Waikiki & Boat Harbor Beckon from Ala Moana's Lanai"Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags
and throws away food."
Austin O'Malley
"Most of the time,
age feels like a mask -
something I wear , not something I am-
and when I gaze fondly
at the faces of my old friends
I can see them as they were
when we were young."
Judith Thurman
"We do not remember days;
we remember moments."
we remember moments."
Cesare Pavese
><>
These balmy Summer eves
have uncorked a memory
from the tree shaded streets
of Philadelphia. . .
Even under Diamond Head,
or on the Champs Elysee,
our hearts remember
moments long ago,
in kingdoms far away...
domains of salad days,
of fairy tales.
Was that me?
Once I dated this older mafia guy.
After cleaning my apartments all day,
I'd turn into a party girl
and go pick him up at his apartment.
(What energy, eh?)
He awoke early in the Summer's evening,
and we always drove his neighbor,
some sort of professional woman
(always dressed to the nines)
to I forget where.
Then our night consisted
of micro visits to a dozen different
night clubs,
restaurants,
Italian Ice stands. . .
Always everywhere he was greeted like a prince.
"Ah such a beautiful lady!"
I never had my hand kissed before,
but I got used to it.
We never sat (or rarely)
we never stayed.
He never conducted business
openly, if at all.
It was a whirlwind of social excitement
and night life.
And the city was his tamed domain.
As a girl I thought it was all pretty cool...
Eventually, I realized
that my devastating beauty
and charming persona
were gonna eventually get me into a lot of
trouble.
And, voila!
Here I am years later
wiser but extricated...
But the memory I kept...
Yes,
We three,
Mafia Joe, working lady, and I
are in his convertible
at a red light in South Philly.
A junk car pulls up along-side
and the male driver looks over and says:
"No fair! You got two; give me one."
Immediately
(Sitting in the middle)
I put my arms around
Joe and Lady
and reply grandly to the guy:
"Sure which one would you like?"
At which Joe snorts
and pulls away.
Yo! (Philly Speak)
(I mean) Aloha! cloudia
><>
These balmy Summer eves
have uncorked a memory
from the tree shaded streets
of Philadelphia. . .
Even under Diamond Head,
or on the Champs Elysee,
our hearts remember
moments long ago,
in kingdoms far away...
domains of salad days,
of fairy tales.
Was that me?
Once I dated this older mafia guy.
After cleaning my apartments all day,
I'd turn into a party girl
and go pick him up at his apartment.
(What energy, eh?)
He awoke early in the Summer's evening,
and we always drove his neighbor,
some sort of professional woman
(always dressed to the nines)
to I forget where.
Then our night consisted
of micro visits to a dozen different
night clubs,
restaurants,
Italian Ice stands. . .
Always everywhere he was greeted like a prince.
"Ah such a beautiful lady!"
I never had my hand kissed before,
but I got used to it.
We never sat (or rarely)
we never stayed.
He never conducted business
openly, if at all.
It was a whirlwind of social excitement
and night life.
And the city was his tamed domain.
As a girl I thought it was all pretty cool...
Eventually, I realized
that my devastating beauty
and charming persona
were gonna eventually get me into a lot of
trouble.
And, voila!
Here I am years later
wiser but extricated...
But the memory I kept...
Yes,
We three,
Mafia Joe, working lady, and I
are in his convertible
at a red light in South Philly.
A junk car pulls up along-side
and the male driver looks over and says:
"No fair! You got two; give me one."
Immediately
(Sitting in the middle)
I put my arms around
Joe and Lady
and reply grandly to the guy:
"Sure which one would you like?"
At which Joe snorts
and pulls away.
Yo! (Philly Speak)
(I mean) Aloha! cloudia
