junecleavage

Some days I create sort of a mess in my own mind. Seems to be what I do best.
Just for the record, I have learned recently, that my much adored and very hep cat grand mother is spiraling down into Alzheimer's Alley. Ain't no place for a Lauren Bacall stand-in to be. And I,sit here with her image hovering above me like the smoke that curls off incense; me, her ever loving "dear heart"...and I stand back so very far away and incapable of understanding death on any level some days.
I don't want her to go. Such a beautiful and strong spirit.

At the pool all cat eye glasses style.

With me and the moomz when her Catholic ties wouldn't let my momma do anything but marry him. If only for six months.

(yes that little blond is me at the be-in with my mom, her hippies and my grandmother)
You know, it was the family joke that my Pop Pop was Bing Crosby and my Mimi was Lauren Bacall.
They were "money" baby.
They ran with the jazz crowd and the Big Bands and the Jersey Shore Americana so long before MTV made a mockery of it. And fuck they were cool, so fucking cool, and they taught us to be the best goddamned music, dance, literature, technology and "glop" loving Germans we could be.
We raised dogs, we raised questions, and we raised the bar.
And Mimi...Dolores Vannaman Staley...I will miss you more than words or images or music can capture.
You my dear, were a shining icon.
And I don't want to see you die this way.