Ashbourne Tutors , The Phone Call

Songs for Little People. [With illustrations by H. Stratton.]

Ashbourne Tutors

The Phone Call

6pm Feb. 1991

The tingling was leaving my fingers and my toes were warming up. I was beginning to thaw out.

The radiator hissed in the corner like a friendly teapot and I had been sitting on it for while and was reluctant to leave my warm spot but I had to call Aunt Erin and get help before the school closed. The kids were all leaving their classes and going home, going to the cafe with friends, going to the library to study, going to the tube station to go home to their safe bedrooms and homes with parents who cared about them and cared about where they were.

The phone on the desk was by the art class, and the art teacher had a reputation for being cool. I think she knew what was going on with my situation, but she never gave me the worried look the other teachers gave me. Her class was empty and I think she was puttering back in her art studio but hopefully she wouldn’t hear me call my aunt. If I ever made it out of this, I was going to putter around too.

The coast was clear, the classrooms were empty and it was quiet, I could call Aunt Erin and nobody would hear my shame.

I picked up the phone to dial. Aunt Erin’s company had an 800 number and I pressed zero to get to an international operator.

“Hi, can you please dial an eight hundred number for me?” The American voice of the operator and my country seemed so far away.

I waited until she put me through and then asked the operator at my family’s office to put me through to their house.

Aunt Erin picked up. “Hello?” She sounded weak and tired. I burst into tears.

I had barely spoken with anyone in my family since I busted my little sister Erin (named after Aunt Erin) from foster care here after the cops arrested mom at our house in the country and took her straight to Heathrow. I took her there as fast as I could so they couldn’t take her passport and make her stay here too to testify against my mom.

Little Erin was living with our big sister Katie in New York and had a return ticket back home. I was the only one who came with Mom to England to start a new life again. A fresh start. We were going to do it this time. All of my sisters had stayed behind in the states and moved back to upstate New York after what happened on Hilton Head.

Mom had bought Erin a ticket for Christmas to come to England and was trying to convince her to move to England and live with us when she got arrested.

The cops came to our house out in the country, the day after Christmas. Later on we found out she had been robbing manor houses and selling antiques. I knew something was up, but not sure.

I was spending so much time at school and in London and hanging with my new friends, I didn’t care. I wanted to get away from her. She had credit cards with her name on them and I thought we were living on money from when her father died five months earlier. I knew it was too good to be true. Nothing happy and stable with mom ever lasted.

It was good to hear a family member’s voice.

“Aunt Erin?? It’s Morgain..I’m so sorry..I need help..”I was babbling now.

I needed someone to talk to who knew how crazy mom was. Aunt Erin had seen my mom arrested a dozen times, she knew how bad it was. She lived with us until I was about four. She knew.

“Morgain, I just had a baby a week ago and I’m a mess. I don’t know if I can help you.” She wasn’t very friendly and seemed angry.

I had forgotten that she was a mom now and just had a baby and that it was a really difficult time for her too.

“ Look, I’m sorry but they took my passport so I can’t leave, I don’t have any money or a place to stay and I need help. It’s so cold outside. I don’t have anywhere to go and I don’t know anyone else to call.”

I was rambling again. “I’m calling you from the school, all of my friend’s parents have tried to help but they’re freaked out and they want to know where my family is. Mom scares the shit out of them and the whole school knows she’s wanted all over in the States. I don’t know what to do.” I was heaving and breathing and trying to regulate my breath.

She spoke very quietly. “Morgain, I can’t help you until you tell me where the ring is that you stole.”

I was stunned. “What?” I whispered. “What?” I repeated.

“The ring you stole from Aunt Peggy’s house. I am not sending you a goddamned dime until you tell me where it is and where you sold it.” She was angry now.

I started crying and stammering again, “I haven’t seen Aunt Peggy since we stayed at her house, when I was fifteen and we were on the way to Australia when Mom was on the game show. I never stole her wedding ring! Why would you think I would do something like that?!”

I thought for a minute and then remembered that I had seen Aunt Peggy in L.A five months earlier at the funeral, just for a day.

“Wait a minute….Wait… I saw her at Grandpa’s funeral five months ago and she never said anything and we used her station wagon and did errands! She never said anything to me then! Why didn’t she say anything to me then?? I love Aunt Peggy, I’d never do something like that!” Her daughter little Peggy was my best friend.

Mom and I went to their house for the wake about five months ago, the previous August when my grandfather died. But Mom and I stayed in a hotel near her and were about to start our new life in England. We were only in L.A for a few days and we only went to the funeral and then we went to her house for the wake.

I’d seen my Aunt Peggy at the funeral and wake; and she and her family weren’t really friendly, but it was a funeral and I remember she wasn’t friendly to our family when we got back from Australia either and when we were living in motels for weeks.

When we got back from Australia; Erin and I were 13 and 15 years old and we thought she was mad because Mom was wanted all over New York for various forms of fraud. After we got back from Australia, and we ended up living in cheap motels in L.A because mom was afraid to go back to New York.

Eventually, after a few weeks in L.A, and a huge ordeal with my Dad, we went back to Upstate New York. Mom got an apartment with me and Erin and my two older sisters had gotten a place and lived nearby. Erin and I went to school and lived in Glen Falls for a few months and things were stable until Mom started scamming people again.

Mom’s whole family knew how crazy and dangerous she was for years; she had been in trouble with the law and it had been happening for years before we were born, and now she was wanted everywhere.

They knew that she was unfit parent since we were toddlers and they never stepped in to take us away from her or at least call some professional help for us. Not then, not when we were little and not when we were living in motels and not when she was in and out of jails or mental hospitals. We were always left defenseless.

Mom started scamming again when we got back to New York and then she checked herself into a mental hospital in Saratoga because she was wanted all over and found out that if you were in a mental hospital, they couldn’t arrest you.

She left us (Erin and I were 13 and 15 years old) to live with our 17 (Katie) and 19 (Meagan) year old sisters to take care of us. We were all desperate and scared and had no money. Our sister Meagan brought us home Pizza Hut every night.

We were all waiting for mom to check out of the mental hospital; hoping she would shape up and be a parent for us.

Her whole family knew we were living like that. We used to eat at the mental hospital because we had no money. Nobody helped us then or called us to ask us if we were okay. Our dad didn’t either.

We had been living on the run and moving every three months for years, our whole lives, and nobody ever stepped in and sat us down and said, “Hey kids, this isn’t normal and you shouldn’t have to live like this,” They had their own problems.

After the cops started searching our house on Hilton Head; my sisters, Erin and Katie decided to move back from Hilton Head to upstate New York to live near out oldest sister Meagan who was still waitressing at Pizza Hut and going to community college there.

I should’ve went with them when they left Hilton Head to go back, but I didn’t want to go. It was freezing and up in the middle of the woods in the Adirondacks. We had already moved away once from Upstate to get away from the cold and poverty there.

Mom had done a bunch of scams on Hilton Head before we left; I think with stolen checks and I wasn’t sure what she had really done, she was secretive about how she came upon money and I stopped asking where she got it.

When the phone call came that her father died in Los Angeles, where he’d retired, we flew there for the funeral; but only stayed for about three days and then flew to England to start over.

Mom had promised me that we were only moving one more time; to a fresh start and going to use the money her dad left her to start over in England. Deep down I think I knew it was bullshit but I was sixteen and wanted to believe her. I needed a mom and was in denial. I didn’t know where else to go, my dad was abusive and I had seen him hit my mom, I didn’t want to live with him at all.

My sisters were all in upstate New York and mom was wanted everywhere; so England seemed like a new life and dream to find happiness.

Somewhere inside me I knew I should’ve gotten away from her when my sisters left, but I wanted to believe her. I wanted a mom and a normal life and she kept promising me one.

I didn’t want to move in with my Dad, I had seen my father while we were in L.A for the funeral; and he was abusive and a hated my mom and a heavy drinker. The time I’d seen him before that, on the way back from Australia, he tried to throw my mom over a balcony at his ranch and the police came and broke them up.

I should’ve moved in with my friend Amy’s parents and stayed on Hilton Head and listened when they offered me a way out. I should’ve taken that scholarship to Hilton Head Prep the school offered.

At the wake for my grandfather at Aunt Peggy’s house, she never said anything to me about a ring missing and she let mom use her station wagon for us to go do errands. I remember mom wanting to use her car again before we left; and she said no, but Aunt Peggy never said anything to me about a ring missing or anything being stolen. The whole family all wished us luck in England. I really thought we were going to start over in England and mom was going to get her life together.

“It’s not her wedding ring. It’s another kind of ring.” She spoke again, “Morgain, right before you guys all went to Australia, Uncle Tim was taking a nap and saw you in their room and saw you take something off their dresser and when he woke up you ran out of the room.”

Aunt Erin was was pleading with me. “Just tell me where you sold it and I can help you. We need to get it back, please, Morgain, just tell me where it is.” I could her her crying.

I was shocked. But then again, I remembered how Mom’s family acted every time we came around. They were always angry and upset and uncomfortable because they knew we were abused and neglected and it made them feel bad. But not bad enough to call child protective services and save us from the madwoman.

“Aunt Erin, the only time I ever was in their room was to get some fancy Làncome makeup off her dresser because her daughter told me to go in there and get it for her. She told me not to wake her dad up from a nap. I swear. I wouldn’t do something like that. I’ve been working since I was fourteen. I’m not HER!!!”

They thought I was just like her.

That’s why they didn’t care I was homeless. I remembered that day perfectly. We were visiting Aunt Peggy’s right before we went to Australia.

Mom was wanted all over in New York state so when the offer came to her to be a return champion on a game show called “Sale of The Century” in Melbourne; it was a stroke of weird luck for her. She had been a big winner in Los Angeles, back in 1984.

Little Peggy and I were the same age and getting ready to go out and meet boys and I remember we were doing our makeup and hair and I wished to God more than anything to have a bedroom like my cousin’s and a mom who was a teacher who kept a job and home and the cops never kicked the door in.

I loved Aunt Peggy’s bedroom. She had a little screen hole cut out for the cats to come in and out and her whole room smelled like Yardley of London roses and Crabtree and Evelyn. Aunt Peggy’s bedroom was the only place that ever stayed the same.

I started sobbing again. Aunt Erin wasn’t going to be the hero. She couldn’t be the hero. There were no more heroes left. Only people that hated my mom and the people who thought I was like her.

“I swear to God, I don’t know where it is but I do know you have to be eighteen to pawn anything, I was fifteen then!! You can’t pawn anything when you are underage; they won’t let you!!” I was angry now too.

I knew this because I tried to pawn something when I was sixteen in South Carolina the year earlier, to bail my mom out of jail there and the Pawnbroker turned me away and got livid and wanted to know what kind of fucked up parent would make their sixteen year old kid pawn something to bail them out of jail.

“I’ve never stolen anything from Aunt Peggy, I swear.” I was sobbing and babbling again.

I looked outside. It was pitch black and the snow was furiously coming down in the glow of the streetlights when I looked outside the windows. Down on the street, it was empty. Nobody was outside.

Aunt Erin seemed satisfied that I was telling her the truth. “Calm down, it’s okay. I’m going to send you money. I have to go, I’m exhausted.” She said. I could hear a baby crying.

“Oh thank you, thank you!!” Maybe I could rent a room somewhere until Mom’s court date, I think it was a few weeks away. And then I could figure out how to find a way out of this and get away from Mom.

“I’ll send you $200 pounds, go to Western Union, it’ll be there.” She said.

“Thank you Aunt Erin, thank you.” I whispered in a shaky breath.

I put the phone down and suddenly I realized that Aunt Erin had never brought up my mom in the conversation or that Mom was in Holloway Women’s Prison right now for theft.

She never mentioned her felon sister who had been in and out of jails for theft for the last twenty five years. My mother bullied both her sisters; and even when she was in prison, they were still scared of confronting her.

Why they found it easier to blame me didn’t matter; it was pitch black outside and fifteen degrees and the school was closing. I needed to find a place to sleep.

The $200 pounds she was sending would be gone quickly if I wasn’t smart; even if I could even find a cheap hotel in London that would rent me a room. Then I realized I couldn’t get a hotel room because I had no ID and wasn’t eighteen yet. The cops had taken my passport because they wanted me to stay in England and testify against my mom.

I pulled out a piece of paper from my pocket. On it was a phone number my mother had given to me the last time I saw her at the prison.

I didn’t want to call it but now it was my only option.
It was the phone number of Mom’s cellmate’s daughter. She had given the number to Mom to give it to me in case I was ever desperate and needed a safe place to sleep. She had told mom that her daughter and I were the same age.

I picked up the phone again to call the number, the daughter’s name was Amanda. My fingers were shaking again and someone had started to turn off the lights in the classrooms. The school was closing.

I dialed the number and then someone picked up.

“‘Ello?” It was a girl with a thick cockney accent. I heard hip hop music in the background.

“Hi Amanda, Uhhh… this is Morgain, I’m so sorry to bother you but I’m in a really bad place. I’m calling you from my school right now and they’re closing. Your mom and my mom are cellmates at Holloway and your mom said maybe I could crash with you for a few days until I can find a place to stay?” I held my breath.

Her end was silent. She finally spoke. “Oy, you’re American?”

I laughed a little. “Yes. I am.” My breath was shaky.

“What kind of music do you like?” She asked me.

“Anything that doesn’t make me sad.” I told her.

“Hahaha…okay, meet me at Holloway tomorrow in the visitors’ waiting room at Noon and we can make a plan. You can stay for a few days and we’ll see how it goes. Do you have a place to sleep tonight? It’s fucking cold out.”

She told me her address and it was pretty far from where I was. I thought of my friend that lived near me, near the school.
“Ummm, Yes, I think I can find a place at my friend Hannah’s tonight. ” I said.

“Okay, good,” she said, “See you tomorrow. I’ll be with a man named Mr. Darby, he’s me mum’s lawyer.” She hung up.

I started sobbing again. It was a mix of gratitude and relief. I had a place to sleep. She was a girl my age and we had something in common. I had made a friend.

I called my other friend Hannah from school. She lived nearby and her mom said I could stay one night at her place, but only for one night and I’d have to leave the next day. She told me her Mom was terrified of my situation.

Tomorrow, I’d go to the prison and meet Amanda and see my mom and we’d figure out a plan. For a split second, the terror in my whole being subsided a bit. It was going to be okay.

A woman I had never met, who was currently in a prison sleeping next to my mom, had come through for me on this dark winter night.





Mojave Phoenix

Desert flower rocks

You can be happy

or you can be right

my sister told me

about wanting to win

on the phone

one dark night
A housewife mantra
to get though the day
But later

after the deaths

and the poisons

and my outrage

her mantra washed over me

like the Mojave

You have to respect 

that survives 
in the desert

my father told me

The searing white sky of noon

flashed light milky blue

like Lazarus winking

The old one-eyed cat

who stared at me

from under the house

and survived us all

Dry and still
the mountain range

on the horizon

orient the Van Nuys pilots

who buzz by

racing their small gasoline

lawnmowers of the sky

The wind 
scatters my old scales

over this scorched earth

little parts of me
flaked off, blown about

this no mans land

Lot’s wife awakening

Flakes of stone
flakes of gold
flakes of silver

baked off

brushed off

scrubbed off

raw new skin exposed

but gathering dew

from cool spots and quiet shelters

When the purple evening finally comes

the crickets under the sage and chaparral

tune up in their ancient amour 
and they start to sing to me.

The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa

Erin, Sue (family friend), Katie, Morgain

On The Road- Mt.Shasta 1983

 The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa is a memoir written by Morgain McGovern, who grew up in a gypsy-like family of four rebellious sisters headed by their mother, Maureen, a brilliant con-woman on the run.

 The book starts when I was seventeen, hiding out in a Parisian hotel room with my fugitive mother, who was wanted by the French authorities, British authorities, Interpol and the FBI.

 As I lay in bed watching old “Kojack” reruns in a pill induced haze in our hotel room, I saw my Father’s episode dubbed over in French. The story then melts into our family’s history in  “The Bionic Woman” and against the backdrop of his acting career in 1970’s Los Angeles.

 Some of my earliest memories were stories of trashed movie trailers and tales of adventure with his wild actor friends: John Quade (Clint Eastwood films), Roscoe Lee Brown, Julius Harris, Jack Nicholson, Dennis Hopper and Warren Beatty.

 But after one too many affairs on movie sets and theatre tours, Mom left her womanizing husband & took her four little girls (and a furry menagerie of our animals) on the road in a Winnebago.

 Mom had a Samsonite case full of pills and borderline personality disorder, but her gift was a sharp knack for crime.

mom and paul zindel 1959

Mom and Paul Zindel 1959?

Her story is in some of his books.

   In the “Mad Men” era of the mid-nineteen sixties, New York Herald Tribune journalist Maureen Smith met Don McGovern, a Broadway actor and stage manager (1963-66) of Lincoln Center in the East Village-who also moonlighted as a Mafia henchman.

He taught her everything he learned about crime, and while running a nightclub for a famous mob family in the meat market district, Dad got knifed in an argument with a “made” man- his boss- and the couple knew it was time to hit the road and drive to a new life in California.

At first, it was an ideal family life, having four little girls and living on our ranch in trendy Agoura. Mom’s sisters lived nearby in Los Angeles and provided some stability and guidance. We visited our father’s movie sets and went to studio parties with the glitterati, but the sepia toned memories and happiness were soon fleeting.

My father’s roles (Easy Rider, The Bionic Woman, Killer Bees, the Last Detail, Sleeper, Kojack and others) gave him the acclaim he needed, but alcoholism and the lure of other women soon engulfed him. One of his favorite stories was when he and his best friend Mike Whitney (Twiggy’s ex-husband) got drunk at our house in Laurel Canyon and then decided to cement over Ali McGraw’s footprints at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, because they didn’t think she deserved the honor.

Dad, Mom, Lana Saunders, Mike Whitney

About the time Dad & Mike Whitney

cemented over Ali MacGraw‘s footprints at

Graumanns’ Chinese Theatre

                    Caravanning across America, we lived in gorgeous houses in affluent areas then when luck ran out, we crashed in run-down motels across the country & abroad. Rarely staying in one town for more than six months, Mom raised us with artistic ideals, to seek truth and beauty, kindness and compassion.

Mom’s regular form of income was fraud, of all kinds, but she really came alive when she got on the phone- wheeling and dealing, putting deals together with rich people. Some of them were spectacular. She was gifted at real estate and quit claims-because she had the knack of knowing what land was about to be valuable, get the rights to buy it somehow and sell it to whoever really wanted it at a much higher price. She did this with no actual money of her own and it was dazzling. When it was working in her favor, her mind was her greatest asset.

Mom loved big, rambling farmhouses out in the country and my sisters and I would pick wildflowers and plant gardens at whatever new house we lived in, putting down roots in the ground, as if it were some sort of magic spell to make us stay in one place. As I planted, I knew we wouldn’t be there the next spring to see hollyhocks come up-but I left my mark on the earth, I had been there.

Wherever we moved, Mom would invite strange people to live with us.

She’d find them at the DMV or pick up people spare-changing for food outside of the local grocery store. We were a family like Robin Hood, doing the right thing and helping these strange drifters that Mom had found. She told us that it was the kind thing to do, people should help each other. But as I got older, I realized they were her henchmen.

They would live in our guesthouse, attic or basement and fixed things around the property. As time went by, Mom’s choice of house guests would get scruffier and lower on the moral ladder. Drug addicts, dealers, low-lifes, crackers, swamp trash, anti-socials, squatters, whores, trailer trash, junkies, whatever she could find-the dumber, the better. The more affluent ones had their van or trailer they’d been living in towed to our newest property.

They would lights cars on fire, burn things down, return stolen items back to a pricey store (for cash or store credit), stage a robbery or whatever else she could think of to collect the insurance money.

Sometimes, they would get high, drunk or just completely misunderstand Mom’s directions and fuck things up so badly that we’d have to move sooner than anticipated. Most of her vagabond victims would only be around for a few months and the smart ones moved on to roam after they collected their share.

She’d order one of them to roll a dying car with a shot transmission off of a cliff or flood the basement of whatever house we were renting. We would gather up all of our clothes we were sick of, broken electronics (and anything else we didn’t want or feel like packing) and throw it into the dark, smelly lake that used to be our playroom. She told us that the basement had flooded overnight and while it was an unfortunate accident, we could get new stuff this way.

When my oldest sister Meagan was about ten, she got electrocuted when she flipped on the basement light before Mom could warn her. She looked down and realized she was standing in deep, electrified water on the top step but her puffy rubber-soled moon boots saved her from death.

Before we’d leave town and move on to our next new life, our basements morphed into something that looked like the end scene of the movie Titanic, with a shaved head Barbie doll floating face down in the black water, dismembered and abandoned to a watery death.

But when Mom was really upset or nervous, she would set things on fire. Torching rental houses was her signature way of letting the world know that she was angry, horrifying hysterical landlords who wanted their three-month’s of back rent.

My sisters and  I would wave goodbye from the back of the station wagon with our cats and dogs to the bad town that wasn’t right for us. We knew other people led normal lives but Mom told us the new town was going to be better. This town was bad luck.

In some classrooms we’d be popular and never want to leave, in others, we’d be pariahs and didn’t bother with doing our homework. We knew it was only a matter of time before we were on the road again.

After our eighth or ninth school, my sisters and I began to create cover stories to tell our newfound friends. Growing up in chaos created a defiant kind of camaraderie for us. The secrets of our sisterhood banded us together to kept us sane.We began to realize what our Mom was, but we didn’t have the word for it. I told friends that my mom was freelance writer with a gypsy streak. We knew that soon she’d find a real job as a writer, eventually.

Some dogs we stole.

The magic box of pills that also doubled as a seat for me in the front of the van.

Halloween 1982. Kingwood, Texas.

With warrants and detectives trailing us, the bills were paid with insurance fraud, clever scams and bad checks.We wanted to believe our mother- that the next move was permanent and we would settle down, but we all knew better.

Our father called occasionally, and told us he never wanted to be a parent, just an artist in a garret.

Morgain and Mom 1984
Cousin Judy, Morgain, Katie. Moved to Oregon, 1985

Mom’s brilliant mind would come through and save us every once in awhile.

When I was in the 3rd grade, she auditioned and became a contestant on a trivia game show called “Sale Of The Century”. She gave the other contestants a beating, and after a long week of tapings, she  won $75,000 in cash, plus a bunch of prizes and a trip up to Monterrey, California.

Her winnings on the show changed our nomadic lives. For the first time, we went to a school for two years in a row and even though we still took road trips in our custom van up to Oregon, Washington and Idaho; we had a home to go back to in Los Angeles. We had food in the refrigerator and the cops didn’t come by to arrest Mom every few months. It was peaceful.

Things got bad again once the money ran out.  We ended up living in a motel on Sepulveda Boulevard for three months until Mom could think of something. I’ve driven by that motel recently and families are still living there.

Three years later, we were living in a motel in Upstate New York when Mom found out that the game show was hosting a “Return Of The Champions” and wanted her to be a contestant on the show to defend her game show queen title-in Australia.

The show was a huge hit in Australia and the producers were willing to fly her and one other person to Melbourne and put her up in a hotel for at least a week or so. She convinced them to pay for Me and Erin to go, since we were both under fifteen. Mom had warrants out and detectives looking for her in New York-so a trip to Australia to escape certain jail time in New York was an opportunity that Mom couldn’t refuse.

Crocodile Mumdee

When we got to Melbourne, There were about thirty other “champions” from various “Sale Of The Century” shows around the world, mostly Britons, Americans and Australians. I’ve never seen people who loved to drink so much (and for free) in a hotel bar.

All the contestants were shuttled to the studio every day, and the producers would randomly pick the contestants who would be on the show for the day. Everyone would come back by five or six for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres in the lounge. Mom finally had a 9 to 5 job.

Erin and I would take the trolley all around Melbourne and explore. It was brilliant.

It was in the lounge where Mom picked off her prey. Mom liked pills more than the drink, so she would wait it out while the other contestants got drunk and mingled. In 1989, there was no Internet. It was hard to tell if a credit card was stolen and they were run by hand machines and carbon copies. The stores would only phone in a suspiciously large purchase, so it would be weeks before English banks would know anything was up.

Mom’s day to finally be a contestant on the show came-and she didn’t do well at all. She was very sick on the day of the taping and only made about $1700. It was time to go back home to the states.

We tried to look on the bright side, even though she didn’t bring in the kind of money we needed, at least we had gotten a free trip to Australia. We tried to reassure her, the cops from New York were probably looking for somebody else by now.

For a last hurrah, Mom rented a car and drove us to see the fairy penguins march up the beach at dusk, back to burrow in their sand cave homes, all nestled in and warm with their furry families in the cliffs overlooking the Tasmanian sea.

We started to drive the car north, through the Snowy River Forest and then up to ninety mile beach where massive waves  and a blue wall of water could come up slowly or quickly, and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d get soaked sitting 100 feet from the faded water lines.  We were on our way to Sydney-we were going to fly back to the States from there.

After we got back to New York, we crashed at Katie and Meagan’s apartment. My sisters and I couldn’t joke about this anymore, we all started to unravel. We needed a Mom and she was wanted by the police all over New York for various thefts and fraud.

Mom checked herself into fancy mental hospital because she said that the cops can’t arrest you if you’re a patient. The four of us were on our own until she could figure something out. She was there for a few weeks when the cops found her and it was a matter of time before they figured out a loophole in the mental patient protection law. Mom checked herself out and announced that we were moving to Hilton Head Island, in South Carolina. Tomorrow.

Rich people from Ohio, New York and Connecticut usually go to the Carolinas for a vacation and expect to find golf, warm weather and Margaritaville. They’d have someone safe watch their kids at the hotel so they could go out and party.

Mom was waiting for them like a grandma spider nanny in a beautiful  hotel. After the kids came back from swimming, tennis or golf lessons, Mom would put them to bed and help herself to whatever cash or jewelry she didn’t think the parents would miss. Most of the time, they hadn’t realized they’d been robbed until they got back to their northern homeland and sobered up.

Mom had a way of making sure she only robbed super rich people who on their last day of vacation and were leaving early for the next flight back home.

“I was a boutique thief, I never robbed anyone who’d be left with nothing”, she told me recently. “Morgain, there is no honor among thieves, I’ve never seen it. But I never stole from someone who’d be left with nothing. I stole from the rich.”

Detectives were searching the house on a regular basis and Mom got arrested for grand theft, robbery and insurance fraud. Meanwhile, New York State had several warrants out for her and was trying to extradite her back.

My sisters were done. They decided to move back to upstate New York and break free from Mom, but I couldn’t. For years, we had been raised on a roller coaster ride of torched houses, cross country road trips, international hotel rooms, run down motels, a gunfight, foreign authorities, Australian game shows, addiction and madness.

After Mom posted bail on Hilton Head, my sisters had already left and I was alone with her. Mom presented me with a new plan. We were going to start a new life in England. I knew how sick she was, but to this day, I still don’t know why I couldn’t leave her.In England, I started going to a posh school in Kensington and started hanging out with my friends. I tried to stay away from home as much as possible. While I was at school, Mom had started doing some very bad things and ended up in Holloway Women’s Prison, in London. The detectives confiscated my passport and I was trapped in London, homeless for the rest of the winter.

After Mom escaped from her bail hostel in Oxford, we left England in the night. From there, our journey took us to Spain, France and back to the United States-which escalated into a FBI manhunt and America’s Most Wanted.


For years, we were raised on a roller coaster ride of torched houses, cross country road trips, international hotel rooms, run down motels, a gunfight, foreign authorities, Australian game shows, drug and alcohol abuse, a Parisian dungeon, French nuns, a house chicken and madness.

The Travelling Roadshow of the Countess Maritsa a story about the American dream unraveling.

As the Internet age came upon her, Mom was caught just before her segment on “America’s Most Wanted” aired, and she was sent to Federal prison for several years. One detective in Fort Bend, Texas thought she was affiliated with the notorious “Irish Travelers” band of gypsies, but nothing has ever been proven.

The Counte

Harvest Moon Date at Aroma Cafe

Harvest Moon, Monte Sereno, California
Photographer; Jim Messer

A beautiful night to get annihilated on expectations.

Good looking strangers, see how they think, what could be negotiated.

Allergies? Pets? Ex-wives? Kids? How many? Wait, four kids? Really?

The deal breakers.

In the name of love and companionship, but really, the desire for sex.

Move closer and learn something of each other. Even from a humanistic point of view.

And, if you’re really lucky, a spark.

But the beer commercials lied to both of us, baby.

Quotes and endorsements from good people.

Endorsement Page

“A fascinating and unapologetic insider account of a family run wild by a Borderline Mom and a philandering Hollywood Dad, that makes your typical dysfunctional family look like a day at Disneyland.” –Jim Clemente, FBI Profiler (Retired), Writer/Producer.

“Morgain is a driven and passionate actress and person. She has a keen awareness of entertainment industry and is working hard at her craft”-Scott David, CSA
 Casting Director

“Funny and heart breaking. The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa is a strangely relatable story for those of us who grew up in weird families. I loved it.”– Kirsten Vangsness ( “Garcia” on Criminal Minds) Actress. 

“Morgain has traveled the world, lived the craziest life and made it out alive and sane… Not many can say the same. It was truly my pleasure to welcome you into my home in Paris. We were young and we had fun, except for the theft :). I always wondered what happened to you and your Mother. I am so happy to know that you grew into such a great woman and a brilliant writer. Thanks for the memories.” – Liskula Cohen

The Day The Animals Came To Save Her…

Nature hikes can heal you.
Nature hikes can heal you.
My animals
My animals

This is the beginning of the story about how I started my company, “Moon Dogs Pet Sitting & Urban Farm” and how several animals came into my life, unannounced, unexpected and completely overwhelmed my life with love when I needed it desperately.  This is the story about how they saved me spiritually and financially.

I’ve been playing around with different titles and ideas, but so far, this is the best one I could think of that shows what happened.

It was a very unhappy time in my life. I was coming to terms with my abusive family, no money and hated my stand-in job. Being a stand in is like being starving and having someone cook a bacon wrapped filet in front of you for three years while you watch. It’s frustrating being on set and so close to the job you dedicated everything in your life to; but everyone treats you like a ghost. They don’t see you. You are a prop for lighting.

Late one night, driving through the ghetto at two o’clock in the morning, a little scruffy white dog ran in front of my car from under broken down car where she was living…..

Le Conciergerie Act I & II

Gargoyles Notre Dame
Gargoyles; Notre Dame.  Photos by Kimberley Lewis


Le Conciergerie
Act I

         The gargoyle winked at me.  Her twisted faced startled me at first when she came to life; and I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me; but then I realized she wanted to be my friend.

She had an old stone face and had seen many to their deaths; but somehow, she knew I was innocent of this crime. I still wasn’t sure why I had been arrested; but I knew it had something to do with my criminal mother.

She ruffled her wings like she had been sitting there for three hundred years waiting for the guilty to come by so she could heckle and hiss at them. She was very excited that they had a new visitor and hadn’t seen many American teenagers.

She was small for a gargoyle, smaller than her family members who lived in the eaves of Notre Dame across the street. Her family across the street were the rock stars of French gargoyles, the big ones; you’d see their pictures splashed across postcards and artwork; but this little one was an authentic gargoyle that not a lot of people saw.  You would have to know where to look and where the real door to the staircase to the prison was, and only real prisoners of Le Conciergerie who had stayed in the her belly knew.

The good-looking blonde gendarme who was taking me through the small side door into the ancient prison didn’t see the wink; but I saw her little bat face and she saw me. She was trying to get my attention and flittered her wings a little, and winked at me again. It happened in a slowed down second; like the kind they talk about right before you die or think you’re going to die.
If you weren’t looking, she could have easily blended in with the magnificent stonework of this ancient building, but she was the guardian of the door and I saw her, because I was supposed to. The artist who created her had perched her perfectly so her face was the last thing you saw on your last day of freedom.

You only saw this little one when when you realized you were looking at the sky for the last time before you died in prison from sickness or were about to be publicly guillotined.
She stretched and blinked a few times and looked around; then she became quiet and still and morphed into a little stone garden gnome again. The cops were looking up at her when they followed my eyes and she was just a little piece of stone again.

A piece of architecture.
The cops opened the door and gestured for me to go inside.
I looked up at her once last time.

She winked at me again and nodded to the officers; to let me know it was going to be okay, right before they led me down the circular stairs to book me into the prison of Le Conciergerie.

Act II

       “Nom.”  The little French nun with the sweet face looked at me and handed me a pen slowly; like an elaborate ritual. Like getting your first communion.  The sweet faced nun didn’t speak English. None of them did and I only knew a few words in Latin and French.

I laughed softly because it sounded like she said “gnome” and I thought of my little friend above the door outside who would be very upset if she were called a gnome and probably would hiss at a nun if she were provoked.

We were sitting and the book was in front of both of us. It very large book that two of the nuns brought out and were huffing and puffing when the police had brought me in to them when the nuns asked the police to uncuff me.
The police had left and said they’d be back tomorrow.

“Zis is where we put bad girls.”  The grumpy one had said, and gestured around the ancient prison.

The cops all laughed but then quieted down when the nuns gave them a look; then they went home to their families.
I watched as two of the nuns carried the massive book into the underground cavernous room we were in and put it on the desk.

It was a huge book that took up most of the desk; the kind you would see at Hogwarts. I had never seen a book that old or big and they wanted me to sign my name.

The book’s pages were old and cream colored and smelled like books from an antique store.The familiar smell wafted up and made me feel like I was safe.
This book was special to them and when they opened it to my page; was filled with signatures of people I would never meet but would know them in an instant if I ever did.

I took her pen and started to write.