Category Archives: Reflections

Day 14 – Your life in 7 years

Here’s that explanation.

My life in 7 years. At this point, I would just like to be here. After my doctors appointment on Friday, the unknown, the blood draw, the waiting, the “you need more tests”, the here’s another script, the goal is to just be alive in 7 years.

Going to an Oncologist is probably the scariest visit you can ever have. You can already be on chemo for one thing but when you see the full fledged ONCOLOGIST that’s when the fear of dying is really shoved down your throat. All the people in your life can tell you, don’t worry, they would have caught it before now if it was serious. Really? It took them EIGHT years to catch my Psoriatic Arthritis. I heard so much crap from my PCP before other people in his office FINALLY said “Look, let me have someone else look at your chart” and they FINALLY got me to a real doctor. After three blood tests with him he said, “You know what, this still isn’t right, I’m doing what I need to do to get you better but I think you need to see my wife.” After 13 years of seeing a doctor who really doesn’t give a crap about his patient’s health, it’s nice to see a doctor who cares.

So to break it down, in seven years, I just want to be alive. Healthy would be nice.

Day 8– A book I love & one I don’t

As a writer, this is a hard topic to write on. There are a TON of books that I love, really truly love. That I can read over and over again. That I can recite passages of with no problem. The easiest way to narrow this down is to tell you that I absolutely adore the author Dean Koontz.  Now the reason I love his work so much is because I’ve said for years that it takes a person with a terrible past to write the horrible things he does. And I was right, his father was an alcoholic and made his life miserable. He doesn’t talk about it much and has only started talking about it recently. But from the limited amount of insight into his past that I have, I now understand where his nightmares come from, the same place mine come from.

Having said that, my favorite Koontz book is Whispers. It was the book that got me started with him. When I came back from my abusive marriage in Florida, with barely the clothes on my back, my friend Janice and her family took me in. On the days that I couldn’t get out of bed because my feet were so swollen or my back hurt or Charley was kicking so bad that every muscle in my belly hurt or that rare occasion her foot was stuck between two ribs, Janice and I would spend the day in bed reading Whispers out loud to each other. She would read a chapter than I would read a chapter. It didn’t take us long to finish that book and then move on to more of his books. I honestly think that’s where Charley got her weird imagination was listening to us read Dean Koontz.

On a side note, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him a few times and even being included in a Google Hangout. It was totally awesome and MimmyJoe even interrupted! Click below to see the video of the hangout.

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Now, for a book that I hate. This is hard for me because I don’t actually “hate” the book, I hate the way the book was rolled out, a few chapters at a time. I used to be a HUGE Stephen King fan. And then The Green Mile came out as a serial book. And to me, it seemed like a huge money scheme. I refused to buy it. It was the first King book I refused to buy. I didn’t read it. I still haven’t  bought it or read it. I have seen the movie and it was wonderful. But because of that book and the way it was rolled out, I’ve not purchased another Stephen King novel. That’s not to say I haven’t read them, Charley is a King fan and if she recommends one of his books and buys it, I’ll read it. But I won’t buy it on my own.  Personally, I think his wife Tabitha is a far better writer. She’s much more graphic than he is when it comes to violence. I really think that in his books where he is really graphic with sex and violence it’s because she is ghostwriting for him.

Day 7 — What tattoos you have and if they have meaning.

This is really easy. I have no tattoos.

However. I’ve considered getting a tattoo. But not too seriously. I’m not a huge fan of them but I understand why people get them. I just don’t think I want to go through that much pain for something that is not going to look the same all the time. I mean face it, I’m going to gain weight, lose weight, get more wrinkles than I already have, I may have to have body parts removed, skin removed, etc. You never know what is going to happen. So keep that in mind when I say that the tattoo I’ve considered getting is the one pictured below.

I would add the kids names inside the loops.

Now, while that is an awesome tattoo and anyone who really knows me, knows that it has a ton of meaning with the kids names and the paw prints, that would look like crap wrinkled, cut in half, faded, etc. So, no. Not happening. And I stick my finger twice a day, and I insert the BGS in my body once a week, that’s enough sticking for me! Doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids or animals, it just means no more pain than I need!

Day 6 — Someone who fascinates you and why.

This one is really hard for me to write, not because I don’t have anyone that fascinates me, but because I have several people that I’m in awe of and I tell them every day. So I can’t narrow that down and write about just one when my life is guided by my fascination of so many strong people.

First — I would have to say, Trudy. She’s amazing, she’s strong, she’s a pioneer woman, but yet she’s sensitive and kind. Trudy is the mother I always wanted, the big sister I wished I had, the friend I’m glad I have. She’s the person I cry on her shoulder about anything and there is no judgment only “It’s okay, you’ve got this, let’s figure it out.” It amazes me that she takes whatever life throws at her and plants it to see what will come up. Recently, she had a major health scare at the same time Brian’s father did, I was in a pickle trying to figure out how to be in two places at one time. Thankfully they both pulled through. I’ve never met her in person and I don’t want my first time to be while she’s in the hospital or at her funeral.

Second– Next would be Pamela. I love her fire, her spirit, her drive, her artistic eye. It fascinates me the way she can tune out the world and paint a guitar that so matches my personality that it’s like she reached down into my soul and pulled it out of me. She’s walked a path that hasn’t always been easy but she’s always come out on top. She a fighter and a winner. She pours her heart and soul into things she believes in, she believes in her family, her heart and women’s causes. I’m glad to call her my friend.

Third — The Amazing Sissy. Animal Activist, Human Activist, Women’s RIght’s Activist, former 1/2 owner of the Daily Brew (which I never made it to), a better photographer than I’ll ever hope to be and she’s kind and wonderful on top of it. She has an amazing partner, an amazing daughter, an amazing family. EVERYTHING about Sissy is AMAZING. She’s been everywhere, done everything, seen everything. Who needs “Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon” play “Seven Degrees of Sissy” and you’d enjoy the results much better!

The thing that these three women have in common is their strength, love, and kindness.  Not only do they fascinate me, they are my role models. There are several other people on this list, but these three are the top three. Whenever I feel myself slipping over to the dark side, I stop and think, “What would Trudy, Pam or Sissy do” and then figure out if that is something that would work for me. Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. But at least I try. I don’t want to be a carbon copy of any of the people that fascinate me, but I sure would love to be able to take all the good things about them and incorporate them into my world.

Thanks for reading.

Day 3: Your 1st love and your 1st kiss, discuss both

My first real love? Or my first childish love? Which do I write about?

For a long time, I didn’t know what love was because of my past. Face it, I didn’t know a lot of things because of my past. I had to learn them on my own. I would like to think that my first love was Daryl Posey, but he wasn’t really. I thought he was, he was a great time. He was there when I needed him. But then I learned a lesson, thanks to my egg donor, that he really wasn’t there for me.

See, I can’t tell you about the first time I kissed Daryl, the first time we went out, the first time we had sex or any of that, but I can tell you how I felt around him. I felt great, I felt like someone finally cared about me. Someone wanted to spend time with me, to talk to me, to hold my hand, to be seen with me. And yes, have sex with me. But I can tell you about the last time I saw him and how it crushed me.

The last time I saw Daryl and his amazing green eyes was at my egg donor’s house. She had this bright idea for me to find out if he really loved me. Now, I was only 16 at the time. As my “mother” she shouldn’t have been trying to find my “true love” and my future husband, she should have been worried about my grades in school, or better yet, getting me BACK in school, discussing college with me and helping me figure out how to  grow to be an adult. Not trying to marry me off. But no, I thought Daryl and I were madly in love, he was discussing going off to college and what was going to happen to us then. Then my “mother” came up with this “brilliant” plan to see if he was really in love with me. Her plan was to tell him I was pregnant and see how he reacted. She said “If he loves you, he’ll marry you and then you can either get pregnant or fake a miscarriage. If he doesn’t really love you, then he’ll break up with you.”  Well, I think you can guess how THAT worked out, since I’ve already said that the last time I saw him it crushed me. You would be right, he told me that he didn’t want to be married, he didn’t want a child, and that since we used protection every time we had sex, it couldn’t be his. (Back then I couldn’t spout off that condoms are only effective 98% of the time. ) He yelled, I yelled, he punched a wall, I cried, he cried and then he got in his muscle car and drove out of my life. I never saw him again.

That was what I *thought* was my first love.

For my first kiss, I have to refer to my first kiss that meant something to me. The first real grown-up kiss that I remember. And for that, I’m simply going to pull the passage from my book “Scorned”. To set the scene, Jesse and I were on our first real date, we had gone out to dinner.

“We sat there eating and talking until it was almost time for them to close. Jesse paid the bill and we left. He looked at his watch and realized how late it was getting. He said that he had planned on us going to the movies but obviously we couldn’t stop talking and missed it. He wanted to know if it was okay if we went back to my place for a while to just hang out and chat some more. I was more than happy to spend more time getting to know him. Again, he held the car door open for me and I slid on over to the middle and waiting for him to get in. This time he put his arm around me as we drove back. When we pulled up in front of my place, instead of sliding back over to my side, I slid out his side. Just little things like that made it seemed like we had always been a part of each other’s lives. He took my hand and we walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Instead of going in, though, we sat on the swing and talked some more. At one point, he wrapped his arms around me, used one hand and lifted my face to look into my eyes. He told me that he could tell that there had been a lot of sadness and fear in my life, more than I was telling him and that I never had to fear him. He said that he would never lay a hand on me to hurt me, ever. And with that, he leaned in and kissed me on the mouth.

I melted. I thought everything I had read in Patricia’s romance novels was phony. But I saw fireworks. I heard them too. I’m sure if we were standing my foot would have popped up like you see in the movies. The feel of his lips on mine was like nothing I had ever felt before. I swear that every bone in my body had turned to jelly and I was going to slide right off the porch swing. My heart was beating so fast that I thought it was going to beat out of my chest. There was no tongue involved. It was just a simple lip-to-lip kiss and it set me on fire. When the kiss was over I melted into his chest and could hear his heart beating, I swear it was beating as fast as mine was beating. His breathing was certainly as fast as mine. We sat there for a while, my head on his chest, him with one arm wrapped tightly around me, the other hand stroking my hair. The whole time he was whispering something in French. It was one of the most innocent yet romantic nights I had ever experienced. After a while he shifted and kissed me again, I had the same intense reaction. It was so new to me I didn’t quite understand it, but I knew I wanted to keep feeling it because it was so enjoyable. When the kiss ended he said that he needed to get his mom’s car home because it was late and he had to work tomorrow.”

And to be completely honest….Jesse was my first real love. As a grown up, looking back on my life, I know that now. We had a love story that lasted until he died. And there was not a phone call or a meeting that didn’t end with the words “I love you” even when we were in relationships with other people. As I once put it, we had seniority in each other’s lives.

Day 2: Your earliest memory

My earliest memory? Really? Who wants to hear about MY earliest memory. If you’ve read my books or the first one, then you know that MY earliest memories, suck ass. They aren’t happy, they aren’t pleasant, they aren’t even tolerable. My first memories are horrible. Even if I had to pick a “pleasant one” it would be of standing up in the front seat of the car while my Dad drove. Eating a roll from KFC, yes, a roll, back before they had biscuits they had the best yeast rolls ever. And I loved them. But that’s not even a pleasant memory or a happy one. Because we were going “coon hunting”. Yes, that’s right, I was riding along with my father as he was going hunting raccoons. It was not pretty, happy, pleasant or enjoyable….except for that damn roll.

Writing Challenge Day 1 — 5 problems with Social Media

A budding writer posted a writing prompt challenge on Facebook a few days. Needing to get back in the habit of writing daily, I accepted the challenge.

A great writing challenge

As you can see Day 1 is “Five Problems with Social Media”. Now I could just list the problems, but that would make for a very short blog. So I’ll take it one step further and give a brief reason why I think the reason I give is a problem.

1. Too many trolls.

Reason: The internet is the new “playground” it’s full of bullies and trolls. Most of the time, there is no reason for an “and” between the words because they are one in the same. If they can’t get under your skin as a troll, then they will try to bully the hell out of you. I see this ALL the time on political threads on friends walls, religious threads, women’s health care threads. I’m not shocked that my friends have friends that have different opinions. I am shocked that the friends with different opinions feel that they can be rude and disrespectful on their friend’s walls.

2. Fake people

Reason: This one is easy. On the internet, you can be anyone. It’s been this way from the beginning of the internet and even before the WWW was available to everyone when it was just a bunch of bulletin boards systems like AOL. You can rarely be sure of who you are talking to, sometimes, even if you have met them in person. What seems like the sweetest person online may be like that the first couple of times you meet them. Then they get comfortable with you and they turn into something else. They could be a liar, a cheat, a user, married cheating on their spouse, or someone you simply don’t want in your life. Hell, they may not even look like the person in their picture. If it is a picture of them, it may be 10 years old. Or it may be a picture of their child. Who knows. Trust is hard earned on the net and easy to lose.

3. Shallow relationships.

Reason: No one takes the time to really get to know each other online. I’m guilty of this too. For example, I have 263 friends on Facebook and personally really know probably 60 of them. And that’s pushing it.

4. “If it’s posted on Facebook, it’s true” mentality.

This ties back to #2. Fake people, fake news, fake profiles, fake updates, fake pictures. But there are some people who will believe ever single thing that is posted. And those who will take creative liberties with the truth to get a point across.

5. Everyone is a genius.

This one is easy. Think about it. 90% of everyone on social media (FB, Twitter, Instagram. etc) is a subject matter expert at something. Some really are, some are learning to be, some just want to be.

And there friends and neighbors is Day One of my writing challenge.

Thanks for reading.

I didn’t ask you to like me

I get it, I really do. I’m outspoken. I say what’s on my mind and I’m not shy about it. I don’t live in a world of sunshine and daisies and I don’t pretend that I’m something I’m not. That makes YOU uncomfortable. I’m comfortable with me though. I’m sorry you aren’t. But here’s the thing, I didn’t ask you to like me, I didn’t ask you to be my friend. That doesn’t mean that I’m not happy you are my friend, but it doesn’t give you the right to try and change me.  It doesn’t mean you can tell me who I can or cannot talk to or when.

If you don’t like that I post controversial things on my facebook page, then unfriend or hide me. But don’t tell me that using the word fuck three times in one post makes me sound like trailer trash. Here’s the deal, I don’t like that you post every recipe that you find nor do I like it that you share lies about our POTUS and I certainly don’t like it that you support a rapist. But here’s the deal, instead of posting on your wall or calling you, I’ve hidden you from my news feed. Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

And you over there that decided that the “country is a church”. Here’s a thought for you. You aren’t a christian. You are the farthest thing in the world from a christian. I could say a LOT of really mean things about you here because I found out some really interesting things about you. However, unlike you, I won’t. I understand that you are mentally ill, that’s why you decided to tell me that since I didn’t believe like you that I deserved to be beat and raped as a child. I hope you get help. I really do. And I hope that you don’t get custody of your children back until you do get help. It’s best for them. Because really, if you believe that I deserved to be treated the way I was treated because I don’t believe like you do, what would happen to your daughters if they decided they didn’t believe the way you do.

What this all boils down to is simple. This is my blog, it’s my facebook page, it’s my twitter feed, if you don’t like what I post, then unfriend me, don’t follow me, don’t read what I write. It’s okay. I’ll be alright and so will you. Freedom of speech is great. Its guaranteed by our Constitution. Is my speech always pretty, nope it’s not. Is it how I feel, yep it is. I’m sorry if I’m too honest or real for you. I’m sorry that you want to live in a world of sunshine and daisies. I’ve never been lucky enough to know what that world is like, but honestly it sounds kinda boring. I’m not saying that everything has to be a battle or a controversy but it’s not always happy go lucky either. Life is real, it has it’s ups and it’s downs, we have good days and bad. I can promise you this, as your friend I will be there for you during those good days and those bad. And I will never look down on you when you are having a bad day or when you feel the need to scream about something, even if I don’t agree with it. I will have your back. THAT is what friendship is about, not trying to change someone.

How to turn a victim into a villian

A long time ago in a galaxy known as Yahoo there were things known as “chat rooms” and they were nice places where people of like minds to get together, talk and form lasting relationships. Sadly not all these relationships wonderful.

I bring you the tale of one such “chat room” for the purpose of this blog we will call it Religious River. And in the beginning it was great, it started out on  IRC and moved to Yahoo Chat where people who sit for hours keeping the room open so that others would find the room and gather. Before long a great group of people became regulars. Husbands and wives were there, mothers and daughters, roommates, housewives looking for others who believed the way they did, it was a great gathering. And in the beginning it was beautiful.

And then came the tricksters, the troublemakers, the hate bringers. At first they were fun, they told jokes and made people laugh. That’s what tricksters do. They made friends because not everyone wanted to have serious conversations and share ideas all the time. And there was a division in the chat room.

Then came along the males who introduced cybersex. And the women in the group started fighting over the affections of the males in the group. Sides were taken in some cases and people sat on fences and said “Oh I can’t be upset with anyone because you are all my friends.”

And then real life smacked the chat room and one of the “beloved” members who helped start the room was arrested for child molestation. And the room was divided. The child molester told the same lies that all child molesters tell and people who sat on fences believed him over the victim. The 12 year old victim and her mother were obviously lying. This man could never rape a child. Just like he could never setup cameras in the girls bathroom of his blind brothers teen club and watch the videos of young girls changing clothes. And the only child porn he EVER downloaded was for “research” and he only kept a copy of what he was turning into the police just in case the cops lost the evidence. All of that was believable over the word of the cops, the doctors, the child and the mother.

So the chat room turned on the mother and the child, the child was not a victim but one of the two villains who took the beloved member of the group away.  And then one of the group decided that it was not the child’s fault, it was the mother! The mother was evil and vile and the person contacted the child and tried to convince the child to run away from the mother and hide on a farm where there were other teenagers hiding from their horrible parents.

Now we flash forward, the mother has moved on with her life, the child has moved on with her life. Both are contributing members of their communities. But recently the mother found out that there is a group on facebook dedicated to the chat room. So the mother joined. She was amazed to find that after 20 years, because she protected her daughter and didn’t take any shit from this group of people, she’s still a villain. Someone recently wanted to join the group and because the didn’t know who it was, they automatically assumed it was the mother because the daughter was on the friends list.

The child molester….he’s on the sex offenders list, spent 6 years in jail, got out, stalked the victim and went back to jail to serve the rest of his term. And he’s not allowed on computers or the internet for the rest of his life.

But….the victim and her mother are the villains.

Knowledge is freedom

I learned a few things over the past few days. Some of it hurt, some of it made me realize how foolish I’ve been and some of it made me realize that I’m okay. Remember, I posted a few days ago that I had a sibling die? Well, I finally found her obit online. No big surprise, the adopted sibling, wasn’t mentioned. They like to deny that I was adopted but they can’t explain how my birth certificate got changed.  But I pretty much expected to be left out of her “family”.

The source of knowledge
The source of knowledge

In reading her obit, I realized that they always told me that she had a Master’s Degree in Psychology. Apparently she didn’t. I found it funny that assuming her husband Charles wrote the obit, he left out the job that she was doing when they met. She was a soda jerk at a department store in Chicago. I don’t remember the name of the store, but they sold a drink called the “Green River”, it’s how I learned to drink out of a straw.  And I found it amusing that that they got her mother’s name wrong. Her mother’s maiden name was Sanders. Not Yonts and it was never spelled with a Z. Beverly and Dorothy like to say that the spelling was changed so that Robert’s first wife couldn’t find him for child support. If that’s true then how did he get his brothers to change the spelling of the name too. And isn’t that a lot of expense for poor people to go through just to avoid having to pay child support? See if you look hard enough, their stories fall apart. And then there’s the matter of HIS birth certificate, it’s spelled with an S there too.  If you change your name, they don’t change your birth certificate. If you are adopted they do. Which would explain why my birth certificate shows that Dorothy and I have the same mother.

But the real knowledge came from something simple, like trying to find where to send flowers. Somewhere in the back of my head, under my crushed self esteem, no matter how Dorothy treated me, I’ve always felt that she was better than I was, no matter what she was always smarter than I was, prettier than I was, and had nicer things. So out of curiosity, I found her address. The house that she shared with her family. And you know what, It’s actually smaller than ours. And this is the same house that she’s had since the 80’s. I’ve been jealous for no reason. The sister that I’ve always had on a pedestal even though she didn’t deserve it, was no better than me. So she had a master’s degree, it wasn’t in psychology. She was a social worker.

She was no better than I am. She was a survivor in denial.