Why, by the way, do they keep saying "RISE to the level of Impeachment?" It should be that his actions SINK to the level of Impeachment!

There have been a number of anniversaries slip by in the past few weeks. November 27, 1978, for instance. That was when disgruntled Dan White, who had resigned from the San Francisco city council, then asked to be reinstated, climbed in a window at City Hall and killed Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone (thus raising Dianne Feinstein to mayor and probably giving her Senate career a kickstart.) Later he was to get a minor sentence on the "Twinkie defense." (He pled temporary insanity because of a sugar high.) This really upset me as we had a local lad (by which I mean under a mile away) who was known as the "Vampire Killer", don't ask, who had shot his way through two families and done terrible things to a baby and was obviously as crazy as a fruitcake, and HE was sentenced to death. White had planned his killings, the VK was hearing voices. In the end, both killed themselves. (Shucky-darn, the VK managed to hang himself in prison: one wonders just how closely the guards were watching him. I'd have had a lot of trouble with his execution, even though he left the baby's body a block away and my own children could have found it, even though his killing sprees were of neighbors and I had my moments of terror. He took care of it himself, and I can't say I'm sorry.)

Anyway. Harvey Milk was SF's first openly gay supervisor, and White was a homophobe. This led to gay riots after the Twinkie defense won. Also, there was a statue of Moscone commissioned, and ugly ugly ugly. Big controversy there, since apparently the mayor at the time hadn't actually seen the design before accepting it.

Rich and I had tickets to the Monday Night Football Steelers-49ers game that night. (Don't do night games, football or baseball, at Candlestick! TOO cold! WAY too cold!) I wondered if they'd have the game, with the Mayor killed and all. Silly me, this is Network Football! The End Of The World would only merit a slight mention. They did have a moment of silence (which I imagine was filled on TV by Ho-Ward Co-Sell explaining it.)

That's the only pro football game we've ever been to. I'm really really REALLY glad Rich didn't think to look for them while we were in Pittsburgh. The TV was plenty bad enough.

December 8 is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, which is not what you think it is, but I don't want to get into it right now. Suffice it to say, we're supposed to have gone to church that day. Oops. It was also Auntie Dot's birthday (she'd have been 104, I think). Auntie Dot was this olde ladie we knew in England. I met her one Rememberance Day (read Veteran's Day) when she was going door-to-door selling poppies to remember World War I. She had worked on airships, that is, blimps, in the Great War. Afterwards she was in service in some house and married the butler, and they set up housekeeping in Burwell, where Alfred became the village photographer. They lived in a cottage, one of four (like a quadruplex) on the main street. It was a historic building, built in the 1400s.

When I knew her, Auntie Dot was a widow (from about 1955 or so) and owned two of the cottages, which she had knocked together. It was REALLY on the main street, as the sidewalk between the lorries and the door was about 3 feet wide. The door let you into her living room, full to the brim of pictures and furniture and knick-knacks and antimacassars and whatever. There was a low hallway to the next house, which was the kitchen. Each of the units had an upstairs room, but they weren't connected. She had a real Proper English Garden in back, with hollyhocks and roses and primroses and all. There was a little shed back there which had been the darkroom.

Auntie Dot's earliest memory was of saying goodbye to her whiskery father, who was off to the Boer War! He picked her up and kissed her.

Auntie Dot introduced me, once, to a Real Duchess. How many Americans can claim that? I nearly curtseyed. She loved my children. Roni came home from her house at least once on her own. (I know, I know, but it was 30 years ago in a much friendlier clime!) We went up to Yorkshire with her, to her niece's family, and that way got to know Yorkshire better than we might have as strict tourists. York is my absolutely favorite city anywhere. (It has a city wall, a Minster, Roman ruins, the Shambles, what's not to like?)

Unfortunately, after we left, Dottie got a bit paranoid. She was convinced her home help was stealing from her, that "THEY" had moved the mailboxes (postboxes, I mean), that she was being held prisoner by the Forces of Evil. My Bestest Brit Friend stopped visiting, since she didn't want the cops, uh, bobbies, called on her. I went back to visit, with Bernadette, in 1977, mostly to tell Dot goodbye. (Tears.) Best Brit Friend called me in 1980 to tell me when she died. She sent a wonderful tribute from the Cambridge paper, as the "Grainger collection" of photographs had been donated to the Cambridge library.

Auntie Dot, rest in peace. I love you.

33 years ago, our very first December 8 as a married couple, we lived in Alamogordo, New Mexico. The local priest had been to visit and wanted us to come along for his Immaculate Conception Mass at the Mescalero Indian Reservation.

It was a huge drafty (very cold) church built of enormous blocks of granite. We were there to sing. The Mass itself was proof positive that God has a sense of humor. I'm not clear on the details, but nothing went right. It was a positive farce of a Mass, yet I felt like I'd worshipped a lot more than if everything had been perfect.

The following week we went back up the mountain to look at Posadas. It's a Mexican tradition: Mary and Joseph go from door to door and are told "There is no room!" We took Heinz, the puppy, and Glitch the kitten, with us. We introduced them to snow. Heinz thought maybe this was fun stuff, Glitch shook off each foot in turn and gave us to understand that he was Not Amused.

Another thing we learned about in Alamogordo was the Luminarias, the little lights. In Novato, the nearby neighborhood really goes all out on these, sandwich bags with sand and candles. In Alamogordo, many of the 'dobe houses had them outlining the roof. It was very impressive.

These are some of the memories.