The Closing of a Door...

The end of an era...

Millvina Dean died today.

It seems strange to type those words.

She was 97 years old and, more importantly, the last survivor of the Titanic. She was only a few months old and, of course, remembered nothing. She was born two days before my father! It could have been him... well, except for the fact that they lived HERE instead of THERE, and his parents could never have afforded such a trip if they DID live THERE instead of HERE...

but again, I digress... I seem to do that a great deal lately...

Her mother and brother survived, but her father told her mother he would see her shortly and did not. I have a copy of the last picture taken of the ship signed by her.

As you know, (or not), I have always loved the Titanic story, LONG before the rather stupid movie (except for the special effects, which were awesome). My second grade children and I had already had lengthy discussions before the movie arrived, and we had some more after they saw it.

No.. Jack and Rose weren't real.

No... no one was chasing anyone around the decks of the (then) swiftly sinking ship shooting at anyone else.

Yes.. if you would die in the water outside the ship you wouldn't survive running around in it INSIDE the ship for very long either.

Yes.. The radio operator (and they loved this) said (morse code) "shut up, shut up, I'm busy" when being told about the California shutting down for the night because of icebergs.

and so on.

The definitive movie was "A Night to Remember" from 1958 and it's predecessor, "Titanic" ,from 1953, had a great cast.

But either way, the event will live on forever.

Only the last witness is gone.

It's All About Comfort...

I wear my sweatshirts inside out...

Only at home, of course.

Otherwise people keep coming up and trying to 'fix' me. I hate that. I deliberately had my very special necklace made on a chain that has no clasp for that very reason. Don't invade my space. And don't reach out and touch parts of me without permission...

you might draw back a stump...

Cheerfully, but a stump nonetheless.

However, I digress...

I remember my niece, when she was small, pitching fits about any clothing that wasn't soft. or comfortable. We used to laugh about it, but I understand now that I'm approaching her age..

Soft is in.

and, coming back to the sweatshirt, once a sweatshirt has been washed a few times, the inside is all nubbly and the outside is soft and smooth and comfortable.

I learned this from my friend, Treasure... She's the one in Michigan (I'm going to see her on the trip that is now going to include a boatload of Deadwood people and heaven knows who else who are going to meet up in Chattanooga and make the battle of Chattanooga look like a skirmish). She used to always wear hers inside out and I scoffed.

I take it all back..

It's all about the comfort now...

sigh...


My Niece... (My sister made this up about 7 years ago. I love it.

and my sweet soft loving niece is pregnant!

The Hotel Whitcomb... 1919

As I've mentioned in another post, my mother was born in a hotel in San Francisco, in 1919.

The first time I learned the name of the hotel, I searched for it and came up empty. While going through things lately, I thought that the internet might give me what i hadn't found before, as it has so many times.

and there it was...

The Hotel Whitcomb.

It's listed on her birth certificate. Room 776.

I sent an e-mail to the hotel and received an enthusiastic response from Joanne Tan of the newly refurbished Hotel Whitcomb. Seems it had other names through the years, and had recently gone back to it's roots, so to speak. She was so pleased, and asked that I send anything I had on the matter. I sent her a letter with the story and some pictures of my Mom as a baby and her birth certificate. She's offered to give me a tour of the room anytime I'm up there.

Don't even know where I'd park! (grin)

Then, my cousin in Long Island sent some of my mother's sisters stuff. Afraid, I think, to throw away the (mostly) junk and pictures of people NOBODY KNOWS, he pawned it off on me.

but...

there was this postcard.

Now it was common in the later part of the 19th century and the early part of the 20th to put pictures on postcards so people could send them to people (I am refraining, quite mightily I might add, from bursting into THAT SONG). I have postcards of my grandfather at about a year old in a bath tub (literally a tub).

I had never seen this picture. It's a cake.

on the back, it says..

" In honor of the first baby born in the Hotel Whitcomb", Nov. 1, 1919."

The little note says "Compliments of the Whitcomb Hotel Manager".. I think..

I'm sending it to Joanne . I think she'll like it!

Her Royal Highness...

Y'all know that Big Kitty has a pseudonym. She is known (mostly to herself and the vet) as Cleopatra. She doesn't even like the shortened "Cleo", as it is beneath her station. Although I indulge her in many things, she's always been Big Kitty to me.

However,

I think this pose may make her case...

succinctly..

except for
maybe ...

the freckles!

I also tried to catch the essence of her sister, Baby Kitty, but came up a bit short, as she is still way to shy of things she doesn't know and understand (although they BOTH went nuts during the earthquake).

So Baby Kitty is pretty, but I'm going to try to get a more fitting shot of her.

Marsha Marsha Marsha....

Marsha, the much maligned Marsha (maligned by Wyatt Burp, who called her OLD), was pleased to have been mentioned in my blog.

It then occurred to me that I have several REALLY GOOD STORIES to tell about Marsha..

hmmm???

What do you think, Marsh...

Should I tell stories??

(goes into the vault and starts sorting through the files)

Who wants to hear stories??

Then she'll HAVE to come to the meeting of the Deadwood Deadbeats in October, won't she (ha!)

Be Afraid... Be Very Afraid...

I read a blurb today about Katie Holmes starring in a remake of "Don't be Afraid of the Dark". It immediately brought back one of the really scary (albeit a bit cheesy) movies ever. It was a made for TV movie, for those of you who don't know it, and I watched it with my best friend, Marsha. It needs no remake. I don't know why there aren't any new ideas for movies anymore...

but back to Marsha...

Marsha and I used to watch movies and stuff together (in different houses) over the phone.

Now I must preface this with the codicil that I am afraid of very little. Most of my few fears are REAL ones, and never involve either scary movies or events. I also don't startle easily. I LOVE watching all manner of horrible, gushy, and frightening movies. I have read everything that Stephen King has ever written, and if HE can't scare me, I ain't scareble... (?)

Marsha, however, is.

to the max.

What I loved about this movie was 1. Kim Darby. I loved her father, and thought she was an underrated actress; 2. the heroine LOSES IN THE END (don't read this if you don't want to know) (grin). I always want them to lose, as each and every one does something SO STUPID in the movie that they deserve to be eaten/captured/mushed/squished/ or, in this case, dragged under the house where the things live that want her..

HERE'S to THE THINGS THAT LIVE UNDER THE STAIRS!

But back to Marsha...

poor Marsha..

for weeks after I would call her up and whisper (as did the things) "we want you, we're coming to get you, we want you to be down here...".. and so on.

It would freak her out each and every time..

The movie was made in 1973 in TWO WEEKS..

I called her today and whispered again...

and she remembered...

(evil snicker inserted here)

A Good Seat is Important...

If you remember, a great while back, I wrote about the kitties favorite place to sit and torment each other. It's the cover for the 'new' toilet seat, which was new about a year ago. They fight over this on a regular basis, but Baby Kitty usually wins...

and then gloats.

You will notice beds and soft places and climbing places, none of which meet the requirements of this box. I think the original attraction was the hole in the top of the box, which was there for viewing the color of the lid (for some reason white needs further explanation). The box has been torn and ripped and flattened and attacked with vigor and delight...

as has the mysterious machine in the background with the blue light out of which a small drawer pops at miraculous times.


Baby Kitty tolerates the out going of this small door, and will sit and watch for EVER in order to attack the closing of said door.

I don't understand why IN is so much more exciting than OUT.... it must be a kitty thing!

A Poem for Mother's Day... by me

Mother told me once

I think

That coffee was a drink

that I should never, ever taste because...

I think she said 'twould make me small
and I would never grow at all
and I would never sleep at night
and nothing else would quite be right
again.


Well, straightaway I had to know

If what she said would happen

so

I tasted it and came to find

there's nothing like a mother's mind...

and even though I loved her more than anyone I'd known before

I wish instead she told me that

it tasted bitter.... rather flat...

for I was

sorely

disappointed!