Which Reminds Me

I never had the the slightest connection to New York. Also, I have no Dutch Knickerbockers in my family tree except for maybe one obscure branch, but you have to go back so many generations to find any Dutch that it matters almost not at all and it would be hard for me to find that again it was so far back, 10 or 20 generations, I don't remember. Although we Americans are quite a blend of Europe, anyway, there wouldn't be any reason to expect any there in Europe to remember who I am. Certainly my grandmother's face never decorated the walls of a European castle. We're just not very in touch with Europe. I can't speak for my cousins. Maybe their other grandmother was Dutch New York. I only know that mine was not.

I tend to think of Gretchen as an appropriate name for an ornery dog that deserves to be kicked under the table, but of course I don't dare say that. I don't have a public platform for riding roughshod over all my enemies and disaffected relatives. That is not really an appropriate job function, at least not in my opinion.

Which Reminds Me

During the week-long soccer war of 1969 between Honduras and El Salvador our family was living in San Salvador. Every night the electricity would be turned off at about 6 p.m. throughout the city so that the Honduran bombers would presumably get lost and be unable to find their city targets. We would spend the evenings sitting on the balcony listening to news reports on the shortwave radio. Local reports said that the Honduran president's wife had left the country with a suitcase containing all of the country's money. We tuned in to a Honduran report that said similar things about the Salvadoran president's wife. So in wartime, both sides of the conflict were engaging in tactics of propaganda. Someone was saying that they know the meaning of the suitcase, that it wasn't actually cash but some key to the country's banking activities. I don't really know anything about that and don't really care what it technically means. I was only talking about the use of propaganda in wartime.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, winning is a nice thing, and we always thought Winnie was such a nice person. She was from the Bahamas but she married one of the Rockwood brothers so she lives in Atlanta now. Of course I am no longer on speaking terms with the Rockwood brothers. I can't believe how many problems they have caused for me and nobody will do me a favor and shut their traps down. Unbelievable.

Which Reminds Me

One day at work in Haines City my boss Max asked what he thought my surname meant. I really hadn't done much research on that at the time. Mostly, my family thinks that we are Welsh is all I could remember. The "kins" part of the name may signify a family, so perhaps we are the kin or descendants of Cal, is one theory. Max suggested that we might be the family of Caleb. Hmmm... That is an interesting thought. Caleb was a mighty warrior. But I never heard anyone in our family claiming to be Jewish or even close to that. There was just the horseshoe thing that my aunt first found in an old dictionary. And other sources suggest the name has Irish roots. I don't know very much it one way or another and don't know how anything could be proven. Anyway, I suppose that many people have these little puzzles in their background that can't really be solved. Interesting.

Which Reminds Me

How many times do I have to explain that I am not interested in joining any labor union? I vaguely recall hearing that song, "We Shall Overcome," but it is no anthem of mine. It might be a labor union song or something. I don't remember. Anyway, I do not work in a cannery so there is no way that you can require me to work for a labor union that does not represent my interests. My grandparents, I don't remember what their opinions might have been on that point. They did work in factories at some time in the distant past, but they are gone now and assembly line membership is not an inherited right. You have to earn assembly line points in your own account, if you really want to work for a cannery. But I do not work on the assembly line so there is no reason for me to discuss labor unions with organizers who do not represent me.

Which Reminds Me

I had always thought the receptionist in Haines City was a very nice person although much more friendly to Brenda than to me. She and Brenda often engaged in long conversations. I suppose that after Brenda left she missed having that chummy relationship with the reporter on duty. I always was much more introverted than Brenda, and when I was coming in and out of the front door of the building several times a day, sometimes sort of preoccupied in my mind and not saying anything after an interview, just wanting to get to my desk to start writing it down before I forget something, or turn in my film to the photo person, and thinking about all that stuff, so sometimes I would just be wanting to sneak in the building without having to talk to anyone, and then the receptionist started playing this game, saying hello when I come in and expecting me to stop and talk about something. If she had a story idea for me that would be great but it was more like she was starting to be my supervisor. She went to my boss, Max, and complained that I was not friendly enough to her, that there should be a rule that I am not allowed to sneak in the side door, that I must always smile and say hello and stop and talk every time I come in the front door and so forth. So those were my orders. So I did say hello sort of grimacing the next time but very annoyed at being ordered around as if a three-year-old. She was a nice person until she and Max got together over my head and then it was like I was on probation all the time.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I do remember that Sheryl played a role in getting me fired. She complained about me to my boss Max and that contributed to his change of attitude toward me. I also had made a variety of mistakes. Enough said about that. Ok, well, so maybe it was time for me to go after more than two years. So I was fired. They all seemed to agree that I suffer from an incurable disease known as "insubordination." Ok, so I just can't seem to work. Do I look like some clueless Djinni, that your every fanciful whim should be my command? I am not allowed to think for myself on the job? Ok, so I was fired. And how did my church pastor come to be a party to all of this personal information that is really none of his business, as if I should be cowering in abject submission to the church authorities? I don't work for a church now. Not meaning to be irreverent but it does make you wonder what is going on behind my back.

Which Reminds Me

In summary, I have not the slightest connection to the dreary sugar machine and all that sugar junk. Just because my name sounds like candy, that does not mean that I have any sugar in me to account for. No, you may not eat me. I ought to have a choice in this matter given that I never was a Slave of the sugar machine, not even close. I am sick and tired of all your stupid sugar jokes. I demand my freedom. Let me go!

Which Reminds Me

Sheryl boasted quite loudly in the newsroom of the assistance provided by her boyfriend when she was writing her scathing reports of the sugar industry and its excesses. That is the only reason that I have any notion of the existence of her unnamed Sugar Man, one who leaked private information about the company and drove her around the premises in his truck. Ok, um....., some reporters just get lucky with their sources in coverage, I suppose. I was never that lucky. Which is why it is rather annoying for stupid sugar people to arrest me for the crimes of them, if there by any in that. They tried to throw me to Cuban sugar. And how can a lowly dog such as myself dare to question the private affairs of a Jewish princess? Sugar was never my assignment, that I should unnecessarily vex myself with these troubling questions of environment vs. agriculture. I am never going to drive to Clewiston to sift through the newspaper archives looking for Sheryl's reporting on sugar or track down her Mr. Sugar Man. There would be no point. Many writers have hashed over the subject of Florida's sugar industry, before and after, to the point where the whole thing seems almost a broken record. There may always be those sad stories of poor migrant workers who struggle in back-breaking labor in the fields cutting the sugar cane. The poor you have with you always, as Jesus said. U.S. Sugar is a privately owned company so there is only so much the press and public can say about that. If U.S. Sugar chooses to continue its operations there, rejecting the state's bid to purchase its 100,000 acres of sugar cane fields for swamp restoration, and continues its sugar cane cultivation, at the same time expanding its refinery capacity, well, there is only so much to be said about that. So they did sell a portion of their acreage, but not all so far. Anyway, I am not in a good position to follow up on that, being without an editor to send me anywhere or pay my expenses, and, anyway, there is much water under that bridge. It is enough for me, I am content to know that sugar appears on grocery shelves everywhere if I should decide to bake cookies or cakes. In box or bag matters not. Sugar may rot your teeth and add pounds to your weight but if you want it you can easily find it here in the U.S.

Which Reminds Me

All this talk about sugar has reminded me that while I was working in Haines City, one of my co-workers, Sheryl Rubin, was hired there after having worked at a newspaper in I think it was Clewiston, a small town smack in the middle of the sugar industry. She talked about having done some hard driving reporting on the sugar industry while also having a boyfriend there who gave her special access to some secrets of that. I vaguely remember her saying something about that but don't remember much. I never went there, was not given copies of these stories to read, and was not very interested in learning more about that. Sometimes reporters get a cause in their heads and the sugar industry was hers.

Which Reminds Me

That was sort of weird while we were on a camping trip, how Cori took my dirty underwear out of my suitcase and hung it on the branch of a nearby bush for all to see, and then Dean Chenault asked me if I knew what that was, and I was so embarrassed that I lied and said I didn't know, and then I quick grabbed it and put it back in my suitcase.

Which Reminds Me

Speaking of pools, I am somehow reminded of something that Cori said about Grace Petito. I wasn't there and don't know anything about it. I only remember something that Cori said which cannot be reprinted in a public setting, another reason to refuse to vomit the stupid babblings of Cori. Ask her yourself what Cori said about Grace and her boyfriend at the poolside. Stop bothering me about that. I only overheard something. I can't help but have ears to hear but I also cannot repeat everything that I hear. Some things are just off the record.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I once threatened to kill my sister but I relented and did not do that. If I had done that, perhaps I would be just as happy in my prison cell. Who knows? It was odd that someone was asking me about guns. How many times do I have to explain that I never owned a gun and couldn't care less. I suppose that if the food chain broke down in some fatal apocalypse a gun might come in handy for shooting rabbits and chickens to cook and eat. Fortunately we don't have to do that here. We can just go to the grocery store and buy our chickens already skinned and deboned and ready to cook.

Which Reminds Me

No one is opposed, as a general rule, to feeding programs per se. I just don't care about being involved in that when there are so many other avenues of opportunity for me to shrug off the burdensome yoke of the dreary Stewart twins. I really don't care what they do. I just want them to go away and stop bothering me. It's hard for me to breathe with all their stupid junk clogging the atmosphere. They obviously have a fortune stashed away somewhere to be able to run a feeding program. Even so, that is no concern of mine. I just don't have that kind of money anywhere to feed millions of people from thin air. Only God can do that. Well, we know that God can do that, clearly. But anyway, meantime, I really need a paycheck so that I can someday afford to pay for my own check at the restaurant because I certainly wouldn't want to get stuck eating the Sam and Janie's icky Vineyard gruel.

Which Reminds Me

Anyway, it was never my job to recruit persons there to come to the United States for any reason. Where does that notion come from? I am no jackal. I would not want to be filling their heads with silly notions that I am going to pay for dinner, much less bus fare to the States. There is no free lunch in this lifetime. You will have to go out and get a job and stop imagining that white bread people are going to hand you a title on a silver platter. I am just saying.

Which Reminds Me

When we were children living in a foreign country, Hershey chocolate bars were as good as gold. There were stories of children trading their entire lunch for such a rare luxury as a Hershey chocolate bar. Sometimes people visiting from the U.S. would bring us rare treats such as Tootsie Rolls and M&Ms, but most of the time we didn't have that stuff there. The locally made chocolate bars of the Popeye brand were not so sweet. We sometimes chopped those up to make chocolate chip cookies because most of the time we did not have the Toll House chips available in local stores anywhere, but that worked fine as the Popeye chocolate was also unsweetened. When I visited there several years ago we went to a grocery store and we saw entire shelves stocked full of American chocolate. Nowhere did I see a Popeye chocolate bar, which sort of makes me sad because it would have been nice to eat one of those again for old times sake. But tastes there have changed and now they only have sweet chocolate so that is all they got. It makes sense that they would want to keep their people happy to stay in their home country by providing lots of chocolate there so that they don't have to go to the U.S. to get that. Sometimes those people get fanciful ideas of the U.S. as a paradisiacal place where streets are paved with gold, but it is not so. Meanwhile, the sort of bittery native chocolate that we used to think of as inferior has become a gourmet product here in the U.S. So times certainly have changed.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is waiting for me to ask why it is that the CIA would grant such legitimacy to these snarky Italian mafia con artists whose sole purpose in life seems to have been to play dirty tricks on me behind my back during high school. Who do I think I am anyway? I am just not that important. Of course I can't ever really imagine or ask these questions, let alone answer them. The deck is stacked against me from the get-go so I just have to get along as best I can with whatever I am doing and not worry about what some other clueless blondes might think about me, not that I cared. I don't remember what I might have said about those haughty arrogant embassy brats who are so proud of their commissary rights, something that me, a meek and lowly missionary kid, could only dream of. I just have to content myself with knowing that four years from now our family will return to the United States and only then will I be able to buy Hershey bars off the shelf.

Which Reminds Me

When we were children, we, meaning my sister and Susie and I, made fake food and sent it to the beggar on the nearest street corner, who was apparently not pleased to be given a bottle to drink, and finding it to be mostly vinegar from salad dressing. I don't remember why we thought that was funny at the time. That was so mean of us, to give the poor beggar a bitter taste in his mouth. I don't remember why we did that, just some vague idea that we may have had that he was guilty of something, some crime of spending all his beggarly earnings on booze and lazily standing around penniless on street corners, thus deserving a dose of medicine to cure him of that propensity. I don't know whether that worked or backfired. Does make you wonder.

That happened at Susie's house. I doubt that we would have thought of that without some help from Susie and her maid. 

Which Reminds Me

My sister and a high school classmaste played a nasty prank on her high school friend, Lori Reese, in high school, and then I don't know if my mother required her to go apologize or if she did it on her own cognizance. I only know about this because my mother told me later, after she had gone to apologize to Lori, after talking it over with mother, after it had been drawn to her attention or something like that. Someone is continually trying to attach me to that pranky framework even though I was not the author of that and don't know anything about it. My sister and her friend wrote faked love letters from an anonymous lover and slipped them into her school locker. So Lori was all happy to read these lovely letters until finally my sister and her friend confessed that they were not real. We can safely assume that it was an ugly duckling, Lori being the homecoming queen type of girl. Did the ugly girls get a kick out of knocking her? I don't know. You would have to ask them. I just don't appreciate that junk being attached to me.

Which Reminds Me

I noticed a nasty drone buzzing around looking for its photographer. Well, tough. You put yourself in a photo in a very bad way and then you expect everyone not to notice your very bad joke. Well, guess what, your pose wasn't very funny, was it? I really shouldn't have to explain that. You should know better without any help from me.

Which Reminds Me

Anyway, what are all these horrible landowners crowing about? You may own some land but I don't know the first thing about you and, guess what, couldn't care less who you are or what you do with it. All of this junk will not get you a mineral rights transfer, especially not now.

If I ever did have the money, sure would be fun to buy the whole mess and get control so that I could extradite all those nasty Salique whiners to Syria where they belong.

But that wouldn't be a practical solution, I suppose. We don't always get what we want in this life. Obviously.

Which Reminds Me

My sister is sometimes called the "string" bean, so I guess that means she passed the test whereas I didn't. Even so, well, I can't really say what I think about that. She got everyone over on her side even though, well, I can't really say what I think about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, if only this book junk detecting work were a full-time job with a decent salary, then I suppose this could go on to infinity. There is no stopping place for those willing to pay the book junk detectives a decent salary, I suppose, but for me just to slave away this way for no reason and without a paycheck it just the height of stupidity on my part. My brains must have fallen out of my head.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I saw the key to the city thing somewhere recently although I don't remember where. So? I never really understood why that was good or bad, just part of a job I suppose, until another newspaper reported that first, and then Rick Hayden was furious because I had not seized on that story first. I don't remember why. I just wasn't there at the time, I suppose. Sometimes you just get lucky. But also, I am not sure whether that would have registered something else in my mind. I just wasn't keyed in to that stuff at the time. I have forgotten the details of that.

Which Reminds Me

There is something wrong with this picture. My choices are dismal: Capitulation or Death by Multiple Knife wounds. And for what? So that some greedy unnamed worldly pigs can pick who gets "up" and who gets "down," because only they have the money to pay for this prolonged war. Ok, so maybe I don't deserve anything, given that I have accomplished nothing much as of yet in my pathetic life. But the fact that I have an English Moore in my ancestry, a great-great-grandmother, hardly qualifies me as Moorish in the Moslem and/or Lebanese sense of that word. So it does boggle the mind why all these Spanish people imagine they can throw me to the Moors. I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. If only I had a chance to explain, but the whole work atmosphere makes it difficult to really talk about personal matters. I prefer to keep my head attached to my body for the time being. Getting myself killed right now would be too expensive. My parents would have to pay for my funeral. What a mess and nobody cares. I am just supposed to roll over and play dead because somebody really really hates me. As if I should care about the opinions of those haughty arrogant rich political people.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was making a point about the problem of "Killing Castro." That is a fairly common Spanish surname. Just look through the Miami phone book and I imagine you will find no shortage of Castro there. And we even had one in our high school class, but it probably wouldn't be polite to stop her and question the identity of her distant cousins in some other country. And wasn't one of our Spanish teachers a Cuban exile? But there are so many exiles everywhere. I really didn't think of that question at the time so now it would be too inconvenient to call and ask for more information. I really have no idea.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, that was a rather lousy photo that someone snapped of me, which appeared in the school yearbook as my casual photo, next to my official senior picture. I am seen in profile standing there probably waiting for something. I don't remember whether that was the photo that someone, maybe Joan Calabrese, took of me surreptitiously in the library. I don't suppose I ever saw that other library pohto. I didn't really understand what that was about. I just thought they were being a nuisance as usual in their weird Italian way.

Which Reminds Me

How dare you call me a monster, you Spanish monstrosity! Are you claiming the throne of Spain or of England, you scion of Ferdinand and Isabella? The answer is not so clear, especially now. I, for one, do not see why all that political junk should matter to me. I am no Tudor, that I should have any distant claim to royalty. So whatever. I really don't wish to bother my mind with the perplexing dilemmas of royal lineage. God knows, so whatever. That said, I still think that I am just as much a human being as anyone else in this country of mine. I do not appreciate these efforts to degrade me to the level of horrid Italian mafia trash. I will remember that.

Which Reminds Me

Some of this junk really gets me riled up, riled up enough to write a best-selling book called "Killing Butterflies." Now why would I do that? It's not like I ever gave much thought to those dull boring critters and don't really care what they do. So why they are crowing so loudly about nothing much? Butterflies are not supposed to draw such abnormal attention to themselves. It makes us want to kill them, because they don't seem to get that they are working for the enemy, but this is not wartime, at least not yet.

Which Reminds Me

Of course I am not saying that I would favor some shrill Greek hag. We were the Trojans, our high school mascot that is, so obviously we also are not going to appreciate an onslaught of silly Greek yapping. It was just a high school mascot, nothing more.

Which Reminds Me

I must be crazy. In a dream I thought I was hearing that shrill Italian hag Kathy crowing about how she is going to steal my husband. Ha ha ha! You see, this high school classmate of mine is dark complected so she imagines herself the lady heroine of Solomon song, the object of his love, whereas in her imagination I am just one of those other ladies of Jerusalem who would rather avoid sun exposure. A great way for Kathy to get skin cancer and cut her own throat without any help from me. I see that she married some stupid toadie Johnson, not exactly King Solomon, so as it turns out she really has nothing much to crow about so loudly, at least in my opinion. But of course I can't really say that or even have such an opinion when she hasn't really said that in so many words. It just makes me depressed knowing that these dogs are going to kill me and there is nothing I can do about it.

Which Reminds Me

What are all these horrid Vineyard people crowing about? It is quite true that you can easily dispose of my inheritance by killing me. Did not King Ahab and his Wicked Queen JezzieBelch easily dispose of the vineyard of Nabal even though the vineyard keeper had intended to keep that piece of land for his own family? So obviously nothing is certain in this life of woe and suffering. And did I myself not wrongfully dispose of a table that did not belong to me? So maybe I owe you a couple of hundred bucks. Even so, the killing of me will not win any prize for these dreary French Fried cousins of mine. If I had a choice, I would rather use my inheritance to strengthen the hand of my own dear nephews rather than to give any quarter to some horribly wicked cousins who really don't deserve anything anyway, especially not now after all their dirty tricks. Ditto to those Stewart whiners. So now you tell me. But of course it is quite true that time and chance happen to all. It is quite true that some counties of Texas are wet and others dry. Even so, I would rather avoid the argument. This is not a good time to discuss vineyard cultivation of central Texas. I really don't care what they do. I am a reasonable person and I realize that I have no say in the matter as I have no money to take possession of anything anway. So whatever.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was reminding me that in high school Raymond once gave a speech on the subject of assassinations, specifically the report that U.S. might have explored the idea of killing Fidel Castro. He seemed to know something about the mafia hit man who was hired to carry out the unsuccessful attempt and might have said something about how the mafia hitman would have to live underground for a long time afterwards because of the notoriety of that even though it was not successful. How times have changed.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I remember when I was in the fifth grade, our friend Alexandra showed us her three-monkey toy, the one called, "See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil." It sounds like a nice motto on surface but long-term not practical given that we have to live quite a few years of our lives in this sin-sick world. You only wish your name was Helen Keller. Are you going to let the Devil make a monkey out of you? Anyway, what is more important is to control your thoughts. Philippians 4:5-8: "Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."

Which Reminds Me

Yes, now I remember. I overhead Kathy and Joan loudly talking about how they did not like Heather, who was Henry's daughter and was there only one year, the ninth grade. But it was now the tenth grade and they were glad that she was gone somewhere, I think they said Washington D.C. to work for Nixon. They apparently thought that Heather was something of a bully in addition to being extremely rich. So I am only imaging that the Henry and Kathy thing was construed somehow on that. Of course, back in those days we did not know that Kathy's family was actually working for the CIA. We just thought they were shady mafia people sent there for some business purpose. We did not have any deep understanding of that back in the old days. It does make you wonder why the American people would commission the CIA to seek the ruin the lives of innocent bystanders such as myself. It makes no sense to me. I don't see why my identity should be compromised to cover their butts.

Which Reminds Me

Why don't you just ask Joan Calabrese what she remembers about that? Wasn't it she and Kathy herself who were talking that way? Don't I know that they are very coy about what they say in my presence and remembering that I might have overheard that would probably want to send out a misleading trail to put me off their track as usual. Not that I care very much about what they say. I know better than to even pretend to care about anything they say. They are always were such worthless high school classmates so whatever.

Which Reminds Me

Ok, now that I run through "The Fate of Wolsey," from 1835, I am somehow vaguely reminded that someone was referencing the stormy and tempestuous relationship between Henry and Katheryne. I never really understood what that meant and still don't. I hadn't really thought very much about that. These people say many weird things that I overheard but forgot almost immediately. I am sure that meant something to them but I did not have all the components so I would not be able to properly reassemble that. Just something about Henry and Kathy. Knowing how those people are, generally speaking, it probably didn't mean very much, even if I could figure out what was behind that. Thus, it does seem very weird that big boba Susie would be trying to pretend that her sister-in-law Cathy Stewart was my high school classmate. What do they think they heard about that? So typical of the Stewart twins to think that everything is just all about them. What would they know about my high school misery? They were in the U.S. attending a normal American high school. They just wouldn't be able to understand some things.

Which Reminds Me

The Stewart family has found a very strange way of evading their responsibility to account for the whereabouts of Josephine. Josephine was Susie Stewart's best friend so obviously there is no better person than Susie to go to for information about her. Susie and Josephine did their junior high school paperwork together in that other smaller classroom. Sometimes just before recess or lunchtime we would see Josephine's face peeking through the window to see if it was time yet. She once did a typical dance of the Philippines in which she jumps between bamboo sticks that are moving back and forth. I think that her parents or other family members were doing the sticks. That is the sum total of all that I remember about Josephine. Maybe Dawn also would remember more about Josephine, but I don't.

Which Reminds Me

Do you really think that I am so stupid that I don't know that these Canadian witches would like nothing better than to glorify themselves at my expense? I do regret having helped them with that to to the extent that I did in the past but there is nothing more that I would want to add to that so please stop angling for more. I would prefer to delete my existence from their life stories entirely so that they can just forget that I ever existed. All my worthless lines and entrances I donate to some other actress. I really don't care. If there is going to be a movie starring them I would prefer not to appear in it. Just leave me out of it.

Which Reminds Me

Was there some reason for me to compliment the shrill caterwaulings of CatheReign? I never even heard her sing and here you are fishing for nothing much. It is hard for me to formulate any sincere compliment with this huge gun of hers pointed at my head. I suppose that if I did give her a compliment she would want it to be a sincere one and not some forced and meaningless cant. As I was saying, nothing really comes to my mind. Money can't buy love and guns can't either.

Which Reminds Me

Ok, so I graduated from college at SCC whereas my Dad's cousin Suzanne also called 'Susie' graduated from USC. Ok, so USC is a much bigger school with more graduates and more prestige than ours. OK, fine. It's not like a clueless Mark or Jeff could ever understand what means exactly as they are USC grads only. Just trying to poke holes in people's heads doesn't really approximate the college experience. Probably some of us might have done college differently in retrospect but it's too late now and worse than useless to belabor these points. We only have the present and going forward. The past is gone, just a blip in the rear view mirror. Why was Mark all worked up in a snit? I only met him once and there is nothing more to say about that. I am not acquainted with any Mr. J.C. Griffith so I really would not be able to aid in the reenacting of Wynne's "Game of Solitaire" fiction. The only Josephine I know of was from the Philippines. Josephine was very quick on her feet 'tis true, but I would have to refer you to Susie, Stewart that is, for any other information on Josephine, and what she did after leaving Central America and whether she successfully married a rich Londoner in contrast to Susie's unsuccessful wedding plans. I really don't remember much about her.

Which Reminds Me

At one of the MK retreats someone asked me if I would be interested in starting a correspondence with him but I declined that opportunity. It was the Frigoli boy. He might well be a nice person but I did not feel like continuing that any further. Not to be mean or anything but some of these people's families have very prickly politics that we have heard of sort of third-hand. Thus I really would not be interested in taking that home with me. We know how you are.