Anniversary Memories

I just changed the name of this, my blog, again; this time basically to THE ARTIST SPEAKS. I hope that's more accurate. Oh, I forgot complains. Or kvetches. I should put that in; like kvetches about Lupus. But then it sounds as though that's all I talk about... Or maybe it doesn't... Hmmm. I guess it will come to me.
Tomorrow the kitten comes to me! Her name might be Heidi, Rosie, Ruby or Sigrid. We'll give her a choice, like when kids choose their religion. Anyway, we'll be 'brunching' with a very old friend then travelling by boat, or maybe mule train, down to far away Chadds Ford, where the Maine Coon Cats are born. It's good we didn't have to go to Norway where they were from originally. I would have needed a sled probably, right?
Heidi/Rosie/Ruby/Sigrid is our anniversary present to ourselves; we've been attached at the hip for 41 years and have two offspring to show for it. We were congratulating ourselves over a half bottle of Mumms at a terrific little Thai restaurant--because I'm not getting paid just yet so we can't really afford the fabulous stuff--and enumerating our successes. We did really used to spend inordinate amounts of money on restaurant dinners before son Brian was born and we decided to turn our paychecks over to him.
Daughter Honey, who sat under the table at those French restaurant dinners, is painfully aware of the extreme difference in our parental style with Brian. He got private school and she got the open classroom in West Philly and the trolley by herself. Honey used to take the trolley from school and meet me at my studio in town where she'd paint or play witches in the bathroom. I had a great studio at the Penna. Academy (of Fine Arts) at the old Belgravia Hotel on Chestnut street, or maybe it was Walnut; I don't remember. But I could never afford anything like that ever again and I loved and appreciated that fine studio in Center City. I ate it up. Lots of days, I met my father for (a free) lunch at the Sansom House at 13th & Sansom, where he was the accountant. He was so proud of me, and I'm so glad I made those memories with him. It was a good time for me and I lived it with my whole heart and soul. I went to school mixed with therapy with Gerry Weiss where with the other hippies, I laid on the floor for hours crying and thinking. And Honey was there playing and talking. I took her everywhere: to Be-Ins, and feminist demonstrations, and I think to anti-war demonstrations in Washington too. Drugs were everywhere and I loved marijuana and hashish, but not the other stuff. I listened to Gerry and never took LSD; he warned me it caused psychosis and I thought I was crazy enough. I felt desperate, sad, angry, and happy to be in school and to have Honey. Maybe it wasn't such a good time, but it would have been if I lived it now. (<&>)
So here I am, middle-aged old, chubby, therapized, on tons of drugs but feeling fine. It's a good life and I can't hardly believe that today I've been married to Harry for 41 years and our kids are sensible, good people. Wow!