Mrs Morrison's Hotel

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

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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

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Snow Is Snowing, Wind Is Blowing...

Finally feels like winter! Temps are going to the low 20's in town tonight, teens in the 'burbs. We had some nice tiny dry snow in showers today, so I went out for a long walk. Lovely.

Came back to a warm cozy apartment and decided to cool down from dealing with crazy people (see previous post) by just spoiling myself rotten.

I went out to dinner with a friend last night, and ate lobster rolls and fried oysters and pretty good french fries, so decided to continue the seafood motif with shrimp rolls, much the same as the lobster ones only with big giant shrimp (an oxymoron?), cold, chunked in mayonnaise (no celery, though some like it) and stuffed into a warm, crisply toasted hot dog bun. Dee-lish.

Followed by chocolate as anti-dementor defense: hot choc to drink, Cadbury's Drinking Chocolate, and raspberry buttercreams from Li-Lac.

Then, since the heat goes way down at 11pm and the place was getting chilly, I and the laptop are now in bed under a ton of blankies, and affagans my grandma made me, and a now rather tattered sheepskin bedspread. And a nice unread mystery by PD James, "The Lighthouse". All good. And the laptop is a great little heat source.

B ut the best part is going to sleep under Jim's shearling coat: a handsome dappled cocoa-colored one with dark-brown fur that he bought here and left here. I gave it to Turk in I think the fourth Rennie book; Turk likes a lot of Jim's stuff...

I wear it sometimes, when I don't want to wear furs because it's raining or snowing, and sometimes I sleep under it when it's really cold, or when I just want to feel safe and comforted...weighs a ton. I pull it over me and put one arm through a sleeve. It makes me feel as if his arms are around me, and who's to say they're not.


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