I am leaping fountains and quiet parks,
museums of culture and halls of learning,
a place of lofty dreams and stark ambitions,
colliding like campaign posters on a wind-swept parkway.

I am the people and the neighborhoods,
the pretzel vendor and the bank president,
the silver spoon child and the child who hungers.

I am public forum and barroom debate,
an investigative reporter and his angry subject,
the jury's patient search for truth,
a silent vigil outside City Hall,
and I can hear, on this humid summer night,
the voice of history's resounding approval.

I am the mother of Andy Warhol.

Right from beginning, Andy was special.
When his brothers go to school, he
stay home with me. I like to draw
picture...and so did he. We even
draw picture of each other. I like
to draw cat a lot and so did he. When
he is little boy, I leave room for one
minute and he not there when I come
back. "Where is my Andek?" I ask.
"Where he go?" and everyone is laughing.

I know early on Andy not like other boys.
He go into town with me and pick out
hat for me. One time he pick out black
felt hat and then he go home and paint
edge of hat so it has gold edge. It look
beautiful. I also like to cut tin flowers
out of fruit tin cans and soup cans too.
And Andy always help me. Just a little
boy but he take after his Mom.
He was artist even then.

Long time go by and Andy become grown
man. I visit him in New York and tell
him he need me. Then I go back to
Pittsburgh but I miss him. I pack up
and come back to New York and move in
with him.

The first apartment we live in not very
nice, filled with cats and mice and
roaches. Cats everywhere. Once I count
twenty cats and still mice all over!

I go to gallery one night for opening
of Andy's first show. When I get there I
have odd feeling. People there they look
at me like I'm different, strange. I feel this
but no one say nothing to me. I think
they say things behind my back maybe.
You know what I mean? "Andy's Old Mom
with babushka is from Old Country." I
just stay in background all the time.
I no talk to nobody but Andy. I tell
him how proud I am and to do right
thing and find his ideas in dreams.
Those are my words. But I no go to no
other show of his work. Ever!

He is still good son to me always but he
worry too much about money. When I
move here he take me to Woolworth's
for Thanksgiving Day dinner. We sit at
counter and have turkey platter with
everything. It is not bad food but Andy
look so sad because he have no money
then. I tell him not to worry. "You will
be somebody someday. You are hard worker,"
I say. "Just wait. Be patient."

Even though I complain sometime, I like
my life here. I watch I Love Lucy show
on television. And people in New York
very friendly and everyone in apartment
building polite and helpful. I go to
big church - very nice - on 15th Street
and 2nd Avenue where I see all my friends
and every day I go to A&P; to buy food.
And I like Andy's friends. They kid with
me and tease me and I laugh. They know
I love my son and am good for him always.

Andy does get angry with me sometime.
He say I nag too much. I tell him he
no dress right. I tell him right out
that I only stay with him till he find
nice girl and get married. That is my
dream. Once he get married, I tell him
I go home to Pittsburgh. He never say
nothing when I bring this up. He is
good boy but moody, very moody sometime,
not a talker like his Mom, ya?

When Sam woke up that summer morning,
he found Deborah next to him peacefully
asleep. They had been married for over
half a century. Now the couple found life
a daily struggle with inevitable health
setbacks and other issues.

Recently they spent much of their time
searching their home for a gun they bought
a few years ago; they became concerned due
to a rash of burglaries in their normally safe
community. But they could not find the
weapon anywhere.

That morning he got out of bed to see if
Deborah might be stirring. He walked
to her side of the bed and recoiled - her
face resembled a frozen mask...and when
he touched her arms, they were shockingly
cold. After a brief pause, he knew he was
too late; she had crossed over; no hope of
reviving her. And then he lifted her slightly,
tearfully embracing her, when something
metallic seemed to slip from her stiff fingers
onto the floor. It was the gun! Obviously she
had found it - but had never told him, never
said a word about it.

It may have been snug in her hand all night,
resting under her satin pillow, her finger poised
on the trigger...what would possess her to do
such a thing, he wondered. Why did she never
tell him she had found it?

Why?

Gemini's delightful.
Cancer is polite.
Leo is romantic.
Virgo's quite bright.
Libra is creative.
Scorpio, tenacious.
Sagittarius, festive.
Capricorn, vivacious.
Aquarius is witty.
Pisces, prolific.
Aries is charming.
Taurus, terrific.
----------*---------          
Taurus is quite stubborn.
Aries, a frightful *****.
Pisces, a flaming cheapskate.
Aquarius is mostly crude.
Capricorn's nasty and spiteful.
Sagittarius, shallow and weak.
Scorpio's flagrantly flighty.
Libra, annoying and meek.
Virgo's simply pompous.
Leo, clearly deranged.
Cancer, always impossible.
Gemini, downright strange.
                        

You promised me the sunlight
To brighten all my days
You promised me your special love
Your gentle, caring ways.

You promised me the moonlight
A setting for our kiss
A smile resting on my face
Enraptured in this bliss.

You vowed to give me hope and joy
And love's fulfilling grace
The sea would hold our dreams alive
Each wave would keep the pace.

Well what became of moonlight
And where's that wild sea
And what became of you, my love
And what became of me?

I only want you close to me
Your arms around me tight
I only want your gentle words
To comfort me at night.

But then those words were never true
Promises made of air
I'll run across the sand alone
Knowing you won't be there.

The empty beaches look so sad
Next to the tranquil sea
And what became of you, my love
And what became of me?

No voice is quite
like that voice...
pure and unfettered
every note polished
perfect
every lyric deeply felt
delineated

A voice that lifts
caresses
embraces

Soaring with power
stratospheric
in its reach
yet at times
surprisingly soft
yielding
delicate

A priest sent her
a letter stating he
felt the presence of
God every time he
heard her sing

An incomparable artist
she fills our universe
with glorious sounds
and infinite rapture

She is God's greatest gift
to music and the world...
her name is Barbra