Tag Archives: Mother

Wilma Hedrick Sends Her First

girl-pearl
Girl With The Pearl Earring
samplex

Date: Mon Jul 5, 1999 3:59:23 PM

Dear Gabriel—How nice to receive our first E Mail letter from you. Thank you so much for the picture of my Mother. It came in loud and clear. We have enjoyed having Sue and we thank you for sharing her with us. I haven't asked her how she feels about it, for we have kept her pretty busy. Thanks again and have a good time this week end. Love, Wilma.

And how nice that you stepped right up and wrote me back. I—by the way—beat Suzy Q to the Internet by a couple of years, so it's only fitting I be there for the DQ Hedricks as well. This honor is all mine.

You know Wilma, I can't help but return over and over again to the familiar thought that Sue SIMPLY LOVES to spend as MUCH time in Albany as she can possibly squeeze together. It's all about her sharing vital and common moments with you and Dermot, because she loves you both so very much, and I am so grateful that this bond only grows stronger between you as each to each our own we marshal with a seeking mind and a comforted heart these energies of love and devotion which have been bestowed to us as family and familiars. Please note this latter word is familiars not family liars, chuckle chuckle...

It's a lovely day, isn't it? Extremely hot but lovely from within. My native dependency on air-conditioning has not failed me this year. I'm enjoying an especially crisp afternoon down here in the basement studio, just the way I like it.

In other breaking news, I chatted up the new owner of the adjoining rowhouse we wanted to buy. This fellow's organization also bought two others on the same block, and want to upscale rent. Wow! I said. We talked fast faster for an hour and a half.

Wilma, if you would have Sue call me later today (I tried her cell phone but couldn't reach her), I'd be charmed. I've got some financial paperwork she needs to officially corroborate. Thanks.

Believe tonight I'm going to cook myself some crabmeat and black beans, perhaps worked with cornchips and finish off the meal with watermelon. I've lost five pounds this week alone, down to 274, the lowest since those post-surgery weeks last summer. Total 11 lost in 2 weeks! Yippee! I really would like to get down to 210-220, but it may take a worldwind tour or a catastrophe to get us to change our intake and exercise habits. I think I'd rather take the tour. Code for hard work and dedication.

The exterminator finally did call. He was in the shower he said when I had called (what? the second time? late riser?) and apparently had not checked his messages. Yikes!

You know, I've barely made the effort to thank you for my white shirts, but I wear them all year round, love them dearly, am wearing one today, and so thanks a bundle, I really mean it, Sue knows this, and I trust you know me this much...

Now that you have learned a few basics of online life, perhaps the annual Wilma & Dermot postcards will move there. I haven't forgotten. I've just been so busy on some many different fronts this spring and now deep into summer, well, seems they were late last year as well. The garden is indeed beautiful this year, and I simply love my front yard now. That's where the new owner of "111" found me.

Well, gotta scoot. You all have a sweet visit. If only I could invent a way to be in a thousand places at the same time, then I might feel like I'm finally accomplishing something, oh well, sweet Jesus is calling. . .

Love, GT

Mother At Oglethorpe, Old Friends Pass

peggy
Peggy Nix in 1953
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Dear Ricky—I made a special trip in to school today just so I could check my e-mail, just hoping I would have something from you. I think your proposal is wonderful. I accept! It would have to be after May 12th and this YWCA award, however.

Well, that would be just a few days after graduation—so all the excitment will surely still be there. Let's make the plans as time grows a little nearer. Thank you! It is really a wonderful proposal. I have so much wanted to visit you and Sue.

Oh, we are on Spring break at the moment. Most of the Seniors have gone to Savannah—for all the St. Patrick's Day stuff—and I had made my reservation to go along. We got a huge block of rooms at a motel for practically nothing, and were going on Oglethrope buses, but at the last minute I realized I really needed a break—time out to sleep and rest, so I cancelled my trip. I really glad I did that. I am truly not as young as I once was—or sometimes think I am. I think I told you I found out that my friend Gerry Pennington Spicuzza died in 1981—well, through the internet once again, I found out that my boyfriend from my highschool days in Ft. Lauderdale and his brother are both dead.

It’s sort of like James Gault said to me at Kitty’s funeral—”There ought to be a law that everybody who grew up together have to have a meal together in celebration of their friendships at least once a year.” I like that idea.
I am going to quit trying to find old friends! Bob Lozier (my boyfriend) died in 1982 (aged 47) from mutiple sclerous(sic) and his brother, Eddie, died of a massive heart attact in 1993. I talked to Bob's wife of all people, and she was very cordial and nice to me. Told me Bob had been ill for seven years—a hard time for them I am sure—and that they have two lovely daughters. I had wanted to talk to Bob or Eddie because they had known Gerry, and I thought talking to someone else who had been in our crowd when we were young would help me get over her death. Cynthia, Bob's wife is not someone I have ever known, but she knew my name and remembered that I had come from Darien. She told me that all of my pictures were "still in there in the dresser drawer where Bob had kept them." I really was stunned—didn't know what to say, but she hastened to say it was okay, that she had actually been in love with Eddie and Eddie had had to marry a girl from New Hampshire while he was in the service, and she had ended up marrying Bob. She said Bob had been a good husband, a wonderful father and a good provider until his illness. We talked to each other sort of like old friends. I told her I was glad Bob had found someone like her to marry. She said if I was ever in Titusville to look her up. It is really sort of wonderful how once you get old you can get past so many things. I was in Ft. Lauderdale about twenty years ago and tried to find the Lozier boys—I couldn't remember their mother's second marriage name, and there were no Loziers in the phone book. I wish I could have found them then and had an opportunity to talk to Bob or Eddie before they died. We were really great friends. Well, I guess there is just one more friend I'd like to find from those days—Ronald Sapp. He lived in our neighborhood too—he taught me how to smoke. (Ha!) I am sort of afraid to try to locate him—I sure don't want to know he's dead too. It's sort of like James Gault said to me at Kitty's funeral—"There ought to be a law that everybody who grew up together have to have a meal together in celebration of their friendships at least once a year." I like that idea.

I am so afraid I am not going to make it thru the biology, but so far, I am passing. Examinations never bothered me before, but for the past couple of years, I just get sick and almost forget everything I ever knew about a subject.
Well, I've rambled on enough to bore you to tears—I am looking forward already to my trip to Washington!

The spring break ends on Monday and its a shoulder back to the wall again. I have six books to read about Alfred Adler in order to write a paper in my history of psych class, four books to read on Autism in order to write a paper about personal identity and soul for my Philosopy of the Mind class, My research on conformity must continue—I need more data so that I can crunch some numbers and come up with a paper presenting my work that is worthy of presentation at Emory (deadline 3/31), I have tons of work to do in order to maintain a passing grade in this 2nd semester of biology, and I am presenting a paper at the Psi Chi (Honor society of Psychology) semposium in Athens (U of Ga.) on April 8th concerning my last semester's research project (I am not a member of the honor society). I have to do all of this, plus go to class, take notes and pass exams in order to graduate. I am so afraid I am not going to make it thru the biology, but so far, I am passing. Examinations never bothered me before, but for the past couple of years, I just get sick and almost forget everything I ever knew about a subject. So, light a few candles for me or something, please.

Love, M

Date: Fri, 19 Mar 1999 10:42:38 DT
From: "Margaret Nix" M.Nix@students.oglethorpe.edu

Friendship Wrecks Thankfully Off Road

munch-scream
The Scream
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Date: Sat Feb 10, 1996 9:56:24 AM America/New_York

Space, as a follow-up on that friends dilemma, I know my assessments can appear harsh and wicked at times, but as much as I would like to detract or sugarcoat them, my perceptions are as real as snow on top of Mount Fuji.

Sue spent a couple of hours on the phone last night with the seventy year old mother of one of my closest "friends". He is 29, and except for the two quarters of Wooster College partying til he dropped and flunked out, and a three-week stint in a crack house he fled to after on our advice his parents kicked him out a couple of years ago, he has never left the roost. He was educated at the finest catholic highschool in the city, studied Latin and Philosophy. His father is a retired attorney and a daily drunk. They live only a few blocks from us in a hell hole dominated by two stupid dogs, a Rottweiler pup as huge as he is moronic, and a hapless, mixed female shepherd. The son is a complete mess. Used to work as a bike courier until his own drunken ways led him to fracture both collarbones in separate accidents, and a few other minor breakages, all during after hour blackout events. He is the penultimate sponge because he is always borrowing on money he'll never make, as he soaks up the little he does make shooting heroin junk. He worked a year with me on a land surveying crew as my rod and chainman after I convinced him to leave his carpetlaying job he despised back some eight years ago. He was already a hardcore drunk and pot addict at the time, but he managed. Now he is seemingly without redemption.

Name is Shipman, but we call him Shipwreck when the fevers run high. He actually prefers to answer to Satan, a moniker slapped on this fellow by his courier buddies years ago. I refuse to oblige him with that one, and sneer when he boasts of it. I've tried to interest him in my world of computers, as he told me he had considered the writer's game when I first met him about a decade ago, and while he feigns some level of interest, he is always plotting for the next hit of whatever he can get, and soon enough just becomes a bothersome irritant in my coif as he fumbles for a beer, his can of tobacco and papers, and then some punk rock tape he brought over. Don't get me wrong. I am not badgering anybody about their chosen lifestyle, and my own list of alienated turbulence has gotten me banned from more than a few places, but there is a time and a place, and Tim, like a few others who stampede over to our house once what little money or excitement has expired in their own sweep, seems to think that my domain is simply an extention of his own. I just don't get it. I can scream and yell, politely doff my cap, or post my 95 theses on the door like Martin Luther but all I get is resistance to my way of doing things in my own house by a bunko squad of starving for sanity goons who embrace the full & feisty shadow of decadence unlike you or I ever have or ever will. Is just not my scene. Each to his own. I moralize, but keep my judgements to myself, as I try to get along just to get along.

Why do I continue to greet them as friends? Because they are simply here tracing the same circles in the air as I do? Because they "act" like they care about me? Because they suffer me and in fact rally around my own deficiencies and eccentric dalliances, applauding me as some kind of skewed pied piper while they simultaneously try to trash what gives me strength? Because I am painfully needy of friends even though I'm not shy about drawing heavy lines in the sand to distinguish me and my psychological inheritance from theirs?
Why do I continue to associate with them? Well that questions hints at some earlier post you made concerning the definitive parameters of what we generally call friends as you were searching for a word that indicated a relationship less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. Perhaps the word we were looking for was indeed "associate" which implies to my reckoning a deeper involvement than one might expect from a periodic acquaintance.

All of which leads me into the topic of my second (or first closest, longest?) "friend" in DC or anywhere for that matter. Jack is a guy who lives to enhance the facts and residuals of his own life. The guys is as sharp a wit as I've ever known, and not too shabby with an occasional keen insight. He's scientifically grounded, knows electronics, and music. But he embellishes way beyond any reasonable doubt anything he says about himself with absolutely no hint of shame or embarrassment that a knowledgeable someone standing right next to him could ever contradict his version of the truth.

I have a brother and a mother EXACTLY like this! We're not talking about slightly shaded differences of opinion, or faint fuzzy details reshaped by the moment at hand, no, we're talking full blown unadulterated lies and exaggerations no one who knows him, and we all do after a few weeks, can believe he has the gall to utter much less try to convince us or some stranger is the dyed-in-the-wool truth of the matter. And Jack is a "friend" to every star he's ever laid eyes upon. Bosom buddies who'll do anything for him, and with that kind of power he'll make any newbie coming down the pike into a star. Oh yeah, Jack's the great talent manager wannabe. Another on again off again pal of mine Scoot suffers the same delusions. These are not mere exaggerations these guys deploy. They spout off spectacular impossible schemes as a conquering device, so as to enhance their own self-images as a way of manipulating those they wish to conquer socially. Final word? They tell lies. And those lies spread from the obvious image-manipulation techniques into other areas, all of which trouble me beyond resolve. Why do I continue to greet them as friends? Because they are simply here tracing the same circles in the air as I do? Because they "act" like they care about me? Because they suffer me and in fact rally around my own deficiencies and eccentric dalliances, applauding me as some kind of skewed pied piper while they simultaneously try to trash what gives me strength? Because I am painfully needy of friends even though I'm not shy about drawing heavy lines in the sand to distinguish me and my psychological inheritance from theirs?

It's a queer world I know here in DC. I hope I survive it.

Fats