APPARITION ~ by Absolutely*Kate . . . (scares it up again)

   A P P A R I T I O N   

circa 2009 -- How time flies when writing's fun

*AT THE BIJOU* proudly presents an oldie but a goodie, scared up at the classic Horror Queen's hallowed ~

13 Days of Horror:  Absolutely*Kate at the very eerie ERIN COLE's:

WELCOME TO THE 13 DAYS OF HORROR

The esteemed author ERIN COLE once murmured, like a warm stage whisper:
My next featured guest on the 13 Days of Horror is a writer with such a unique edge, her prose is a voyage through the magic and mysteries of spirit and psyche — she has muses working for her. Collaborating thirty-three writers for the stellar venture, Harbinger*33, {sailing out of the future}, backed with her own witty, diligent, and talented works, she is a gale storm of splendor and a true comrade to many.

It is with great honor to introduce to you my next guest, and kindred spirit, Absolutely*Kate and her story, APPARITION.

   A P P A R I T I O N   

           ~  by Absolutely*Kate

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when Mary died suddenly the night following the annual Christmas cookie exchange on Mocking Raven Lane. Bill adored all the merry merits of Mary. Why, that’s why Bill married Mary. Admiration knew no bounds for the passions, pleasures and playful priorities that Mary brought to the blend of their loving life. Oh how Mary loved life!

Mary created and considered, then created some more, and Bill loved Mary’s creations ever more. He cherished her pottery, plantings and photography, her tapestries, timetables, teriyaki and tiramisu. Whenever Mary baked up a storm for any season’s reasons, he played their special song while the oven attuned to 350-bake. Midst brown sugar and sprinkles, almond flavoring and the warm flavor of Mary’s appetizing eyes, Bill slowly undressed his pal and his gal, let fingers linger, sensed thoughts collide, and came into new understandings every way inside. Proud Bill told talented Mary time and time again, “Just like you Mar, perfection is delicious.”

On the pre-holiday afternoon of the annual thumbprint cookies bake-a-thon — which the whole neighborhood knew were to die for — Bill’s thumbprints left slow, swooning indentations all along Mary’s supple breasts, pulling her natural lovely nakedness oh so tenderly into his own. Aye, that was the rub that tendered the Bill. The whisper from the big-hearted man into the woman who flexed his vitality, rasped with feeling over the raspberry filling, “Sweet Mar, never change any ingredient. How could it be you if otherwise?”

   * * *   

As the calendar turned a new year and turned Bill’s life achingly upside down, the new neighbor Edna showed up with casseroles and condolences. Eager Edna edged into pedal pushers, then short shorts, then a string bikini as spring gardening turned into backyard summer tanning. While cutting the lawn one day, Bill noticed where the grass was greener. Theirs was a spirited howl of a whirlwind relationship from late May to early October, in which Bill bedded and wedded Edna in a thinly veiled ceremony attended by the knowing neighbors of Mocking Raven Lane. The reception was held at one of Bill and Mary’s former favorite haunts, where some said they felt uneasy around easy Edna.

Every night felt so familiar as Bill told Edna how well she filled out Mary’s silks and satins, which he hadn’t the heart to toss into Thursday’s trash or the Goodwill receptacle downtown. He told her she was an apparition to behold.

Halloween night saw Edna half-heartedly backing the buoyant boyhood spirit of Bill at the door, with Reese’s, Butterfingers and Snickers galore. He chuckled past princesses, Transformers, zombies and more, after asking one pirate tyke, “Hey — where’s your buccaneers?”, and the kid jeered back, “Under my buckin’ hat!” To Edna the joke fell flat. Bill reminisced how Mary would’ve giggled on and on about that.

Funny, in all the groups of Trick-or-Treaters, one costumed neighbor mom fringed the sidewalk’s edge more and more. In the midst of the mist of the darkening dusk, he sensed a melancholy her non-smile was putting out. Cheer of prior years hauntingly reminded ~ he just missed Mary. Mentioning the freaky frequency he’d gazed at the gauzy lady, edgy Edna crackled and snapped, “Most likely the vicious vampires are changing their get ups behind the bushes and hitting us up for more than their fair share. Can we shut the porch light out yet?”

Upstairs in bed, Bill heard Mary’s grace of giggles. His dreams? The radio? Nope ~ he’d remembered waiting until 12:15 when their old favorite radio station played Clapton’s “After Midnight”. A simple play list maneuver, but any purposeful pun set off Mar’s giggles. The allure just took off from there. Nope, the radio was off . . . but the music wasn’t.

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when “Unchained Melody” began to play. Like the wind, her song stayed on his mind, as engulfing passions tend to do. Desire aspires to where intertwined fires flair and flare. Her spirit, or his bewitched, bothered and bewildered thoughts played “Misty” for him next. A chilling sensation just out of reach had his guilty reach go to Edna. Chilling there too; no real surprise. He strained to adjust his eyes towards two small approaching lights. Warm lights like ~

The first shot that rang out in the dark went straight through Billy Boy’s heart. The following volley sought where Mary wondered if evil Edna even had one. When she’d viewed their vows at the flimsy altar of intentions, her solemn dark of soul vow became to taunt, daunt and haunt the man who done her wrong, the man that should’a known . . . the proof wasn’t in the pudding that fateful night, the secret was always in the sauce, the raspberry sauce.

Three ghosts now aghast circle-swirled the wretched room. Two rookies and a seasoned spirit of soul who knew how to create an entrance, amongst other titillating talents. Take tonight ~ she’d done her tutorial well, bided her time, knew the Halloween power of forging worlds. With the savvy of mentor Marley’s ghost, Mary unchained her refrain dead-on, evenly at Edna’s eerie “Eeek”.

There were sparks to her aura and she knew how to use them. In solemnity of spirit, she taunted just right, “I saw you through your garbage. That’s where you nonchalantly tossed your vile vial. Since it didn’t make my raspberry butter batter better that afternoon, you were bitter. You tried to take over my perfect life. You set out to become my Bill’s wife. But it takes love to have a perfectly delicious life. Cold souls can’t. Disintegrate Bitch!”

And with that declaration centering her power, Mary turned on the power of that which was hidden ‘neath her diaphanous spinning swirls ~ the trusty dust-buster that mutilated grime and the remnants of this farcical crime. Marley had showed her the adjustments for molecular karmic ‘vacuumation’. Edna was now an eon of her former self.

“And YOU!” She turned to Bill, the only lights in the room the flash of eyes he remembered taunting him so well. Despite her dismissive disgust, he was desperate for her tantalizing touch, that sink into sensation of skin against skin . . . errrr . . . apparition against apparition? How the sorcery did they express pent-up passions? Does ghostly charm disarm or alarm?

Mary’s soul though, went solely for harm. “You willingly let another ingredient prevent perfection. By the powers vested in me by the Exalted Spirits of Eternity, your punishment is permanent paralysis of reach and touch and please and ease. A vortex of vulnerability is where you’ll flail. Nothing personal any more Bill, I’m sentencing you to hell.”

Mary positioned the life-size pottery images she’d conjured into various dead shadows in various darkened windows. The folks on Mocking Raven Lane went about their street sense and left lifeless recluses to themselves. The sage among them though, (and those who burned sage), remembered that perfection was the joy of a life vitally lived as Bill and Mary had vibrantly done. At nights, Mary at first visited hers and Bill’s old haunts, but with true character no longer tormented by a broken soul, Mar ‘s heart opened to a new whirled’ wide woo of warlocks . . . and wonder of wonders, developed a zest for zombies along the way. 

Zing went the gossamer of her spirit and un-life passed perfectly. 

She became a ghostwriter and is finishing . . . 

this . . . 

story . . . 

now.

The original ran proudly at Erin Cole's with all of the Really Scary Authors of our Life and celebrated Times . . . 

~ Absolutely*Kate, Halloween festooned as vintage vixen, shares the daring duality of fellow Gemini gal the eerie cool ~ Erin Cole ... appreci'kating the opportunity to scare it up with the horrorifics - back when we first danced with the wonder of words.

No Trick -- all Treat ~
Read every book Erin Cole's written,
destined to write and conjures still.

~ Fan & Fanfare,
~ Absolutely*Kate on Hallow's Eve

APPARITION ~ By Absolutely*Kate ,,, { A #FridayFlash in the spark }

  A P P A R I T I O N  

By  ~ Absolutely*Kate

( A classic comes back, just like Charlie Brown, Linus & The Great Pumpkin )

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when Mary died suddenly the night following the annual Christmas cookie exchange on Mocking Raven Lane. Bill adored all the merry merits of Mary. Why, that’s why Bill married Mary. Admiration knew no bounds for the passions, pleasures and playful priorities that Mary brought to the blend of their loving life. Oh how Mary loved life!

Mary created and considered, then created some more, and Bill loved Mary’s creations ever more. He cherished her poetry, pottery, plantings and photography; her tapestries, timetables, teriyaki and tiramisu. Whenever Mary baked up a storm for any season’s reasons, he played their special tune while the oven attuned to 350-bake. Midst brown sugar and sprinkles, almond flavoring and the warm flavor of Mary’s appetizing eyes, Bill slowly undressed his pal and his gal, let fingers linger, sensed thoughts collide, and came into new understandings every way inside. Proud Bill told talented Mary time and time again, “Just like you Mar. Perfection is delicious.”

On the pre-holiday afternoon of the annual thumbprint cookies bake-a-thon — which the whole neighborhood knew were to die for — Bill’s thumbprints left slow, swooning indentations all along Mary’s supple breasts, pulling her natural lovely nakedness oh so tenderly into his own. Aye, that was the rub that tendered the Bill. The whisper from the big-hearted man into the soft woman who flexed his vitality, rasped with feeling over the raspberry filling, “Sweet Mar, never change any ingredient. How could it be you if otherwise?”

   

As the calendar turned a new year and turned Bill’s life achingly upside down, the new neighbor Edna showed up with casseroles and condolences. Eager Edna edged into pedal pushers, then short shorts, then a string bikini as spring gardening turned to backyard summer tanning. While cutting the lawn one day, Bill noticed where the grass was greener. Theirs was a spirited howl of a whirlwind relationship from late May to early October, in which Bill bedded and wedded Edna in a thinly veiled ceremony attended by the knowing neighbors of Mocking Raven Lane. The reception was held at one of Bill and Mary’s former fave haunts, where some said they felt uneasy around easy Edna.

Every night felt so familiar as Bill told Edna how well she filled out Mary’s silks and satins, which he hadn’t the heart to toss into Thursday’s trash or the Goodwill receptacle downtown. He told her she was an apparition to behold.

Halloween night saw Edna half-heartedly backing the buoyant boyhood spirit of Bill at the door, with Reese’s, Butterfingers and Snickers galore. He chuckled past princesses, Transformers, zombies and more, after asking one pirate tyke, “Hey — where’s your buccaneers?”, earning back the kid's jubilant jeer, “Under my buckin’ hat!” To Edna that joke fell flat. Bill reminisced how Mary though, would’ve giggled on and on about that.

Funny, in all the gathered groups of Trick-or-Treaters, one costumed neighbor mom fringed the sidewalk edge more and more. In the midst of the mist of darkening dusk, he sensed the melancholy her non-smile was emanating forth. Cheer of prior years hauntingly reminded Bill ~ he just missed Mary. Mentioning the freaky frequency he had gazed at the gauzy lady, edgy Edna crackled and snapped, “Most likely the vicious vampires are changing their get-ups behind the bushes and hitting us up for more than their fair share. Can we shut the porch light out yet?”

Upstairs in bed, Bill heard Mary’s grace of giggles. His dreams? The radio? Nope ~ he’d remembered waiting until 12:15 when their favorite classic rock station played Clapton’s “After Midnight”. A simple playlist maneuver, but any purposeful pun would set off Mar’s giggles. The allure just took off from there. Nope, the radio was off . . . but the music wasn’t.

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when “Unchained Melody” began to play. Like the wind, her song stayed on his mind, as engulfing passions tend to do. Desire aspires to where intertwined fires flair and flare. Her spirit, or his bewitched, bothered and bewildered thoughts played “Misty” for him next. A chilling sensation just out of reach provoked his guilty reach towards Edna. Chilling there too; no real surprise. He strained to adjust his eyes towards two small approaching lights. Warm lights like ~

The first shot that rang out in the dark went straight through Billy Boy’s heart. The following volley sought where Mary wondered if evil Edna even had one. When she’d viewed their vows at the flimsy altar of intentions, her solemn dark of soul vowed to taunt, daunt and haunt the man who done her wrong, the man that shoulda known . . . the proof wasn’t in the pudding that fateful night, the secret was always in the sauce, the raspberry sauce.

Three ghosts now aghast circle-swirled the wretched room. Two rookies and a seasoned spirit of soul who knew how to create an entrance . . . amongst other titillating talents. Take tonight ~ she’d done her tutorials well, bided her time, knew inside-out the Halloween power of Forging Worlds. With the savvy of mentor Marley’s masterful ghost, Mary unchained her own refrain dead-on, aimed evenly at Edna’s eerie “Eeek!”.

There were sparks to her aura and she knew how to use them. In solemnity of spirit, Mary taunted just right, “I saw you through your garbage. That’s where you nonchalantly drained your vile vial. Since it didn’t make my raspberry butter batter better that afternoon, you were bitter. You tried to take over my perfect life. You set out to become my Bill’s wife. But it takes Love to have a perfectly delicious life. Cold souls can’t. Disintegrate Bitch!”

And with that declaration of incantation centering her core power, Mary turned on the power of that which was hidden beneath her diaphanous spinning swirls ~ the trusty dustbuster which mutilated grime and effectively, the remnants of this farcical crime. Marley had showed her precise adjustments for molecular karmic vacuumation. Edna was now an eon of her former self.

“And YOU!” She turned to Bill, the only lights in the room the flash of eyes he remembered taunting him so tenderly. Despite her dismissive disgust, he was desperate for her tantalizing touch, that sink into sensation of skin against skin . . . errr . . . apparition against apparition? How the sorcery did they express pent-up passions? Does ghostly charm disarm or alarm?

Mary’s soul though, went solely for harm. “You willingly let another ingredient prevent perfection. By the powers vested in me by the Exalted Spirits of Eternity, your punishment is permanent paralysis of reach and touch and please and ease. A vortex of vulnerability is where you’ll flail. Nothing personal any more Bill, I’m sentencing you to hell.”

Mary positioned the life-size clay pottery figurines she’d conjured into random dead shadows in front of darkened windows around the old home place. The folks on Mocking Raven Lane went about their street sense and left lifeless recluses to themselves. The sage among them though, (and those who burned sage), remembered that perfection was the joy of a life vitally lived as Bill and Mary had vibrantly done. At nights, Mary at first visited hers and Bill’s old haunts, but with true character no longer tormented by a broken soul, Mar's heart opened to a new whirled’wide woo of warlocks . . . and wonder of wonders, developed a zest for zombies along the way. Zing went the gossamer fling of her spirit and unlife passed perfectly. She became a ghostwriter and is finishing . . . this . . . story . . . now.

(C) 2009 spirited Author ~  Absolutely*Kate

  

Once upon two Howlaweens ago,

this lovin' revenge tale made the scene

at eerie Erin Cole's 13 DAYS OF HORROR

LISTEN TO THE VOICES gore all the more

and buy the novel and anthology Erin scared up too!

 

Here's what enigmatic eerie Erin had to say

about that Absolutely*Kate dame:

"My next featured guest on the 13 Days of Horror is a writer with such a unique edge, her prose is a voyage through the magic and mysteries of spirit and psyche — she has muses working for her. Having collaborated thirty-three writers for the stellar venture, Harbinger*33, backed with her own witty, diligent, and talented works, she is a gale storm of splendor and a true comrade to many.

It is with great honor to introduce to you my next guest, and kindred spirit, Absolutely*Kate Pilarcik and her story, Apparition."

~ Erin Cole, 26 October, 2009 

@ LISTEN TO THE VOICES

THANKS 

FOR 

SPOOKIFYING

such a stupendous intro of me

to your scary scream-scene Ms creepy cool Cole.

MAY READERS SCARE IT UP NOW

@ ERIN COLE'S ~ penning her way to that castle in the sky ~ or at least that zenith in hell!

 Erin invited me back last November, in a spirited autumnal season, to tell a tale of a Goddess trio's tricks or treats ~

              

NIGHT OF HEKATE, 

DARK GODDESS OF THE MOON, HEKATE: 

ABSOLUTELY*KATE'S MAJICK @ ERIN COLE'S ~

"THREE TIMES A HARM"

Read me then ... 

but surely sense more than my

Apparition of Appreciation 

for reading me now,

~ Absolutely*Kate  

 *AT THE BIJOU* 

And now folks ~

Prepare . . . if you dare flair

for what the shadows swirl up

in snappy crime-time . . . when . . . 

 NOVEMBER GOES NOIR 

 AT THE BIJOU 

Be There or Be Square

when legendary authors of

shadowy crime-scenes

take on Absolutely*Kate's

solemn dare.

*SHIMMER*SHIMMER* ~ By Absolutely*Kate . . . EarthDay's #FlashFiction delight

*SHIMMER*SHIMMER*

By ~ Absolutely*Kate 

Staying under the radar has always been very beneficial to me. Life-enhancing, actually. You see, sometimes you see me, and sometimes you don't. But they say I'm a delight, and do I put on a nightly show! My reviews are seen as a single sensation as well as a crowd pleasing ovation. That lauded director Billy Shakespeare lined me up of course, in his chorus of A Midsummer's Night Dream. What a scene, that theme. I'd like to think I shed my measure of bewitching light on the enchantment the great bard did bestow. I pitched my best stuff high. At times I pitched it low.

Do you remember the scene when Lysander speaks out to Hermia about the careful fragility of happiness?

~ "So quick bright things come to confusion". ~

Well, I was there.

And there were kindred others with me. Oh there were. Dashing, we were. Do you recall when the folks sitting in the audience thought Theseus was extolling the ineptitudes of actors?

~ "The best in this kind are but shadows, 

and the worst are no worse,

if Imagination amend them." ~

Hah! What quickery, that trickery, for surely such verse could do no worse than herald the heights of our stunning arrival. Heavens to Murgatroyd! Stage Left was quite right.

"Not for thy fairy kingdom . . . "  - WS

It was easy to get to the top when Bottom brayed a song awakening. Though tis remarked many could not hear my diminutive voice, I was the first choice to duet with Titania's, and rise all the higher in the softness of the promise of the night ~

~ "What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?" ~ 

Twas roses and larkspur actually, one of the nocturnal return engagements I'm most enamored of. And in my profession, there's many a place I have bedded down. I assure you ~

~ "I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine." ~

I remember sipping nectar, up at the Globe, buzzing those lines into Billy boy's lobe. Tis an ear I hold dear. Enlightened, the scribe did hear and took at once plume to feather weathered parchment. He quilled it still, did that Bill, and brushstroked a word-painting as delectable a place as heaven for Titania's bower. An awakening -- how he had Oberon describe that sleep. Amazing what a teensy buzz of the right inflection glistens on in stage direction, eh?

Yes, yes, round, round get around, I get around. While the actors were milling mead and mulling lines, Puck stage-whispered, "Whither wander you?".

Well gents and madames, Ol'Shakes tucked my Puck reply right into his moving script. I can assure you I told him all. Nay, I'm no nondescript ~

~  "Over hill, over dale,  

Through bush, through brier,

Over park, over pale,

Through flood, through fire,

  I do wander everywhere."  ~

"I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell." -WS

But hark my spark! Hermia and Lysander are not the only lovers true who have troubles their due. Take that couple in the gondola over there. Can you hear the sinewy oarsman? Listen close, mind you. 
Is he supposing or proposing?

~  "The course of true love never did run smooth." ~

What a rude remark. Personally, I'd bug out if insect repellent rued my day. I dare say a love true can travel more in a day than mundane lifetimes have to say.

What's that? What bade you wonder how quickly true love can be trifled with, then be destroyed? Ahh, but of course -- you were following the course Bard William made your mind take flight. He's brilliant that way. But I know and now you know he was really musing my way ~

~ "Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;

Brief as the lightning in the collied night." ~

That is I.

The magical lightning bug,

the fanciful firefly.

Good dames and Good fellows,

~ "I am that merry wanderer of the night." ~

"Thou art translated . . . "  - WS

And good midsummer night,
past your springtime of delight.

May you sleep, perchance to dream.

( Shhh, don't let Billy boy hear that one. )

*SHIMMER*SHIMMER*

~ YON CURTAIN CLOSES ~ 

©2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

first flickering ~ AT THE BIJOU

SHIMMERING PHOTOS, IN SKILLFUL SEQUENCE ~  

Patrick Hoesly, JpegJedi, Polkabike, Oya, Bagabal and Kazarelth

Jovial gents and jaded ladies, 

"When in that moment so it came to pass." -WS

This piece took actual birth prior to Earth Day as the April Fooling around Tony the Noland did in his extollin' over the finery of a Friday Flash Fiction's dare. As life is simile to stage, and we but actors on it, miscues happen. Such is life's rescheduling swirlcomestance in sickness and in stealth. I bid you watch for the creeping up of a heart-tendering classic from that lauded author/publisher across the pond Australia's way ~ the stunning Ms Jodi Cleghorn. Mine is prelude, to flicker the kliegs, to valiantly dart forth the spots.

(Our prompt from the doling Noland was ~ "insect repellant".)

We'll call you 'round when that curtain heralding Act 2 rises,

but for now, seemed seasonally fitting my fireflies did their flitting ~

* PYSANKY *

Happy Easter, 

Happy Spring,

 Happy EarthyDay

of every living thing!

Get Swell Wishes to good egg, Jodi

and heart/spirit of Franny, my Mom

Appreciation and aplomb

to Tony and ideas which bring colleagues

ever to good light

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our swanky staff of renown

AT THE BIJOU

Theatre for the lively Mind ~ where Writers' raves are Readers' faves

THERE'S NO LIZ LIKE SHOW LIZ LIKE NO LIZ I KNOW ~ AT THE BIJOU Tribute by ~ Absolutely*Kate

THERE'S NO   LIZ  LIKE 

SHOW   LIZ  LIKE NO   LIZ   
I KNOW

Tribute AT THE BIJOU

  By ~ Absolutely*Kate

"I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being — to prove that we are a human race, to prove that our love outweighs our need to hate, that our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame." 

~ Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, in acceptance speech on Oscar's greatest night for the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award for her compassionate works in AIDS research and other world concerns. Naturally, the 1993 ovation was the longest in the Academy's 'standing' history. 

Talent . . . tantalization and tender tumult tends to take a star sky-higher where ascendancy shoots wide its orbit. From "Come Home Lassie" making an official star of the little girl who once danced at a precocious age 3 before the Queen and little Princess Elizabeth, to a film oeuvre of over 50 screen gems, lady Elizabeth Taylor was It.

"Only a fool speculates

about the life of a woman!"  

So true. You'll catch no speculation from this author ~ simply, (thus strongly), a string of memories worn the way Liz would play with pearls. Ahhh, the movies we watched, Mom and I, me with a guy, late nights on a remote catchin' a classic gliding by. She made the mood and the movie come all the more alive, didn't she?

 Starlet, bombshell, temptress, class act of her own right, calling her shots, having her day, her sensational years, her lingering legacy. To live, love and laugh big is huge. Embracing life always is, past the problems, past the pains, past what perhaps pulls your public closer to you. Her tug had that pull, didn't it?

"I feel very adventurous. There are so many doors to be opened, and I'm not afraid to look behind them." 

She opened doors. True, she slammed quite a few with Dick Burton, but her spirited heart always reopened any grudges to welcome her back on in. London born and bred from February 27, 1932 to what an American stage actress and a British art dealer (Sara Sothern and Francis Taylor) could instill through a cherished vital way of loving, Liz Taylor, along with Marilyn Monoroe of 'those times' were America's grand glam. 

  

  “I have a woman’s body and a child’s emotions.”

 Scandals? Sensations? Didn't it go with the territory that celluloid glory wanted to put on parade? Liz was a genuine classic who knew her true self . . . and graciously, generously, gave that self to the world splashing around her. Extending both hands to colleagues to take them the higher was signature Liz.

“It is very strange that the years teach us patience – that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.” 

 

Screen presence, passionate personna and perceptions vitalized private kisses to public romance. How Hollywood could the kleigs from the heart's reach shine?

 

"I was rushed into womanhood

for the movies. 

It caused me long moments

of unhappiness and doubt."

No doubt stardom has a price to pay, but taxing didn't fully take the toll that crushed lesser spirits, like poor Marilyn.

ElizabethTaylor endured. As we're running the RAT PACK REVUE here AT THE BIJOU, I can clearly hear Frankie sing to a fellow dame colleague he held high, "You'll reach a star because there are such things. So have a little faith and trust in what tomorrow brings." Hmm, Randisi must have left the radio cranked up while he was writing in the night. I really can hear the croon of that tune, and I'm hoping Ms Taylor can as well.

“I’m a survivor – 

a living example 

of what people can go through

and survive.”

 Affairs of the heart and playing the part get a classy classic lady more than just by.

“I’ve been through it all.

Baby, I’m mother courage.” 

Royal, shining, glitterati before there were even papparazi, taking a million for making more than millions simply because as she indicated with violet eyes a'blinkin' as to why the question was posed, "You'd be dumb not to."

No stooge on stage or life, Liz loved, Liz lived . . . fully.

 

"I've always admitted

that I'm ruled by my passions."

 

"I've only slept with men I've been married to. How many women can make that claim?"

 

The RAT PACK radio must still be on up in the projection room AT THE BIJOU. I hear Dean warbling a last caress to how Liz staged romance, "I've got my love to keep me warm." I hear glasses and clinking too. Probably Anthony Venutolo came in for the top shelf hootch stash that only Paul Brazill knows about (well, and me), and is doling out. Harry Sanderford is rummaging around our film library, arguing about screening "Butterfield 8" and Eric Beetner's lobbying for "Raintree County" and Montgomery Clift. That screenwriter purist. Julie Lewthwaite/Morgan is using considerable femme joie de vive, Liz-style, to wile Kevin Michaels into pulling a switcheroo of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?", but I see Sean Patrick Reardon cagily sidling up to "Giant". Me? I'm achin' for "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof". RJ Randisi? He's being so aloof. But I figger it's "Sandpiper" he's hankering for.

We're all hankering for you Ms Taylor, sending our wishes to the celestials where you've flown to the moon to play among the stars.

Thanks for all these memories.

Lady,

You're one heaven

of a dame.

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our RAT PACK crew

here AT THE BIJOU.
  

"Goodnight.

Will someone turn out

the BIJOU lights?

 

Another star is shining."
 

(c) 2011 ~ Musing Author, Absolutely*Kate

All quotations from Elizabeth Taylor's spark of mind.

All cinematic photos from film archives, well flounced.

 

Frank and Dean were singing RAT PACK songs
because, hey Jack ~ that's what those cats do. 
 

Join us this weekend for more RAT PACK REVUE with above-mentioned author stars of renown.
 

This  Tribute piece is dedi'kated to my beloved mother, Frances Pilarcik, a contemporary and fan of Liz Taylor. Mom introduced me to the wonder of movies, believing in romance and classics in everything. She's in the Cleveland Clinic getting a hole in her heart fixed up to make her whole again. I figured she'd get a kick showing her friends she appeared with Liz Taylor AT THE BIJOU. 

Hey, this beats a Hallmark. Get better Ma, I love ya!  ~ Kate 

 NOW HERE'S LIZ ~