EGG ON MY FACE SEPTEMBER 22, 2014
It was bound to happen. I could not possibly get through life without a few booboos along the way, and here is where I get these inaccuracies retracted and on the straight and narrow. I know my conscience will feel much better to have it all out in the open. This is a case for transparency, if I ever saw one, and if those politicians can get on that band wagon – of transparency – why can’t I?
It all has to do with the last 2 stories about the 2 Doctors and what they prescribed for me, one when I was just 12 yrs old, and then 84 years later at age 96. (I’ll wait while you go peruse through those 2 stories to refresh your memory, but don’t take too long.) I don’t have all day. Now those ages mentioned are true facts.
The mistakes I made will have Ms. Joan gloating: “See, that Melitas does make up some of this stuff. I was right all along. She doesn’t remember EVERYTHING. What a phony boloney.”
Joan, I am bringing it all out into the open. The brain must’ve failed me at those moments I was writing the words, but then later when the brain adjusted to the correct century, it knew errors had been made.
ERROR NO. 1 – Remember my Angel who nursed me so tenderly in St. Joseph’s Hospital? And I cried when she couldn’t come with us to bring me back to health. Her name was Sister Georgia, not Georgiana. One little corner of my brain kept gnawing at me, telling me that was not her name, and I knew I had erred. There was one way to clear that up. I had written a 10-min. drill about 5 years ago in Memoir Class, so I moved Heaven and Earth — and all the junk around here — until I found the story. It was titled “In the Hospital.” I feel so much better to have that all cleared up.
ERROR NO. 2 — AND THIS IS ABSOLUTELY THE WORST. In the 2nd weeks’ story, I sorta mentioned Aunt Mae’s age around 60!!! My Mom was a little younger. If they were still around in this life, I would’ve had a smart crack on my bum. Mom would have to be 49 when she gave birth to me, and Aunt Mae 51. (Incidentally, Aunt Mae never gave me a swat – ever. In fact, never any cross words. That also goes for her husband, my Uncle Titán.)
So, when we had that beautiful little sojourn at Catalina, they were only in their early, early 50’s. But you will understand how a kid thinks any old people are much older than they really are. The exception to this rule is me at my age.
Later in life during the late 1960’s and through the 70’s, I made quite a few trips to Catalina, and most were made to go play golf with the Catalina Women’s Golf Club. They belonged to our Western American Golf Association which had member clubs up as far as Morro Bay, south into Orange County, east to the Coachella Valley, and points in between. When there would be a tournament on the Mainland they loved to come over to play. When they had their Association Day Tournament, there would be a gang ready to go over there. You must realize that the Island is really not all that big so land is at a premium and the little golf course there at Avalon is only 9 holes so you have to play around twice for your regulation 18 holes. Sometimes there’d be 50 or 60 of us, did we ever have a ball. Each time was a mini vacation — go over the day before the tournament, and sometimes it would be 2 days of golf, and naturally we would stay extra days! We’d go over to the Casino, and stop in some of the bistros — make all the rounds.
The little hotel where most of us stayed was noisy (with us,) and the top floor which may be 2nd or 3rd, anyway it would be what ever floor the building code would allow, and I have to try to describe it.
Can you understand that sentence? — I don’t know that I can. I’ll just go from here.
The rooms on this top floor were built all around the building with windows (of course) and then also a window opposite looking out into a large inner sunning area, and this is also where your door was to get into the room. We are all back in our rooms trying for some shut-eye to have us all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the next day, when all of a sudden there is someone on the pay phone out in the sundeck. Loud, loud, LOUD! Yelling at her husband, Bob so now everyone knows it’s Connie. More yelling — a few choice words – telling Bob to get off the phone, she wants to talk to her dogs. She had a voice that carried – she was an actress in her earlier days – live theatre, no less. So Bob, being the dutiful husband that he was, put the dogs on.
I haven’t been back to Catalina since those days, so I don’t have anything more to say.
MELITAS FORSTER MONDAYS WITH MELITAS