Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

My Photo
Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

My Funny Valentine

For a chick who thinks Valentine's Day is a big old commercial ripoff fandango, based on a Christian saint of uncertain provenance and hyped for the benefit of the candy and flowers industries, I have to say it has loomed large-ish in my romance calendar down the years.

In college and immediately after, there were a few sweet lads who brought the chocolate and the roses, including my first serious boyfriend (not lover), Dennis Shaw, and my first fiancé, George Romonchuk. Even dear David Walley, unsentimental Oscar the Grouch that he could often be, came through for Feb. 14.

Not in the last 36 years, of course, have I celebrated Valentine's Day with the man I love. But that last one was a keeper...

Jim. Me. L.A. Twenty-carat heart-shaped cabochon ruby ring surrounded by 25 diamonds (a couple days late, but he made a truly splendid effort). Likewise two-inch-long cameo of Eros and Psyche in red agate. Composing (together) extra lyrics to "People Are Strange" while lying in bed, because he was fed up hearing me complain that the song was too short. Him writing a poem for me. Me writing one for him. True, the surrounding circumstances may not have been of the best, but Valentine's Day 1971 was a day to cuddle up with and keep me warm forever. On this bitterly cold, windy, sleet-slashed today, even more so.

And people actually wonder why, after, I would never ever settle for less...

Love you, honey!


Post a Comment

<< Home