a few hours of meandering around dusty streets, being stared at by sullen natives. I was happy to get back on the boat. I felt very...uneasy being there.
Fast-forward a few years: I'm a Florida Gator(flunking out mostly). This was before Rhett.I babysat at Gene's house,drank beer at Frat parties and was still virginal. I had an older friend named Hallie who had a nervous breakdown (like I stated earlier,her story is for another day. Or maybe never). While she was committed to the psychiatric wing in Shands hospital, Anita,I and her mother took turns caring for her little boy. Hallie's mom told me the story.
When Hallie was in high school she and her family visited Bimini. While there,she took a liking to a native painting. It depicted a road and a hut along the road. Along the side of the hut on a bench sat an old woman making a basket. Her eyes were downcast,intent on the task at hand.
Hallie was looking at the painting one night as she was wont to do. It hung over the couch in the living room. All of a sudden the old lady's head began to move. Very slowly. Hallie thought she was imagining it. Then her head came all the way up and her eyes, big black holes,stared directly at Hallie. She started to scream and scream."I couldn't run to the door. I couldn't move." she told her mother later. Of course, this was only a cry for help. Hallie had issues she did get help for.
But like I said before, I wanted to write about it so I wouldn't have to think about it. What happened to the painting? I moved it myself-behind the couch facing the wall. I told Anita sternly to"Just leave it" when she said I was being silly.
Note to self-Never lose your mind. Or at least don't invest in native art.
This is Halloween,isn't it? But this is a true story.

He made us laugh.....

2009-10-24T15:42:00.001-04:00

R.I.P. Soupy Sales

In Memorium-a record collection :-(

2009-10-10T11:35:00.003-04:00

When I left South Florida years ago, my cherished record collection (Yes...real records..LPs) resided in a box in my closet,safely tucked into their album covers. When my mother moved from that house into my grandmother's house,that box was supposed to be put into the utility room. Ah, fool that I was.
Records are heavy and I no longer had a turntable so I admit that they were put on the backburner of my mind.
However, when my mother died and my children went down to the house to go through all the stuff to retrieve things for me (books,photos) I was also notified that that box no longer existed. Instead there was an occasional LP found,no cover. What? What? What in the F happened? Were they used as coasters? Were they given to the neighbor children as frisbees? Did the Miami Dolphins use them for punting practice? I guess I'll never know. So I grieve.
The record album was something special. The record itself,of course,but inside you usually found other treasures-liner notes,posters,tour pictures and always LYRICS. I remember every Beatle album-always momentous. I had a wine party for my friends when I brought home "Jesus Christ Superstar". I sold my favorite Neil Young album to buy food. A few melted in the South Florida heat. A few were stolen.
My one major regret is that I never kept record of them. Every once in a while I'll remember one -oh, that Graham Nash record was really good. But me keeping record?Not in my nature, I guess.
So heres to the old record albums! If you have any,keep them close. The cost of turntables keep going down. Enjoy.

Spring Breaks

2009-09-12T13:24:00.002-04:00

I didn't want this to be a seasonal entry because strange as it seems, when it comes to spring break, American society has regressed. Natalee Holloway,girls gone wild,being abducted and sold to white slavers,etc. I'm not going to see a documentary titled "College coeds in an Algerian brothel-how they escaped" and think,"gosh, that brings back warm,fuzzy memories about how it was in my day". Because thats where it all started. What went wrong?
When I was high school age (I say this because I never went to a typical high school.Rather, small private schools) I was too busy perfecting my role as Laura in my very own Glass Menagerie. However, I did read "Where the Boys Are" which unlike the movie, was rather dark and depressing. It was really a cautionary tale for young women.
I went to a private womens college for two years where I insisted on living. I had several groups of friends, very different from each other. Mary Cunningham was a commuter student from Deerfield. I used to hang out with her and her friends in Ft. Lauderdale(where they went to high school. Delray and Boca were almost villages then, absolutely nothing to do). That was my more normal experiences(drinking contraband beer,going to drive-in-movies to make fun of couples). It gave me high school experiences I never had. My roommate for the latter half of freshman year was Ginny, who hailed from a very wealthy New York family. I didn't care for her friends very much. They had names like "Daffy" and "Muffy" and would bounce into the room screaming "Ma Gaud! I have nothing to wear!!!". And then there was Carol who was the class intellectual. We were roommates in our second and last year. She would spray our room with 4711 every night to give us "sophisticated dreams".
But heres the thing-that year there was a class trip at spring break-to Nassau. Where Carol's family lived! So poverty-stricken as usual, I was able to indulge, even if it wasn't with the "class". It was actually a better deal (for innocents at least). We were well-fed, spent the day at the beach a block away or on Bay St. We went to the bars at night (no drinking age). James Bond fever was in full gear. I absolutely worshipped Sean Connery and they were filming "Thunderball" while we were there. They had "Junkanu"-spelling? which was a New Years celebration & parade for the film. I saw Sean Connery and felt I was in heaven. But when we all returned to school, there were fireworks. It seems as though the "class" who stayed at the hotel on the beach had boys in their rooms. They were called into the Mother Superior's office. Sixteen in all. The ones who told the truth were given a slap on the wrist. The ones who lied were expelled. Alas, Daffy and Muffy were no more.
The next year was more pedestrian. I went to the "Strip" with Mary and her friends. For those not familiar with South Florida, the strip is along the beach in Ft. Lauderdale. It got pretty raunchy at spring break(like the movie!), especially when the fleet was in. The most notorious place was the Elbow Room, a very sleazy bar. It was very large, I remember. I took a dare to run in,hit the back wall. A more adventurous friend went all the way upstairs and back but she was crying when she came out. We swore off sailors. And we were such babies...I smile at the thought. Many close calls but we gave each other false confidence.
When I was at the University of Florida, I gave spring break one more chance. I met Martha in a hall closet at a party my roommates were throwing. She was consoling a boy who thought he'd contracted mumps and was now sterile. I helped them finish off a bottle of Jack Daniels. We ended up in a fit of giggles. Martha was tall, Southern and very funny. We decided to go to Daytona Beach with an old roomie of mine,Jan. It was fun driving on the hard beach. But apparently, a religious group complained about "goings on" and alot of people had left. There was a dance going on behind walls. Live band, sounded good. So we pooled our money to get in and it turned out to be....a high school dance. Jan & I were afraid Martha would get arrested and we finally convinced her to leave. We broke the hearts of some teenage boys, I know. On our way back, we stopped at one of those anonymous bars in one of those anonymous strip malls and laughed because everything went so badly. Everytime I hear "Martha,my dear" I think of my last venture into Spring Break.
It was time to put away our childish things and go to the next thing.

My Beatle heart is broken...

2009-09-09T17:59:00.002-04:00

Perhaps this is due to my bitterness over not being able to see Paul when he here but all the PR over the Beatle game and the Beatle store in London is beyond the pale.
I actually googled the Beatle store and found out not only is it at Abbey Road but everywhere else-in London. Lots of locations. Can you order online? No, but would that be fun? Not really. I plan on..or want to download lots of Beatles on my new MP3 player but right now its frozen AGAIN. I can see its winking blue lights as I type this. I think I hear furtive giggling too. But thats me all over, paranoid yet strangely appealing.
yeah yeah yeah

It was forty years ago today...

2009-08-30T15:37:00.002-04:00

Well, not exactly today but I couldn't let August go by and not talk about that August so many years ago. Woodstock? sure, that was part of it but we all began that summer not knowing anything special was in the works. It was a pretty good summer all in all. I was excited to make plans to escape south Florida for my beloved Provincetown, the Charles Manson murders..no,wait thats not right..forget that part.
So I'm going to P'Town with my old roommate from Gainesville, "Shar"(really Sharon but she thought Shar sounded cool). Shar was a real Southern Belle in a generation that had none of those. She was also an innocent in an era of sex,drugs and rock n' roll. I drove up from Delray Beach to Starke, actually Raiford. Raiford, the state prison..the home of old Sparky. Shar's father was the assistant warden. Their home was on prison grounds. Shar's father made "escape" jokes and he and Shar would cackle like two old witches. But I did survive and we were on our way.
When we were in White Plains,NY we heard about a big concert upstate. When we were at a service station, several freaky types mentioned how mind blowing it was going to be. Shar immediately envisioned herself being sold to a drug crazed biker and all I heard was "Vicki,NO!!!!!!". But when we heard tickets were $18 it was unaffordable. Of course, it wasn't true but they were trying to turn people away. Hey, $18 was alot then!
When we arrived we got a room at a B&B and to Shar's relief, we hung out with a couple of guys who worked at a Chicago Ad agency. They had a cottage with a deck right on the beach so that was nice. It was probably the tamest stay in P'Town but the next summer made up for it...and thats another story.
When we did hear how incredible Woodstock was, there was some regret but everyone I knew who went there said "Oh Vicki you would have hated it!" ..my disdain for the outdoors and the various behaviors exibited were well known (I'm a pretty private person). So there.
Now a mere ten years later-that really upset me! I was imprisoned at Beth Israel Hospital (Well, thats what it felt like) very pregnant with twins who were already past their due date. My length of pregnancy rivaled that of the gestation period of the average elephant. Surely I can make Aug. 15th-the 10th anniversity of Woodstock! But no, it was the day before. A husband of the woman across from me who actually was at Woodstock and his son was born that day did a demented happy dance in front of me until his wife told him to leave me alone.
They've tried to re-do Woodstock several times but it didn't work. You can't re-do something so spontaneous. Things just happen. Really the best things, don't you think?

Sail Boston

2009-07-10T14:36:00.002-04:00

I don't remember when. It was in the seventies, that I know for sure. A friend of mine, Jean, worked at Harvard and invited me to a harbor cruise when the Tall Ships were in town.
It was all Harvard people, staff & faculty and I knew no one but it didn't matter. It had already been an interesting time for us city dwellers. The streets were full of foreign sailors from everywhere and they were all adorable.
The ship would cruise around the harbor of course and would pass all the beautiful ships. I felt like I was in an old pirate movie (before Captain Jack Sparrow!). The masts were adorned with colored lights or lanterns and we even had a live rock band. However, everyone was drinking and thats something I hadn't indulged in since college so my memories are pretty murky. I remember it was all soooo pretty.
I'm so glad I got to experience that...one of many,actually. Boston then was a wonderful place...an awesome place to be young.

Yours sincerely, wasting away

2009-05-26T14:13:00.002-04:00

When I get older, losing my hair
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine.

If I'd been out till quarter of three
would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty four.

Richard and Novice

2009-05-23T19:56:00.003-04:00

Tallahassee, 1969
I was never a student at Florida State but came to our state capital at the insistance of my friend Shar (really Sharon) who was a grad student in English. We had been roommates in Gainesville and that previous summer she had gone with me to Provincetown and Wildwood,NJ (which was alot of fun). She went ahead and got an "apartment" for me. The apartment turned out to be a very small room in a commune type house . Commune meaning a large common kitchen and common bathrooms...and I was the only female (or is that common female). She probably thought I would like this but I didn't and thats one of the reasons we didn't stay friends. But it was interesting and I did meet a few people who had a lasting impression on my life. One of them was Richard...oh, and Novice.
One Friday night I was walking down the hall upstairs and passed by one of the larger rooms which was occupied by a guy who was usually gone on weekends. There was someone there, sitting on the floor and listening to an album I liked. "Excuse me?", I felt I should say something, he might be a serial album napper. He was very cute but very straight looking by our standards. Neat pants and shirt, wavy but short hair. His name was Richard..he was in graduate school in...I forget. We talked and listened to music and laughed and made fun of people and before we knew it,it was morning. I loathe the term "soulmate", it seems only natural for fourteen year olds. But Richard was the closest I ever came to. He was my alter ego, sure as shootin! I'm so happy!!!And now hes looking at me, a smile on his cute face and he says," I want you to meet my wife..we have an open marriage". What? Huh? Are you nuts? Do I look French to you? I took out my gun and shot him dead like a dog...no, that was my fantasy. I demurely told him sorry but thats not my thing. Damnit.
I don't remember if I was set up or not but a few nights later I was a bar with a friend and who strolls over but Richard -"Hi! This is a surprise! This is Novice, my wife" Novice? I looked next to him expecting to see a leering nun but instead see a very attractive young woman. Novice fairly reeked sex appeal but she was one of those women who attracted everyone..I liked her. She introduced me to her "guy" who was a biker with a muscular build-Dan or Don? "We're going to a grope..you should come!". Compared to my friends, I was socially conservative. A grope (they had them in Provincetown) was when you went to a party with one person and ended up having sex with-whoever. Just one guy for me, thank you very much. "Vicki wouldn't be interested in that" said Richard,smiling (Oh, you think you know me Bucko?). So Novice and friend left and Richard and I ended up together talking about..everything.
This went on for weeks not months. Yes, Richard and I were girlfriend-boyfriend(this is a G rated blog) and that was very special but it all got to me. One night the three of us were having dinner at their house and it all didn't make sense any longer. While Novice was out of the living room for a minute, I told Richard it was over. They drove me home. A few hours later, I was sitting on the upstairs porch and noticed Novice's car stopping on the street and Richard getting out. Richard talked me into continuing and it might have lasted a long time except for Tom.
Tom Heaps was a Jimmy Dean type. He even had dimples. Girls loved him. But I saw him as an old soul and liked him immediately. I met him when I first came to the house. My attraction was that I was a "virgin" ,meaning I hadn't yet experienced LSD. I was coming home with a guy after seeing a movie (I even remember it was "The Learning Tree" by Gordon Parks). Tom came roaring up on his Harley and that was that. At first our relationship was romantic but eventually became better friends. When I wanted to get away from drama(yes, it was usually Richard), I would go to Tom's (he rented a house way out of town).
One day, Tom said he wanted me to meet someone. We went to a house and he introduced me to a very pregnant girl. She told me she was Novice's cousin and when she came to Tallahassee from Missouri, she stayed with them. Nothing could have shocked me more when she told me how Richard had abused Novice. Richard? Its frightening how little you really know about someone. I loved Tom for doing that for me.
When I told Richard I simply had to end it because I was not happy (I didn't mention what I had learned), he looked at me with hurt eyes and said,"I was going to leave Novice for you". What a lie and I told him so. That was a close call but it still made me feel very sad. I never did meet anyone like Richard again. Which was good...and bad.

When I fall in love.....

2009-05-02T14:21:00.002-04:00

I've researched this a bit...asking friends re their experiences..what are the symtoms of being in love? One Sure-fire one is-singing together !! Not necessarily like in a Hollywood movie but I've had a few of those moments.
With one love...hes now affectionately known as "The Thing"(my apologies to James Arness) was inspired by the Beatles(YES!!!!). After seeing "Beatlemania" at the old Music hall in Boston, we danced merrilly through the Boston Common, singing "Yesterday" at the top of our lungs. Such a memorable event does not guarantee lasting happiness however, thus his absence in my life and his nickname "the thing". But its an ass kicker of a memory all the same.
More meaningfully are any memories of Rhett. In this venue, almost any song over the car radio or eight track player (eight track!) would bring on our holding hands and singing along, whether it was Simon and Farfunkel or the Turtles. Its an expression of joy or lust or whatever but its always there, ready to bring on a smile when remembered. So if your're in love and your desired one does not sing along with you, it means he or she are not in love or are a vampire or..oh, I forget which..

The College Inn Murder

2009-04-18T16:04:00.002-04:00

The College Inn was a rather antiseptic student hang-out in Gainesville,Florida. I say that because there were several places in Tallahassee that had much more appeal for the "trippers" that congregated there....but trippers were only a gleam in our collective eye. This was winter of 1966. Although I was living on my mother's bounty, I was a flunked out junior, looking towards probation in the spring. My roommates were a very diverse lot. Kathy was a rather disturbed young woman who sat in the corner, knitting and professing to be everyone's moral better and absentee mother. But we tended to see her more as Madame LaFarge, cackling away at our youthful escapades...or just mine. Later on, we visited her home in Palatka, a sun-washed hole of a town and met her father (whom she frostily called "Bill") and I gained much more sympathy for her. Peggy was a graduate student in bacteriology and finally Sing-Sing, a foreign exchange student from Thailand. It was a FRiday night and I was sort of missing which lead more to "Not again" than a real concern. Later on, my friends would only worry about me unless they saw my eviserated corpse. But Kathy was a pain and Peggy thought about what happened a few weeks ago.
I had a terrible blind date with an obnoxious frat boy. This lead to my seeing Simon and Garfunkel (with Peggy in tow) which was awesome but thats another story. The next night, I had gone out to a street dance for an "hour or so" and ended up meeting a really cute boy and going to a party with him and staying out...well, a little longer than an hour. When we got back, the house was crawling with police. It seems my drunken friend showed up looking for me and threatened my roommates with a knife. Or I should say, Kathy's boyfriend Don, who hid in the closet. The "really cute boy" ran for his life.
So on this particular friday night, I met Peggy at the College Inn for a hamburger and mentioned I was going to a street dance because I was bored. She made a joke about calling the police to warn them. I replied "very funny" or something like that and left.
The dance was pretty boring also so I left and decided to take a shortcut home-basically a few alleys and one back yard. I was almost there but realized I had left my shoulder bag. What, am I nuts? And part of my rent was in there to boot. Yes, I am nuts and I'm running like mad to hopefully retrieve everything dear to me before some undeserving lout finds it (probably that drunken frat boy!). I arrived there out of breath and scared to death but amazingly, found it exactly where I left it, with everything intact. I went back, using the same shortcut but for some reason I ran(just like I had getting there,afraid my things would be stolen). I just wanted to get home and fast. When I got there, Peggy was almost crying with relief.
It seems that sometime that evening, a girl was stabbed to death at the College Inn. It wasn't on the news yet but every campus has its grapevine. They caught him the next day. I don't remember his motive but he confessed immediately. He went to the girls bathroom and stood on one of the toliets. Eventually a girl opened that particular stall and he killed her. Peggy of course was thinking of that jerk with the knife (thank you Jesus, I can't remember his name). So she hears this horrific tale and thinks,"where in the hell is Vicki?". You might think, in my fevered imagination, I am the damsel in distress, all flowing hair and running 'cross the moors with a mad fiend in pursuit. But I felt more like I was "Wheres Waldo?" with my little perplexed face. How stupid to run through alleyways but I never did again.
Murder wasn't a common thing in a small southern college town and it was years before Ted Bundy terrorized Tallahassee but it had a sobering effect on us all.

Father Gene

2009-04-11T14:43:00.002-04:00

It was 1965, 1966...before I met Rhett. It was in Gainesville, FL (Univ. of Florida) and I was busy flunking out of school,going to "Trader Toms",dancing to MoTown,very young Beatles & Stones(was Mick ever that cute?) and drinking too much beer (before other things came to be more popular). Still a "good girl"(Marymount definition-a virgin) but constantly experimenting.
A friend, Anita was not exactly a good girl but active in her church (Episcopal) whereas I was a bitter ex-Catholic, calling myself an atheist but eventually becoming a "jovial agnostic" -Rhett's term, which I always thought was pretty funny. The priest was Gene Ruyle, an agnostic (honest to god!) who said the best church was a bar and the best hymn, "Up on the Roof" by the Drifters. I went to him for counseling because I was pretty messed up and Anita worshipped him. I would go once a week and wail about my childhood & mother. It helped alot. Along with Anita, I also babysat for his three kids. Gene was also incredibly handsome. Is Ruyle an irish name? Because he had those beautiful blue eyes & black hair. But he was so innocent and good, our young lust was completely inappropriate. When I talked of painful incidents, his eyes were so full of sympathy, I instantly loved him.
He was married to Tommie, who was very petite and fun. She was the extrovert to his introvert. I would hang out for free just because I loved this family so much (my search for family life is always a constant). Tommie would put on music and we would all dance, adults and kids doing a demented conga line through the house. Sometimes we would watch "Lost in Space" and Paul the youngest would pretend to be scared and dive between our bodies and pillows for protection.
When I left Gainesville, I left those wonderful people behind. Only a few years later, Anita called me to catch up on things (for Anita, it was usually whos sleeping with who). "Hear what happened to Gene?"...No, I didn't want to hear this. Some people should be frozen in time, to preserve our dreams, you know? And I didn't believe it but checked it out with a more reliable source. It was true. Gene had left Tommie and the kids and moved out to Haight-Ashbury..and you know what happened with people who gravitated there..you lose yourself(I tried to go...only lack of money prevented me).
Were we all insane then? Or is it that opportunity was there for the taking. You could only associate with non-judgmental people. Whatever you did, it was always, "its cool".
When I was in San Francisco years later, pregnant and not feeling all that well, I tried to find out where Gene was but failed. I was kind of glad.

Where is Rita Tushingham?

2009-03-28T14:02:00.002-04:00

I don't mean the present day actor. I saw her playing a demented granny in a movie a few weeks ago. No, I mean what her early roles meant to a whole generation of young women.
When I was at the University of Florida in Gainesville, there was a theater that showed foreign films. I loved to go on sundays. Hopefully it would be raining. There I would indulge myself with Bergman & Fellini. One day I saw "A taste of Honey" and it affected me...well, forever. The US was falling in love with everything British, from the Beatles to "Alfie" but this film was very personal for me. A few years later, it was "The girl with green eyes" and my enthrallment was complete.
So does this generation of young women have their own Rita? Perhaps they don't need one. I don't know. It could be that because there were so many monumental changes for women then, it helped to be inspired by a film or a book or even to feel validated. I know it helped me.

The Summer of '63 but no dirty dancing

2009-03-15T14:09:00.003-04:00

In my senior year of high school, I was supposed to attend Rosarian Academy in West Palm Beach. I had recently converted to Catholicism and this made sense. My mother and I had toured the beautiful campus with the flowing fountains and majestic statues and I felt like Audrey Hepburn in "The Nun's Story"(before she went to the congo of course). We had even ordered my uniforms, in pale blues ,pinks and yellows with matching cardigans. My roommate at Marymount College (sophomore year)Carol told me later,"We were waiting for you! Your name was on the door!". But alas, it was not to be. I was missing credits in American History. So back to my little Episcopal school with wild-eyed Father Zimmerman who thought I was wonderful for some reason. I was going to Marymount College in Boca Raton. Yay! Only 7 miles away but I was going to live there. Double yay! But again, no credits in American History. So it was summer school for me. But not the local High School, thank you very much. Seacrest High was "Rebel without a cause" before James Dean came to town. So it was decided that I would go to Princeton High School in Princeton, West Virginia, my mother's old stomping grounds and my childhood summer visiting place.
________________________________________________
I can't remember how that came about. But my mother & I traveled there by train. Amazingly my mother was fairly well behaved that summer. Around 6 weeks in all. My parents had literally dumped me in Princeton the summer I was 14 but my mother took pains taking me to see where she grew up, relatives I had never met,etc. My father had taken me to Virginia the summer I was 13 to visit family I had never met and then disappeared from my life. I suppose I was lucky I wasn't tossed from the train in a burlap bag like an unwanted kitten . But I was eighteen and soon to be a college student. I didn't feel that helpless.
My mother and Harold(my aunt Polly's husband) never got along. My cousin Bobby was named after an old boyfriend of my mother's. It was Harold's idea. I thought that was weird. And when Harold was on his deathbed years later, he asked for my mother. Polly was furious but my mother thought it was amusing.
We stayed at the Virginian hotel in town, a short walk from the high school. It was an old building, built before the Civil War (or War between the States). The elevator was operated by the bellboy,a black kid who was going to nearby Concord College in the Fall. I would sometimes sit and talk with him on his breaks. Surprisingly, my mother only looked on this with disapproval. She never said anything. Our room had a little eat in kitchen and I would pick up groceries on the way home from class.
Its never really hot in Princeton in the summer but this summer it was downright cold. I loved it. I enjoyed the class and the teacher, although he embarrassed me the very first day,"Are you from California?" he asked. Everytime I spoke in class, everyone would look at me as though my head would fly off at any moment. I made friends with one girl, movies and a few lunches. It was nice to talk to someone I had something in common with. She was going to college in Ohio in the Fall.
Of course we spent time at Harold & Polly's. Christie Starr was now an irritable 15 year old. My beloved cousin Bobby was 19 and married two years to Janice, a pretty but emptyheaded 17 year old. I had reacted badly when they first married. You don't drop out of high school! Shes only 15? what?!!! They had recently moved to an apartment in town and I spent alot of time with Janice in the afternoons while Bobby was at work.
There was alot of bias against Janice because she was from Stumpy Hollow. Okay, people called in Stumpy Holler but that was too much for me. It was obviously the wrong side of the tracks. One Saturday we went to her old house to take her little sister to a movie. I couldn't believe the poverty. We saw Hayley Mills in "Summer Magic". I felt sorry for everyone that day. It would be only a matter of months before I would discover the existance of the migrant farms in my own hometown(the nuns at Marymount did charity work there).
One night mother,Janice and I went to (where was Bobby? I don't know)The Hales Gap Tavern which was owned by my Uncle Ellis, my grandmother's younger brother who was a very handsome man(tall,how did he get to be tall?coal black hair, those black eyes my grandmother had). He and his wife Dolly had alot of kids and lived upstairs. Everything was free of course, food,beer,pop. A cute cousin asked me to go for a drive. He was blond like his mother. Ellis told him to leave me alone. We still had a good time.
We all went to drive in movies or creature features at the theater across from the Voncourt apartments where my grandmother lived for years. I was taken out to the beautiful land where my mother grew up. We went out to dinner with Andy Anderson whom I remember from my childhood. He was principal of the high school for many years and a good friend of my mother's. Everyone thought he was gay but everyone liked him so much it didn't really matter. "sweet" was the perfect adjective. He was the one who encouraged Uncle Jack to finish high school and go to college. He sat and listened to me and my hopes for college and the future and told me I was a winner. I was always told the opposite and that touched me deeply.
Six weeks went by quickly and I would have liked to stay longer but my mother wanted to go."Back to my little house" she would always say.
I never did go back to Princeton! Its as though that was truly in the past. Polly,Harold,Bobby,Christie and Janice made trips down to Florida in the coming years. Bobby eventually went into the Marines. Janice moved in with Harold & Polly but started cheating on Bobby and he divorced her. Ah, young love.
On the train going back, we spent the whole time in the bar with a sailor from New Jersey. We corresponded for awhile. Oh, my American History course? I got an A of course. In a few weeks, I would be away from home for the first time.....turning the next page.

In Memoriam

2009-03-15T13:21:00.004-04:00

Beatrice Lorene Christie Vest
1923-2008

Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: It gives back life to those who no longer exist.
-Guy de Maupassant

My mother died recently and although it would be more honest to describe her as my worst enemy rather than a loving,nuturing mentor, acknowledgment is due. My brief flashes of grief surprise me as does guilt. But our parents create us and we in turn help create our own children. What a strange journey it is . I was an unloved child but there must have been something there to make me go on (screwed up and damaged as I am-oh,yes). A brief smile, a touch. Something. I do love so it has to come from somewhere. So no regret, no anger. But acceptance. We have to have that.

Forbidden Childhood

2008-11-22T14:14:00.003-05:00

There should always be an element of danger in growing up. With me it was more rebellion-anything that would strike back at my parents or capture their attention. I spent alot of summers in Princeton, West Virginia and stayed with Aunt Polly (just Polly to me. A chain-smoking,nervous woman who basically lived on coffee),her abusive husband Harold and my cousins Bobby and Christie.
I literally worshipped Bobby. He had dark good looks with dimples like his mother. Christie was younger and a pest(a demonic Shirley Temple). She had to do everything we did ("She'll tell on us if we don't take her" Bobby had explained). Our more innocent exploits were eating sugar sandwiches in the dead of night. "goddammit" we would hear my aunt in the morning,"they got in the sugar again". Bobby would always wink at me when we escaped retribution.
But one night was different. Bobby was very serious (what was he then? only eight) and even nervous. But very determined. "where are we going?" I asked. "To trade comics" he said and so there we were in the eerie quiet, each carrying a cache of comics. Where, though? Was there a comic book trading store open just for kids when all the adults were asleep? It was exciting.
It was a big, ramshackle house on a hill. Not a good neighborhood, I noticed. But unlike the houses in our neighborhood, it was alight and noisy. Bobby just opened the front door and walked in. In a long hallway of stained linoleum,a kid around our age approached. He had a sweet,elfin face and if he hadn't been so dirty (that sour smell associated with unwashed clothes that smacked of parental neglect) he could have been described as a cute kid with a blond crewcut. He gave us each a strong handshake and said "howdy, come on in". Even sourpuss Christie was charmed. The house was full of people. Who I assumed were his grandparents were actually his parents. There were young men in their twenties and late teens. No crewcuts here, but long & slick with sideburns. They ignored us, either involved in a card game in the next room or drinking from one of the bottles of liquor on the kitchen table. A little later, a group of them left and peeled out of the front yard in one of their cars. I found out later that most of them were in and out of prison on a continuous basis. The mother was frying chicken and potatoes and offered us some but Bobby wouldn't let us. Instead his elf like friend opened the fridge door and pulled out bottles of pop. Pop! In the middle of the night! I picked my precious Dr. Pepper since they didn't sell it in Florida at that time. We went to his room where stacks of every comic you could think of were waiting for us. Finally the exchange was made. When the boy gave Bobby a few for free and Bobby shook his head no, I remember him saying "No sir, I got plenty".
We finally were walking home a bit later than planned. The house looked asleep to me but Bobby sensed something. "Shit. Daddy" he said. The blows came as soon as we opened the door. Harold used a belt (my father hit me too but used his hands) and gave me a glancing blow, then shoved me away. I realized he hadn't meant to hit me at all because my father would have killed him (he had 4 inches and a muscular build on Harold). He had a reputation for being a fighter in those days. Mostly bar room brawls I assume. What a lovely legacy! But he was legendary for being able to hold up a car while someone changed a tire. I was always doubtful of this & felt it was just brawn after all-big deal. But the summer I was 13, in Virginia, he did it while a group around him shouted encouragement. In a strange way, I was proud. So I never told him of Harold's mistake. I'm sure Harold was glad. Christie was barely hit, enough to make her cry. Poor Bobby received the brunt. Aunt Polly never came out.
The next day I stood next to Bobby as he threw rocks and broke all the windows out of a vacant house (at least I hope it was vacant). We didn't speak and I silently followed him home. Sometimes I wonder about that little boy in that crazy house. I hope he made out okay. Now I can view that experience akin to a mention of the Jukes family in an old psychology 101 textbook. Despite the danger, it was still fun. Kids understand that.

Yesterdays

2008-10-18T14:04:00.003-04:00

When my mother told me that we were moving to Florida I was not happy. In the small Pennsylvania town we were living in, I had friends and loved school. I loved the rented two story house with the wrap-around porch. They were nice distractions in a not very happy existance. But how much say does a child have? None. I was eight years old.

My mother bought me a book called "Sand in her Shoes". This is very memorable because it was the only book that was ever bought for me. It was about a little girl (like me) who was moving to Florida and not very thrilled about the prospect ( again like me). Anyway, her family had a very cool house on the beach and she met new friends and went on adventures. I believe a pirate's treasure chest was in there somewhere. And everyone lived happily ever after.

My mother & I went by Greyhound which was strange because we usually took trains (which I liked. I loved lying in the pull-out bed and peeking out of the shade to see the countryside rushing by). Of course she forgot I got car sick and I threw up on a hapless man while on my way to the bathroom. I remember he cursed at me and my mother cursed back at him.

My father was already there. We traveled alot due to my father's work and this was going to be our permanent home. We arrived in West Palm Beach and took a cab. The first words out of the driver were "A baracuda just killed a woman!"
"Whats a baracuda?" I asked.
"Its like a fish. A shark" he answered. All I knew of sharks was that they were in the ocean. The scariest creature in the ocean was akin to the giant squid in "Reap the Wild Wind" in my mind. The movie took place in the pre-civil war era in Key West. And thats in Florida, right?
"Is the baracuda still there?" This was getting interesting, I thought.
"Stop bothering the man, Vicki" snapped my mother. She was getting bored,obviously.
"Nah, its okay. No, they cut him open and found her leg. She was wearing a gold anklet." He turns around and wags his finger in my face,"Don't wear any bright things.That attracts em'". Don't worry, I'm thinking. Think I'll put off the beach for awhile.

The very next day, my mother hands me over to a strange man and his equally strange children for my "beach experience". Obviously my mother thought this baracuda was the last of his line. This was typical 50's parental behavior though. Until puberty (in my case) you ran free. In Pennsylvania, one of my friend's mother used to lock her & her brother out of the house during the day (even in the snow). The father (who was this guy?) wanted to teach me to see underwater. It wasn't too bad. Kind of cool actually-looking out at miles of nothing. But then I started moving very quickly away from all the legs and waving arms. I didn't fight it. I was confused, I think. Then I felt something grab my hair and pull me up. It was my tormentor/rescuer father. Someone told me later that it was an undertoe. I spent the next summer at an oceanfront hotel managed by my grandmother & took swimming lessons in the pool but never did take to swimming or pools or the ocean after that.

We stayed in West Palm that first summer and I didn't mind. It was a rented duplex,garden apt. Very pretty. I made friends with the girl next door and explored the neighborhood. Really hot,though. But lots of kids to fill the time. I was always a kid who liked the outdoors & went barefoot (despite my ugly toes) but the heat I always minded and a boy almost lost a toe in a water sprinkler head. And the sandspurs (Which were called stickers by those in the know)! So an outdoor state turned me into an indoor person. I was taught how to pick coconuts (before some awful blight killed all the coconut palms) and smash them on the sidewalk to open them. I loved the coconut meat & milk.

My father bought this weird house/business in Delray Beach. The house looked like it was put together as an afterthought, long and boxy with a flat roof. But the business I liked. While it lasted, it was a great distraction. It was a gas station and bar. My father had two men working for him that I remembered I hated for no particular reason. At night the bar would come alive and my mother would come in and cook meals at the grill. Mostly hamburgers for customers. But my parents would have to be nice to each other and therefore nice to me. My time there at night was limited. I ate dinner at the bar every night of course.One regular, always drunk, would come in,point to my plate and say,"I'll have what shes having". It was the standard joke. I loved the jukebox. I never had money but customers would give me change to play songs. We also sold chips and candy and had the most wonderful comic book rack. Archie,Katy Keene,Little Lulu,Sugar n'Spike. I usually got to keep the ones I wanted.
Before things went south and the business was converted to my father's welding shop, there was one experience that paved the way for what was to come. We used to frequent a restaurant nearby and I became friends with Jean, the French chef. I heard him screaming at an employee in the kitchen one night and because my parents were busy arguing about something, I went into the kitchen because well, I was nosy and there he was, waving a knife and all red in the face. I thought this was funny and started laughing. He started laughing too and we became buddies. When we went there I'd spend most of the time in the kitchen listening to his stories about Paris and the war.
When my parents found out he was gay (in those days,homosexual. probably just homo). They told me I couldn't be friends anymore. I didn't understand but when I said goodbye, we both cried.
I wasn't going to mention Jean but when you talk about someone you give honor to their memory in some way.
And distractions are important.

A nostrum?

2008-01-07T14:13:00.000-05:00

When I'm blue I listen to ELO's "Mr. Blue Sky".
Try it sometime.

Remember this?

2006-05-24T15:29:00.000-04:00

Who am I? I am:
1. A woman
2. A mother
3. A feminist
5. A liberal
6. A southerner

Welcome to the blog!

2006-05-08T18:57:00.000-04:00

This is going to be my journal of observations. Stay tuned for more!