Friday, January 4, 2008

Less than Literary Interlude

Speaking of the Hollisters....

...The mail one day brought an offer for a book club, which I joined. Every month, two “Happy Hollister” books came in the mail. My mother used to complain that when they came I would disappear, that I was in my own little world.

Actually, I was in the world of the Happy Hollisters. I wasn’t a lonely, little Cuban girl in an American world lying on a plastic slip-covered, avocado green, cut velvet sofa in an apartment in Brooklyn. I was one of the Hollisters, preferably Holly, the pig-tailed tomboy, living in a large house at the edge of a lake in Shoreham, where my father owned “The Trading Post” sporting goods store. I was never alone. I had two brothers, two sisters, a dog, a cat, and five kittens: Pete, Pam, Ricky, Sue, Zip, and White Nose and progeny. Somehow we would stumble on mysteries, and our parents would help us solve them. Each mystery was set in a different locale, from New York to Seagull Beach, and even Denmark in the Mermaid Mystery.

If God had allowed me to pick a life, that is the life the six year old me would have chosen.

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