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Marilyn, my Marilyn

David Halliday wrote a beautiful post about Marilyn Monroe a few days ago. To quote:

Marilyn Monroe was a paradox. She had serious personal issues. At the same time she seemed carefree and natural. She lived in an age when the ideal woman had to be 2 dimensional. Beautiful. Always available. No baggage. She was a complicated person. This is one of her poems. O, Time Be Kind Help this weary being To forget what is sad to remember Lose my loneliness, Ease my mind, While you eat my flesh.

I was fascinated by Marilyn when she was alive and devastated when she died. I remember hearing the news on the radio. I was in the back seat of our car, my year-and-a-half daughter by my side, as we pulled into the driveway of my in-laws’ summer cottage in upstate New York. I cried, felt so sad, as if I was losing my best friend. She had that kind of magic about her.

Marilyn knew no boundaries. I have a friend in New York, an editor on MS Magazine when it first started, who has photos of Marilyn on her walls and various memorabilia around her apartment. My friend is an ardent feminist and loves Marilyn.

No one can replace Marilyn. She was unique.


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