I Choose Not To Think Of My

In June 1968, Five Days Before My Mother's Forty -sixth Birthday, The World Fell Apart Again. Sirhan Sirhan Shot Bobby Kennedy, Who Died The Next Day. Why Were People Shooting All The Kennedys? Had The Country Gone Mad?

I Spent An Entire Evening Seated Between Fred Astaire And Gene Kelly, Being Charmed From Either Side. It Was Pure Hollywood Magic.

When My Mother Signed At Mgm, That Was The Only Kind Of Contract You Could Sign. There Was No Such Thing As An Independent Agent.

The Eyebrow Pencil And False Eyelashes Were Essential; My Mother Didn't Feel Dressed Without Them.

I Was Born In A Blender.