A Million Tiny Pieces of Cake

A MEMOIR OF MY LIFE WITH JUST A FEW CHANGES TO MAKE IT SOUND MORE INTERESTING LIKE THAT JAMES FREY GUY  -- by Mrs. Linklater

CHAPTER ONE

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 the beginning.

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