a href="http://fridayflashback.blogspot.com"> The explosion happened on the East Side near Grand Central. I live on the Upper West Side
I have been getting many spam birthday cards. Least I think they are as they all say “a friend….” No name. Weird, very weird
The first letter was written by my Dad. I was a sulky, despondent teenager without a good word to say about anybody or anything. On the other hand, I cared passionately about causes and was cute
Though not as cute as I was in my father’s famous to some letter upon adopting me. As you can see he was a bit more enthused in the second letter.
Though later I would proudly call my parents my friends.
I never called him “Pa” in my life. Loved to call my mother “Ma.” It made her crazy. And at least 40 women would turn when I called her that in a store.
I tried to write a letter to my Dad to tell him about the world now. So much has happened. He thought he would become hooked on computers. Instead….He knew the economy was moving from a service to a communication one. That excited him, but he felt too old to learn it.
Then, everything else…Felt too gimmicky for my blog. No I won’t write a personal one here. There are many parts of my life my parents never knew about, and truthfully, after they died I sometimes wondered if dead people could see certain things. The thought was repugnant.
The third thing is the song that was number one on 7/19/60. Think it’s way appropriate for my birthday. I was in Oaxaca Mexico the summer this letter was written. My father never sent it to me. Or I don’t remember. He kept copies of everything. No he never gave it to me. I would have remembered “perhaps college.” College was a given, never an option.
Oh I love it.
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July 16
Happy Birthday dear Pia
Wishing you a happy 16th year—not only on July 19th but for the whole year—and always.
Tradition has it that the 16th birthday is a sort of milestone in a young girl’s road of live. I suppose it is so. We are both very happy for you–and for us because you are a lovely girl.
The past 16 years have been very good for our family. We had good health, enjoyed many things and had good times together. Of course there were disagreements between us–but looking back, they were minor and unimportant–part of all of us growing up.
Mom and I love you very much and are very proud to be your parents. You have brought us much happiness–and are looking forward to the next 16 years. W have tried to direct and give you the experiences which we thought would better prepare you for this kind of world
We know that you are kind, gentle and have a good heart–and we love you for it
Fortified with this kind of character we are expecting a beautiful future for you.
You were a pretty baby, a good baby and a happy baby. You gave us so much pleasure watching you grow to a beautiful lady…..graduating from high school, then perhaps college, than along the way–marriage then children. Of course there will be pebbles, rocks and holes along the road—but we hope that you are prepared for them—and Sweetie pie, lots and lots of love and kisses.
The summer of 85. Last summer before mass deaths in the third world country called America.
Summer of Madonna
Summer of Live AID–which I did have confused with AIDS at first as I had so many sick friends.
Two thirds of all my friends were to die between 10/09/85 and I don’t remember the exact date in 91.
Days before the protease inhibiters, days before common courtesy was extended to men sick simply because of sexual preference.
I didn’t have any junkie friends. I didn’t know any sick women.
I can only speak about the Gay community. One I was very fond of.
1985: year I was in one jet with a bomb in it–Heathrow, June, and one jet with the body of a man killed by terrrorists, Rome, October
1985: year Mick danced with Tina as if there would be no tomorrow. For years I had a poster of Tina on a wall, and I’m not that type of poster person. Tina Turner was inspirational.
1985: Year I would run into Diana Ross every damn night. Her office was on my block. I would come home from work, she was just leaving her office and she would stop as if a statue and wave at me. I think she wanted me to courtesy.
1985: a good summer for the beach, a place I could be found at frequently. In between my trips to Europe
1985: my parents last road trip in Europe. They asked me to come along to navigate. I thought it was because my closest friend was dying.
It turned out that they really needed a navigator.
My father was the only known male to stop every two miles to ask directions. He drove my mother and I crazy.
We had fun on that trip. I got my parents tipsy at Octoberfest on Spaten, the only beer that I have ever really loved and been able to drink.
We talked and laughed a lot. I would leave my parents during the day and meet them for dinner. I never like to be on other peoples schedules when traveling. I like to walk everywhere.
1985: Year the Blenderbusters got our name when the bartender said we were going to bust her blender. Jim Thorpe PA was just beginning to become a touristy town. We were searching for the perfect strawberry margarita from Jim Thorpe to Montauk.
One of us, not me, has a house in Sag Harbor. We thought the Hamptons were built up and crazy then. We had no idea….
1985: Too many men, gay and straight wanted to become Blenderbusters. We were four girls so we made an auxiliary and had initiation.
They had to drive around in the rain for hours listening to Rod Stewart.* Any man who could survive that…
As Blenderbusters we had an energy, a force, that none of us had singularly. We can do a Motown medley like nobody. We spent Saturday afternoons discussing women’s issues and at five out would come the beer, joints and cookies. We were thin anyway
We had so many options it would take us hours to decide what to do. That is why when we went to the movies, we sat in the front row, pre-stadium seating.
I was into vintage clothes, tiered skirts, halter tops, lace socks, lace in my hair–the Madonna look before I ever consciously saw her, dresses with jackets, jackets without blouses, much marcasite, red hair, sometimes too much make up. Oh yeah, I liked going out.
I managed large scale litigation projects. It was 24/7 before the term was invented. I had worked 20 straight months between 83 and mid 85.
It was exhausting. My father offered to pay me to quit. I didn’t but took time off.
1985: I had a rare breakdown in musical taste and had a thing for Rod Stewart*. Hence the auxiliary initiation. It was his old songs that got to me: “Maggie May,” “Every Picture tells a story”
My fiancee and I broke up early in 85, and I turned away from all music that had a personal association with one of my relationships. That precluded almost everything. Rod was available.
But I couldn’t turn away from Eric and Tom. So when Waits did “Downtown Train” by Rod, I was in YUPPIE/Something else/Something better/Heaven.
Rabbit, Rabbit a href="http://fridayflashback.blogspot.com">
In June 1968, the country was in turmoil. On April 4, Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated. On June 6, Robert Kennedy was.
I was seventeen and had always cared passionately about politics and our nation.
At seventeen I cared much more about my love life. No I’m not giving details here. The book is about my late adolescence through my early 20’s.
It wasn’t the book that I set out to write. But it’s the book that’s moving along.
And so I go to Myrtle Beach, deathly afraid of sitting in coach, because I have gotten sick after riding in coach but never in first class.
However the flight is just under two hours and I have never gotten sick after a short flight. I guess the eight Aeroflot rides in the Former Soviet Union, which began this vicious bronchial cycle count as one ride.
I am going to try not to blog next week as blogging can be a good excuse not to write.
Also, I feel out of words. I will never consult a book that tells me what to blog as that, to me, would be defeating the purpose of using a new medium my way.
As I said I’m out of words. I do hope I’m not out of book writing words. There is always my Sally Brompton horoscope to inspire. It’s on the sidebar
Actually I’m not out of words as much as angry. Somebody, not the health insurance company, cashed my May check. It’s not due until the 25th but I always pay it early. Yes I know, never use a check.
When I saw that the account was delinquent, I called. After almost an hour on hold, I was told somebody would call me back. I insisted on speaking to somebody who could help me,
That’s when I found out that they were going to cut me off today. But I Fedexed them a check.
Two things I don’t understand: the envelope was metered 5/24. If it wasn’t due until the 25th how could it be delinquent?
If I paid in April and that check was supposed to be for June, how could they cut me off in June?
I asked if having paid every bill on time or more usually early counts for something. Yes, they wouldn’t report me to a credit agency.
Since they were going to cut off my service and I had paid for the month of June, shouldn’t I be reporting them somewhere?
I learned yesterday that it truly doesn’t matter if you play by every rule. When I asked at the pharmacy for a good health insurance company, the pharmacist said “they all suck. And cut people off for little reason.”
This is a story I’m a bit too proud of. It’s a courting classic. There is a new 3WW two posts below and the post below this is light and very New Yawk.
From now until July I will only be posting Friday Flashbacks and maybe 3WW’s. It depends on how much work I get done. I do want much beach time. Courting might go on hiatus. Haven’t decided yet.
a href=”http://fridayflashback.blogspot.com”>
This is mostly extraneous to the story I’m telling, but good background, for something. We were young and hot though we were the last two to believe that part. Don’t know why; enough people told us, wanted to know us, or marry us. Lucia was a four by 40 girl. This story takes place before the fourth marriage. I was a Maid (or Matron) of Honor more than most women; and I’m only counting Lucia’s weddings. She used to compare herself to Elizabeth Taylor:
“I believe in marrying them, not living with them.”
I’m more the let’s live together, not get married type.
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It was a hot June night. Not hot as in oppressive, I want to die weather like today, but hot enough. In New York, the hottest part of the day is always dusk when the heat’s had time to settle on the cement, and the buildings seem to ooze both heat and drops of hot water from the air conditioners. The steam rises both from the street, and subway gratings, and it can feel as if you’re trapped in a manhole cover or a pot of not quite boiling water. One thing you learn in New York early and never forget: heat rises. Continue Reading »
I'm Pia Savage. Just a writer with a blog title few people truly get. I suppose my destiny has taken me from the Upper West Side of Manhattan to Myrtle Beach as I barely heard of it eleven months ago. My email is Pia(dot)talks@gmail(dot)com.
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