So, I was placed with a nanny since the day I was born. She was a cross between the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet and Mary Poppins. An English woman who was neither a spinster nor a vibrant young woman. Her name has escaped me, as it has for many years. In my mind, I can simply think and discuss her as being a nanny. Her features are blurred, her scent has faded, and her mannerisms have all but disappeared. I find this intriguing, for this woman, a human being with feelings and emotions, who reared me for thirteen years, is nothing more than a cardboard figure in my memory. I often contrast the Nanny to my own mother.
Mother, who after returning from a two year holiday after my birth, gave me quick peck on the cheek and vanished from my sight for another three years. Although we resided in the same apartment for those three years, I had my own wing with the nanny, for my mother could not bear to have her child running around and making herself a bother. By the time I was mobile and could understand the English language rather adeptly, I was sent to boarding school across town. Even though I was two blocks away from the apartment I was born and raised in, I boarded at Mrs. Porter's School for Young Women.
It is at this point, I feel I should mention that between the ages of two and five, at some point, my mother passed away. Always the nervous type, or so I have been told, she often passed her days lunching with friends, shopping, decorating, and to add the extra little perk in her step, and to slow the flow of blood in her veins, her daily dose of prozac. Wait, let me use a more beautiful, acceptable word, lithium, valium, take your pick. It all comes down to the fact that my mother was slightly askew, and a little barren within her soul. I can't remember when she passed on, but I am sure it was due to an empty heart.