My obsession with Picasso continues and deepens. I don't know and don't care why. Trying to organize boxes of stuff from the garage, I discover more books, articles, reproductions, etc. from the past. Maybe time will bring some answers. Or not.
In 1955, I went off to live with my stepmother and half-sister and my dad who attended night school on the GI bill. One night after dropping him off at school, we went to the drive-in to see The Barefoot Contessa. It was a complicated movie involving a dancer who likes to go barefoot then becomes a famous actress and eventually marries an impotent count. He finds out she's been unfaithful when she turns up pregnant so he shoots her. By this time I was pretty confused so I asked Mom why he was so mad at her; she hesitated for a moment then answered, "His pecker was shot off." Oh, I thought, Oh my goodness.
If only I had a pink laptop
I'd write the great american novel
If only I could remember to buy lotto tickets
I'd be rich instead of so darn cute
If only I could find my missing computer disks
I'd be speaking spanish or german or both
If only I lived in a yurt
I'd have buckets of money in the bank
If only I'd been born smart
instead of so damn cute
I'd have the world by the tail
In my life I've waited tables, raised sons, taught school, published books, and railed at politicians. I'm building a house, next to my son, where I can spend time with my granddaughter. I read, write, and dream about being immortal.