THOUGH MY CULTURAL enrichment had been the justification for our trip, the train had scarcely left the Riley station when it emerged that my grandmother’s overriding goal in Chicago was to buy a sable stole from Marshall Fields. She’d seen an advertisement for it in Vogue, she confided, and she’d written a letter to the store asking them to save one in size small.
“If I’d been clever, I’d have ordered it a month ago and worn it to church on Christmas Eve,” she said.
“Does Dad know you’re buying it?”
“He’ll know when he sees me in it, won’t he? And I’ll look so ravishing that I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” We were sitting side by side, and she winked. “I have some savings, Alice, and it’s not a crime to treat yourself. Now, let me put some lipstick on you.”
I puckered my mouth. When she was finished, she held up my chin and gazed at me. “Beautiful,” she said. “You’ll be the belle of Chicago.” Personally, I did not consider myself beautiful, but in the last few years, I had begun to suspect that I was probably pretty. I stood five feet five, with a narrow waist and enough bosom to fill out a B-cup bra. My eyes were blue and my hair chestnut-brown and shiny; I wore it chin-length and curled toward my cheeks with a wispy fringe of bangs. Being attractive felt, more than anything, like a relief—I imagined life was harder for girls who weren’t pretty.
Our train ride was just over two hours, and at Union Station in Chicago, we were met by a woman I did not recognize at first as Dr. Gladys Wycomb; absurdly, I think I’d expected her to have a stethoscope around her neck. After she and my grandmother embraced, my grandmother stood next to Dr. Wycomb and set one arm on her back. “A legend in her own time,” my grandmother had said, and Dr. Wycomb said, “Hardly. Shall we go have a drink?”
They seemed to me an unlikely pair of friends at least with regard to appearance. Dr. Wycomb was a bit heavy in a way that suggested strength, and her handshake had almost hurt. She had short gray hair and wore white cat’s-eye glasses and a black gabardine coat over a gray tweed suit; her shoes were black patent-leather pumps with low heels and perfunctory bows. My grandmother, meanwhile, always proud of her style and slimness (her tiny wrists and ankles were a particular source of pleasure to her), was especially decked out for our city visit. We’d given ourselves manicures the day before, and she’d gone to Vera’s in downtown Riley to have her hair dyed and set. Under a tan cashmere coat, she wore a chocolate-brown wool suit—the collar was brown velvet, the skirt fell just below her knee—complemented by matching brown crocodile pumps and a brown crocodile handbag. So prized were these accessories that she’d bestowed on them the nickname “my crocs,” and the reference was understood by all other family members; in fact, a few weeks earlier, before we’d crossed our snowy street to get to the Janaszewskis’ Christmas party, I’d been amused to hear my father say, “Mother, I urge you to wear boots outside and change into your crocs at their house.” To meet Dr. Wycomb, I also was dressed up, outfitted in a kilt, green tights, saddle shoes, and a green wool sweater over a blouse; on the collar, I wore a circle pin, even though Dena had recently told me it was a sign of being a virgin.
Outside the train station was a chaos of people and cars, the sidewalks swarming, the traffic in the street jerking and honking, and the buildings around us were the tallest I had ever seem. As we approached a beige Cadillac, I was surprised when a driver in a black cap emerged from it, took our bags, and opened the doors for us; being a lady doctor, was, it seemed, a lucrative profession. The three of us sat in the backset, Dr. Wycomb behind the driver, my grandmother in the middle, me on the right side. “We need to make a stop, if you don’t mind,” my grandmother said to Dr. Wycomb. “The Pelham at Ohio and Wabash. Philip got it into his head that Alice and I together would be burdensome to you—you can see that Alice is very unruly and belligerent—so he made us a reservation, which of course we’ll cancel.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dr. Wycomb said. “Does he really see me as such a corrupting influence?”
“We hope that’s what you are!” At this, my grandmother turned and kissed Dr. Wycomb on the cheek. I knew that kiss, the lightness of her lips, the scent of Shalimar that floated ahead of her as she approached. When she’d settled against the seat again, my grandmother said, “Don’t we?” and patted my hand. Unsure what to say, I laughed.
Dr. Wycomb leaned forward and said, “When your father was a boy, he’d remove all his clothes before making a bowel movement.”
“Oh, Gladys, she doesn’t want to hear about this.”
“But it’s instructive. It captures a certain … rigidity, I suppose, that Philip has always shown. He’d remove his clothes, and when he was seated on the john, he’d shut his eyes tightly and press his hands over his ears. That was the only way he could eliminate.”
My grandmother made a face and fanned the air in front of her, as if mere words had brought the stench of a bathroom into the car.
“Am I telling the truth, Emilie?” Dr. Wycomb asked.
“The truth,” my grandmother said, “is overrated.”
“You grandmother was my landlady,” Dr. Wycomb said to me. “Has she ever mentioned that?”
“It was scarcely as formal as you make it sound,” my grandmother said.
“In medical school, I was poor as a church mouse,” Dr. Wycomb said. “I lived in a terrible attic belonging to a terrible family—”
“The Lichorobiecs,” my grandmother interrrupted. “Doesn’t that sound like the name of a terrible family? Mrs. Lichorobiec felt she’d been wronged by mankind.”
“She refused to let me keep food in the attic because she said it would attract animals,” Dr. Wycomb said. “She wouldn’t let me keep food in the pantry, either, because she said there wasn’t space. This was nonsense, but what could I do? Luckily, your grandmother, who lived next door, took pity and invited me to have my meals at their house.”
“I thought you’d starve otherwise,” my grandmother said. “I’ve always been slender, but Gladys was positively skeletal. Just a bag of bones, and big dark circles under her eyes.”
“A bag of bones,” Dr. Wycomb repeated, and chortled. She leaned forward again, and when our eyes met, she said, “Can you imagine?” In fact, I’d been thinking the same thing, but I smiled in what I hoped was a neutral and unrevealing way. “And then your poor grandfather died,” she continued. “What year was that, Emilie? Was that ’24?”
“It was ’25.”
“And your grandmother was ready to move, but I said, ‘Let’s think this through. If I’m champing at the bit to get away from the Lichorobiecs, and you’d just as soon stay in this house where you’re all settled …’ And so I became your grandmother’s tenant, and we had some wonderful times.”
“When the Depression hit, you can bet I was thankful to have Gladys,” my grandmother said. “Being a widow, I certainly couldn’t have gotten by on my salary at Clausnitzer’s. Speaking of spending beyond your means”—she pulled the Vogue ad from her purse and unfolded it—”have you ever seen more gorgeous sable?”
Dr. Wycomb laughed. “Alice, your grandmother is the only person in this country who became less frugal following the Depression.”
“Are you a clothes horse as well, Alice?” Dr. Wycomb’s voice was laced with affection for my grandmother.
“Oh, she’s far less shallow than I am,” my grandmother said. “Straight A’s every semester—imagine my disappointment.” In fact, while my parents did not seem to have strong feelings about whether I attended college, my grandmother was the one who’d told me that doing so would give me a leg up.
“Is that right?” Dr. Wycomb said. “All A’s?”
“I got an A-minus in home ec,” I admitted. The reason why was that on the final project, for which Dena, Nancy Jenzer, and I were partners, we had prepared Hawaiian meatballs in class, and Dena dropped the bowl of Oriental sauce on the floor.
“Are you interested in the sciences?” Dr. Wycomb asked me, but before I could answer, we’d pulled over in front of a maroon awning that said THE PELHAM on it in white cursive.
“Gladys, you stay here and we’ll just be a moment,” my grandmother said. “Alice, come in with me.”
Although we left our suitcases in the car, it wasn’t until we were inside that I fully understood: We weren’t, as my grandmother had claimed to Dr. Wycomb, canceling our reservation. We were checking in, then walking back out and riding away in Dr. Wycomb’s car. My grandmother did not explain this to me, but when the woman behind the reception desk said, “A view of the lake would cost you just six dollars more a day,” my grandmother replied, “We’ll be fine in the room we have.” She also said we wouldn’t need a porter. I was not a person who openly challenged others, and besides, I considered my self an ally of my grandmother. That was why, after we’d retraced our steps through the Pelham’s dim lobby and climbed back in the car, I said nothing when she told Dr. Wycomb, “All taken care of, and they didn’t give us a bit of trouble.” I couldn’t understand the reason for our double deception—lying to my father about where we were staying, lying to Dr. Wycomb about canceling the reservation—but I knew that good manners meant accommodating the person you were with. My grandmother assumed my loyalty, and this, surely, is the reason she got it.
(American Wife, Curtis Sittenfeld, pages 24-28)
… “My Honor Is Loyalty.” …
ADL Hate Symbols
December 28, 2018 7:30pm
About Me. In adding a picture at the top of this page, the homepage, I had no idea none of the rest of the pages would be viewable. My website is now formatted in a way (without my knowledge or my consent) in which only the home page, this page, is viewable. An error message “Error 404 [Department of Defense]” pops up for all the rest of the pages, the total number of which I do not want displayed below. (I have no complaint against Terry [who today wore a a camouflage military shirt], WordPress instructor, or Web Hosting Hub. My complaint is against the Mormon Church of Satan.)
Earlier, when I saw the garbage carting truck in front of 211 East 43rd Street where I went for WordPress training today, I thought about not going to Stop & Shop supermarket after all; I assumed Barbara Cutler and whomever else would be coincidentally aligned with me, but because I have no food, I decided to go to Stop & Shop for a few food items (Whole Foods does not sell rye bread). When I was in Stop & Shop supermarket, so was Brenda, the YWCA resident who once coincidentally walked out of her room carrying in one of her hands a knife and once coincidentally walked out of the kitchen carrying in one of her hands a knife and once coincidentally walked out of her room carrying in one of her hands a pair of scissors, as I walked by on my way to my room. Today in Stop & Shop supermarket Brenda was wearing a fur coat, but not a sable fur coat; she was wearing a black fur coat, man-made fur.
While I was on the check out line, camera in hand taking the following picture, who gets on line back of me? Brenda. And then she went to the next line. If Brenda claims I took a picture of her, she’s a liar. This is the picture I took when I had my camera in my hands when Brenda the knife/scissor woman got on line in back of me:
Growing Up Without Dad
The Day Kennedy Died
University of Texas DEEP SLEEP guaranteed!
(Stop & Shop supermarket checkout, December 28, 2018)
Brenda went to another line. I was so deep in thought thinking about Brenda and her fur coat and Alice’s grandmother’s sable coat, and Grandma’s Coffee Cake, I did not notice the Welch’s until I was leaving the checkout, after the customer in back of me (not Brenda) had paid for her purchase, four boxes of Welch’s Island Fruits Fruit Snack.
My Grandma’s of New England
1636 Hyde Park Ave Boston
(Stop and Shop supermarket, December 28, 2018. I will write about New Hyde Park/Lake Success, and Long Island City, as soon as I possibly can)
Welch’s ISLAND FRUITS Fruit Snacks. The customer who purchased these four boxes and also the cashier, and the bagger, are plaintiffs in a legal case against Berkshire Hathaway, Microsoft, Accenture, American Express, Apple including Beats, Bain, Citi, Disney, Disney, JPMorganChase, Marriott Hotels including the Ritz Carlton and all corporations owned directly and indirectly by the Mormon Church of Satan. cc all Mormon barristers
Victoria’s Secret, Atlantic Avenue at Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn, December 28, 2018
THIS IS AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM ME:
NO MORMON MOMENT, MAGIC OF MACY*S, ALADDIN, HARRY POTTER …
NO MAGIC/SORCERY/SATANISM CAN PREVENT THE IMPENDING STOCK MARKET CRASH, WORLDWIDE.
THIS IS ANOTHER AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM ME:
No matter how many people think otherwise, Jehovah’s Witnesses really is God’s visible organization.
The wrath of Jehovah God really is upon the Mormon Church of Satan, no matter how many people think otherwise.
The stock market really is going to crash, worldwide, no matter how many people think otherwise.
No matter how many people think otherwise, Caroline Kennedy will be elected President in the year 2020;
Jim Turner of Texas will be elected Vice President;
Robert Kennedy Jr. will be nominated and confirmed U.S. Attorney General; and,
Robert Mueller will be nominated and confirmed Director of the FBI.
No power on earth has the power to prevent the above prophetic message that I write from becoming reality, not even these four people themselves. I write under inspiration from and with authority from, God, the true God, Jehovah.
cc all Mormon barristers
THIS IS ANOTHER AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM ME:
Mayor Warren Wilhelm aka Bill de Blasio is the clean-up man, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their planned nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River. His administration is already prepared to hold tribunals and immediately execute some of the “troublemakers” (30,000 bananas; nationwide: 30,000 guillotines, to be continued).
Partial List of Scapegoats, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River:
Former President Barack “Hussein” Obama
Former Advisor to the President, Valerie “June” Jarrett
Former Homeland Security Director “Jeh” Johnson
Newark Mayor Ras Baraka
Minnesota Congressman FBI agent Keith “Ellison”
New York Congressman FBI agent Hakim Jeffries
Former leader of the CIA’s Black Panthers: FBI agent “Malik Zulu Shabazz”
Former Public Relations Spokesman for the Mormon Church of Satan: FBI agent “Ahmad” Corbitt (recently returned from assignment in the Dominican Republic)
[greasy looking Latino American man and African American man made up to look like former President Barack Hussein Obama wearing Joseph Smith’s white shirt] https://www.vividseats.com/theatre/hamilton-tickets.html
[Former presidential candidate Joseph Smith (1844), author of “U.S. Constitution hanging by a thread” prophecy:]
The purpose of this website is to expose the Mormon Church of Satan and all enemies of Jesus Christ the Way the Truth the Life, the Prince of Peace.
This website is also the beginning of a presidential campaign to elect Caroline Kennedy President of the United States. I prayed to Jehovah God to please, by means of His son Christ Jesus, please, arrange national events and world events in such a manner such that Caroline Kennedy is elected President of the United States. I know Jehovah God hears my prayer and will answer my prayer because that particular prayer of mine is one of my deepest desires and Jehovah God has promised me that he will satisfy all of my deepest desires. All of the information posted at this website is interconnected; directly connected to the Mormon Church of Satan’s illegal sting operation surrounding Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide, and me. The illegal sting operation that encompasses every human being on earth, and has resulted in the LEGAL CASE, unlike any other, ever. The LEGAL CASE, headed to The Hague, Netherlands. cc all Mormon attorneys
Maintain Your Focus on Jesus!
Concluding talk, Jehovah’s Witnesses Convention 2015, worldwide