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. He was walking down Second Avenue. It was a cool early Spring evening but he was wearing only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And blue jeans. And moccasin. I remember that he seemed very sissy to me. Very theatrical. Decadent. I remember that I liked him instantly. I remember driving through the Ozarks and all the gift shops wve didn't stop at. I remember home room mothers. I remember being a safety guard and wearing a white strap. I remember ''Hazel" in The Saturday Evening Post. I remember ringworms. And name tags. I remember always losing one glove. I remember loafers with pennies in them. I remember Dr. Pepper. And Royal Crown Cola. I remember those brown fur pieces with little feet and little heads and little tails. I remember "Suave" hair cream. (Pale peach) I remember house shoes, plaid flannel hath robes, and “Casper'' the Friendly Ghost. I remember pop beads. I remember "come as you are" parties. Everybody cheated. I remember game rooms in basements. I remember milkmen. Postmen. Guest towels. “Welcome mats. And Avon ladies. I remember driftwood lamps. I remember reading once about a lady who choked to death caring a piece of steak. I remember when fiberglass was going to solve everything. I remember rubbing my hand under a restaurant table top and feeling all the gum. I remember the chair I used to put my boogers behind. I remember Pug and George and their only daughter Norma Jean who was very beautiful and died of cancer. I remember Jim and Lucy. Jim sold insurance and Lucy taught school. Everytime we saw them they gave us a handful of plastic billfold calendars advertising insurance. l remember Saturday night baths and Sunday morning comics. I remember bacon and lettuce and tomato sandwiches and iced tea in the summer time. I remember potato salad. I remember salt on watermelon. I remember the first time I saw Elvis Presley. It was on the "Ed Sullivan Show." I remember "Blue Suede Shoes." And I remember having a pair. I remember felt skirts with cut-out felt poodles on them. Sometimes their collars were jeweled. I remember bright orange canned peaches. I remember jeweled bottle openers. I remember the horse lady at the fair. She didn't look like a horse at all. I remember pillow fights.