World premiere of "The Wind Cries Mary."

Aloha Takeo,

How did the Nov. 10th luncheon go?

Your Friend,
Pueo

ci

As always, a treat to see you. How close is this adaptation to Hedda?

And a treat to greet Pueo .... Welcome aboard, buddy

Hello, c-i.

How-do, blatham.

(Courtly bow to Deb, who has chosen one of my favorite humans as avitar, just one more evidence of D's class and good taste)

Portrait of Mary

Send a canvas to a Mary of any country and have her paste her
photograph. Have her send the canvas to the next Mary of any
country and have her do the same. When the canvas is filled up
with photographs of Marys, it should be sent back to the original
sender. The name does not have to be Mary. It, also, can be a fictional name, in which case the canvas will be sent to different
countries until a person with such a name will be found. The object
to paste on the canvas does not have to be a photograph. It can be a numeral figure, an insect or a finger print.

Yoko Ono 1962 spring

Hi pueo, glad to see you on board.
Had a great brunch with my siblings. My younger brother won a seat in the California state legislature, so I guess I'll need to call him "your honor!" We talked about our childhood days, and all had a good laugh or two. According to my older brother, I almost drowned in the Sacramento River before the war, but another friend caught me by the shirt and dragged me back on shore before the current took me. Another incident was when I was wearing some paper Indian headdress that caught fire, and I hadn't noticed. Somebody knocked it off my head, and saved me from bad burns. I forgot both incidents! When we were kids, we were required to go out into the country to harvest fruit during the summer months, and I was famous for building shade houses from the fruit boxes - to rest and sleep, while my two brothers worked their behinds to be the best fruit pickers on the farm. Another good laugh! It was a serous matter back then, but it's the "good ole times" now. c.i.

ci

May I share a brother story? Several years ago, I brought up an incomplete memory, to my twin brother, which had been bothering me for some time. The circumstances as I recalled them were that we (the Coote Street boys, three brothers and two neighbors) were mounting a sneak early morning attack on the territory of the Broadway Steet boys, the headquarters of which was the Giesleman house. We were belly crawling through deep grass in the open field which ran up against a line of fir trees behind which was the target house. About midway through the field, a rain of homemade spears fell out of the trees upon us. "Retreat! Retreat!"

The confusion in this memory was 'how did they know we were coming?" It was this conundrum I broached with my twin. He turned to me, head became completely still, and he said "Are you really asking me this question?" I assured him I was. Apparently, in our clubhouse on the previous morning, we had conceived and planned this surprise attack in some detail. Following this top secret meeting, I had zipped right over to visit the Giesleman brothers and, in exchange for a chocolate bar, gave time, place, numbers - the whole shebang. I had (and have) not recollection of this at all. Nor, it should be noted, do I now suffer even the slightest shadow of shame.

blatham, No more chocolate bars for you! c.i.