My Life... Part 6...Innocence Lost

It's late. The moon is full, and in the clearing I can see the fire pit and the picnic table. I see the Iris that my mother had planted the year before that smells like grape kool-aid and I hear the breeze in the trees all around me. It's a little chilly, but not cold.
The forest is not quiet at night. Leaves rustle, a branch falls somewhere behind me, and peeper frogs are chirping in the night. I am lying awake in my sleeping bag, looking at the stars in the sky, watching the trees sway gently above me, listening to the peaceful night sounds.
I sense movement to my right, where my parents are laying in their sleeping bag. My mother is asleep, and my father rolls over to face me. "Can't sleep?" he asked in a whisper, reaching over and placing his hand on my stomach, rubbing in small circles.
"Let me help you" he said, and began massaging gently.
We had always been a "touchy" family, lots of hugs and such when things were good, so I thought nothing of this.
After a few minutes, I began to feel drowsy, my eyes getting heavier when suddenly my whole body stiffened as his hand moved over my small budding breast.
"SHH!" he whispered harshly, pressing down with his hand, holding me in place.
I was scared.
He didn't stop.
I was ten years old.
He didn't stop.
I was innocent.
He didn't stop.

He didn't stop.

Never Again

I am lying on a reclining medical chair, pillow behind my head, IV needle in my hand, and two IV bags hanging from a hook on the wall above my head.
I feel kind of dizzy, and strange. Not bad. Sleepy. Two hours into the treatment, four more to go.
I doze off, my book falls to my chest.
A few minutes later, that dizzy, strange feeling changes things up a bit. My chest feels heavy. I pick up my book and move it to the table beside me. My chest still feels heavy. It is taking more effort to breath. The nurse looks over and asks the frequently asked question "are you doing ok? Any changes?" This time, instead of saying alls good, I tell her about the heaviness.
Instantly, things in this room full of IV attached patients start to move pretty quickly.
The IV drip is turned off, only the saline is running. The doctor is called and less than a minute goes by before she is there.
Meanwhile, the heaviness in my chest has spread upward, and my throat is swelling at an alarming rate, making breathing more a real chore than an unconscious action.
The doctor orders 1000 units of steroids and 25 units of Benadryl to counteract the allergic reaction. No change, swelling continues. I now fairly closely resemble an NFL Linebacker in the neck region. Doc orders another 400 units of steroids and another 25 of Benadryl.
The waiting begins.
Slowly, the heaviness in my chest lightens a bit. The swelling in my throat begins to go down over the course of the next 40 minutes, and breathing gets a bit easier.
Doc comes to check on me and actually said "once the reaction is completely under control, with the massive amounts of steroid and benadryl we have given you, we can go ahead and start the IV drip again".
(WTF?!?!?!)
I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from asking if she was high.
HELLO!! My body has just quite convincingly demonstrated to me that I am ALLERGIC to this chemical cocktail! HELL NO you are not starting it back up the second I can fricking breathe again!
So now, I am home, sicker than hell and my heart is all wonky from the massive doses of steroids now jumping throughout my bod along with two hours worth of chemicals. Doc tells me that my heart will feel like this for a couple days. YAY.
Gotta love modern medicine.

Stem Cells Anyone?

My Doctor is starting me on a new medication today that is such a horrendous mix of chemicals that they have to infuse them over a period of six hours. Fun times, fun times!
Yea. I'm thinkin' not.
When the insurance company approved (at up to $11,000 per dose) the medication change, I called to make the appointment. Now, for the past year, I have been getting Remicade through IV every six weeks and was able to schedule it for a Friday (my day off). With this crap, the nurse told me that I would have to come on a Wednesday, as they can only administer it when the doctor is in the office all day because they never know how a patient will respond to the cocktail!
For the love of God people! Can we make an effort to come up with something a little LESS likely to kill me?
So, since in the thirteen years since I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis (an Auto-Immune Disease in which my immune system is attacking and destroying any and all joint tissue) there has not been a medication that has worked for longer than a few months, a year at most, we are looking into ASC (Adult Stem Cell therapy).
Yes! It can be done, We can make her better, faster, stronger than ever before!
Oh, wait...Sorry for the Bionic Woman side-trip there.
I may have to go to Israel, or Japan, but apparently there is a process by which they can take stem cells from MY body, reprogram them, put them back in, and put me in total remission!
Sign me up people! Must do some further research into this. And, hubby mentioned yesterday that there may actually be some places here in the states that can do it. Picture the semi-cripple happy dance happening here at the thought of that!
Ok, gotta go get ready for this.

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day.
A day to remember those who gave their lives that we may be free.
Free to fly our Flag with pride.
Free to speak our minds.
Free to live, love, laugh, worship, learn, each in our own way.

I have never lost a loved one in the struggle for freedom. But my husband served for years before I ever met him. He was in during the first Gulf War. Had he not been needed in Germany, he could have been lost before I ever had a chance to meet him.

I just want to say to all the brave, resolute men and women who voluntarily have put themselves in harms way to protect the American way of life...to those who made the sacrifice, to the families of those who have been lost in that struggle...
THANK YOU!
You are the reason we are free. May we never forget it.

A short respite

Ahhhhh. Peace and quiet. No sound but the hum of the computer and the clicking of the keys on the keyboard. Sunshine streaming through the window and the chirping of birds.
This is my world at this moment.
Peaceful and lovely. And I am most definitely taking advantage of it while I have it!
J is off working. D spent the night at a buddies house. Hubby just left and will return at approximately 5pm, and the dogs are outside in their play yard.
The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the world is a happy place. And, since all of that is about to change, I intend to wring every bit of relaxation I can get out of this one day, 'cuz it has to last me.
Hubby is on his way to Indianapolis to pick up two of his kids.
So. Two more testosterone flooded humans are about to descend upon my world. Don't get me wrong, I am not the stereotypical wicked stepmother. I have a great relationship with the kids, and love them to death. But. They are high maintenance kids.
For example: Their mother has never made them eat healthy food. That's pretty much all I make. Every meal is a litany of "I don't like that" with my oldest stepson gagging at the table before a bite even touches his lips.
She has never allowed, nor made them, think or do for themselves. Example: my 16 y/o stepson cannot make himself something to eat if he is hungry. Nothing. Unless it is a frozen burrito that he can stick in the microwave, and then I have to tell him how to do it.
She has never given them any chores to do around the house. She actually told me once that, "my kids don't do chores" when we went to pick them up for a summer visit. I immediately responded with "They do at our house". She has always babied them and kept them essentially helpless. She insists that her kids be "allowed to be kids". I agree. Kids should be kids, because adulthood is coming and sticks around.
What she doesn't seem to understand is that in a few short years, these teens are going to leave and move out on their own, and they are in no way prepared to take care of themselves. She is really stunting their growth and maturity. They will have a real struggle ahead of them because they were never taught by their mom to do anything or to solve problems by themselves.
Being a kid does NOT mean that there are not lessons to be learned for the future.
So. When they come to our house... they have chores. They have to take turns with everyone else in the house at doing dishes, running the vacuum, dusting and cleaning bathrooms. And they have to clean up after themselves.
OH MY GOD THE TORTURE! HORRORS! I am even teaching them to cook!
Maybe she is right... maybe I am the evil stepmother.
I am evil incarnate, and should be destroyed.
In the meantime, I am going to take full advantage of the peace and quiet before they descend upon our world.

Taught a Class Tonight

So I taught a class tonight about Substance Facilitated Sexual Assault.
Fun times, fun times.
There are SO MANY drugs out there that are consistently used for rape. But, the creepiest one to me has to be GHB.
It's chemical STRIPPER people! Mixed with Drain Cleaner! Who the F#CK thought up this crap?? Who looks at stripping chemicals or drain cleaner and say "Hey! Let me try some of that, see what happens!" or.. "HEY! I bet if I put some of this in a drink, I can get me some!"
Good Lord. Who thinks up this shit?
A few words to the wise:
1] If you go out in a group, arrange ahead of time that you leave AS A GROUP! Nobody leaves alone, even to go to the bathroom.
2] Don't let anyone buy a drink for you. Go up to the bar and buy your own. WATCH the bartender make your drink. You would be terrified at the number of bartenders that are actually complicit in drug facilitated rapes.
3] If you order a bottle of water (perhaps you are the designated driver) Make sure you order an UNOPENED bottle of water. If you get it and it is pre-opened, send it back. Many drugs used are tasteless and colorless, and can be added to water.
4] If someone in your group starts suddenly behaving in a blatantly sexual manner when that is not their usual style, take them to the hospital to be tested. If they appear very drunk but have had little to drink, same thing.
5] Many of the girls on those sick DVD's "Girls Gone Wild" have very likely been dosed with GHB or Ecstasy. Girls don't just get into explicit "girl on girl" action all of a sudden with no past history of that behavior.
6] Someone who has been dosed with GHB may act, talk, respond to your conversation, but can actually be "unconscious". Most report taking a drink, and then blacking out. However, witnesses report that they were lively and vibrant the entire time. Or that "she/he was all over that guy, dirty dancing, kissing", etc... This is typical of that drug.
7] Alcohol is still the #1 drug used to facilitate rape.
8] A person who has had too much alcohol, self-medicated, or used illicit drugs {even voluntarily} CANNOT legally give consent to sex. Anyone who has sex with someone in that condition is committing RAPE.
Consent is where it's at people. Don't be shy! ASK your partner "is it ok if I.. touch you, kiss you, have sex with you" That way, there can be no question of consent as long as they are not under the influence of a mind altering substance.
And always remember, women are NOT the only ones to be assaulted! 1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 MEN WILL BE sexually assaulted in their lifetimes.
End of lecture.
Be safe out there people!

What's wrong with me?

I don't know.
I am sitting at my desk at work, with a rather large stack of pre-leaving tasks that simply must be done, and I cannot get focused or motivated to do any of it.
I am in a serious "screw it all" mood today.
I want to go home, put on my sweats, grab my pillow and a blanket and spend the day on the sofa alternating between napping and watching season six of BTVS on DVD.
AARRGG! I really need to get out of here for the day!

What to write about?

So.
Between hubby coming home, slicing a vein and bleeding signatures and money to settle on the new house, working to get the old house set to sell, prepping my awesome job for my leaving, kids & dogs, you would think I would have plenty to write about.
La dee da... nothing.
I think my brain is tired.
Maybe something will come to me tomorrow. I could ostensibly write about my life, but I don't want to depress the hell out of everyone every day, so I try to post other things in there to break up the ickieness.
So... maybe tomorrow.
Hope you are all having a great day.

He's Home!!

Hubby's Home!!!! YAYYYY! Yippeeeee!
Everyone have a great day today... I know I'm going to!

My Life Part 5... Drunks and Guns

Once in a while my fathers friend would have his teenage son come spend some time at our cabin for a week or two in the summer. We'll call him Tom.
This one summer right after we moved into the cabin, we all loaded up in the car and went to a doubleheader baseball game about 45 minutes drive away. All of us kids took off to play, running around like hooligans as kids will do on a fine summer day at a baseball field. We had a grand day eating hotdogs and drinking pop.
My mother (lugging my baby brother with her) met up with some of the players wives and spent her day chatting with friends and avoiding my father.
Dear old dad spent his day hanging out near the concession stand with buddies slurping down one Genesee beer after another.
Mom told dad before the end of the second game that we needed to leave because the baby was fussy or something. He, of course, was enjoying his beer swilling and bullshitting too much to leave just because she could not handle the kids.
Mom continued trying to get us all rounded up and ready to leave. Dad meanwhile was feeling very abused and put upon because he was having to listen to her tell him we needed to go.
He was smashed beyond belief.
As I have mentioned before, sober dad = charming, funny. Drunk dad = dangerous.
I could literally feel his rage directed at her, and was afraid. He roared for us kids to get in the car, all the while glaring at mom.
We got in the back, and mom reached in and handed the baby to me. After she stood up, and put one leg in to get in the car, my father stomped on the gas pedal, dragging my mother alongside the car for a little ways while she was screaming at him to stop the car. Finally, he let her get in, and peeled out onto the road.
Not a word was spoken by anyone. But, I knew what was coming, and my fear jumped to terror of the night ahead.
He turned onto the highway leading home, and instead of maintaining legal speed, continued to press down on the gas pedal, ever so slowly increased speed, glaring at my mother, daring her to say a word. In his mind, if she said anything in an attempt to tell him what to do, that would justify what was coming next.
I was sitting in the middle on the back seat, and could see the speedometer needle reach 80, pass it to 85, 90, 95, 100, 110, finally pegging at 120mph.
All the while, he was glaring at my mother, weaving in and out of traffic, so drunk I am surprised he could even see.
Mom tried to calmly get him to slow the car as he was speeding up. He just glared. She finally said "N, if you want to kill yourself, wait until your family is not around!"
I could hear my voice in my head saying over and over "stop mom, maybe it will be ok. Stop mom, and maybe it will be ok" I knew better of course. But it was like a mantra repeating over and over in my head.
Shockingly, we made it to the house without dying, or killing anyone else. The fear was a tight knot in my stomach, I needed to throw up and my hands were shaking. I could literally taste my fear. Mom said "Kids, go in the house", and Tom and I took my 3 year old and 9 month old brothers into the cabin and waited for what would surely come next.
It was worse than I had imagined.
Out in the clearing in front of the cabin, he hit her, punched her, threw her onto the picnic table and clenched both hands tightly around her throat, bending her back over the table, raging at her in a tightly controlled voice that raised to a bellow. She was turning deep red and choking and I was beyond fear. Beyond terror.
Finally, when she was near unconsciousness, he let go and stormed into the house.
He passed us without a glance and went into the sleeping area where his guns were mounted on the wall. He pulled down the .12 gauge shotgun, loaded both barrels and headed back to the front door. He opened the screen door all the way and aimed the gun at my mother, who was still gasping for air at the picnic table.
Just as she looked up, sensing movement from his direction, he pulled up, aimed at her head, and fired. KABOOM!
Time stopped. My mother screamed his name, my brothers screamed and began to cry in great, terrified, gulping sobs, and I yelled at my father to stop.
Before she could get away, he aimed again, and pulled the trigger. KABOOM!
Knowing that he was out of ammunition for the moment, my mother tried to grab us kids and take us with her to walk to the neighbors house to call the police. He very calmly told her that she was more than welcome to get the fuck out, but she was not taking his kids anywhere, and he would kill her if she tried.
With terror on her face, she looked at me and said "take care of the boys, I will be back soon" and with that, she began walking down the hill.
I didn't know what to do next. The boys were crying and hysterical and I could not get them to calm down. Tom looked as if he was afraid to breathe.
"Get outside, but don't go anywhere"
This was said calmly, with dead eyes as he looked at me, standing there, a skinny nine year old with a baby in her arms and a toddler holding her leg.
I was too afraid not to obey, but it was beginning to get a bit dark by this time, and there was nowhere to go, so Tom and I took the babies and went to sit in the car.
After some time the three year old calmed down and began playing quietly in the back seat. The baby cried himself to sleep. None of us had had dinner.
We sat there for hours, occasionally hearing ranting or crashing coming from inside the cabin.
"I will shoot the first cop I see! I will shoot anyone who comes near this cabin! If that bitch sends the cops here I will kill them then myself!" I heard him ranting. I wished he would just pass out. Then we could go inside and I could feed the kids and put them to bed. My arms were tired from holding the baby, so I lay him on the floor by my feet.
Time stopped it seemed, and things got very quiet in the cabin. It got darker and darker until finally at about 10 or 11pm, a patrol car comes up the hill and two police officers get out. They come to the car to check on us and I told them that my father had guns and had threatened to shoot any cops he sees.
The officers took their flashlights and with their guns drawn, approached the cabin quietly and crouched low. I kept waiting to hear the first shot come from the cabin.
As they got close to the cabin, the turned off their lights and called out to my father. No response.
They walked around the cabin looking in windows. I could not watch. I could not keep myself from watching.
Eventually, the officers came back, leading my handcuffed father to their cruiser. They put him in the back, got in the front and drove away without a word to us. They just left us there in the car. A boy of 15, a girl of 9, and two boys aged 3 and 9 months. They left us.
I picked up the baby, Tom picked up my other brother, who had fallen asleep by then, and we carried them into the cabin and put them to bed. Then we sat at the table and waited.
A couple of hours later, my mother came home. I was never so happy and relieved to see another person in my life.
The next morning, my mom drove to town to press charges against my father. She stood before the judge who told her "He has been released. We put him in a cell for the night, and I talked to him this morning. He's sorry for how he behaved and promised never to do it again".
In later years, my mother told me that she just stared at the judge for a moment and then said "He strangled me. He pointed a gun at my head and pulled the trigger. Twice! and you let him go?" At that moment, she knew that nobody would help us. We were on our own.
Later that day as we were working outside, my father walked up the hill, took my mother in the house for a few minutes and then they came outside and started working like nothing had happened the night before.
I wonder if he ever noticed the bruises?
I wonder if he ever noticed the powder burns on her forehead or the singed hair where his shots had come within a hairsbreadth away from killing her?

HELP MYANMAR

This is my brothers video. He and his wife spent three years in Myanmar teaching. My niece was born there. It is a beautiful, tragic place, filled with amazing, wonderful people kept firmly under the foot of the military junta. Please watch the video and help if you can.
Thank you so much!

Help!

Anyone who perhaps has the secret knowledge of how the heck to add a youtube video to a blog post, would you please share that secret?
I wanted to just put my brother's video on my post, but could not figure out how.
Any and all help would be very appreciated.
Thanks!

Disaster in Myanmar

Hey dear readers,
My brother and his wife spent three years in Myanmar as teachers. They have put together this video about the people of Myanmar and the need to circumvent the junta to get aid to the people that need it the most.
Please watch the video, and donate whatever you can. 100% of all donations will be given directly to the people of Myanmar who are in such desperate need.
Here is the link to the video: http://www.youtube.com/jroetcs
Thank you for whatever you can do to help.
God Bless.
V

Happy Mother's Day!

To all the moms out there that do so much each and every day that goes unnoticed.
To all the moms out there for all the sleepless nights sitting by the bedside of a sick child.
To all the moms out there who spend hours every week driving a child back and forth to practice and never miss a game or recital.
To all the moms out there who have no one to share the burdens or the joys of having children.
To all the moms out there who have left everything and everyone they know to insure that their child can grow up safe and happy.
To all the moms out there that love unconditionally, yet still manage to discipline an unruly toddler or child.
To ALL the moms out there...
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!

My Friend H

I have a wonderful friend named H. He and his wife and two cats live in Finland.
I have never actually met him, or her, or even their cats.
I met H about four years ago on the MSN game zone while playing backgammon, and we just hit it off, and have been friends ever since. We try to "get together" a couple times a month to play backgammon online, or just to say hello and catch up with each others lives.
H is a wonderful photographer, and sends me some of the most amazing pictures of birds I have ever seen. He, and most of Finland apparently, are very much into bird watching, and he and S (his wife) often take bird watching trips all over the countryside.
H and S also take several trips to various locations around the world each year. They can do that... they don't have kids, and therefore have money. Amazing how that works, isn't it?
So, a couple times a year I will open my email and find some truly amazing pictures of places like Austria, Bratislava, and other European cities. I get to see beautiful locations all over the world, without ever leaving my house.
Over the years I have met some truly wonderful people on the internet, and I love how it allows me to "meet" people all over the world. The internet gives a great sense of freedom.
H has said that someday, after we move to Texas, he and S will come to America for one of their vacations and visit us.
It will be lovely to actually meet my friend, and whip his butt in backgammon on a real board.

My Life ....Part 4

So...
We got the cabin finished and moved in. My mother learned to cook entire meals on a wood stove or over a fire in a block pit outside in the clearing. This was where I learned to cook. To this day, I make some of the yummiest meals over a campfire.
We put a kerosene lamp on the table, one on the counter, and mounted four on the walls, one on each wall, and this was the sum total of the light in our house.
That fall I started in the new school. The craziest part of that was the fact that our cabin sat directly on the Pennsylvania/New York border. It was determined that since my bed was in the PA side of the cabin, I had to go to school in PA. Now, the NY school was about 15 minutes bus ride away. The PA school, over an hour bus ride. The bus could not make it up our hill, of course, so I walked a mile down to the bus stop every morning. In the beginning I did not mind the walk, since after about half a mile I met up with a few other kids that lived below us on the hill. It wasn't so bad. At least, until they found out how we lived.
Once word got around that we lived like the pioneers, and the kids saw my cheap, ugly clothes that were all my mother could afford because of the hours my father spent in the bar every day, life became hell. It got even worse after the day I overheard a group of girls talking about something called "Charlie's Angels" and a woman named Farrah Fawcett. I had no idea who they were talking about, so, wanting to make friends with these girls I decided to join the conversation.
"Who is Farrah Fawcett?" I asked. A shocked silence followed my question, and I knew I had done something wrong. Once they found out that I had no clue as I had no TV because we had no electricity, things got very bad in school.
From that day in the beginning of third grade I literally had no friends. Nobody spoke to me except to say something nasty. Even some of the teachers were mean.
Kids on our hill were particularly vicious. They threw rocks and sticks at me, continually taunting me as I walked up the hill toward home.
Once I got home, I had to get the fire going for dinner, make sure there was enough water for the night, do my homework and peel potatoes for dinner.
When my parents came home every night the same thing happened... my mother would walk in first, and she and I would look at each other. From her eyes, I would know whether my little brothers and I could safely stay in the house, or if I had to take them out into the woods away from the cabin to play until my father passed out on the couch and my mom called us in for dinner. He frequently got violent with her, so I would take the boys further away so they would not hear what was happening and get scared.
It was my job to protect them. No matter how rotten and horrible they were (aren't all little brothers?) they were my responsibility and nobody would hurt them. Ever.
I did not realize how good things were until they got much, much worse.

Product Endorsement

Found this AWESOME stuff yesterday! As I have mentioned before, we are getting our house ready to sell. I have been busily painting and prepping and so on and so forth, but I had not yet found anything that would get rid of the black mold growing in the boys bathroom. It was there when we moved into the house, and no amount of scrubbing would get rid of it. Very irritating!
Anyway, I was at Menard's yesterday picking up some paint rollers and other stuff, and came across this stuff... Rubbermaid Mildew & Mold Stain Remover It is AWESOME! Foul and nasty, make sure you are well ventilated, wear a mask & gloves, but I sprayed it on the mold and within two or three minutes it was GONE! Completely gone!
Normally, I hate using strong chemicals in, around, or near my house, cuz that's just nasty and bad for everyone. But, the mold had to go!
I highly recommend this stuff if you have a mold or mildew problem.

My Life.... Part 3.... A funny bit

I remember when we were living in tents and building the cabin, my parents and baby brother slept in one canvas tent, and I and my three other brothers (my older brothers still spent summers with us) shared another. We had these old army cots to sleep on. I have always had very vivid dreams and nightmares, even more vivid nightmares when I am sick, and as a child I used to walk in my sleep.
One night I had this truly terrifying nightmare, I don't remember exactly what I dreamed about (c'mon...I was eight at the time! Sheesh! I hate to think how long ago that was), but I remember climbing out of my cot, opening the tent and running, screaming, through the woods to the dirt road, all done while in this crazy dream haze, half awake and still asleep.
I stood in the middle of the dirt road and screamed like I was being murdered. I remember my parents running through the woods towards me, my father in tighty-whities and big boots, shotgun in hand, and my mom in her shortie nightie. They both looked terrified.
Apparently they thought a bear had attacked our tent and was chasing me.
I think I slept with a flashlight for a month after that.
Oh, and we did see bear tracks a few times during the years we lived at the cabin, especially around the pond, but never actually saw a bear.

My Life ..... part 2

Someone left a comment on the last post about there being lots of sad stories out there, and being careful not to let yours define your life.
I tell my story not as a way to garner sympathy or pity. I don't need either. I tell my story so that others who perhaps may be in similar circumstances may gain hope and strength, knowing that things can and do get better. No matter what a person lives through as a child or young adult, life is beautiful. You just have to want it bad enough.
I also tell my story that people might be made aware of what is out there, that parents might be watchful even of those closest to them so that they can have a better chance of protecting their children.
So...
We lived in the cabin off and on for eight years beginning in 1976. We were dirty and poor, not because of a lack of income, both my parents worked and my father made what was considered a great wage at that time. He just drank and partied the money away.
The first year in the cabin was more of an adventure than anything else. My brothers and I spent hours upon hours swimming in the pond in a clearing up the hill, and playing cowboys and indians through the forest. We built rickety forts, and played Tarzan, swinging on thick vines that hung from the trees. Our nearest neighbor was over half a mile away, so we had the run of the top of the hill.
There was also lots of work. Water had to be hauled daily from the spring, dead trees knocked down, cut up and chopped for the fire, and kindling gathered. And, animals had to be tended. At the cabin we had a bull and steer, twelve pigs, a hundred chickens, and dogs and cats that all needed fed and pens cleaned. The dogs and cats of course had the run of the place.
We were strong and healthy children. We literally never got sick. I believe that was because we spent most of our time outdoors, playing and working hard every day. Many people expressed envy at our simple lifestyle. But, underneath it all, our simple lifestyle hid a darker truth.

My Life

What I am about to reveal to you good readers is the gospel truth, no matter how fantastic it may seem to you. Every word that I will write regarding my life is completely true.
My life now is pretty darn good. I have a wonderful husband and the coolest kids on the planet. We have two awesome dogs (basically stupid, but good dogs nonetheless). We have a home, electricity, running water, food on the table and presents under the tree at Christmas.
Sounds pretty simple, doesn't it? But, compared to the first three decades of my life, it is wonderful.
My father, who is currently residing somewhere in the Sunshine State, was, and I am sure still is, a violent alcoholic. When he was sober, he was fun, charming, and the best friend a person could have. Unfortunately, sober was not something he ever aspired to be. I have not seen nor spoken to him in 20 years. He has never seen his grandsons. He never will. But there has never been another person who has impacted my life and personality more than he. What follows is the true story.
When my father was drunk, he was mean. I don't mean just cranky, I mean Mad Dog Mean. Vicious. Embarrassing. Loud. Obnoxious. Maudlin. VIOLENT.
He would occasionally disappear for days or weeks at a time, leaving my mother with three kids, no money and no food in the house. I can't tell you how many times I saw him beat her. It was too many times to count. She had three kids, and nowhere to go, as Domestic Violence was not even a word yet. Cops were less than useless, and there were no shelters or services available to her. She had no choice but to stay.
Our "home", meaning whichever apartment in whichever state he decided to move us to always was violent. Even games were violent.
He had two favorite games to play with my older brothers and myself when my younger brothers were too young to be interesting.
First was the belt game. We all stood in a circle, facing inward. Each of us had a leather belt, and the purpose of the game was for everyone to just whip their belts out striking each other as hard as possible over and over until only one person was able to withstand the pain and was the winner. If you cried, you were a pansy. I was five years old.
Second was the shoe war. We would split into teams, my father and I vs. My two older brothers. We would divide the house into territories, each team controlling a territory. Then we would race to gather as many shoes as possible. We would then stalk throughout the house throwing shoes at each other to try to take over territory. If you got hit, you were dead until your teammate revived you.Anyone remember shoes in the 70's? Wooden clogs, Penny loafers with hard soles, Wing tips, etc. HARD, very hard. I was eight years old. My oldest brother got his nose broken for the first time during that game.
Those were fun times. Imagine punishments.
That was also the year that my father decided to buy some property on a mountain in Pennsylvania. They bought ten acres, eight of which were forest surrounded on three sides by more than 5,000 acres of state forest.
I remember we lived in tents on the property for three months while we built the cabin which was finished in July of 1976. It took a long time to build because there was no electricity on the mountain, so we had to use hand saws and tools to build.
The cabin wasn't really a cabin, more of a shack, actually. One room for five people. By this time, my older brothers had gone to live with their mother, so it was my parents, me, and my two younger brothers, the youngest of whom was six months old when we moved in. There was a wood stove in the center of the room that my mom cooked on, bunk-beds on the right hand wall, my youngest brother's crib beside it. We had a table and chairs on the other side of the stove from the beds, and a sofa on the left wall. There was an old sink at the foot of the bunk-bed with a drain hose that ran out under the cabin.
We had no electricity and no running water. My father had a "water witch" come out to the meadow 100 yards below our cabin and divine the water source, and we dug a well and put a hand pump on it. It was spring fed, crystal clear and cold. Whenever we needed water to cook, clean or bathe with, we had two five gallon buckets that we had to haul water uphill in. The outhouse was a ways down the hill from the cabin.

More later.

Wish I was in Texas already!

Man, what the heck happened to Spring?
The weather the past few weeks has been lovely. All my flowers are in bloom, the grass is green, and we packed up our space heaters and cold weather clothes in storage in preparation for the move. Even nights have been plenty warm.
Until THIS week.
This week has been FREEZING. We even woke up to clumps of snow on the ground the other day. With no heat in the house, it has been about 54F consistently in the house all week.
And my bed-warmer is in Orlando!
I have been putting a heating pad under the covers in our bed at night about an hour before I go to bed, and then move it down to my feet when I actually climb in.
Sheesh!
Supposed to be warm again today though. YAY! I'm getting pretty tired from all the shivering.