ON THE TOWNS: Apollo Theater Gives Prince a Place of Honor; Northside Festival and the Next Big Things; in 'Hooligan Sparrow,' a Good Deed Does Not Go Unpunished; Lens on Danny Lyon

Prince will be inducted posthumously into the Apollo Theater's Walk of Fame in a ceremony on 13 June. Photo from Prince fan Facebook page.

JUNE 2016

A list of goings-on, from a place on the Apollo Theater Walk of Fame for Prince to Eva Longoria getting down with "Lowriders" and all manner of cattiness at CatCon LA 2016.

1-7 June

ART. Through 26 June. Intrude. Four-city tour of public art installation by Amanda Parer of Australia continues. Presented by Arts Brookfield, “Intrude” depicts white nylon-inflated rabbits illuminated from within. New York, 17-30 April; Houston, 9 May-14 May; Los Angeles, 5 June-11 June; Denver, 17-19 June, 24-26 June. Brookfield properties. Free. New York. Houston. Los Angeles. Denver. http://www.brookfieldplaceny.com/events/intrude/

FILM. 1-9 June. LA Film Festival. Festival opens with Ricardo de Montreuil’s “Lowriders,” starring Eva Longoria and others. The closing film is “Desierto” from Jonás Cuarón. Various Locations. Los Angeles. http:// www.filmindependent.org/la-film-festival/

ART, MUSIC, FILM, BUSINESS, etc. 6-12 June. Northside. Festival convenes trendsetters and stakeholders across various artistic and business disciplines. Concerts, films, popup shops, speakers content creators. Various locations. Brooklyn. http:// www.northsidefestival.com/

8-14 June

FOOD, TECHNOLOGY. 10-12 June. Food Loves Tech. Hosted by Edible Manhattan and VaynerMedia, the expo explores the intersection of food and technology. On the table: sustainability and healthy eating, panels, chefs and tastings. The Waterfront, 241 11th Avenue. New York. http:// www.foodlovestech.com/

FILM. 10-19 June. 2016 Human Rights Watch Film Festival (New York). Festival presents 18 films and three interactive programs. Opens with “Hooligan Sparrow” from Nanfu Wang. The subject of the film is Chinese activist Ye Haiyan (aka Hooligan Sparrow) whose efforts to expose the sexual abuse
of young girls by a school headmaster lead to unwanted government attention. Film Society of Lincoln Center (FSLC) Walter Reade Theater and IFC Center. New York. 6-20 June, Chicago. 14 June, Sydney. http:// www.bit.ly/21cHmCO

LIFESTYLE, MUSIC. 11 June. Shikuri Project Charitable Trust Fundraiser. Drumming group, Denbaya, performs during the benefit at Mist Harlem. Founded by Gail Sealy, the Shikuri Project is dedicated to providing medical care to needy children in Kenya and sub-Saharan Africa. Mist Harlem. New York. http:// www.shikuriproject.com

FASHION. 11 June. St James’s London Hosts Jermyn Street Catwalk Show. For the second year during men’s fashion week (London Collections Mens), Jermym Street will be shut to traffic and turned into a catwalk. St James’s hosts the fashion shows and invites the public, too.
Jermyn Street, West End. London. http:// www.stjameslondon.co.uk/

MUSIC. 4 p.m. 13 June. Apollo Theater Prince Walk of Fame Induction Ceremony and 11th Annual Spring Gala. Before its 11th Annual Spring Gala and its largest fundraiser of the year – emceed by LL Cool J and with performances by The O’Jays and others – the Apollo Theater inducts Prince into its Walk of Fame. The Artist joins some splendid company under the venue’s marquee, including James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Little Richard and Stevie Wonder. Apollo Theater, 253 W. 125th St. New York. http:// www.apollotheater.org/event/apollo-gala-2016/

FILM. 13 June. Kino & Vino Series: FLYTRAP. Monthly industry screening party sponsored by the Chelsea Film Festival and Bow Tie Cinemas Chelsea. Screening of “Flytrap.” Bow Tie Cinemas Chelsea, 260 W. 23rd St. New York. http:// www.chelseafilm.org/kinoandvino

15-21 June

"Pumpkin Reneé, Galveston, Texas, 1967. Vintage gelatin silver print from the Whitney Museum retrospective, "Danny Lyon: Message to the Future." Photo by Danny Lyon, courtesy Edwynn Houk Gallery, New York.

FILM. 16-19 June. Oak Cliff Film Festival. The 5th edition opens with a restored version of Eagle Pennelli’s “Last Night at the Alamo. Music performances also on the bill. Closes with “Hunt for the Wilderpeople” from Taika Waititi. Various locations.Dallas. http:// /www.oakclifffilmfestival.com

ART. 17 June-25 Sept. 2016. Danny Lyon: Message to the Future. The retrospective of the photographer’s work includes nearly 200 photos and is billed as the first to consider his work as a filmmaker. On opening night, DL participates in a program. Whitney Museum of American Art. 99 Gansevoort. New York. http:// www.whitney.org/Exhibitions/DannyLyonMessageToTheFuture

Vegans expected at the Rose Bowl. Photo from Photo from Los Angeles Vegan Beer and Food Festival website.

FOOD. 18 June. Los Angeles Vegan Beer and Food Festival. Depending on ticket tier, unlimited pours of beer, wine, kombucha, craft soda and cold brew as well as access to more than 70 vegan restaurants and the pop up marketplace. A portion of all proceeds goes toward The Gentle Barn which works to provide a place of healing and safety for at-risk youth and animals. Rose Bowl. 1001 Rose Bowl Dr. Pasadena, CA. http://www.veganbeerfest.com/

22 June and Beyond

Calling all cat people to CatConLA. Photo from CatConLA Facebook page.

FILM. 22 June-9 July. 2016. The 15th New York Asian Film Festival (presented by Film Society of Lincoln Center and Subway Cinema. The festival attracts some of the most edgy work, featuring some of the most popular stars of the moment in Asian cinema. Also awards and talks. Walter Reade Theater and SVA Theatre. New York. http://www.filmlinc.org/festivals/new-york-asian-film-festival/

Harvind Raj as Appoy in Shanjhey Kumar Perumal debut film, "Brutal." Photo from festival website.
LIFESTYLE. 25 and 26 June. CatConLA. Convention for cat people, that is individuals who like cats. Products, panels, furniture, food, ideas and experts. At the Reef, 1933 S. Broadway. Los Angeles. http:// www.catconla.com/

ON THE TOWNS: Beats at High Altitudes in Austria; Hatitude in Harlem; 90 Years of Martha; Lapping Up Chunky Monkey & Cherry Garcia; Dancing With Horses; On Film Fest Circuit

Jungle plays the Snowbombing festival for the first time. Photo from Snowbombing Web site.
The time has come. Welcome to the debut of On the Towns, our humble events calendar. We have received numerous requests over the last few years to publish such a chronicle. It makes sense. There are many festivals, concerts and other entertainments and gatherings that we wish to bring to your attention. Heretofore, it has not been possible, owing to limitations of space and staff. On the Towns, which will appear the first week of each month and will be updated throughout each month, is one small way that we can meet this challenge. We hope that you will find some things each month to engage you.

APRIL 2016

A list of goings-on around the world, from Snowbombing in Austria, to both the Great American Hat Show. and LOOT at the Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) in New York. And Free Cone Day at Ben&Jerry’s Scoop Shops in various countries, including Brazil and Singapore.

1-7 April

MUSIC. 1-4 April. Desert Hearts. Cutting-edge house and techno music festival. Los Coyotes Indian Reservation. Warner Springs, Calif. http://www.deserthearts.us/

FILM. 1-5 April. Focus on French Cinema Festival. Festival is dedicated to showcasing the best French-language films from around the world . French Institute Alliance Française (FIAF). 55 East 59th St. New York. http://www.focusonfrenchcinema.com/

FILM. 7 p.m. 4 April. Kino & Vino Series. Monthly industry screening party sponsored by the Chelsea Film Festival and Bow Tie Cinemas Chelsea. Screening of “Semper Fidel.” Bow Tie Cinemas Chelsea. 260 W. 23rd St., New York. http://www.chelseafilm.org/semper-fidel/

MUSIC. 4-8 April. Snowbombing. The world’s No. 1 music festival on snow. Mayrhofen ski area. Mayrhofen, Austria. http://www.snowbombing.com/

MUSIC. 7 p.m. 5 April. Nashville Pussy. The hard rock band in concert. Magasin 4. Avenue du port 51 B, Brussels, Belgium. http://www.bit.ly/1UFKxU1

MUSIC. 6 p.m. 6 April. RED HOT GALA. Benefits the Glimmerglass Festival’s Young Artists and Summer Internship Programs. The Metropolitan Club. 1 East 60th Street, New York. https://www.glimmerglass.org/support/gala/

MEETING. 7-9 April. Black Girl Movement Conference. Organized by Institute for Research in African-American Studies at Columbia University (IRAAS). Issues related to cis, queer and transgender Black girls (18 and under) in the United States. Columbia University. New York. http://www.bit.ly/1TJl36a

The Black Girl Movement Conference aims to empower select groups black females 18 and younger. Photo from IRAAS Web site.

FILM. 7-15 April. 17th Havana Film Festival New York. Celebrates Latin American cinema. Various locations. New York. http://www.hffny.com/2016/

ART. Through 14 April. Anima. Installation explores the concept of soul and the divide between man and animal. Combines art, magic and anthropology. The Invisible Dog Art Center. 51 Bergen St., Brooklyn. http://www.theinvisibledog.org/

8-14 April

Attendees to The Great American Hat Show can leave with their very own fascinator. Photo from Harriet Rosebud Hats Website.

FASHION. 10 a.m.-6 p.m. 9 April. Great American Hat Show Skincare and makeup master classes. Also “The Fabulous Fascinators” master class: students take home their own fascinator. Dance performance. Fashion show. Shopping. The Harlem Commonwealth. 361 W. 125th St. New York. http://www.harrietrosebudhats.com/

Free ice cream cones on Free Cone Day at Ben&Jerry's Scoop Shops. Photo from Ben&Jerry's Website.


FASHION. 4:30 p.m.-8 p.m. 11 April. LOOT 2016 Opening Benefit. Patrons of the Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) meet LOOT 2016 jewelry artists and can purchase their designs before the show opens to the general public. Cocktail hour. Reception. Also a dinner honoring LOOT 2016 Award recipients Joan Hornig and Kay Unger. LOOT opens to the general public 10 a.m.-6 p.m. on 12-16 April. MAD. 2 Columbus Circle. New York. http://www.MadMuseum.org/

A necklace from LOOT 2016 artist Pawel Kaczyński. Some of his pieces are refined until they resemble things found in nature such as flowers. Photo from MAD Website.


FOOD. 12 April. Free Cone Day. Ben&Jerry’s shows its appreciation to customers by offering an ice cream cone at its scoop shops around the world. Ben&Jerry’s Scoop Shop. Various countries. http://www.benjerrys.co/1RyuvEp


FILM. 13-24 April. 15th Tribeca Film Festival. Films from 32 countries and more than 70 world premieres. Various locations. New York. http://www.tribecafilm.com/

Hannah Overton in "Until Proven Innocent," which makes its world premiere at the Tenth Annual Dallas International Film Festival. Photo from DIFF Website.


FILM. 14-24 April. Tenth Annual Dallas International Film Festival. More than 160 films, panels and events. Various locations. Dallas. http://www.bit.ly/1PGkvrt

15-21 April

PieJu Chien-Pott in Martha Graham's "Lamentation." Photo by Christopher Jones.


ART. 15-24 April. Open Plan: Cecil Taylor. Fifth of six in Whitney’s series of exhibitions in its open-plan fifth floor. The Taylor retrospective is to feature recorded and live performances, including a sold-out concert by the iconic musician on 14 April. Also video and audio installations, photos, poetry and recollections by various artists who have been inspired by the man. Whitney Museum of American Art. 99 Gansevoort St. New York. http://www.whitney.org/Exhibitions/OpenPlanCecilTaylor

Wendell Pierce and Kerry Washington in "Confirmation." Photo from HBO Website.


FILM. 8 p.m. (EDT). 16 April. Confirmation. Starring Kerry Washington as Anita Hill and Wendell Pierce as Clarence Thomas. The film is based on the latter’s 1991 Supreme Court nomination hearings. HBO. http://www.hbo.com/movies/confirmation

ART. 17 April-26 June. Intrude. Four-city tour of public art installation by Amanda Parer of Australia. Presented by Arts Brookfield, “Intrude” depicts white nylon-inflated rabbits illuminated from within. New York, 17-30 April; Houston, 9 May-14 May; Los Angeles, 5 June-11 June; Denver, 17-19 June, 24-26 June. Brookfield properties. Free. New York. Houston. Los Angeles. Denver. http://www.brookfieldplaceny.com/events/intrude/

Cecil Taylor, rehearsing at the Whitney Museum of American Art, will perform a soldout concert the day before his retrospective, "Open Plan: Cecil Taylor," opens at the museum. Photo from Whitney Website.

DANCE. 7 p.m. 18 April. Martha Graham Dance Company 90th Anniversary Gala. A special program to celebrate the 90th year of the venerable dance company includes performances of classic pieces. Dinner. Dancing. The gala culminates the season, which opens on 14 April. New York City Center and The University Club of New York. New York. http://www.marthagraham.org/tickets-events/

22-28 April

Courant Splash brings together math-minded high schoolers.

DANCE. Noon. 23 April. Inter-species Encounters. A performance of humans and horses will be the featured showcase at the Dressage Nationals. Centenary Equestrian Center, Centenary College. Long Valley, New Jersey. http://www.equus-onsite.org/#!news/c1wnl

MEETING. Noon. 8 a.m.-5 p.m. 23 April. Courant Splash. Annual one-day lecture series at the Courant Institute of New York University for mathematically gifted high school students in the New York metropolitan area. Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences. 251 Mercer St. New York. http://www.csplash.org/


DANCE. 27-29 April. YAGP Finals Week and YAGP 2016 Gala Stars of Today Meet the Stars of Tomorrow. Final rounds performances and gala of YAGP, the world’s largest student ballet scholarship audition. BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music) Howard Gilman Opera House. Brooklyn. http://www.yagp.org/

Humans and horses will dance together during the Dressage Nationals at the Centenary Equestrian Center. Photo from The Equus Project Website.

ART. 27 April-12 Feb. 2017. Human Interest: Portraits from the Whitney’s Collection. Exploration of the changing face of portraiture from 1900 to 2016. Whitney Museum of American Art. 99 Gansevoort St. New York. http://www.whitney.org/Exhibitions/HumanInterest

A 'Brief Encounter' That Goes a Long Way

Tristan Sturrock and Hannah Yelland, above, as restrained lovers Alec and Laura in "Brief Encounter." Photos by Joan Marcus.

BY TAMARA BECK

EMMA Rice’s “Brief Encounter” takes Noel Coward’s 1945 film adaptation of his one-act play about forbidden love, “Still Life,” from the screen to the silver stage!

At Roundabout Theatre's Studio 54 in an extended run through 2 Jan., "Brief Encounter" pays tribute to its cinematic origins in uniquely cinematic ways.

Director ER (she is also responsible for the adaptation) uses film clips, toy trains, and a multi-level stage that serves as train trestle and love nest, to nice effect.

Speaking of effects: at one point the heroine, Laura (Hannah Yelland), steps from the stage into the screen to join her husband, Fred (Joseph Alessi) in a film version of the scene. Later, Alec (Tristan Sturrock) dives through the image of a speeding train and appears at a window as it speeds by on screen.

Laura (Hannah Yelland) seeing her man off - it is her husband or her lover? - in a scene from "Brief Encounter."

Laura and Alec, both respectable, married people, meet by chance at a railroad station teashop. Laura has a splinter in her eye; Alec, explaining that he is a doctor, helps her remove it. Over time they continue to meet, first for a movie, then a row, then a brief affair. Thursdays are marked by the lovers’ meeting - or on one occasion - missing each other except for a brief moment of explanation before a train takes Alec home. As the teashop owner, Mrs. Myrtle Bagot, (Annette McLaughlin) remarks at one juncture, this is going to end badly. (See trailer: http://www.roundabouttheatre.org/video/1011/encounter_3.htm).

Love, or lust, is in the air elsewhere, too: Myrtle Bagot has a flirtation and a bit more with Albert, the stationmaster, (also played by Joseph Alessi). Her shop girl, Beryl (Dorothy Atkinson), and Stanley (Gabriel Ebert) are also carrying on. But it is Laura and Alec's story that is meant to be the poignant core of "Brief Encounter." Myrtle and Albert are livelier than Laura and Alec. Their animation is in part thanks to a class system that allows “lower classes” to have more fun in matters of love. Laura and Alec are firmly of the middle class, and their decency makes their passion almost decorous – and less than passionate – and them dull.

Annette McLaughlin and Joseph Alessi as exuberant lovers in "Brief Encounter."

That is not to say that the acting and actors aren’t excellent. ER’s Kneehigh Theatre Company is a talented bunch. The actors sing and play a variety of instruments, and in some cases, parts, with finesse. AMcL’s Myrtle delivers two particularly entertaining versions of a love song in which she first discloses that she is not good at love and then that she is.

In theory, “Brief Encounter” is an agreeable way to spend 90 minutes with nice people in and out of the teashop. The "Brief Encounter" for the audience, however, is an uneventful and somewhat bland melodrama.

Visit http://www.roundabouttheatre.org/54/ to learn more about “Brief Encounter."

Tamara Beck is President, Clean Lists Associates, Inc, an association management firm. And an avid theater-goer.

Nature’s Alarm Clock Has Beautiful Melody

Pictured above is the Northern Cardinal, middle photo Tufted Titmouse and bottom photo Carolina Chickadee. Cardinal photo from www.songbirdgarden.com; Titmouse photo from www.animalpicturesarchive.com, and Chickadee photo from www. .org/microsites/education/trek.


HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly returned to Gotham from North Louisiana several weeks ago and am happy to report that my mother, who was very ill when I arrived in early February, is recovering nicely. I’m no longer in my homeland, but there are still plenty of stories to tell from my time there. It is my hope to share them over the next few months, with a dateline of MISSIVE FROM MONROE. And so the missives start with the birds.

MISSIVE FROM MONROE – ONE morning in the opening days of March it was so early that it was still dark. I was awakened by piercing noises of the beeps and chirps variety. Immediately, I checked my mobile phone to make sure my battery hadn’t died. Then checked the landline phone and then the Lifeline box in my late aunt’s sitting room.

I couldn’t find the source of the noise until I quieted down. And then it hit me: It was birds! Not of the Alfred Hitchcock species, but the kind that hang out in heavily treed areas.

Often in New York – as was the case this morning around 6 – I am awakened by garbage trucks. In the few weeks since I returned from Monroe I have also been shaken awake by sirens, blaring horns, the buzz of car engines and ConEd service trucks. This noise pollution is a jarring change from those symphonies that gently nudged me out of my slumber many mornings in March and April.

Lying there listening to the birds one morning I became curious about who exactly they were, so I contacted the Northeast LA Bird Club for some answers.

“Depending on where you are, you could be hearing different birds,” club president Joan Brown gives me to know via e-mail. “When I leave for work, I'm hearing Northern Cardinals, Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, House Finches, House Sparrows, Blue Jays, Mockingbirds, and sometimes Martins.”

JB also gives me to know that most are local, except for the Martins. “These birds have been here all along … Some of the migratory birds are beginning to come in now, like the Martins. They usually show up in late January or early February. Some of the other breeding birds begin showing up in mid March and the migration continues until mid to late May,” she says of the visitors that will stay until anywhere from July to October before they set off for southern locales such as Mexico and South America.

“In the spring, some of the birds that pass through this area are on their way farther north. They stop to ‘fuel up’ as they go on their journey,” says JB. "As the leaves come out on the trees, worms and caterpillars come along to eat the leaves and the birds come along to eat the worms and caterpillars. This is a very important food for the birds as they are traveling through the area.”

And one imagines they must also need the fuel to harmonize. The melodies are so beautiful that one can only hope the birds are in a really good mood, but their songs serve a number of purposes. One function is to mark their territory. Humans have e-mail/instant messaging/phone/text and so on to keep in touch. Birds, on the otherhand, use songs to reach out to their “peeps,” especially during the winter. And is it any surprise they use them for courting? “Once the weather warms up, the hormones start flowing and the birds start singing for mates,” JB says. “During the winter, the birds have been slowly getting their new, bright plumage,” and it is the males like the Northern Cardinal that are the brightest and most vivid.

Like humans, birds have different character traits. Chickadees are curious like me and Cardinals are shy like my young cousin who lives across the street. They also have different eating habits. Titmice and Chickadees fetch and eat one seed at a time, then fetch and eat and so on until they get their fill. Blue Jays, however, stuff as many seeds as possible in their beaks, spit them out, then eat them one at a time. Mockingbirds don’t usually eat seeds, “but I have seen them sit at a feeder and swallow as many seeds as they could hold,” JB asserts.

Many mornings I lay awake listening to the birds – and it is morning when they are most full of song. They taper off in late morning toward noon and then often ramp it up in the evening. By night most are done for the day and go to bed in trees – evergreens especially – as they do during their daily siesta. When it’s really hot, JB says, “I have seen birds up in a tree, resting next to the trunk ... Not many birds roost in a box or hole in a tree."

But what are they singing? Is it something along the lines of Barry White’s “Playing Your Game, Baby?” Or something by Seal or Sting? Alas, most birders don’t know exactly what they are saying, concedes JB. “Birds have so many songs that they sing at different times. Every time I think I've heard all of a bird's song, I hear another one that I haven't heard before.”

I don’t know what the birds are singing about, nor does JB. But wildlife biologist Les Beletsky thinks he does. He writes as much in one of his many books on birds, "Bird Songs: 250 North American Birds in Song" (Becker&Mayer). Loons, for instance, do most of their singing at night but do occasionally break out in tremolos during the day, LB contends, if humans or others disturb the peace.

What is more commonly known about birds is that males do most of the singing, “but there are several species of female birds who also sing," JB explains. “Female Cardinals and Tanagers will sing. All birds have what are called 'chip' calls. These can be used to keep in contact with the group, as a warning to other birds that danger is near. Or just for the heck of it!"

Is there any better reason to break out in song?

"Bird Songs: 250 North American Birds in Song" is available (at presstime)in hardcover at amazon.com for as low as $10.22; learn more about the Northeast LA Bird Club at http://www.birdlouisiana.com/index.php?option=com_sobi2&sobi2Task=sobi2Details&catid=2&sobi2Id=16&Itemid=99999999

A Mother of a Story, As Told to Oprah

Nadya Suleman has an awesome job with loads of responsibility.

“I’m struggling. I’m surviving. I’m staying afloat.”

With those words Nadya Suleman ended her interview with Oprah today. You probably don’t know her by her proper name. But you do know her by the moniker, Octomom unless you’ve been under a rock in Timbuktu the last year or so.

The woman who last year infamously and famously became the first ever to give birth to eight healthy babies at once has been demonized, ostracized, ridiculed, mocked and harassed by the media for months. She already had six, for at total of 14 children. All the lies that have printed and uttered about her ... I’m surprised she has not been linked to an al-Qaida cell. She wrote Oprah to ask for an audience, and it was granted. As part of the deal she agreed to invite Oprah’s cameras into a day of her life. Intense doesn't begin describe it.

Several weeks ago, I watched her interview on The View – and I am a fan of the show – but I was annoyed at The Women. NS could barely get a word in. There were five women asking her questions at the same time, not bothering to wait for an answer. NS didn’t come across in the best light because in the face of indictments crafted as rapid-fire questions she started that cackling laugh. Who could blame her, for it was clear that The Women had her on the show to judge and accuse, rather than try to understand her motivation, which Oprah managed without being judgmental or indulgent.

Visit oprah.com to see excerpts. But keep it here to get my highlights: She didn’t plan to have eight children at once. The sperm bank or whatever agency had her eggs in storage was pestering her to deal with the eggs or incur various charges. She was doing well at the time – everyone was OK – and she decided why not. But she never imagined, “based on my previous birth pattern,” that she would birth eight children in one go.

Knowing what she knows now – if she had a do-over – she would not have had as many eggs implanted. She went to great pains, however, to assert that she does not regret giving birth to her children because she loves them. Repeatedly, she said her children are her responsibility and she would take care of them. And, no, she would not name the father. “That would be so unfair to him.”

At one point she got food stamps for a year with the six children. When she learned that food stamps are tied to welfare she stopped receiving them. She also traded Medi-Cal, California’s Medicaid program, for private insurance. She doesn’t want to be a burden on the system, she explained.

In an effort fill an emotional need within herself, the 34-year-old only child had the first six children. Six are too many, she conceded to a bemused Oprah. She understands that. She gets it. She gets it that one parent per child is not enough, that two parents to a child is not enough. And she doesn’t have the time to give 14 children all of the physical and emotional support they need, even with a sometimes revolving door of three nannies. Imagine four people handling 14 children, more than half of them infants – whew!

Though she got $100,000 for posing in a bikini in Star Magazine, she is not proud of having done it. But a mother has to do what a mother has to do, especially when she has 14 mouths to feed, staff to compensate and a mortgage, etc. And the money will be running out shortly, so she needs something else. But there are some things she won’t do. For instance, a reality show, which she rightly acknowledges would exploit her children, who did not ask to be born or for an invasion of privacy.

And there are other things she won’t do for money, even a whole lot of it. “If they paid me $100 million I would never do a porn film,” said NS, who claims she had three such offers, one coming shortly after the birth of the eight. She’s holding out for something “respectable.”

This bright, beautiful, intelligent and insightful woman didn’t seek publicity – she became what she terms “a carnival attraction” by virtue of her extraordinary accomplishment. Other than setting up a Web site to solicit donations, appearing on “The View” and today on “Oprah,” she has avoided the media. And what a savvy move appearing on Oprah! It will be interesting to see the fallout from such respectable exposure.

One thing NS learned from the experience, is that we all realize that sometimes we do things to fill an unmet need. Oprah had a great analogy. “Some people are addicted to drugs or alcohol, you were addicted to having children.”

Observed NS, who can’t take her children to the park without being hounded by the paparazzi, “I have done more growing in the last year than I have in the previous 34 and a half.”

Normally, Yours Truly would not comment on such a story but after listening to NS I felt compelled to speak. To speak out of a frustration born of myriad wild speculations about this Octomom creature. She has such clarity, or she is a damned fine actress. I believe her. She speaks like someone who has been kicked in the butt by life and may actually learn something from it that she will heed henceforth and forevermore.

The woman definitely has issues. She’s probably a little crazy. She’s broken in parts. But let those of us who are not cast the first stone … I thought not. Let us, then, extend some respect and understanding to Nadya Suleman. Let’s deal with it. She has 14 children. She can’t ungive birth to any of them, and she gave Oprah to know in response to the query that she has not given any thought to giving any of her children up for adoption or placing any of her children in foster care. In addition to the nannies, she has help from her real friends whom this experience has clearly identified. For the record, she does not see more kids or a man anytime soon.

NS needs heavy doses of compassion. Enough of the haters. Girlfriend needs some (agape) lovers.

The Big Apple Owns a Piece of My Heart

The statue of The Bard in Central Park. Below, the elm trees are surrounded by a fence, which bears a placard that reads, "Help protect the American elm. Please keep out." Photos by Yours Truly.


HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is back! In New York after 68 days in North Louisiana where I was looking out for my Ma Ma who was admitted to hospital 31 January. She’s out and recovering beautifully. As for me, I have loads more to say about Monroe. But for the moment, Gotham tales.

AT the baggage claim at LaGuardia after the flight from Dallas-Fort Worth, I noticed it. Then in the taxi on the way home. And also when the nice lady taxi driver helped me with my bags. And yet again when I waged an epic battle to get my burden up the lone, long flight of stairs leading to my apartment door.

Even more palpable it was after I dropped my bags, greeted my roommate and set out on the streets of the Upper East Side of Manhattan last Tuesday night for some dinner. It felt as though I had not been away at all, as if I’d just walked out the door the night before for pizza. Except the night before I was crying on my cousin’s shoulder, mourning the makeover of my hometown of Monroe, Louisiana that left it almost unrecognizable.

Nine weeks I’d been away from New York. Nine weeks because my mother needed me. But walking across First Avenue toward Second Avenue in search of pizza, then to the wine shop a couple of blocks north of my apartment where I was sure to find a well-chilled bottle of Cristalino sparkling wine felt exceptionally routine and familiar.

The feeling persisted the rest of the week. The following night I attended a preview of Camper’s latest shoe line. On Thursday was Zac Posen’s shopping party at the New Yorker Hotel to celebrate his collaboration with Target, followed by a fashion show at the Paramount Hotel featuring the frocks of Indian designers, including Tia Cibani (Ports 1961). The last two days New York Entrepreneur Week on Thursday and Friday. And let me not forget Thursday afternoon bible study.

Remotely dissonant seemed none of this gadabouting. Had I actually been away? Of course. I had the plane tickets to prove it and plenty of witnesses. I didn’t dream it up like a character on a TV show who dreams up an entire season. A figment of my fertile imagination it was not. Pleased that my transition has been so seamless, though the seamlessness is surprising for its familiarity.

The feeling was most palpable Saturday evening as I strolled through Central Park, one of my favorite spots in Manhattan. At Fifth Avenue and East 79th street, I entered steps away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I made my way southwest toward the Boat House Café and the Great Lawn. This walking was the perfect elixir for the extreme fatigue that all day had been drawing the energy out of me. It was exhilarating to be walking again wherever I pleased after two months of relying on cars to get around.

The park was a vision. The trees seemed bigger, their leaves greener. And so they were, it is spring after all. I missed this oasis in the middle of manic Manhattan. Tears formed a reservoir in my eyes and in double quick fashion were streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away or hide them. I felt no embarrassment. I was happy. These were tears of joy!

Passing the statue of William Shakespeare near East 72nd St and the enclosed family of elm trees nearby I got an epiphany. Everything – airport, streets, parties, meetings, park – was familiar and comfortable like home. What a relief after two months of feeling displaced. To now be in a place that I understood, that made sense …

As I gazed through the gaps of the gnarled trunks of those elms – a sight for blurry eyes! – I got another epiphany. Monroe, Louisiana is my hometown. New York City is where my heart is. It is my home.

Oprah, My Town Is Dissin' Your Zone Defense

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

DEAR Oprah:

Hello … I hope you are sitting down.

On two different occasions yesterday a driver was coming at me so fast from behind that I was certain that I was going to be rear-ended. I braced myself for impact or a quick departure from the road. Luckily, each driver stopped just in the nick of time. Incredible as it may seem, that’s happened several times in the last few weeks.

One day I was waiting for an approaching car to pass so that I could make a left turn. In the time it took the driver to reach me I could have, of course, made the turn. I could have also had a manicure, pedicure and shopped for a few personal items at CVS.

A few days ago the driver in front of me sat until the green light was about to turn yellow before she went through it. I thought she was sleeping at the wheel because her head was bent down like she was dozing off.

Oprah Winfrey has designated April 30 "National No Phone Zone Day." Image from Harpo Productions, Inc.

All around me automobiles are going too slow or too fast or swerving to avoid each other or to avoid going off the road. These drivers are not drunk or high – at least not on drugs. At least I don't think so. What I am sure of however, is that they are DWT, that is driving while talking/texting.

Oprah, please consider visiting my hometown of Monroe, Louisiana to make a personal appeal to residents to stop driving while talking/texting. Sooner or later someone is going to be seriously injured or killed by someone involved in this dangerous practice. Already, thousands of people around the country have died or been injured in DWT incidents.

The last few months you have been on a mission to convince drivers in the United States, and I am sure the world at-large, to stop using their cell phones to text and talk while they are driving. You have a catchy phrase for it in “No Phone Zone.” I applaud you for bringing this to my attention. It was not until recently an issue near and dear to my heart because I live in New York. I mainly get around on public transport. Occasionally, I take a taxi and who knows what they are doing in the front seat. In any case, there is a hands-free law on the books.

Indeed, you have made a big issue out of DWT. On several occasions you have dedicated segments or the entire Oprah show to this issue with facts, stats and charts to hammer home the point that DWT is dangerous and deadly. Numerous guests have disclosed how their DWT or someone else’s has impacted their lives. In every case there has been injury and/or loss of life. Visitors to Oprah.com can take the NPZ pledge and even create their own 60-minute public service announcement, which may be aired on your show. You routinely ask guests to take a NPZ pledge and most of them do it in part. Most who can’t give up talking at the very least pledge to use a hands-free set while talking. While only marginally better than holding the phone, it is a start. You’ve issued an edict at Harpo Productions that no employee is to do phone business for while driving. You've also requested that employees conduct no personal phone business while driving. A whole section of your Web site is dedicated to convincing people to stop DWT.

Yet, in Monroe where I have been the last nine weeks on family business at least half the drivers, in my estimation, either do not watch your show or have decided to ignore your pleas. This is such a good cause I cannot imagine anyone not wanting to join. I’ve noticed the aforementioned and other incidences of DWT such as serial tailgating because I am driving again for the first time in 11 years. I earned my driver’s license on March 2 after attending driving school, taking the vision, written and driver’s test and for several weeks familiarizing myself with Louisiana traffic laws as if I were studying for comps. Unfortunately, in Louisiana, which is the case in most of the rest of the country and world, there is currently no law on the books outlawing DWT. Only a handful of municipalities like New York and Washington, D,C., outlaw hand-held phones. The laws will eventually change, but only after the senseless loss of more life.

Last week as I was leaving the supermarket parking lot, two drivers of SUVs almost crashed into each other. One was on the way out; the other was on the way in. Both were chatting distractedly on their cell phones.

Oprah, come soon – maybe on April 30, which you have designated “National No Phone Zone Day" – before somebody else is seriously injured or killed.

Thank you in advance for your consideration.


Best,




V. Wright
E-mail: vevlyn@yahoo.com

The Spoils of War Outlive Their Captor

A detail shot of the serving platter from Beulah Calloway's 64-piece China set. Photos by Yours Truly.

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

I’VE been living in my late aunt’s house two months now. I’ll call her Aunt N. She retired to Monroe from Saginaw in the late 1990s to be near my mother, her sister.

Over the last couple of months I’ve made some interesting discoveries/re-discoveries about house-living and Aunt N’s in particular.

One of the first things I noticed is the huge closets in every bedroom. There is, too, a smaller closet on the hall and, a linen closet. A closet just for the sheets and towels. Imagine that! The combined closet space is almost as large as some New York City apartments. In fact, a large closet in a New York apartment is a huge selling point. One must think in context, though. A large closet – mine, for instance – in a New York apartment is less than half the size of the ones in this house.

There is generally sufficient space for just about everything here, though I would venture to say that Aunt N needed a larger house or, fewer things. Another feature of the house is a deep freezer. Where else is one to store those foods that should be frozen? The refrigerator freezer is mainly for ice and Popsicles or maybe a chicken pot pie. But meat, game, ice cream, extra bread and butter go in the deep freezer.

The deep freezer is in the utility room where the washer and dryer hang out. How easily one forgets such conveniences. Aunt N extended the size of her utility room to accommodate another closet and for general storage space for various whatnots. Without a doubt, hers is definitely larger than a lot of NYC studio apartments. It is also in the utility room where I discovered the plunger, to my great relief. And it is home to a rake and hoe. I mean garden tools, not people.

The sugar dish and eight plates that are part of a collection that has been well-preserved.

The most interesting of my discovering by far, though, is the presence of my late grandmother’s good dishes staring back at me from my Aunt N’s China cabinet. Had they been crying out to me for weeks? Tear-stained or not, the years have treated them well. They are in mint condition. Even as a child I admired the ivory-colored China set with silver trim. My grandmother would cart it out for special occasions such as Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving, or if we were hosting a very special guest. Though one of my chores was washing dishes (but not pots and pans) I was exempted from washing these dishes. My grandmother always washed them, dried them and returned them to their proper place with tender-loving care.

The saddest day of my life was well over 20 years ago. It was the day that Beulah Calloway senior died. I was in class at my elementary school when someone from the principal’s office came in and whispered something to the teacher. I was called forward and led out to the principal’s office. Awaiting me was my aunt-in-law and the bearer of the bad news. Aunt S – who inexplicably called me Old Lady – helped me into the car, and we set out for my home in silence.

It was Aunt S’s custom to joke with me and tease me, but I believe she was intentionally quiet because she understood that I was processing the news in my child’s way. Heretofore, I'd not known anyone who'd died – at least not personally. I didn’t cry. I just sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat and looked straight ahead. I was stunned and in denial. It didn’t seem real, nor should it have. I’d just seen my grandmother before I left home for school that morning, before I bid her good day and walked the half block to the bus stop. When we got home I bolted from the car, ran into the house and made a beeline for the forest green leather sofa where my grandmother had died a few hours earlier in her sleep. I sat. And wept.

Over the next few days life was aswirl at the Calloway house, for BC was a beloved and revered figure. Visitors were in and out all day every day with food, offers of assistance and condolences. Even one of my teachers dropped by. The phone was ringing off the hook. Several of my great aunts served as hostesses. Relatives were arriving from all around the country, including Aunt N from Saginaw.

One night when Aunt N was at my grandparents’ house she passed through the kitchen where I was assisting one or other of the great aunts. There was nothing remarkable about her being there. She might have been going to one of the bedrooms or to the bathroom. We paid her no mind. She’d stopped in the short hall that separated my bedroom from the bedroom of another aunt, Aunt E, who occupied a large room in one corner of my grandparents’ house. Aunt N knocked; Aunt E opened the door and soon they were chatting amicably.

From left, my grandmother's salt and pepper shakers, sugar jar, milk/cream pitcher and butter dish.

In double-quick fashion, though, voices were rising. Now there was shouting, mainly from hot-tempered Aunt N. According to family lore, the two never got along – even as girls. “She didn’t treat my mother right,” Aunt N disclosed to me without elaboration a couple of years ago when I pressed her for details.

The fuss captured the attention of us in the kitchen. From what I could make out they were arguing about who should get their recently deceased mother's linen and some other things. Then the subject of her good China – Gold China Elegance made in Japan– came up, followed by a little piece of hell breaking out. The shouting escalated to curses, accusations and threats, immediately followed by blows. I recall my grandfather and uncle dragging away Aunt N, literally kicking and screaming. Aunt E slammed her door and retreated into her hovel.

In the days after the funeral a number of my grandmother’s things would go missing – linen, clothes, jewelry, hats. And the 64-piece China set.

All these years later it is safe and remarkably sound, and I hope to make it mine – without a fight.

The Hardest Job on Earth Is a Mother!

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

THE other day when I was home for a quick bite and power nap before my next errand, I turned on the TV to catch the “Oprah” show, already in progress. Because the Big O has been on a mission for years to make the world a better place, I tune in to watch and cheer her deed du jour if I am near a TV. The day’s show featured interior designer Nate Berkus taking on the chores of a stay-at-home mom of three, to presumably understand whether he could do it and/or to show America what it entails.

Allow me to take this opportunity to assert that Motherhood is the most difficult job any of us will ever undertake. I am not a mother, but I have observed motherhood in action. I am in awe. Never, ever do I fail to declare to women who describe themselves as “just a housewife” aka stay-at-home mom that they are not “just” "a" “housewife.” They are demigoddesses: teachers, tutors, nurses, psychologists, psychiatrists, general practitioners, pediatricians, personal shoppers, designers, seamstresses, policewomen, lawyers, judges, CFO’s, chauffeurs, chefs, maids and so on. Who else can take on all of these roles, except a good mother?

In any case, NB was the mother for an afternoon of three kids. Two of them were school age and one an adorable, well-behaved 2-year-old. To say he was SuperCrazyBusy is an understatement. I still marvel that he got through the day with his sanity intact, and so did he.
Nate Berkus and 2-year-old toddler B. Photo courtesy of Harpo Productions Inc.

Incidentally, NB is one of the “most nicest” guys you will ever meet – even when the cameras aren’t rolling. Last year, he kindly allowed me to sit at his table at a fundraiser hosted by Donna Karan et al. when he learned that someone took my seat at another table. He was a congenial host who put everyone at ease, and he included me in the conversation. After the event was over he saw me home in a taxi. I’ve since ran into him at a couple of events, and he was similarly as sweet as pie.

Watching NB swim against the tide as Mr. Mom got me to thinking about my situation here in Monroe. Since I got my driver’s license a few weeks ago, I have been running around like an Energizer Bunny – but with not nearly as much energy – trying to get things done for my mother and the odd errand for myself, like pay my Chase credit card bill. Mind, I don’t have children or a husband – only my mother who lives in a nursing home, thus relieving me of myriad responsibilities. I do, though, have a house to clean and alas, am only doing a barely passable job. I must confess to turning the oven into a receptacle for dirty pots and pans. My outside job is running VEVLYN’S PEN, which has been in the dark until very recently – a luxury I can enjoy because I am the boss.

Still, I am dog-tired. Sleep has become a luxury. I go to bed late and wake up early. Where do the hours go? Everyday, around 5, I realize with sadness and pessimism how much I did not get done. It seems that I only complete three or four errands a day. How is that possible for someone up and running at 7:30?

When I watch shows like “Ambush Makeover” and “10 Years Younger,” I am shocked at the appearance of the participants, mostly women. Most are either housewives, moms who also work outside the home and women who may or may not work outside the home but who also care for a sick or infirm loved one. They look bad. Bad! Countless times the reason is, “I let myself go,” because there was no time to do personal grooming when there were so many others to look after. While trying not to be judgmental, I was always saying under my breath, “Girlfriend, surely you can do better than this.”

The last few weeks have shown me that I am less sure that they can do better. I’m also not so certain that given the same circumstances I wouldn’t be a sight, too (not one for sore eyes). My edges have begun to fray. I have not been going to the gym because I tend to work out in the mornings, and that is when my errands must be done. By 5 o’clock I am too tired to think about step class. I’ve also worn a few garments that while, not dirty, are not clean. Thank God for dark clothes. And it’s easier to just gather my hair in a rubber band and keep it moving. I've taken to using my toothbrush to floss my teeth. My eyebrows really need some attention. I have not cooked in a week. At night, I forage in the refrigerator for whatever I can eat without much fuss. Red-pepper hummus spread on wheat bread, with sauteed cabbage and carrots on the side can hit the spot in a pinch.

I have far less to do than the aforementioned women. Yet, I can feel myself going and I can’t stop myself from going. It stands to reason, then, that if a woman has children, parents, a husband, house and an outside job competing for her time and energy, she may look frightful.

Like NB, I see the light.

A Dozen or so Things About the Real World

Moms Mabley told it like it was in her own special way. Photo courtesy of UPI.

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

THOSE of us who live in the swankier areas of New York City – that is certain neighborhoods in Manhattan – reside in a bubble. We’re more spoiled demanding, entitled and impatient, because the world is our oyster and we want it now. We have just about every convenience at our fingertips. We’re more liberal. And more nuanced in our politics. More educated. Affluent. More health-conscious and environmentally friendly. More passionate amount human rights and animal rights. We’re more hemmed in and uptight because land and space go for a premium. We walk more. Drive less. And watch less TV. And we’re more removed from the reality of who we are as a nation than are our fellow Americans elsewhere, except for perhaps, Los Angeles. In fact, many of us (me excluded) describe ourselves as New Yorkers, not Americans.

Often enough over the years – especially those spent abroad – I’ve declared to any number of people that New York and Los Angeles are not America. I’ve encouraged scores to visit the “flyover” states to get the flavor of the real America, probably the one that Sarah Palin often waxes about. I have been in the real America – where I grew up – for about six weeks. It’s a strangely wonderful place and a wonderfully strange place, or so I have observed:

1. A lot of fuel can be conserved, and it would benefit the environment if there were fewer drive-ins where motorists sometimes wait in long lines with engines running. The scene plays out daily at pharmacies, liquor stores and banks;

2. According to the National Automobile Dealers Association, trucks made up 48.4 of passenger vehicle sales in 2008 (the last year for which statistics are available). Yet here it seems that every two out of three is a truck, CUV or SUV. Why so many trucks on the road? Hauling things? People?

3. Is it my imagination or is there a daquiri emporium on every other corner in the business district?

4. I have not imagined the lone Starbucks in town;

5. Nor have I imagined the payday loan centers and cash-checking stores at virtually every shopping center and strip mall;


6. At least two dentists have a thriving practice doing nothing but dentures. Only about half of their clients are senior citizens.

7. Plenty of reasonable folk will drive around a parking lot for as long as 10 minutes to get a spot three spaces closer to the door than the one they passed up;

8. It's disconcerting to run the car air conditioner on sunny days between about noon and 4 p.m. when the air temps are only in the mid to high 60s. In the car I’m burning up. Outside the car I’m chilly.

9. Sparkling wine (not Champagne) – my alcoholic beverage of choice – is costly, even the Korbels of the world. $12-plus in some quarters. Are you serious?! I’ve been kickin’ it with J. Roget and formerly, Andre;

10. The mall is still the new town square. It is home to merchants, shoppers, trees, flowers, plants, benches, ponds, waterfalls, walkers, etc. At Pecanland Mall, one can relax and enjoy the scenery with no interference from wind/rain/snow/heat/cold;

11. In busy, bustling New York, walk down the street and no one will likely notice or register that they do. In Monroe, walk amongst the public fully clothed but looking remotely “otherworldly” and you will be met by open, bald, shameless stares and whispers. Note to self: Next trip leave the boots and cropped leggings at home.

12. Some people don’t use voicemail. “Didn’t you see the missed call,” asked the cashier at Firestone Complete Auto Care when I inquired why he didn’t phone me (the subtext being that if you got my voicemail you should have left a message) about an issue with a tire. I saw the missed call and immediately checked my voicemail. Silly me, I didn’t phone the number because I concluded that it was probably someone who’d concluded they’d dialed the wrong number and hung up. This I explained to the cashier. “You not from here, are you?” he asked.

13. In Wal-Mart someone stole my shopping cart. The thief actually removed my items and made off with it while I was searching for plums. Serves me right for not living up to my convictions. I felt dirty, too, owing to my self-imposed boycott. Why? Because of the chain’s labor issues, mainly low wages and anti-union activities. And there is that business about requiring shoppers to show their receipts before they leave the store.

14. And finally this, which can happen even in New York, could not go unremarked on just because ...: My mother – bless her heart – was a cougar long before the term was coined. Methinks one of her mantra’s could be summed up in the words of the late great comedian Moms Mabley: "There ain't nothing an old man can do for me but bring me a message from a young one." … The other day she gave her late-30/early 40-something dentist to know that he was cute. “May I have a date,” the senior citizen asked as pretty as you please. Dr. P. did not say yes, nor did he say no. Hmmm.

Two Proofs That She Is my Mother

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

That first day I saw my mother in the intensive care unit at Glenwood Regional Medical Center in West Monroe, Louisiana, I was struck by all of the tubes attached to her and all the equipment in the room. I also noticed how clear and smooth was the skin on her face, neck, chest and shoulders. Of all of the observations to make about someone who is very critically ill! Incredible, the workings of the human mind.

Over the last several weeks as she’s moved from intensive care and into a long-term care unit and later, on a brief return, into a regular hospital room and since her return to the nursing home where she resided before all of the drama and trauma, I have noticed her humor, too. It is significant that I would make these observations about my mother. Growing up and even into my young adult years, I was always on alert for signs that I was her daughter because I had convinced myself otherwise. That this woman, Leeunice Calloway Wright (LCW), was not my mother, until I had solid evidence to the contrary.

According to sketchy and suspect family lore, my mother became ill during labor and did not recall giving birth to me. She had very little to do with me when I was an infant. In fact, family lore continues, my mother was so incapacitated that my grandmother journeyed up to Saginaw, Michigan (the place of my birth) from Monroe to collect my brother and me. Apparently, eight "inside" children were not enough, for my grandparents would raise us, too.

My mother eventually relocated to Monroe, and I lived with her a few very unhappy years. To put it plainly and without further elaboration – she done me wrong. Because from my perspective she did not like me, I deduced that I was adopted. There was other anecdotal evidence, too. The first time I recall clapping eyes on her I was 8 and very wary of the meeting. “If she was my mother where had she been,” my child’s mind wanted to know.

THE WOMEN CALLOWAY: My mother, Leeunice Wright (left) circa mid-1960s, and Yours Truly circa late 1990s.

Further feeding my doubts was the fact that we do not look like kin. We do not have the same coloring. She’s darkened now to light brown but when I first met her she was high yellow and I was medium brown, as I am now. We have different body types. She’s curvy with bow legs and fat knees, while I am long and lean with an athletic build. My knees are not fat. She has the Chinese eyes of an ancestor in our diverse family tree; my eyes are round. Her nose is more broad and mine is more pointy. We do both have long, oval faces, full lips and high cheekbones, but they don’t translate into a resemblance. (Actually, I have more of a resemblance to my father, but that’s another story for another day.)

Moreover, no one in the same room with us who did not know us has ever thought we were mother and daughter. Over the years any number of my curvy, dark yellow/light brown friends were thought to be her daughter instead. Even when she was in hospital the surprise on the faces of the medical staff was evident whenever I introduced myself as her daughter. Most of the staff at the nursing home were under the impression that my mother’s roommate is my parent. Mrs. M has medium brown skin, high cheekbones and a pointy nose – her shorter face and squarer jaw – not withstanding, creating more of a resemblance. On the few occasions I have been asked whether LCW is my mother, I’ve said, “I think so,” because maybe – just maybe – she is not. Granted, I don’t have most of my mother’s physical characteristics, but I may have inherited her good skin and good humor.

Apropos to nothing one day, she said to all who had ears that her skin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. And so it is, as I have observed since that first day in intensive care. I actually stare, studying its texture, wondering whether when I, too, am over 65 will my skin look so good. Since my post-acne years, people have been complimenting me on my skin. Often in high school, the girls would ask me whether I was wearing makeup because my skin was clear and smooth. I was not. Even today, as a woman over 30, my facial skin is blemish free with the exception of a few moles. The skin on just about every part of my body is silky smooth, with very few blemishes and bumps. And people notice, at parties, at the gym, at church. Makeup artists and photographers have their say, too. It’s flattering, and now I know one possible source.

Similarly, this may be the source of my quick wit and humor. Since I was a pre-pubescent, people have been laughing at my words. It made me self-conscious. “Were they laughing at me,” I often wondered. Was I considered an idiot? No. “I am not laughing at you, I’m laughing at what you are saying," I am often told. "It’s the way you say it that is funny.” This is true of my mother, too.

Before I ended my hospital visit one night, I turned on one of the lights in the room. It was a fluorescent light behind her bed, prompting me to say that I was going to give her some backlight, like a star. “I am a star,” she declared, provoking a smirk from me and a noise outside in the corridor. On my way out the nurse in the corridor was laughing and explained why.

Because LCW suffers from bi-polar, schizophrenia and dementia, it has become my habit to test her lucidity. I’ll ask her the day of the week or the year or discuss some current event. One day the “Oprah” show was on the television. When Oprah appeared on the screen I asked my mother to identify her. She lifted her head from the pillow, focused on the figure filling the TV screen and exclaimed with great annoyance and offense, “Oprah, shit!” Then she returned her head to the pillow, turned her scowling countenance away from the TV and slammed her eyes shut.

Recently, I inflamed her because I was interfering with her efforts to get the Coke she didn’t need to drink, owing to her diabetes. She stabbed me with a look of fury and said that she could not wait until I returned to – tilting her chin while she flipped through her mental rolodex to learn where I was currently residing – “New York City.” She spat out the name of the place like it was a bad taste in her mouth, causing the nurse practitioner standing next to me to collapse into a paroxysm of laughter.

LCW can toggle from joy to fury on the drop of a dime. In one breath she can praise and in the next, pillory. One moment I am beautiful, the next ugly. Lately, she's been telling me that I am po’ – Southern-speak for poor, that is skimpy/scanty, or thin. The other day when I had her outside wheeling her own wheelchair instead of bowing to her demand that I push her, she told me I was po’. “What do you mean,” I asked.

“Skinny,” she returned.

“What can I do to not be skinny?”

Scrutinizing me disdainfully, she said, “Gain some weight.”

One evening she was annoyed and expressing it in terms that would impress a sailor. In response I said she should be ashamed for using such language. “There ain’t no shame in my game,” she retorted, rolling her eyes for emphasis. Where did LCW learn such a phrase? …

I was privy to my birth certificate for the first time in the late 1990s when I applied for a passport. Even after I saw my mother’s name listed as one of my birth parents, I still doubted. Doubt was so normal, habitual and ingrained that it was difficult to overcome. What further proof would one need? “She does not like me; I look nothing like her,” I stubbornly reasoned in the face of irrefutable evidence. Interestingly, it is only in the last few weeks – watching and observing her – that I have begun to have belief.

Behind Wheel, But Not in Driver's Seat

Rotary along Route 3A in the Boston suburb, Hingham, Massachusetts. Photo by Carol Britton Meyer.

HEAD’S UP: Yours Truly is still in North Louisiana trying to be the best patient advocate possible for my ailing Ma Ma. I arrived a few days after Old Girl was admitted to hospital on 31 January in atrocious shape. While much better, she is not yet well enough for me to return to Gotham where there are at least eight million stories. Dutiful daughter that I am, I remain in the southern branch of the family seat. Happily, I do have stories. And I plan to tell them.

IN the last week or so several people have asked me what it has been like driving again. I had a ready answer because I had been reflecting on it myself.

I haven’t driven since 1999 because I’ve resided in places where I relied on public transport. I’d become so brazenly liberated from driving that my Massachusetts driver’s license expired in 2008. It was unintentional and a second such lapse on my part.

When I returned home to Monroe, Louisiana in early February, I relied on others to chauffeur me around. However, I’d decided before I arrived that I would get a license, reasoning that it would be easier to do so in Louisiana than in New York. And I was required to do the full monty: driving school and vision/written/ driving test. About two weeks ago after some intensive study of Louisiana traffic laws, I earned my driver’s certificate. A really cool thing is that I walked out with the permanent laminated version instead of a temporary paper version, good until the laminated version arrives in the post. I do not plan to allow this one to expire.

I have a couple of observations about driving. First, to paraphrase an old chestnut: Once you learn how to drive you never forget. Behind the wheel, my driver’s instincts returned immediately. It was like flipping on a switch. And the more I’ve driven the stronger my instincts have become. After about five days I was comfortable.

That first day, however, was strange. Here I was behind the wheel of a car, driving down the street. Me! No longer could I stare insouciantly out the window or gawk at interesting people/places/things on the landscape. I had to pay attention. And that meant keeping my eyes on the road in front of me, and the traffic signs, and checking out the activity in the rearview and side mirrors, watching other cars, and cyclists, and any errant pedestrians. It was strange business indeed. And that night. Oh la la! It was too dark and, too bright on Interstate 20. I was in a mild panic because in the darkness the cars sounded like an unseen high tide about to take me out to sea. The white lights reminded me of the foam on the water. It was a bit traumatic.

The second observation is that I am a rather timid driver, paranoid of being involved in an accident. I lay the blame squarely at the feet of outrageous, egregious driving in Greater Boston. I declare, these are some of the worst drivers in the country.

A truncated list of their infractions: Routinely, they speed on highways/byways/country roads/in dangerous curves/during inclement weather/in parking lots – anywhere tires can meet pavement. The noses of cars waiting to enter traffic from driveways and parking lots seem to always protrude onto the road into traffic, requiring drivers in the far right lane to either stop and let them out or veer into the left lane to avoid hitting them. They tailgate and flash their bright lights if the car in front doesn’t speed up or move over to allow them to pass. Red lights mean go. Yellow lights mean go faster, rather than slow down and prepare to stop. Won’t slow down and allow fellow motorists room to change lanes for an exit or turn. Nor allow waiting cars to enter a rotary (aka roundabout/traffic circle). In fact, they’re more likely to speed up to prevent other cars from entering. These drivers often can’t be bothered with signaling a turn – other motorists be damned if their brakes are not in fine working order.

And the worst: A driver who wants to make a left turn against oncoming traffic. S/he does not have the right of way because the left-turn arrow is off. S/he now must wait until the coast is clear before turning. No matter how fast oncoming cars are advancing, no matter if the driver is blowing his horn, flashing his bright lights, giving the finger – s/he is going to turn in front of that car. With almost no time to spare ... If you are me, you are clutching your heart a la Fred Sanford. This I endured for almost a decade. It drove me batty.

In the main, Monroe drivers are a civilized bunch, only guilty so far of a bit of tailgating sans flashing bright lights. Interestingly enough, I should be more worried on the roads here because Louisiana has almost triple the number of fatal accidents of Massachusetts, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. There is no breakdown by city. In 2008, the last year for which statistics are available, there were 912 traffic accidents deaths in Louisiana and 363 in Massachusetts. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, Louisiana has a population of 4.4 million and Massachusetts, 6.5 million. Go figure.

Other motorists observing me on the road might say that I drive like an old lady – no offense to old ladies. I do drive the speed limit or a little slower. I also take my sweet time making turns. And when the light turns green, I have a one-second delay before I go, lest I collide with a fellow motorist running a red or yellow light. Perhaps it is out of habit, but when I am approaching a car signaling a left turn from the opposite direction, my back is braced against the seat, both hands strangle the steering wheel. I hold my breath. I say a silent prayer. Squint. Wince. And hope.

So far. so good.

Learn more about National Highway Traffic Safety Administration and general road safety information at http://www.nhtsa.dot.gov/.

MAKING GREEN DAY A LUCKY DAY


Happy St. Patrick’s Day … To help everyone have the luck of the Irish, some guidance from the mouth of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration to the ears of municipal officials:

*Coordinate with local bars to display “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” posters on the back of stall doors.

*Coordinate with alcohol retailers (liquor stores, convenience stores) to display “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” posters on windows, cooler doors, etc.

*Work with local law enforcement and emergency medical staff to stage a mock car crash, draft signs displaying 2007 St. Patrick’s Day fatality numbers. Invite media and local schools to attend.

*If your community has a St. Patrick’s Day parade, have the police department, community organization, MADD chapter, etc. enter a themed float emblazoned with a “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” banner.

*Partner with local companies to pay for/distribute “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” coasters, koozies, T-shirts, etc. at bars/St. Patrick’s Day parades.

*Recruit volunteers to dress as leprechauns and distribute “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” limerick flyers at bars/parades.

Get more National Highway Traffic Safety Administration tips about being safe on St. Patrick’s Day at http://www.stopimpaireddriving.org/planners/StPatrick2010/index.cfm