94 of 210 : Robbie

“Your beaver pelt is askew.” That line has me giggling this morning. Tomorrow it will be some other line. We call him EOQ, or Evil Old Queen. And some days he most decidedly is; he can be downright vicious at times, but his wit is peerless. Happy Birthday, you EOQ.

93 of 210 : Uncle Jimmy

perpetually smelled of three-day-old Budweiser. I couldn’t tell you what, if anything, he did for a living. A wiry little fellow, he was never without a cigarette or a simple-minded grin (possibly from the Bud, possibly from inbreeding). Inexplicably, he loved my Aunt Peggy, golf, and that God damned malamute.

92 of 210 : Alan

Princess was fanatically devoted to Big Brother each summer, even the Internet live feeds. Alan, her husband, hasn’t turned on a television since her death. Saturday a thunderstorm caused a brown-out, then suddenly every TV in the house came on of its own accord. Each was tuned to Big Brother.

91 of 210 : Dewey

One warm spring evening a bunch of us gathered at his house. The stereo blasted Santana’s Sacred Fire while we discussed Terence McKenna’s True Hallucinations, drank beer, laughed, drummed. There was something terribly potent about that night, some ineffable quality of the energy, that still makes my heart beat faster.

90 of 210 : Jen

My niece has a checkered past. Not as checkered as mine, certainly, but checkered enough that after one drunken gabfest, we had so much dirt on one another that we had a Mutually Assured Destruction strategy in place. Over time, most of my secrets have become inconsequential. Hers have not.

89 of 210 : Marty

In 1973, when the The Exorcist was released, there was widespread hysteria over the horror in the film. I saw this firsthand when my friend Marty, nattily attired as always, hospitalized himself for a couple of days because his tongue had turned black—the result, he claimed, of demonic possession.

88 of 210 : Jeannette

My doctor sticks needles in me, then waves crystals over my body. Thing is, she’s the most knowledgable and skillful medical professional I’ve ever encountered. She is a scientist, and a damn good one. She knows what she’s doing, she knows what works, and she gets results like nobody’s business.

87 of 210 : Gary

He and his wife ran a Christian bookstore, and I worked there. Great folks who loved life, food, laughter. For some reason I started pilfering from them---a coupla books, a CD. . . After I moved, I wrote and apologized profusely. He wrote back, simply, “Your account is settled. Love, Gary.”

86 of 210 : Michael

This Michael was a girl. A big, brassy junior high school girl with a “bad reputation”—the first I’d ever met. Dunno if she was as easy as they said, but I marvelled at how supremely self-confident she was. A façade? Probably, but a convincing one, to my twelve-year-old mind.

85 of 210 : Kate

When Ken died, she was a mess. After six months they told her to move on. After a year they said her grief was obsessive and she needed counseling. She mourns him still. And Kate is one of the most grounded people I've ever known, if you discount the vegetarianism.

84 of 210 : The Doctor

I went for a check-up when I was twelve. He spent an inordinate amount of time feeling around in my underwear, inquiring in the most obtuse way whether I had reached sexual maturity. He was just professional enough to make me doubt my hunch that he was a major perv.

83 of 210 : Carole

Pencils painstakingly lined up on her desk, blotter pristine, telephone precisely angled: she was the consummate Virgo. First she came out as a lesbian, trumpeting her happy relationship. Three years later, ignoring all the spinning heads, she married a man—again, very happily. But of course: Virgos are always right.

82 of 210 : Russell

He was technically a great uncle, but I only knew him as Poor Little Russell. Every time we’d visit my (great-) Grandma Hoyle, at some point I’d be ushered into a bedroom to find a frail, profoundly disabled creature with twisted limbs. Was that exercise for him, or for us?

81 of 210 : Leroy

Roy Egg is his name, and chickens are his game. His exquisite barnyard portraits, at once realistic and whimsical, are prized pieces of art. I won a stand-up pig of his at a West Pawlet ham supper raffle (I just loved the irony); that night cemented my love for Vermont.

80 of 210 : Herb

He was flamboyantly, unabashedly himself even among guys who hated gay people. We worked together in a highrise office building on a very busy city street. One day a semi blew its air horn down below us; without missing a beat, he shouted out the window, “I’ll be right down!”

79 of 210 : Brad

He was nearly inapproachable, godlike. The best-looking guy in eleventh grade, he was already an amazing drummer in a rock band, and had that slightly aloof, infinitely cool way about him. But I was even cooler: I showed him how to produce a hallucinagenic drink from yucca without poisoning himself.

78 of 210 : Charlene

She’s just a voice on the phone, but we’ve had the most wonderful conversations about Raven’s Brew coffee. See, I have this dream of opening a thoroughly unconventional coffeehouse that serves amazing organic coffee, and they’re going to be my supplier. Like heroin, only cheaper. Well, a little bit cheaper.

77 of 210 : Hannah

Hannah is Molly’s big sister, and they are a study in contrasts. Hannah is sweetness and light, a little social butterfly, ready with hugs and kisses. Molly is preternaturally sullen, angry, willful, and clearly an introvert, but I’m willing to bet that she’ll have a deliciously wicked sense of humor.

76 of 210 : Molly

My nephew’s youngest daughter, 3, was in the Bahamas recently on a cruise. Her grandmother suggested they use the ladies’ room. Molly asked, “Can boys go in there?” No, grandma said. “Can men?” No, it’s for ladies only. “But I’m not a lady!” Molly protested. “I don’t have big boobs!”

75 of 210 : Gary

Met him just tonight. Happily married-with-child, very handsome, and a thoroughgoing pagan. A transplanted Scot who’s lived in Michigan, Idaho, and Florida, but plans to have his ashes scattered back in the Highlands. He thinks about his death even though he’s barely 30. I admire a guy who plans ahead.

74 of 210 : Ricky

Jim felt something was wrong with the boy. Big head. Thin, almost translucent skin. Terminally peevish. “My little brother’s kinda twisted,” he said, worrying what Ricky would be like as an adult. One day he stole Jim’s bike, and was killed by a drunk driver in front of my house.

73 of 210 : The Humpback

Another odd denizen of our town was a genial man with a bad hunchback, though for some reason we all called him the Humpback, as if he were a whale. His favorite ploy was to tease me: “How long is a Chinaman?” The correct answer, of course, was “That’s right!”

72 of 210 : The Bear

He was profoundly retarded, though without any physical anomalies that we could see. A gentle bear, he carried around a wooden tub of peanut butter, and would dip crackers into it for children in the neighborhood. And no one feared abduction or abuse. He was just the peanut butter man.

71 of 210 : Dominic

I remember when I learned that this funny, kind man was prince of an African tribe. I stood there, amazed that I ate lunch with a prince. He went on to work at IMF or the World Bank, maybe both. Major D.C. bigwig now. And he laughed at my jokes.

70 of 210 : Adam

He’s blind as a bat, but Adam still drives better than his wife does. He’s a junior high school teacher, a published author, a certified hypnotist, a poet (he once organized a clothing-optional poetry reading), a political activist, a pagan, and an actor. And he’s terribly shy. So he says.

69 of 210 : Gina

One of my cousins is the most stunningly beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Tall, slender, and jaw-droppingly-gorgeous. Everyone Gina met pressed her to enter the field of modelling. So instead she married a shy boy and became a stunningly capable nurse and opted for a life of service and happiness.

68 of 210 : Brian

His bedwetting phase lasted a lot longer than in most kids. His home was always a disaster, with laundry (some clean, some dirty, but which was which?) piled absolutely everywhere, even in the living room. He’d frequently be found napping in such piles. And he’d wet them almost every time.

Requiescat In Pace, Princess

I received this today from Adrianne's husband, Alan:

Dear Friends of My Pink Princess:

It is with profound sadness that I must inform you of the tragic passing of my wife on June 1, 2006, at 6 PM. My Pink Princess died very suddenly of heart failure. Mercifully, she passed quickly with little suffering. Later that evening there was a brilliant pink sunset, before the sky descended into blackness.

I'm sorry that I do not know all of you, but I do know that you brought great joy and happiness to my dear wife. She would often laugh outrageously when she read your mail, and in compiling your e-mail addresses, I did recognize many names that she mentioned often. How she enjoyed the witty banter and wicked humour! As you know, she was brilliant, and according to her, many of you are too.

Adrianne was a sparkling pink diamond in a dismal world of grey and beige. I will always be grateful for having had the privilege of knowing her for 40 years this month. Over 31 years of marriage with 24 hours a day spent together is an honour that few couples get. Our friend Danny just told me that "St. George Years" count for "dog years" compared to other couples who have to work and be apart. He's right. We were hoping, as we all do, to have many many more years together, but I am lucky for what we had, and believe me, I know it. So many happy memories, so much laughter, so much joy. Havencrest is embued with Adrianne's spirit and love, as well as her likenesses. I am embraced by her touch at every turn.

Since you are not "locals" you would not have access to The Princess' obituary, so I will provide it here. I was hoping, there might be a way to put it on Adrianne's website along with her In Memoriam page. I haven't cracked the code for how to do her blog, (she always derided me for having a MAC) but I did manage to obtain some of your addresses for this e-mail, and I am sorry if I missed friends, and I'm sure that I did, but perhaps some of you will forward this letter to those who didn't receive it.

Because Adrianne was NEVER about death or sickness, I plan to celebrate her life with a special memorial service in September, on her birthday 9/9/06. She loved birthdays........and especially hers! I hope to honour her with an evening of the kind of joy and beauty she was famous for. If anyone wishes to receive an invitation, please forward your mailing address, I would love to meet you. I have just begun to stumble my way through The Princess' social files and it is a bit overwhelming to someone with my inabilities in this area, never having had to worry about it, since I was married to the social abiter par excellence.

Sincerely,

Alan St. George
Havencrest Castle


Obituary follows:


Adrianne Blue Wakefield-St. George died Thursday, June 1, 2006 at her home, Havencrest Castle, in Savanna, Illinois.

Mrs. St. George was born September 9, 1950 in Connecticut. She married Alan W. St. George on March 21, 1975 in Wilmette, Illinois. Mrs. St. George would always say, "The day I was married was the happiest day of my life."

Mrs. St. George authored an autobiography, A Very Special Person, and a book of etiquette, Millenial Manners. She illustrated a series of children's books for Dr. Vickery of Lena, Illinois, and Adrianne wrote, produced and starred in a children's fairytale, The Day the Queen of Cold Got a Facelift. She also wrote and produced Havencrest Castle, History and Tour. She was the original founding member of the Carroll County Humane Society.

Mrs. St. George and Alan restored and expanded their home, Havencrest Castle over the past thirty years in a manner in keeping with their mission statement of creating an example of the way American aristocracy lived, at the turn-of-the-century.

Mrs. St. George had a passion and was well-known for hosting beautiful and elaborate dinner parties and events. It's been said, "When Mrs. St. George entered a room, the lights and music went on, and when she left, they went out." She could speak with anyone on any subject and was know to speak to foreign visitors, on occasion, in their native tongue. She loved animals and her favorite flower was the gardenia.

Mrs. St. George will be dearly missed by her husband, Alan W. St. George of Savanna; her sister, Beth, of Connecticut; and their six dogs. She is preceded in death by both of her parents.

A private Memorial Service will be held at a later date. Memorials may be given in Mrs. St. George's name for the Carroll County Humane Society. Condolences may be sent to the family at www.lawjonesfuneralhome.com.

Above her many talents and accomplishments, Mrs. St. George's proudest achievement was the designation "wife."

67 of 210 : Evanne

She talks to fairies. And they talk to her. Not the cute little Tinkerbell-ish ones, but the tall, powerful faes of Celtic lore whose otherworld realms make humans forget their mundane lives. They are spirits of nature, the sidhe, the Tuatha Dé Danann. And they talk to my friend Evanne.

66 of 210 : Janet, after

Then she got cancer. Several times, in fact. Now in total remission, Janet has left her rigid, controlling ways behind her, and she’s actually supportive and quite pleasant to be around. Nowadays the only things she plans with her old meticulousness are life-affirming cruises to Alaska or the Panama Canal.

65 of 210 : Janet, before

My sister-in-law was a poster child for OCD: she kept a yardstick next to the kitchen table to ensure its correct distance from the wall, and woe to the fool who walked on her carpet in socks—she’d be picking up tiny dots of fuzz before he reached the sofa.