Mama said there'd be days like this

May 25.  It used to be my mother's birthday.  I don't recall any "celebrations" per se.  But hers was right before mine and I guess there are just some dates you never forget.

We had a strained relationship, if "relationship" is even what it could be called.

I was markedly younger than my three older sisters.  One sister called her "Mommy" even as an adult.  They would take walks together around the neighborhood.  It was pretty clear who the favored child was.  And none of them called my father "Dad."  They had a name they used, which I won't repeat because even as a child I knew or sensed that it was disrespectful.  He never said anything about it though.  Then again, not much was EVER said in our house, which may be why those walks taken by my sister and mother stick in my memory.  I was jealous. It's like they were members of a special club and I was not.  What did they talk about?  What was being said and shared?  

I was twelve years old and came home from school late due to volleyball.  It was a gorgeously autumnal day, breezy, the sun was going down, leaves were flying in the air.  I walked in and I could small hamburgers cooking.  My father came out to me and told me to go upstairs.  This was very odd.  In my room, he told me he was leaving.  Pffft. That was it.  He was leaving.  

I didn't take it very well.  I know I was crying.  I asked about counseling and he said that "was in the movies."  He left.  It had started to rain, and I watched him drive off through the rain and through my tears.  Lesly Gore's "It's My Party" was playing on my little transistor radio.  ("and I'll cry if I want to")

I remember my mother telling me I was being "dramatic."  She wanted me to come downstairs and eat.  Was she kidding?  And with that....I don't remember a thing.  Nothing.  For how long?  A month? Two? 

As I said, our relationship was strained.  I was stuck in that house with her until I graduated from high school, at which point I began to make a series of awful decisions, terrible mistakes.  All I wanted to do was get away from her.

Over the years we had on again, off again contact.  But once I was in New York City and comfortable in a job, that contact became more sporadic and eventually disappeared.  

I had my one and only child at age 36.  Somehow, I don't remember precisely how, when my daughter was four or five, my mother and I started exchanging letters. She sent a few small gifts and occasional checks.  She said in one note, "You try to tell your children that you love them."  That statement sent me through the stinking roof.  You try?  You TRY???  Well, mother, if you tried, you failed.  I never got that message.  I got left out.  I got ignored.  I had my hopes and dreams for my own future destroyed.  But thanks for letting me know you tried.  

Soon after that I received a letter from my sister...the one who used to take walks with my mother.  My mother had died.  There would be no funeral.  

So, today used to be her birthday.  My mother, the enigma, the mystery.   

One nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all

 Well....here we are.  We made it through the night.  

Because it is springtime and the pollen and dust and whatever else is flying around, I had to take an antihistamine last night in order to sleep.  Watery eyes, runny nose, coughing, sneezing...I had to do something. I hesitate to take them because they make me very drowsy...VERY drowsy, so much so that the effect lasts into the next day.  And, considering the news yesterday, that was alright with me.

The world is on edge.  Quite literally.  And it is all because of one person.

Enough with the chaos, enough.  History shows us very clearly what this is and how it plays out.

It is long past time for Congress to do its duty.  Party doesn't matter, personal beliefs don't matter.  What MATTERS is their oath to the Constitution.  What MATTERS is that their job is to represent the PEOPLE of the United States.  What MATTERS is sanity, safety and world order that was fought for, died for and carefully constructed after WWII.  

The creature is mad, unhinged.  Age is a factor, no doubt, but seriously, who doesn't know that there was a conviction on 34 counts of felony?  Who doesn't know that rape charges have been filed multiple times?  Who doesn't know about the sexual abuse trial?  And none of that takes into account all the other fraud and sexual abuse cases that were settled out of court.  And then, of course, there are "the files."  Something the creature is so desperate to hide that a new daily distraction is manufactured, even if it means scaring the living daylights of people all over the globe.

The founding fathers were well aware that King George was not in his right mind.  The 25th Amendment exists for a reason, previously unnecessary but most relevant now.

They need to do their duty, invoke the 25th and remove this stain from the White House.  Stand up.  Grow a spine.  Staying "loyal" to this self-serving, selfish, cruel, greedy and grandiose mockery of a human being is NOT going to help them after all is said and done.  How can they not see this?

Serve the people.  Serve the Constitution. Be adults.  Remove the heinous, destructive creature. The 25th or impeachment.  NOW.

La vie en rose....

 I was going through some old pictures and found one that brought back a veritable flood of memories.  

When I lived alone in my studio apartment in Manhattan, back in the late 70s, early 80s...I was working full time but also going part time to Hunter College.  I was surrounded by people all day, yet, there were times when I felt lonely.

I knew some people in my building, but they weren't "friends" per se.  Acquaintances.  And I knew the other gals in the medical office I worked in, but they didn't live in the city and one was engaged, another was married.  And I didn't find anyone at school to connect with, either.

So, I packed myself off to a couple of "events" at the 92nd Street "Y" which was just around the corner from me.  A couple of times some ladies there tried to hook me up with their sons.  Nerp.  

Then, one evening...there was another young woman.  We started talking.  She was French.  She was in NY for a "semester" of in-house experience.  Not sure if I recall correctly, but I think it was a perfume company.  She was lucky that she had an aunt who lived in Flushing Meadow, near the site of the 1964 World's Fair, where the Unisphere still stands.

Her name was Annie, Annie Bollard.  And although I knew she was only going to be around temporarily, we hit it off immediately.  Her English wasn't perfect and luckily I remembered quite a bit of my high school French at that time...so we understood each other quite perfectly with our "Franglish."

We were together most weekends.  Sometimes we would walk along the "fancy" streets, Madison and Fifth Avenue.  As the weather got warmer, we would go to the park, strolling or sometimes lying down in the grass, staring up at the leaves and the sky.

We would also noodle around Greenwich Village, we would go to the movies (she LOVED getting ice in her drinks!) or we would get some ice cream.  

One time we explored Chinatown.  On a whim we decided to go into a restaurant.  I forget what I ordered (I was not and still am not adventurous when it comes to food.) But Annie ordered some kind of fish.  I will never forget the look of total horror on her face as the waiter put down her plate.  All the color drained from her face and she just sat there with her eyes wide as saucers and said "No...no.....no....no."  It was an entire fish...eyes, head...scales...a freaking fish.  I explained to the waiter that she must have misunderstood what the menu said....they were very gracious and brought her something else.

We had a "sleepover" at her aunt's apartment.  As if we were still teenage girls.  We had snacks and watched TV and talked and talked and talked. 

It was painful to realize that she would be going back to France.  At that time I doubted I would ever have the money or the nerve to travel overseas.  I had met the young man who was going to become my husband and father of my child and Annie was happy that I had someone to be with and to be happy with.  

                                                             Annie and me, 1981.

Seeing the one and only picture I have of her brought it all back.  I'm so sorry we lost touch (it wasn't as easy back then) and looking at the photo made me miss her all over again.

Our house...is a very, very fine house....

 I went to the local animal rescue and was looking for a kitten.  I wanted an orange kitten, one that would sort of, but not really, "replace" Huey.  Well...that is not the way the world works...nor should it.  I went to the local animal rescue and there was only one cage of kittens.  Three or four....not sure now.  Anyway, the others huddled in the back and only one came forward.  He definitely was NOT orange.  He was a gray and white splotchy baby....adorable....and he played with my fingers.   OK.  This one.

Rathbone.

Rathbone was a wonderful boy.  Laid back.  Sweet, easy. He let my young daughter put him in a bassinette, in a "shopping cart"...dear god, she put make-up on him.  She danced with him, she slept with him.  He was the perfect cat.

His fur was slightly longer than the average cat.  Just a bit.  And it was silky.  My daughter called him "the VERY softest place."  He was.   

Boney.  Rathbone.  Such a wonderful boy.

And somehow, whenever I pet Scruffy, I think of Rathbone.  Scruff is gray and striped.  He doesn't look at ALL like Bone.  But...he's soft.  Oh!  SOOO soft.  Scruff feels like a bunny.  His coat, like Rathbone's is just a tad longer than usual. His isn't silky, like Rathbone's, but soft, fluffy...fluffy Scruffy.  

Yeah...this boy  Bunny fur.  Super softee.  AND he is mellow like Bone.  I doubt that that is a trait of soft furred cats, but it is in this house.  Mellow and accepting and yet, the leader.  

I adored my Huey, but Rathbone and Scruff have filled his shoes (paws?) in ways I never imaginged.

I wish I was....homeward bound

 I've mentioned before...there is a cat outside.  Not every day, but nearly.  Looks clean and well fed, but still, I hate to see cats outside and now it is getting cold.  And I can't help but wonder where on earth this cat goes when it rains. 

I thought it was a male, but....one day out of the blue the cat appeared in our kitchen window, sitting on the ledge outside.  I had to herd my clowns out of the vicinity...thank goodness there is a door just outside the kitchen, closing off both the kitchen and living room.

We thought about opening the window and letting this cat in.  But where would we put this obviously lonely fella?  I texted my upstairs neighbor.  She must have looked out her window and saw our visitor...."Oh, that's Paulina."  Paulina?  Its a girl???  And my neighbor said she "belongs" to the woman next door.  The only problem is, there is no one precisely "next door."  The place is empty and being rehabbed inside and out from past earthquake damage.  There is scaffolding up all over, which I think is how Paulina made it over to our window.

This is not her, but it looks like her.  She sat there for quite a while, talking and making biscuits.  Tearing my freaking heart out!!

Whenever I look out and see her, she turns?  Does she have a sixth sense?  How can she possibly know I'm in the window?  

And now it's raining and cold.  I worry about her.  I wonder if I bought a portable, insulated shelter...if the actual "owner" would use it for her?  Or, does she have someplace to go?  Is the owner still in the neighborhood?  Or does a friend fill in?  IDK.  All I DO know is, she tugs at my heartstrings and I wish I could help.

There she is, on the wall at the right.