A GLOVED & GIRDLED MEMOIR

 Confessions of a Blue Tomato

Writing this memoir

Confessions of a Blue Tomato

has been such an ordeal,

 I've not even wanted to post to this blog.
At least I can give you a preview.

Here's a draft of the book cover.

I've used my maiden name as author.

This took some tweaking to get this photo here.
I wanted it small because that's how it will show up online.
 The title isn't bold enough. 

Here's the book description:

Confessions of a Blue Tomato is a compelling portrait of growing up as a gloved and girdled girl of the ’50s with unfulfilled hopes and dreams. This hauntingly unforgettable mother-daughter story is told with psychological insight, through the narrator’s poignant and sensitive Southern voice.

First Grade - Spring 1942

(me in saddle shoes)

It's a memoir about an only child growing up in Atlanta during a time of streetcars and blackouts, remembering the dusty playground of Joel Chandler Harris grammar school where soldiers from Fort McPherson gave bouncy jeep rides to school children during World War II. It’s a story about listening to the radio and collecting movie star photos, and riding a bicycle to the Saturday movie serials. It’s about opening a door and smelling popcorn, and walking on sticky floors and hearing childish screams, as the Mummy raised up out of his tomb in the darkened Cascade Theater.

I decided to make the first chapter . . .

 V is for Victory

 . . . because, it's the story about us earning

our Victory Badges during World War II.

Everything was rationed

and we were encouraged to

 collect paper, tinfoil and grease

to turn in for the war effort.

I'm on the third row 

grinning, wearing my badge.

 The plaid dress was made by our

neighbor out of feed sack material

and trimmed with rick rack.

~ ~ ~

Here’s the opening paragraph.

T H E   B E S T   T H I N G   A B O U T   S E C O N D  G R A D E was World War II. The main reason being that Miss Ruby Price was the meanest teacher I’d ever had, except for one special morning when she yanked us into place, two by two, marching us down the wide marbled hallway for an important announcement about the war effort.

~ ~ ~

Then I go back to the beginning. 

 Chapter 2.

IN THE BEGINNING . . .

MY CHILDHOOD WAS LONELY. I was an only child with no daddy, so I'll just start by saying that my story is more about being born with a broken heart than anything else. I know it's hard to think that a baby can come out of a womb so sad and all, but I did. It was like being born with a port wine stain on my heart, because no one could see it, especially me, not until later, and then, I could only feel it.

~ ~ ~

Chapter 3

FAMILY SECRETS AND MYSTERIES

The memoir is also about Mother

who grew up in the Roaring Twenties!

Mother (r.) (c. 1928) on a double-date with her

friend, Grace in the North Georgia Mountains.

 They wore matching striped

pajama-like dresses.

And, look, they're acting so "jazz age" risque

rolling up their pants' leg.

~~~

In sixth grade we put on a play

 The Queen of Hearts

Every child had a costume.

Robert was the King of Hearts

I was the Queen.

Later he dumped me for a new

girl in town. 

~ ~ ~

The gloved and girdled 1950s began.

Mother posed us,

 (l-r) me, Sandra, Frances & Kay

wearing our first pair

of stockings and heels at Easter.

~~~

Another preface excerpt:

. . . it's about a deep south world of fresh peaches, mimosa fronds, kudzu, baptism, Stone Mountain, Peachtree Street, the U.D.C (United Daughters of the Confederacy), failed auditions, and being miscast in the role of Betty Crocker. 

~~~

Yes, Mother loved to pose me for photos,

 so I wanted to be a movie star

 to make Mother smile.

I call this shadowbox collage,

 "Living Mother's Dreams"

I put all my medals at Mother's feet

and a pair of rhinestone earrings.

~ ~ ~

Okay, that's enough distraction.

Finish proof reading & editing the memoir.

~~~

"Wait a minute . . .!"

Here's one more photo ~ The New Horizon Band

I play a drum in.

This group keeps me sane.

I thank my lucky stars for this group!

We play at Retirement Centers

and Assisted Living Homes.

stay tuned . . .

and,

scroll down to read:

clams casino at the oak room

confessions of a blue tomato

===

CLAMS CASINO at the OAK ROOM

Last week I bought a package of frozen Clams Casino.

Unfroze three.

Ate.

Hmm? . . . Not like I remember.

Oh, but look, they are stuffed in real shells.

I save them.

In three days I microwave three more.

Still not like I remember—like the one’s

I ordered on my first trip to NYC.

I Googled clams casino and copied off a recipe.

Today I have let the last four thaw out,

have added fresh thyme, a bit more garlic

and a teaspoon of butter.

Now I’m re-stuffing them!

The story behind the Clams Casino

I’d dreamed of going to NYC my entire life.

That first evening, my friend Virginia and I

walked from 29th Street to the Plaza at 59th Street.

"What should I get?" I asked when I saw

the Oak Room menu.

"Clams Casino," she said.

We had whiskey sours and Clams Casino

 at the Oak Room.

After we finished we walked a few blocks,

as I gazed at all the Broadway lights,

just in Heaven.

A young man approached us with tickets

to the Joffrey Ballet. $15 each.

We sat in the balcony and had a

fabulous night to remember.

And while these new re-stuffed clams

were broiling in the toaster oven,

I created a song on the keyboard.

Recorded it in One Take.

Not a great song,

but, hey!  carpé diem 

Seize the nostalgic moment with a saxophone,

choose the “‘70s glamour piano ballad style”

add a little trumpet, too.

Just play whatever comes . . . about

the sad/happy 

remembrance of a time past.

I guess the lesson here is that

you can re-stuff packaged clams

and re-mix the past and present

on a keyboard and create something new

to listen to while you savor the delicious

new clam hors d’oeuvres and remember the

Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel

on a Sunday night 

in November of 1984.

~~~

Here's my garden

and scroll down for

more blogs

CONFESSIONS OF A BLUE TOMATO

STILL ENTRANCED

is the name of a song

I first recorded on my keyboard

I finally transferred it to

digital from an audio tape.

It has that sultry “slow-dancing”

sound I want for an album.

Will I ever get that done?

color me blue

I like to feel the color blue

a blue collage of New Yorker Covers

 against a blue wall

I like to take photos of things in blue

like this blue glass slipper

which belonged to Mother

Did it remind her of Cinderella?

And this is my blue living room

and my new drum set

I love playing a snare drum

in the New Horizon Band

I made this arrangement back when

 the camellias were blooming 

~ ~ ~

I haven’t posted a blog

in ever so long, because

I’ve been editing my memoir,

Confessions of a Blue Tomato.

It’s taking so long!

82,000 wds. of proof reading.

Here’s my memoir description:

Confessions of a Blue Tomato is a

compelling portrait of growing up as

a gloved and girdled girl of the '50s

with unfulfilled hopes and dreams.

This hauntingly unforgettable

mother-daughter story

of music and the movies, 

is told with psychological insight

through the narrator’s poignant

 and humorous Southern voice.

Comments welcomed!!

~ ~ ~

scroll down for earlier blogs

Remembering Marvin Hamlish

Remembering Sandra Brown

Chicken Salad Days

Ode to Books