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The Sixties Are Over: The Ballad of Maura Culhane
In the last three weeks my senior cat Camille has disappeared, I found my alleycat Grumpy's body in the dumpster, having been hit by a car and deposited there by a thoughtful neighbor and my 88 year old Aunt Maura passed away. Maura Culhane lived all but the last 15 years of her life in the environs of New York City, a single woman negotiating the early morning streets alone. She came away hard w/what we liberals condesceningly call the 'just the way it was at the time' racism.
God bless her she still called 'em niggers to the day she died. She was a tough old uncompromising bird who really didn't like much of anything and could suck the air out of a room at will. Cynical as the day is long and bitter, oh my god was she bitter.
She spent the last 15 years of her life in front of various trelevisions, essentially waiting to die. So I can see from the above paragraph that I am JUST like this woman, so I obviously have a lot of introspection due (that phrase was so awkward because I refuse to say 'soul searching'. I'm such a pussy.)
And I certainly can't read THIS at the funeral!
Or could I!
Going on radio silence for awhile. Take it away, Jim.
tb
