This morning around 5 I was awakened by a slight headache. The headache may have been caused by dehydration or perhaps it was caused by the famous visitors to my dream.
I won’t attempt to explain it — but they were all there. The Pope had a new popemobile — a kind of land raft that he pushed himself around with a long pole while standing upright and was forbidden to speak to young women. Stephen Fry was handing out kisses — he would put bright red lipstick on and kiss people on the forehead for good luck, sort of like the good witch from the Wizard of Oz did to Dorothy in the book. Whoopi Goldberg showed up in a room full of women — she sat in a chair and was animatedly talking to people on a couch. I remarked that she was one of my favorite women ever.
While this dream was weird — at least there were people in it. My dreams lately have all involved repeated coding of something or another.
A party goer who had a little too much fun with the POTUS
As I sit writing this, I’m trying to figure out what to wear for the penultimate party of party season. Our Scottish friends have invited us to celebrate Burns’ Night with them again. It is always a fun time, but by the time Burns’ Night rolls around I’m ready to follow the groundhog back into its hole. You see, I am an introvert…
January began with back to back parties — one on New Year’s Eve and the second on New Year’s Day — both at neighbors’ homes, both delightful full of friendly and interesting people. One low-key and intimate and the other lively and crowded.
The following weekend we went to yet another neighbor’s house for a 12th Night celebration where we drank and feasted and watched 12th Night (the one with Helena Bonham Carter).
The weekend after that we spent in quiet solitude (Dean, Clare and me) in the mountains of Pennsylvania.
On Tuesday of the following week I attended the funeral of my longtime supervisor, Jeanette Fairfax. She and I met 12 years ago when I first started working at Caliber (now ICF). Not long after I began working part time at home she became my supervisor. She was 52 years old. She was a wonderful person. Fuck cancer, as they say. (although she would never say anything so vulgar)
We needed the rest because the following weekend was our turn. We held our second inaugural ball. (It would have been a wake if the wrong candidate had been elected.) We hosted 30 or so people for dinner (serve yourself — not a sit-down affair). It was fun, but it was also a lot of work. It took me half a week, at least, to recover.
Last weekend we rested. Well, I rested — Dean skied. (actually there was a party last weekend — a neighbor had a welcoming coffee for another neighbor.)
Today we go to Burns’ Night, tomorrow we have two invitations for the Super Bowl. In two weeks we have another funeral (actually memorial service) to go to. The same day that my boss died, a neighbor died from a fall down the stairs. He was 66 (but you’d never know it). I didn’t know him well — but saw him around the neighborhood. I know his wife a little better.
If I sound like I am complaining — really I am not. I’m just saying that I am glad party season is nearly over. I have fun at all the galas to which I am invited. It just takes me a while to recover.
*Yes, I know it is more than 3 parties and one funeral, but this sounded better than seven parties and two funerals…
Final letter from Johnnie (as far as I know – there may have been more that were lost). I don’t know if Mom ever wrote back to him after this. After we looked at some of them together all she said was, “Maybe he took one look at me and said, ‘She’s just a kid!'”
I have a different theory. I think Mom had begun writing to Dad* by now and saw his photo and fell in love. Dad was a handsome young man. Perhaps they’d met and she abandoned writing to Johnnie.
Poor Johnnie.
So many mysteries. Maybe the great and powerful Internet can solve some. Wouldn’t it be fun if he ended up settling in Bethesda? I hope he followed his dreams.
I’m going to miss Johnnie — and wonder what Mom’s life would have been like with him instead of my father. Of course I am glad she met and married my dad because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. And also, he was a great guy.
8 March ‘52
Dear Pat,
It’s true, I have moved around an awful lot, and from the looks of things I’ll be moving for a year longer. The government seems to be on the verge of extending my enlistment for another year. That means I’ll be wearing a hash mark and good conduct medal. I’ll get some laboratory schooling on the East coast out of it.
The days are passing but not fast enough. Only 25 days to go and I’ll be on my way home. One other corpsman and I are the only ones from the KMC’s going home and we are happy. For three days it has been cold – and we were told by the Koreans that winter is over. Well, at least it isn’t forty below now.
Had to get a new issue of clothes today – my old ones were too small. I just turned 21 and am still growing. Happy am I.
It’s pretty late now Pat and I’m really tired. They kept me busy all last night so I’m turning in early tonight. Best regards to the folks and write again soon.
Johnnie
*The story goes that my mom’s parents were friends of my dad’s sister and brother-in-law and my dad’s sister and brother-in-law asked if Mom would like to write to Dad. She did and he wrote back (mom has a large scrapbook full of his letters) and the rest is history.
Clutch Cargo Lips 
