Singing the Blues...

Bonnie Riatt said the blues are built with "Juice and Pain". Eric Clapton said that he felt like a 'blueswannabe' and woke up one day and knew that he had made it to becoming a sage 'bluesman'.

At what point does one have to go to the crossroads to sell your soul to understand what the blues is about.

I've been there - to that crossroads. And I came back a lot sadder and a little wiser. No playing the 'anti-heroines' of Tennessee Wilson is not studied, just inately understood.

My son walks around singing "Redemption Song" to his little baby girl. You know, that's not altogether inappropriate for her to hear.

I think of Billy Stayhorn writing "Blood Count' while laying in a hospital bed and watching the IV line come down with someone else's blood that was healthier than his - I've been there recently and I counted that blood as well a felt it start to heal my own wounds.

The wonderful lives of Little Edie and Big Edie Bouvier Beale

I'm going to let Little Edie tell you herself...

They say the gypsies are wonderful!

It’s very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present. You know what I mean? It's awfully difficult.

But you see in dealing with me, the relatives didn't know that they were dealing with a staunch character and I tell you if there's anything worse than dealing with a staunch woman... S-T-A-U-N-C-H. There's nothing worse, I'm telling you. They don't weaken, no matter what.

We've had 300 cats altogether. Now we have twelve. It's true about old maids, they don't need men if they have cats.

Raccoons and cats become a little bit boring," sighs Edie Beale towards the end of Grey Gardens. "I mean for too long a time."

I suppose a lot of us have been waiting to see HBO's GREY GARDEN'S. Frankly I was disappointed after watching the documentary and seeing the wonderful musical on Broadway and falling in love with the Beale women and their hideous house, the zillion cats, the raccoons and their singing and Little Eddie's erratic dancing 'just for her own pleasure'.

The fashions were incredible. Little Eddie and her towels over her head clasped by Cartier brooches...she sat the paradigm for unique and individual using 'found items'

I would have even put on the flea collar around my ankle should I have had the privilege of visiting Grey Gardens.

Seriously the love story between this Mother and Daughter transcends logic and reason and defines the ethereal.

Here's some pictures from 'their book'.

Billy Preston, the original Mr. Kite in Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band

For the benefit of Mr. Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo-Fanques Fair, what a scene (Have you seen it? It's great, they got stuff.)

Over men and horses hoops and garters
Lastly through a hogshead of real fire!
In this way Mr. K. will challenge the world!
The celebrated Mr. K.
Performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate

The Hendersons will dance and sing
As Mr. Kite flies through the ring don't be late
Messrs. K and H. assure the public
Their production will be second to none

And of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz!
The band begins at ten to six
When Mr. K. performs his tricks without a sound

And Mr. H. will demonstrate
Ten somersets he'll undertake on solid ground
'ving been some days in preparation
A splendid time is guaranteed for all
And tonight Mr. Kite is topping the bill.
(It's me. In the thing.)

I love you so much, BillyPeanuts - I will see you again in heaven. You were the best of friends and the best of men.

Your, Courtney

The redheaded beauty of Pam Courson

I met Pam in Paris. We both are redheads and had been mistaken for each other. I was there as an exchange student studying ballet - she was living with Jim.

She was a lot of fun - she was very addicted though and when she wasn't holding she was trying to score and when she scored big - she was nodding.

At the time she was hanging with a guy who was said to be a Comte. I didn't understand her relationship with him because I knew she was Jim's girlfriend and she seemed very physically affectionate with this guy. Frankly, I thought the guy was gay - but he was a lot more fun than Jim. Even if he was gay he seemed to really care about her. He watched her intently when she would talk (the neat trait of a lot of Frenchmen) and would brush the hair out of her face which I thought was endearing.

I also thought there was something strange about Jim (pun intended) I barely saw him - he was always 'in the bed' and hindsight tells me that he was suffering from severe depression. I can't remember speaking 2 words to him and he didn't seem to like me either.

She just seemed like a normal sweet girl who unfortunately had a monkey on her back. Here are my memories. I only met her 3 months before I returned stateside.She loved sweets and we would meet for coffee and pasteries at a little cafe called "Le Jardin" (the garden). It was close to my school.She was beautiful. She looked very fragile, though. She was so thin her clothes fell off her body and made her look like a little girl playing dress-up. We both enjoyed hitting the flea market and buying the French nightshirts that the old men wore to bed. They were embroderied and made of beautiful linen and soft cotton. We wore them like dresses with leggings.

We were trying to speak French and sometimes we said the wrong things and the French laughed with us because at least we were trying. She seldom had a lot of money on her though and often would borrow a few franc's from American students who didn't know who she was - they thought she was panhandling

She seldom talked about Jim and even as curious as I was I didn't ask her many questions about him because frankly he depressed me the few times I met him. He was so beautiful but so dirty and I don't care for hygeine -challenged men. The French say we Americans bathe too much, but I'm from the East Coast of Florida where we love the sun and the beach and are obsessed about being clean and healthy. We don't do dirt very well. I must have said that to her because I was so surpirsed when she told me he was from Florida and had gone to Florida State

The best times she seemed to have is with her French boyfriend who did treat her very well and not only picked up the tab but gave her money to go down to the fashion houses and buy clothes if she wanted.

I took her to the house of Chanel and Mainboucher and I remember she just felt the wonderful fabrics and looked at the inside of the way the seams were turned and hidden. The woman who worked there gave us some great deals because we could wear the sample sizes that they used for their shows. It was amazing when Pamela dressed up and put on makeup - she went from fragile and pretty to gorgeous. Her personality seemed to change too - I remember she put on a man's Fedora with a black mini dress and I turned her on to the Ritz Carlton's terrific food where we ate and ate and ate, then she turned me on to a club she liked and we danced for hours - even with each other to the amusement of the Frenchmen there.

It was hard to believe she was Jim Morrison's girlfriend, several years older than me and had been in France longer than me but never taken advantage of some of the wonderful places that only Paris offers.

I don't remember the last time I saw her - strange I wish I could - I think we were supposed to met for breakfast but she didn't show up - I left soon after.When I read a book about Jim and her it didn't jive with the Pam I knew. I did not know her well. We were not confidents, not even friends, but we were good acquaintances and her personality was so different from how she was depicted. They said she was possessive and arrogant, often calling herself Mrs. Morrison. I didn't find her arrogant at all - it was a pleasure to have known her slightly.

She was a bright memory in my year in France.I had no idea she came back to the States and died here. For some reason I thought she stayed on in Paris...I'd like to think she was still there living somewhere on the Avenue Foch - buying beautiful clothes and having a red-headed granddaughter like me...

Bizarre Photos of a Redheaded Wing-nut!

And it's not me! Imagine that...LOL These are from a long defunct website on Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme. These almost looks like they were taken by a lover or a boyfriend. She looks a bit normal (well maybe the one in the fairy outfit is a bit much).

Poor stupid crazy girl gives redheads a bad name. (Not to say we already are not known for our eccentric ways anyway)

Can you imagine waiting around for the hygenically challenged Charlie Manson to get out of jail. Maybe someone should clue her in - HE'S NOT GETTING OUT - SQUEAKSTER!

Give it a rest...

Zelda

• Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.

• Why do we spend years using up our bodies to nurture our minds with experience and find our minds turning then to our exhausted bodies for solace?

No one has to repeat her story for she is an icon and the Janus face of the 20's.

I love what she said about Hemingway "No one is THAT male"

Zelda wasn't always 'crazy' she was witty, unique, sexy, talented and a great muse.

She wanted most of all to be a dancer. A Prima - but...

Zelda didn't start ballet until she was in her early 20's. Any ballerina can tell you it is a lost cause if you don't start as a young child and learn the discipline of pain and practice. And Primas begin when they start to walk.

So much pain you can sometimes see blood on the cotton in your toe shoes - and for what? For the glimpse of heaven that sometimes comes so unexpectedly.

It's very expressive of myself. I just lump everything in a great heap which I have labeled "the past," and, having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, I am ready to continue.