A MEMOIR OF MY LIFE WITH JUST A FEW CHANGES TO MAKE IT SOUND MORE INTERESTING LIKE THAT JAMES FREY GUY -- by Mrs. Linklater
I cannot cash in
on the gruesome details of my life. There just aren't any. Like James Frey, I once woke up on an airplane
totally disoriented and bleary-eyed. However, it was after someone a
few rows behind me threw a pillow at my head because I was snoring.
Unlike James Frey, I am not an alcoholic, although I
can point with pride to a number of relatives who delight in being
overserved. I am also not a drug addict, but here again, I've got close
relatives who are liviing on the edge. I have not spent jailtime, although, wait a minute, I have been arrested. Yay for me.
On the other hand, I have always been tall. From day one. There are, however, no
Hazeldons for tall people. Nevertheless, it was my cross to bear from
I was born tall. Twenty-one
inches. For a baby girl, that's very tall, bordering on the ridiculous. Did you
know that babies 21
inches long usually weigh over seven pounds? But my mother, an
obstetrical nurse, smoked so I
wouldn't be too big to be born naturally, not C-section, and I obliged her by weighing
only six pounds something. That meant I was not only born tall, I was
born skinny. And very hungry. Needless to say, it should come as no surprise that I
despise smoke of any kind. Although smoked salmon isn't bad.
At two years old I had grown to
three feet tall, mostly knees and legs. Double that and you can usually
figure out what a child's height will be as an adult, barring any
unforseen difficulties. The predictions were true. I hit six feet in
high school. Still mostly knees and legs.
Back when I was two I used to ride my tricycle up and down the hallway
of our four room apartment in the city, chanting "Indubitably,
indomitably, inevitably. Indubitably, indomitably, inevitably." Back
and forth. Up and down the hallway. From the kitchen to the front door
and back. Again and again and again.
That was my father's idea of amusement, teaching a precocious kid to
say big words that had as much meaning to her as The Jabberwock.
I remember my first plane ride when I was two years old. I was told
several times to stay in my seat. That wasn't too difficult once I became
fascinated looking out the windows. I could follow the taillights on
the cars driving down the roads as we flew overhead. Once on the
ground, I also remember holding my father's hand as we walked around
the Naval shipyard in New York harbor, looking at all the warships
preparing to head out into the Atlantic.
Hmmm, I wonder if my love of flying and men in uniform was influenced by those experiences. Haaaaaaaa.
The microwave just dinged. Time for dinner. A very late dinner. One
that will probably still be digesting when I wake up in the morning.
END OF CHAPTER ONE