I remember the only time I ever saw my mother cry. I was eating apricot pie. I remember how much I cried seeing "South Pacific" (the movie) three times. I remember how good a glass of water can taste after a dish of ice cream. I remember when I got a five-year pin for not missing a single morning of Sunday School for five years. (Methodist) I remember when I went to a "come as your favorite person" party as Marilyn Monroe. I remember one of the first things I remember . An icebox. (As opposed to a refrigerator) I remember white margarine in a plastic bag. And a little package of orange powder. You put the orange powder in the bag with the margarine and you squeezed it all around until the margarine became yellow. I remember how much I used to stutter. I remember how much, in high school, I wanted to be handsome and popular. I remember when, in high school, if you wore green and yellow on Thursday it meant that you were queer.  I remember when, in high school, I used to stuff a sock in my underwear. I remember when I decided to be a minister. I don't remember well when I decided not to be. I remember the first time I saw television. Lucille Hall was taking ballet lessons. I remember the day John Kennedy was shot. I remember that for my (fifth birthday all I wanted was an off-one-shoulder black satin evening gown. I got it. And I wore it to my birthday party. I remember a dream said that my Mondrian period paitings were even better than Mondrian. I remember a dream I have had often of being able to fly. (Without an airplane) I remember many dreams of finding gold and jewels. I remember a little boy I used to take care of after school while his mother worked. I remember how much fun it was to punish him for being bad. I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass. I remember St. Louis when I was very young. I remember the tattoo shop next to the bus station and the two big lions in front of the Museum of Art. I remember round cards. I remember squaw dresses. I remember big fat ties with fish on them. I remember the first ball point pens. They skipped, and deposited little balls of ink that would accumulate on the point. I remember rainbow pads. I remember Aunt Cicora who lived in Hollywood. Every year for Christmas she sent my brother and me a joint present of one book. I remember the day Frank O'Hara died. I tried to do a painting somehow especially for him. (Especially good) And it turned out awful. I remember canasta. I remember “How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?" I remember butter and sugar sandwiches. I remember Pat Boone and "Love Letters In The Sand.” I remember Teresa Brewer and "I Don't Want No Ricochet Romance." I remember "The Tennessee Waltz." I remember "Sixteen Tons.” I remember "The Thing.” I remember "The Hit Parade." I remember Dorothy Collins. I remember Dorothy Collin's teeth. I remember when I worked in an antique-junk shop and I sold everything cheaper than I was supposed to. I remember when l lived in Boston reading all of Dostoevsky’s novels one right after the other. I remember (Boston) pan handling on the street where all the art galleries were. I remember collecting cigarette butts from the urns in front of The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. l remember planning to tear page 48 out of every book I read from the Boston Public Library, but soon losing interest. I remember Bickford's. I remember the day Marilyn Monroe died. I remember the first time I met Frank O'Hara. It was a cool early Spring evening but he was wearing only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I remember that he seemed very sissy to me. Very theatrical. Decadent. I remember that I liked him instantly.