sdrawkcabssa

The Reason...

2009-07-15T11:45:00.001-07:00

I haven't added anything to this site in a very long time. I started it for my mom, who was slowly being taken away with Alzheimer's. As part of the process it's good to tell them stories, frequently go through photo albums and tell them things about the people in those pictures.
I wanted there to be a place that Mom could go to see and read these things. I chose to talk only about the good things that happened during my childhood, not any of the abuse, or any of the other garbage that my dad brought into our lives.
This process also needed the cooperation and help of my sister. There were pictures that I remember Mom having and it would require her to look for them, scan and send to me. It was within this waiting process that I realized that my sister was no longer helping Mom find this website.... and eventually it just got left.
I did print off what I had written, and sent it to a long time family friend, she took it upon herself to go over to Mom's and read it to her and show her the pictures... "just in case", she said. :)

Anyway, here is sits... for all of eternity on the internet. One day I may finish it......... who knows.

Stuck

2006-08-10T23:22:00.000-07:00

I went to school and told everyone about my new little sister. I thought it was pretty cool, which makes my initial reaction even stranger. However cool I thought it was, I still couldn't figure out what good she was for.
I could talk to her, but she didn't respond to me with words (well, at least in a language that I knew), she drank this white, nasty smelling stuff that I heard Mom call "formula", she would spit this stuff up and it smelled even worse. She had gas most of the time, and I learned real quick that the funny face that she made and her face turning red wasn't her just being goofy, it meant that she was making a REAL STINKY mess in her diaper. Often times I had to leave the room... The smell and the sight of it all was just a little much for me, even at that age. She just seemed to lay around and leak a lot.
I really wasn't understanding that a baby couldn't do anything but lay around and leak all over the place.
There were many late nights when Jenni was first born. Most of the time Mom would come into my room in the middle of the night to change Jenni's diaper. One of those nights will be one that I will always remember.
I woke to my bedroom light being turned on, Mom carrying Jenni, who was fussing and squirming around. I squinted my eyes against the glare.
I moved over in my small bed to make room for Mom and Jenni. She laid Jenni down to change her diaper. I kept blinking my eyes, trying to get used to the bright light. Mom was yakking (like usual) and I was laying there listening to her. I don't remember what she was saying. I was laying there with my eyes closed, listening and suddenly there was this horrendous pain in the side of my thigh. I screamed and came flying up in that bed. Mom jumped back and Jenni started crying. Mom looked at me and started cracking up laughing. "Why are you laughing? What was that? That hurt!" I said.
There were practically tears in her eyes, she was laughing so hard. Finally, through the uncontrollable laughter, Mom says that what she thought was just a wad of blankets was actually my leg under the covers and when she took out the pins of Jenni's diaper, she stuck one of them in the blanket, not knowing she was jamming the diaper pin into my leg.
God knows, it was probably laden with all kinds of germs and Mom rammed them into my blood stream. Nice, Mom, real nice!
Maybe it was then that I got the feeling that having a sibling was going to be a challenge. And staying away from Mom in the middle of the night would be a good idea.

Changes

2006-07-28T15:37:00.000-07:00

It seemed that we were settling into life in Seattle. Mom and Dad had made some friends, Bobbi and Jon . Bobbi kinda took me under her wing. She taught me to sing "Oh, Christmas Tree" in German... most of which I have forgotten over the years. Jon, her husband raced motorcycles. We all used to go watch him race. He was a funny guy and always looking out for all of us.
We were about to have an addition to our house, at least that is what Mom kept saying. Something about a baby growing in her tummy or something strange like that. I really wasn't too sure what it was all about. All I knew is that Mom's tummy just kept getting bigger and bigger. Once in awhile she would jump and say something about this "baby" in her tummy was kicking her. She had me put my hand on her tummy and when I felt that "thing" move, I pulled my hand back like I had just touched a hot burner! YUCK! That was just too strange. It really freaked me out. The whole concept to me was just a little creepy.
Around December in 1964 Grandma T came over to stay with us. It was to help Mom out. I had noticed that she had been moving around a lot slower and didn't seem the same.
One snowy night Mom and Grandma had gone for a walk. Dad seemed a little nervous about them being gone.
The next morning I got up as usual to eat breakfast and get ready for school. I was sitting at the kitchen table listening to Mom and Grandma talk about their walk in the snow and the craving Mom had for a bean sandwich of all things. I remember not being able to imagine what a bean sandwich tasted like back then and I still don't know what one tastes like. It sounds completely disgusting.
Mom was sitting at the table across from me. Suddenly she jumped out of her chair, freaking out and saying something about "water breaking" and a whole lot of other gibberish. I kept asking what was wrong, getting no response from the "otherwise engaged" adults. When I saw Mom run out of the kitchen I noticed that the whole back end of her was wet. I was horrified! What was wrong with Mom? Did she wet her pants? I must have had quite a look on my face because suddenly Grandma was putting her arm around me and steering me to the living room. She quietly and calmly explained to me that Mom was just fine. It was just that the baby was on its way. The first sign is that the water sack that surrounds the baby to protect it while it is in Mom's tummy broke because it is ready to come out.
School was soon forgotten. Grandma was pacing around trying to figure out how to get Mom to the hospital. We had two major problems... No car. Dad was at work and he had the only vehicle. And no phone. Things had gotten pretty rough financially for awhile.
I was standing in the middle of the living room and I remember looking out the window just in time to see Jon driving real fast up our driveway. My Grandma ran out to meet him. He came running into the house and straight into the bedroom where Mom was. A few minutes later, he came out with Mom in his arms and off they went. Grandma stayed with me.
At some point I was able to go with Dad to the hospital where Mom was. I have a vague memory of standing outside in the hospital parking lot, looking way up and seeing Mom standing at a window looking down at me and waving. I didn't understand why Mom was gone so long. Other than when Mom was working, I had never really been away from her and I didn't like the feeling or understand what was going on. I remember feeling really sad looking at Mom way up there in that hospital room.
A few days later Dad came home with Mom, and in Mom's arms was this small bundle of blankets. Mom looked really tired, but she was smiling. I really wanted to see what she was holding, yet I was afraid to look at the same time.
Mom bent down and carefully moved the blanket away from this little creature. I saw a whole bunch of dark hair and a little pink face. Mom said quietly, "This is your new little sister." I turned on my heel and ran crying to my bedroom.
To this day I don't know why I did that. I don't know what I was thinking or feeling, if anything at all. One would have thought that with my reaction, I would have been ticked off or upset that there was a new addition to our home, but I don't think that was it.
There are many pictures ( the one above, for example) that I have my face right up close to my sister. I was fascinated with her and yet I didn't understand her either. She laid there, moved around a bit, cried, made messes in diapers, sometimes she smelled good, other times she smelled really awful, she stared with eyes as big as the moon, but that was about it.
By this time I was discovering music. Grandma and Grandpa had bought me a little transistor radio that I carried EVERYWHERE. One day I decided that I was going to share the music with my little sister. I put the radio down next to her ear, laying the radio against her little head. Mom came into the room to see what I was doing.. The look on her face was one of complete horror. She quickly ran toward the bassinet and grabbed the radio. She explained that Jenni's ears were way too sensitive for that sort of thing. I was beginning to wonder what this "thing" was good for....

The Bike

2006-07-05T01:26:00.000-07:00

It was red and white and it was mine. On one of the weekend visits, Grandma and Grandpa T came with a bicycle tied to the roof rack of the car. I could hardly contain myself as Grandpa and Dad untied it. But wait, what is that? Are those what I think they are? Oh, man, they sure are… training wheels… I don't need those dang things, I thought. Well, maybe Dad won't put them on. I started to get on it and Dad said "NO, I need to put the training wheels on." I told him that I didn't need them. The look on his face pretty much said it all. He was going to put them on, he didn't care what I thought or said. I looked at Mom, pleading with her, she knew, I REALLY didn't need to have those dang "baby wheels" on my bike. She just looked at me. I reminded Mom that I could already ride a bike, I didn't need to have the training wheels. I think at that very moment she must have gone deaf because she said not one word. She didn't even acknowledge that she heard me. I was getting panicky now. I stood there as I watch Dad start putting on those damn training wheels. My mind was reeling, trying to figure out how I could convince him that I didn't need them. It was no use. I was stuck with those stupid, ugly things.
I was beside myself with excitement in spite of the icky baby wheels. I got on it and though I fought those stupid wheels, I was in heaven… my own bike! There really wasn't a lot of room to ride it. We didn't have sidewalks or anything, but I didn't really care.
I waited a day or two and asked Mom again if I could PLEEEEASSSE have those training wheels taken off my bike. She just looked at me hopelessly. I wasn't sure what that meant. I just got the sense that my request some how confused her. Of course now, older and a little more aware, I realize it was just one of those instances that her hands were tied. What Dad said… well, that was it. No discussion. It was that way with EVERYTHING.
You see, I REALLY didn't need those stinkin' training wheels. Several weeks before I got my own bike I had been playing over at the rotten kids' house. The older brother had a 10-speed bike and I asked him if I could ride it. Uh, did I mention that I had NEVER been on a two-wheeler before? Did I mention this small fact to the kid? Oh, hell, no! Did I even realize that I might not be able to ride his bike? Didn't even give it a thought. I just had it in my head that I was going to ride it. In my head; pure and simple. I walked the bike over to the front porch, where it would be easier for me to get up onto the seat…once I did that, I was off and riding all over the place. It was SOOO much fun. I no doubt had a huge grin on my face the whole time. I was having such a blast and I was so excited that I rode a two-wheeler!
I high-tailed it across the street, up the hill, and burst through the front door, looking for Mom. I was so excited, I wanted her to see. I told her to come out and stand on the porch, I wanted to show her something. I ran back across the street and got on the bike again. I rode where she could see me. I glanced at her. Even from where I was, I could see the look of complete shock on her face. I was literally bursting at the seams with excitement.
When I went back home, Mom asked me who had been teaching me to ride a bike, I told her no one. I told her it was Greg's ( the big brother of his bratty siblings), and he let me ride it. I told her I just got on it. She was a little worried that the bike was a little too big for me, but I just shrugged it off. That is until something happened that made me realize just exactly what she meant by the bike not being quite right for me.
Once again I was riding that bike around. Greg was really good about letting me ride it around. Since I was so little in comparison to the bike, I couldn't sit on the seat and pedal, I had to stand up. Well…. I was just riding around and I decided to speed up a bit so I started pushing those pedals harder… suddenly my foot slipped and WHHHAMMMMMM! I came down on that bar!!! I thought that I had just died. I could barely walk my crotch hurt so damn bad. I hobbled home, crying myself senseless. I sucked it up just before I got into the house. I didn't really want Mom to know what had happened because she didn't really like the idea of me riding that bike and I didn't want to hear her say, "I knew that it wasn't a good idea for you to be on a bike that big." What kid would want to hear that? ESPECIALLY a stubborn kid.
I went into the bathroom. I felt like I had broken my crotch. When I took my pants down, there was some blood in my underwear. I freaked! OH, NO! I DID break my crotch! The crying started all over again. Mom heard me and came into the bathroom. No doubt she was thinking in total frustration..."Good, God, now what?"
I told her what happened and there was that look. The one I didn't want to see. She told me to just keep an eye on the bleeding if it didn't stop or get less, to let her know. I remember being VERY uncomfortable for a few days then everything was fine. But I will never forget that pain. NEVER!

Life In The Woods- Part 2

2006-06-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

Me/House on 200th Seattle WA

For me, it was literally life in the woods because I spent the majority of my time there. There was a little squirrel that came around regularly. Somewhere in my head I got this idea to try to get it to eat out of my hand. I would spot the little critter up in a tree, so I would grab something for it to eat and then go sit out in the middle of the backyard with my hand held out, waiting for it to come down and see what I had to offer. It never did eat from my hand, but it got pretty darn close. I don’t know what I would have actually done if it DID eat from my hand, probably freak out.
One day after lunch I wandered through the trail that went straight back through the woods to that clearing. The closer I got, it dawned on me that there were some noises ahead of me… I was a little worried about who or what might be up there, but I kept on goin’. Suddenly, there it was… a huge white horse. It was beautiful. I just stood there smiling, in awe of such a wonderful creature. I slowly walked up to it and slowly held up my hand for it to sniff. That is what my Dad had taught me to do with dogs. You show them your hand and let them sniff it,it tells them that you don’t mean any harm. I felt the warm breath of the horse on the back of my hand. I quietly giggled, it tickled. I walked closer to it, very slowly… gently running my hand along its side……then…………..BAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The horse kicked me to the ground. I tried to get up and run, but it just kept kicking me. I curled up into a ball and was screaming for someone to help me. Of course no one could hear me, Mom was in the house and the house was a ways away… there was no one around. Kick after kick after kick. I was laying on my left side, my hand up over my head, crying quietly. My right leg, all the way up to my thigh hurt so bad, I wasn’t sure if I could walk. I don’t know if it was because I stopped screaming and thrashing around, or what, but the horse eventually stopped kicking me.

This is a pretty good likeness of the horse that kicked the living daylights out of me. It is actually a little on the creepy side to look at it.

I just laid there on the ground for a bit. My leg and back was hurting pretty bad. I wasn’t all that sure that I was going to be able to walk, but something told me that I couldn’t stay where I was. I was right, I wasn’t going to be able to walk on that leg and even hopping wasn’t going to work because my back hurt as well. I ended up crawling from that spot to the house. As soon as I came out of the woods and could see the house, I started crying. I was tired and so very sore. I crawled to the back door and tried to pull myself up, but couldn’t. I finally knocked on the door and waited. Mom didn’t come to the door. I knocked a little louder. Nothing. Crying, scared, sore, and worried that I was going to get into trouble because my clothes were a mess… filthy and torn here and there. I finally made it to the front of the house. Now all I had to do was make it up to the front porch. By the time I reached to door I think I may have been beyond angry and upset. I hit the door hard with my hand. I could hear Mom hurrying towards the door. As soon as I saw her, I burst into tears. At first she thought I was goofing around, then the look in her eyes told me she knew this was for real and something was REALLY wrong. I tried telling her I couldn’t walk. She kept asking why and then I showed her my leg. My pants were torn and you could see that my leg was already horrendously bruised. She picked me up and carried me into the house. After she finally got me to calm down and cleaned up, I explained to her what had happened. My biggest question….”What did I do wrong? I was nice to the horse.”
You know, that is actually a little funny to me now. Guess I got my first life lesson right then and there. Had I been more aware of things then, surely I could have imagined God bending down and whispering in my ear… “Kid, yer gonna go through life, yer gonna be nice to some people and they are going to just kick the crap outta ya, sorry, but that is just how it goes.”
I never went to the hospital or saw a doctor. I hobbled around for a few days and that was it. I did go back to that pasture, however I stayed a good distance away from that horse. I remember asking why it kicked me. He just started at me. Didn’t say a word. Not one word.

Life In The Woods

2006-06-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

I don't remember the actual "settling" in, unpacking and all the normal stuff that goes on when one moves. I have chunks of memories from that house on S. 200th.
I missed my grandma something fierce. I spent nearly all my time with her and now I was with "these people" that I hadn't really hung out with all that much. It was quite an adjustment for me. And now that I am older, I realize that it was quite an adjustment for EVERYONE. I didn't realize until much later that it was the first time that Mom had lived away from her hometown and her parents, that had to have been quite an adjustment. I remember money was tight, so it wasn't as if she could just pick up the phone whenever she wanted to call her Mom.
I spent a lot of time exploring the woods around the house. There really wasn't much of a front yard, or a backyard with actual grass, so my playground became the woods. If you went right out the back door, you went up a little incline and to the left was the "burning barrel".
Nearly everyone had one of these things. It was a big old metal barrel, often times rusted and nasty looking. It was how many households took care of their trash back then.... you stuck it in the barrel, lit it on fire and burned it down to ashes. Mom spent a lot of time at the burn barrel... not because we had a lot of trash, but rather, she is mesmerized by fire, just as some people are mesmerized by water. You build a fire in the fireplace and she is right there, poker in hand, stabbing at the logs, eyes glazed over. I don't remember this actually happening, I may have been in school at the time, but I remember seeing the "results". Apparently one of the visits to the burn barrel got a little out of hand for Mom. God knows what she was doing. (Coordination isn't one of Mom's strong traits.) The fire apparently flared up and Mom was left with severely singed hair, no eyebrows and no eyelashes. She looked REALLY strange! But thank God that was all that happened. She was really lucky. Looked goofier than hell, but lucky.
There was this little trail that went past Mom's barrel and into the woods. It beckoned me, and finally one day I got adventurous and headed down that trail. The woods were thick and lush. I loved the smell. The freshness, the earthiness. I wandered through all the greenery, eyes wide open taking in everything. Suddenly there was half assed fence and a huge pasture beyond. I wondered what it was all about. I didn't see any sign of man or beast.
Standing in front of the house, to your right was more woods, these not as dense, but in one section it was filled with wild strawberries. Sometimes people would stop and pick them. They weren't visible from the road, so I am not sure how they knew they were there. Familiar with the area I suppose. Beyond the trees on that side was just a field and a few trees.... but above it... in the sky.... the flight pattern for Sea-Tac airport. The plane traffic back then wasn't all that heavy and the planes weren't all that big either, but occasionally it would get pretty loud. Grandma thought it was bad for me to be living there because apparently when a plane would go by and I was asleep, I would toss and turn violently.
On the other side of the house, more woods. These thick just as the woods out back. And somewhere beyond that was a house, though you couldn't see it from our place. I discovered that we had neighbors one day when I decided to explore that part of the woods. I was lolly-gagging along and suddenly I see this huge house through the trees. Scared the crap out of me. I wasn't expecting it.
Across the street was another house that sat quite a bit back from the street. S. 200th was a two lane road that was somewhat busy. What made it scary to cross was the cars that would haul ass down the road. Standing, facing the street, to your left, up the road was Pac Highway, to your right down the road a bit was Des Moines, and the marina.

Behind the house across the street and down a hill was another house and next to it were these huge rocks. The little shit kids that lived in that house used to tell me that they were dinosaur eggs and that they could hear the babies in there scratching to get out. Little ass kids. It freaked me out. If I was ever over there, I would always keep my eye on those rocks and if I ever saw them starting to crack, I was prepared to run like a bat out of hell!

Come to think of it, I had that feeling a lot when living there.

Further down the road was the elementary school that I would eventually go to. It was called Maywood. It had a huge grassy area in back where we would have our recesses. Beyond that grassy area was a chain-link fence and beyond that, another wooded area. Some bratty kids used to tell me that trolls lived back there and I shouldn't go near the fence or else they would grab ya. After that, I hated recess. They were probably the same bratty kids that told me about the dinosaur eggs. I wasn't used to playing with kids my own age. I usually played with kids that were a bit older. I decided that kids my own age were asses.

Pack Up The Car, We're Moving!

2006-06-28T00:02:00.000-07:00

Little did I know that my summer trips with the Grandparents were going to come to a screeching halt. Everything that I had come to know was going to suddenly change. What had been safe and consistent, was now going to be a thing of the past.
When I was around 5 my Dad was having a real rough time of it. His answer was to move to Seattle. Mom and I were on our own for a little while. Dad got on his motorcycle and headed west on I-90. He stayed with some friends and looked for a job. Next he looked for a place for us to live. He found a house to rent on S. 200th in Seattle. Actually, it was a hop, skip and a jump to Des Moines and the marina. Once he lined up the job and the house, he went back to Spokane to move Mom and me over to the coast. I don't think I really understood the concept of Dad not being around, and him working far away. Had I known what it meant, it would have been even harder than it already proved to be once I DID find out that we were going to have to move far away. Now, technically it really isn't THAT far from Spokane, but to a kid of 5 years old, it may as well have been on another planet.

My grandma T had been a constant in my life. She was always around, and during my most formative years, she took care of me while Mom and Dad worked. She taught me to read. She made sure that I had a lot of those Dr. Suess books and any other that caught my eye.
She had a way of doing things in such a way that half the time you didn't even realize that she was actually teaching you something. Quite frankly it was wonderful to learn that way. No pressure, no yelling and screaming.
In the evenings when she would start to prepare dinner, she would say to me, "Lynnie, go out on the porch and get the paper and read it to me while I cook dinner." I would run down the little hall to the front porch and get the paper. I would then crawl up to sit on a stool that she had near one of the kitchen counters, and open the paper. Naturally, like any kid, I would look for the easiest stories first, or if a picture looked interesting to me, then I would read what that was all about and show Gram the picture. She was incredible patient as I stumbled over some of the big words. She would sometimes explain to me what I was reading. Learning politics and world suffering at such an early age!
She was my constant companion and when it dawned on me that Grandma wasn't coming with us, I was devastated. I remember crying and crying and crying. I didn't want to go, oh, I SO didn't want to go. I suddenly felt very unsafe for some reason.
We left our nice big house on Adams, Dad, me and my cat (that Dad hated), Boots in Dad's truck, Mom driving Dad's Studebaker that he had had even before he met Mom, and my Auntie Lois and Uncle Larry (Mom's brother and his wife) driving their big old car. Everything was packed as full as they could get it, yet we still left a lot of things behind. Dad's idea... if it doesn't fit, leave it.
Off we went, the caravan... in the middle of the night. (another favorite of my Dad's- to move in the dark of night.) Boots wasn't too happy about this traveling thing and he was driving Dad nuts, but he eventually settled down, thank God. As much as Dad hated that cat I was afraid he would just get fed up and leave him on the side of the highway.
Years later when Mom and I would be talking about this move, she would remark about what the gas station attendants must have thought when the bunch of us pulled in. Yeah, you read that right... gas station attendants. Sounds really archaic, doesn't it?

You would pull into a gas station similar to the one pictured above and as you pulled up to the pumps there was this small rubber hose that was strung back into the garage. When a car ran over this hose, there would be a "ding" sound inside the garage, announcing that a customer had just pulled in. A guy would come running out, ask what you needed and pump your gas. He would also wash your windshield and check your hoses, belts and fluids. Back then they were called SERVICE stations....because, well, you actually got something called SERVICE.

Anyway, here we are.... first Dad and me in his truck..."ding"... then comes Mom..."ding" (I have no idea how she could see, Dad had that car packed to the roof. She barely had room to operate the car.) Then last but not least Uncle Larry and Auntie Lois... "ding". It must have been quite a sight. At one point during our journey to the west side of the mountains, Dad had taken a side trip. I have no idea where we were, but he said that he was going to stop and get us something to eat. He pulled up in front of a tavern. I sat in the truck, just me and Boots for quite some time. Finally he came back. He handed me a bunch of chips, candy bars and assorted other junk foods. He also had a beer. He seemed a bit more relaxed and was joking around and stuff.

Our new house was up a steep dirt driveway and in a horseshoe pattern around the back and sides of the house were woods. In the dark, I couldn't see any other houses. That came as quite a shock to me. No houses around? It all felt so strange. Maybe it was just because I was tired.

Wild Horses

2006-05-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned, I went to the library the other day. It was mainly to do some research for this blog. The above picture was found in a book called, "Washington Curiosities", by Harriet Baskas. When I saw this picture I was full of all kinds of emotions. It brought back one of my most memorable experiences and one that elates me and saddens me at the same time.
On my summer trips with the grandparents I had the most awesome privilege anyone could have. (At least I think so.)
Between eastern Washington and western Washington, there is desert land. (As I mentioned in one of my previous posts. (waving white flags)
Near a town called Vantage, Washington near the Columbia River I used to be able to see the most incredible sight and it brings tears to my eyes to know it is no longer there. I used to be able to watch wild horses run free throughout all that land. There would be 20-30 of them at a time running, kicking up clouds of dust. They looked so happy and free. I would strain my neck as we passed them by- not wanting to take my eyes off of them.
If I happened to fall asleep, Grandma or Grandpa would wake me so that I wouldn't miss them. And if there was hardly any other cars on the freeway, Grandma would slow down. I think she loved watching them as much as I did.
Telling the story to those who never had the opportunity to see such a wonderful sight, it just doesn't seem to have the impact as actually seeing such a thing.
And now, sadly, they are gone. Another thing of the past, vanishing. Only to be left and appreciated in the minds of those who got to witness such magnificence.
The above picture is of a metal sculpture that a guy by the name of Guy Govedare did. It sits off Interstate 90, overlooking the Columbia River. It IS an awesome work of art. There are 15 life size metal horses. It was presented as a gift during this states centennial celebration in 1989.
He created this sculpture in remembrance of all those wild horses that roamed that area. To me, it is a sad reminder... Sad because so many generations after me never got to see what I did, and now, in its place are metal horses. Though a beautiful piece of artwork, it just isn't the same as seeing it "live".
However, I do feel incredibly blessed to have witnessed something so beautiful and rare. (even then) I can still see them. First you spot the cloud of dust out in the distance, then you see the horses coming closer to the freeway, you see their heads shaking, their back legs kicking, as if they are jumping and leaping for joy. They are following the strongest horse. He is always out ahead, their manes blowing in the wind. It was exciting and peaceful to see. I smiled every time I saw them, just as I am smiling now, at the memory.

Browsing

2006-05-28T01:47:00.000-07:00

I went to the library today. It reminded me of the times that Mom and I would pile into the car and go spend a couple of hours in the library. I was fortunate enough to come from a family that loved to read. At an early age, my grandma had me reading the local paper to her as she cooked dinner.That was how I learned to read. Screw those primary readers, or Dick and Jane books, I cut my teeth on road signs and newspapers!

I remember how excited I was to get my first library card. Mom helped me fill out the information that was needed and when they handed me that card, I thought it was the coolest thing! It was orange, not my favorite color, but who the hell cared, I had a library card! The librarian explained to me that when I got older I could get an "adult" card. That sounded good to me!

The picture above is of a library in my hometown, (Spokane). Mom and I didn't always frequent just one library, she would check out different ones on occasion. Each one had just a little different selection. I loved those old libraries. Nothing like the modern, metal shelved, teched out libraries that we have today. These libraries had wooden shelves and wooden floors that sometimes creaked. It was back when people had manners and knew that you used your "quiet voice" because others were reading. Not like now, when you walk into a library and you think you are in some daycare center with kids running around and screaming, or a bar, where everyone smells like stale cigarette smoke and talk loudly with each other.
It never fails, nearly every time I am in a library I want to go around and slap the crap out of half the people that are in there. (The rudeness and complete disregard of a lot of people today is a completely different story that I may have to save for a later date.)

I would often times finish picking out my books before Mom, so I would find some place to sit while she still browsed. I would sometimes watch her. She would walk quietly up and down the isles, looking at the spines of each book. Occasionally one would catch her eye and she would pull it slowly and carefully off the shelf, look at it more closely, if it appealed to her she would add it to the stack in her arms, if not, she would always carefully put it back where she found it. (Another thing that I was thankfully taught... you put things back where you found them, as you found them.) She likes to read stories from the 1800's. She feels that she was born too late. She loves to read about life back then. To her it seems like such a simple time. I have to agree to a point. But DAMN, life was hard back then. Sometimes Mom's life was rough enough, she didn't need 1800's living, at least that was my thought. However, from the resilience stand point, Mom would've faired well back in those days too. She's a tough old broad... and don't let her tell you any different.

On some trips to the library it seemed that neither one of us could get enough books. We would walk out to the car, our arms full of books, anxious to get started on immersing ourselves in the stories. I am sure she had just as hard of a time trying to decide which one to read first, as I did.

So, yeah, when I was wandering around the library today, I was thinking about "back in the old days" when the libraries had more personality, (well, a warmer kind of personality, anyway) and I said a little thank you to you, Mom for introducing me to the wonders of a library.

It was a dark and stormy night....

2006-05-27T23:20:00.000-07:00

I swear to you, this boat was bigger! It is some kind of a strange phenomenon that happens in childhood memories. Everything is remembered in a HUGE way. Is it because we are so small and new to the world? I don't know, what I DO know is that by the time we become adults and we figure out that something wasn't as big as we thought, it is terribly disappointing.
As I am sure you have guessed, this was yet another summer excursion with Grandma and Grandpa T. This time we were to meet up with some friends of theirs. Some where along the line they decided it would be great fun to go catch some crabs for lunch. I had never eaten a crab, so what did I know? Besides, I wonder if in my little adolescent brain I thought, "Well how bad can it be, I've eaten sardines for God sake!" (Yes, I probably really did think thoughts like that and use language like that, what would you expect from some one who's first words were Son of a bitch?)
We set out to a special place that they knew would be good for crabbing. Once there, big cages with long ropes were slowly lowered into the water.... down they went until I couldn't see them anymore. I was told it would take a little while. I was the only kid onboard with 4 adults , there wasn't much to do. Grandma and her friend decided on a game of cards while someone put a huge pot of water on the stove. The little galley was cramped, but I don't remember it being horribly cramped... though looking at the picture I wonder how we all managed to even move around on that thing! What the hell kept us from flipping over the side from even the slightest of waves? I leaned over the side of the boat to try to see down to where the traps were. All I could see was the rope going down until there was nothing... the water was as dark as ink. I didn't want to stare into the water for too long, it gave me the creeps. I have always had this fear of staring into the water and then suddenly seeing someone's face staring up out of the water at me. Who knows where this fear came from. Maybe it was just a matter of not really knowing what was down there.
Finally, the time came to haul the cages back up to see if we caught anything. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. I leaned way over to watch as they pulled the rope up. Why did it seem like it took longer to get the cage out of the water than it did to put it in? My eyes were going blurry I was concentrating so hard on trying to see something... suddenly the cage came into view. It didn't look like there was anything in there. I started to get a little disappointed.
Wait! What was that? I could see something in there... was that a crab? I couldn't be sure.
Everyone was getting excited, the cage was apparently heavy, which apparently meant there were crabs there. With one swift yank, up came the cage and sure enough it was full of crabs. I heard someone say something about Dungeness crabs. They were huge and mad! Snapping their claws wildly at whatever got in their way. I followed as the cage was hauled into the galley. I no sooner got right at the door and Grandma stopped me dead in my tracks. She told me that I didn't need to watch that. She looked nervous and worried. Watch what? I wondered. I sat there with her for a few minutes then asked her why I couldn't go in there. She explained to me that the crabs were put into the boiling pot of water while they were still alive and that they made this noise like a scream. I must've turned 3 shades of green. Grandma patted my hand and said, "Don't think about that, and once you taste them, you won't care about any of that anyway, darlin'." I sat there staring at my feet. Oh, this sounded so not good.
However, I will tell you that I sat at that little table with my Grandma and Grandpa and pigged out on crab. It was the best thing I had ever tasted and Grandma was right, the icky thoughts were long gone and forgotten.
My next memory of this outing was us deciding to camp. We found a quiet cove with woods as far as anyone could see. Grandma and Grandpa didn't have a tent, the weather was beautiful so we were just going to sleep up on a bluff looking down at the cove. Their friends were going to sleep on their boat. Some time in the middle of the night I woke to pouring down rain,wind, as well as thunder and lightning and my Grandma holding some small piece of tarp over me, she was soaking wet, but was trying to keep me dry as I slept.
That right there was the epitome of Grandma. And it was a realization that sadly wasn't found until she had already passed on.... the woman would have sacrificed (and maybe often did) anything and everything for her family. There she was in a horrible summer storm, in the middle of the night, making sure that I was dry, warm and comfortable.
And now as I sit here, in my late 40's I look back at the adult women in my life with whom I was in their care -I realize that each and everyone of them were and are -some of the strongest, most resilient women that I have ever encountered. In just their presence and in their actions, they have taught me one of the most important lessons in life... survival and overcoming.
Sometimes I have to struggle to remember that, but eventually genetics takes over and before I know it, I too am surviving and overcoming the obstacles in my own life.
This is one instance when I can say "thank God for genetics!"

The House on Adams

2006-05-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of what looks like from the candles, my 5th birthday. I can see in my eyes that I was really wanting Dad to get done with MY toy so that I could play with it. The really annoying thing about it was that Dad was REALLY good with the etch-a-sketch. I was amazed at how talented my Dad was. Amazed and jealous.
And in the background we have Mom... she must have just gotten off work, she is all dressed up. Hey, wait, maybe this is proof that at least once I went home with them after being at grandma's. (see previous post http://useamirror.blogspot.com/2006/05/how-far-back-can-my-mind-stretch.html)
Looking at that picture it just seems like someone else. It was so long ago. I sure wish I had the energy and the health of that 5 year old. I wish a lot of things now.... but I wonder what my wish was then, as I blew out the candles on my cake..... I wonder if it came true......

Mom Saves The Day!

2006-05-21T01:15:00.000-07:00

We are having a new roof installed and as soon as I saw the worker hauling a ladder around, I flashed on a rather interesting story with Mom as the main character. (Go figure!)

I was around 4-5 years old, I suppose. We lived in this beautiful house on Adams. It had the craziest damn wallpaper in the living room and going up the stairs, but I loved that house... it had charm. Another of the rather "charming" features of this house was its clothes line. It was up on the second floor and out a second floor window. You had to pull the clothes line to get the clothes to move towards you and into the house if you wanted to check if they were dry or ready to take down. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen.I didn't understand the whole concept then and I can't saying my "understanding" has improved much since.

I was out in the backyard messing around when I noticed Mom pulling that dang clothes line, hanging something up, then pulling that line, which sent the clothes further out the window on one side of the line and brought new line for her to hang more stuff on with the other side of the line (It kinda looped around.) You know what? This is REALLY hard to describe. There is probably technical terminology for this archaic way of doing laundry and I am not knowledgable .. I wonder if I could sketch it???

It was quite a sight... Mom hanging half out the bedroom window, putting clothes on this crazy clothes line. After Mom finished that, we needed to go some place. Where, I don't remember... and probably irrelevant anyway.

When we got home, the door was locked. Mom let fly with a few colorful and not so colorful words and proceeded to wander all around the house looking for SOME kind of way to get in. Suddenly Mom looked up and I knew what she was thinking and I wasn't liking it. "We need a ladder." My eyes followed hers and I saw that she had spotted the window with the clothes line was open. She went across the alley and borrowed a ladder. Now, mind you, this window was on the second floor and to a kid it looks like it is AT LEAST a thousand miles up into the air. Of that memory, the pictures in my mind are hilarious... Mom lugging this huge ladder across the alley into our backyard, struggling with this monster of a thing, getting it up against the house under the window and then up she goes. I was a scared and nervous wreck. I remember standing down there, watching my mom slowly go up this ladder, the look of fear and determination on her face. I felt all sweaty and my tummy didn't feel too good. But up my mom kept climbing until she finally made it to the window. She struggled there for a few seconds and then it looked as though the window swallowed her. She looked a little shaken when she looked down at me and told me to meet her at the backdoor. I ran towards the door and waited. Finally, I could hear her footsteps coming towards the door, then her releasing the locks and opening the door.

I still, to this day cannot believe that she climbed that ladder. She isn't too fond of heights. But as I get older, a completlely different picture emerges... I see the character of my Mom. I see the woman who was and still is the most selfless person I have ever met. The Mom who at that moment (and so many others as the years would show), set aside her own fears, her own shortcomings and thought of not herself, but of her child(ren). Maybe fear DID motivate her. Maybe she was afraid of what Dad might say or do. I don't know what my mom was thinking that day, but I do know this. That is my first memory of being amazed with my mom. She was my hero that day.... she climbed right up that ladder, into that house and unlocked the door like it was not that big of deal. Mom's are awesome, aren't they?

Always Kind

2006-05-10T23:50:00.000-07:00

Any memory I have of Grandpa T, bottom line is, he was always good and kind to me. He seemed to enjoy hanging out with me. I don't know much about him. I remember Grandma telling me that he too was adopted, have no clue why. Most of his "family" wasn't really around, or didn't talk to him. I don't know if him being quite the drinker had anything to do with that. He was a fairly quiet man. He would whistle around the house, and when he sang he had a beautiful baritone voice. I remember him singing to me sometimes and I would get chills. I was amazed at the sound that came from his mouth.
As far back as I can remember he was always a little challenged in the hair area... case-in-point... the above picture of the both of us. (I look a little challenged in the hair area as well... teeheehee!) I remember another story that Grandma told me years later... I guess I was sitting at the kitchen table with him one afternoon. Grandma had just made us all some lunch. He suddenly lifted his hand to his head as if to brush his hair from his face. I cracked up laughing. "Grandpa, what are you doing? (I was around 5) You don't have any hair!" (Clearly decorum wasn't yet learned, and yes, I am STILL working on it.) He flipped his head back as if to snap his imaginery long hair back into place and looked at me, a half smirk on his face. "Maybe... but I can pretend, can't I? And besides, I used to have lots of hair and it was long." I remember staring at his "lack of" and just couldn't imagine him with hair, let alone LONG hair. I just shook my head. Grandma said that at that moment when Grandpa saw that I just wasn't buying it, he got up and went to a place that he had some of his stuff. He came back to the table and put an old black and white photo in front of me. I had never seen this one before. It was of a bunch of guys all lined up. I looked intently at all their faces.... I couldn't see Grandpa anywhere. He reached across the table and pointed to a guy with , yep, sure enough, long blonde hair. It was apparently a football team that he was on and there he was, all big shouldered, with long hair.... couldn't believe it. I am sure in that little brain of mine I was thinking, "How in the world did that happen? Where did all that hair go?"
One memory is very vivid and I doubt that I will ever forget it, and probably for the mere fact that now, in my "advanced years" I look back at it and want to throw up. At the time it was hilarious because Grandma was appalled... to say the least.
I had been outside playing and came in to see what was up. That was the deal back then. Play your heart out, but check in once in awhile. Anyway, I walked in to see Grandpa getting out the Waverly Wafer crackers and a small tin of something I had never seen before. He had me sit at the kitchen table. He sat down in his usual chair. We had small plates, our package of crackers, and this strange and intriguing tin. There was this little strange thing on the side that he said was a "key" and it helped open this tin. He placed this "key" in a little tab and started twisting and twisting. When he opened this thing, there were little, tiny, itty-bitty fish in there. All lined up. Grandpa stuck his fingers in there and pulled out one of those fish, placed it on his cracker and ATE IT!!!!!!!!! I really wasn't too sure about this whole thing, but he assured me that it was good. I thought, ok, I'll try it. I stuck my fingers in the tin with all those tiny fish and grabbed one of the slimy little things, carefully placed it on my cracker, Grandpa encouraging me along the way. I took a big bite and.... hey, it wasn't all that bad! I was really surprised.
Grandpa and I were working our way through the tiny fish that I had since learned were called sardines, when Grandma walked in. She had been outside. She stopped dead in her tracks and raised her voice....... "TOM!!!!!!!! What are you feeding her?!!!!" I am sure that we both stopped chewing right then and there. I looked at Grandpa and he knew he was in trouble. Grandma came over to the table and she looked angry and horrified at the same time. I looked up at her and said, "They're good." Grandma took one look at me and shuddered. She was disgusted... that was certain. I have NOT eaten sardines and crackers since that time. I think it was just a whim, fluke or perhaps even a lapse in sanity. Knowing me, even then, I would bet on the lapse in sanity.
I learned early on that there were many things that Grandpa did that irritated the hell out of Grandma. She was always yelling at him for one thing or another. But he took it all in stride, at least it seemed like it. He was a mild mannered man. I don't recall EVER seeing him angry. Not even when he was sloppy drunk, which you could count on like clockwork every Saturday night. (That went for both Grandparents. Grandma was quite the drinker and I guess you could even go as far as to say, Dad learned from the best.)
He loved motorcycles too and he had a huge Harley. Somewhere I know that there is a picture of me on it. (Fred.... you seen that one?) As Grandpa got older and seemed to drink more, it was apparent that the big motorcycle wasn't such a good idea.
The last day that he rode his big Harley I remember very clearly.( I was in grade school, exact age unknown, and why I was there, I don't know, other than it was the weekend and most weekends I spent at Grandma's.
He had taken off early in the afternoon, telling Grandma he was going for a spin. Grandma told him to be careful. When the afternoon drug on Grandma was getting more and more antsy. She had a sneaking hunch she knew where he was. He liked to hang out up in Hillyard and area where he used to work when he made dentures, there was a nasty old place up there that he liked to go to called "The Chinese Kitchen." That is where he would booze it up. I don't know if he went there because it was the closest place that sold hard liquor since he wasn't a beer drinker, or if it was just because it was just his old stomping grounds.
Grandma was really worried, it was dinner time and Grandpa still wasn't home. She was about to call Dad when the neighbor lady (Lucille) called to say that Grandpa was laying in the street by her house, he had dumped the motorcycle. At that time the street west of Grandma wasn't paved yet and apparently Grandpa, having a hard time handling that big motorcycle when he was sober, let alone when he was drunk, had tried to turn into the alley and had slid and dumped the bike, and he was sorta stuck under that big heavy thing. Grandma was in a panic, she told me to stay where I was and ran to Grandpa. I remember feeling knots in my stomach (this wasn't the first time and it wasn't going to be the last in my life.) as I waited there. Walking from the back door to the front door, wondering what was going on, was Grandpa alright.
Suddenly Grandma burst through the door and rushed to the phone. She called Dad. No one could get the motorcycle off of Grandpa, they were afraid of hurting him even further, he was apparently already bleeding from a head wound.
Once Dad arrived, Grandma stayed at the house with me. We waited and waited. Finally, while holding up Grandpa and helping him walk, here came Dad. He was pissed as hell, it was evident.
I could see the blood streaming from a place on Grandpa's head, down the side of his face, down to his shirt. There was quite a lot.He had also torn his pants and was bleeding from one of his legs pretty badly. Grandma instantly yelled at me to go into the living room. I guess I wasn't supposed to see that. Well, shit, it was too late. I could hear them shuffling around in the kitchen, trying to get Grandpa to sit in his chair at the table. Grandma cleaned him up and was cussing him up one side and down the other. Dad was telling him that he wasn't to ride that motorcycle anymore. Within a day Dad had come up and taken the motorcycle and no one ever saw it again. Grandma didn't talk to Grandpa for quite some time.
Grandpa had a knack for making some pretty awesome omelettes and some terrifying ones as well. One morning Grandma and I were still asleep. Grandpa always was up early. They had twin beds upstairs and Grandma slept in one bed and I in the other, Grandpa slept downstairs.
On this particular morning we were laying there and suddenly there was this horrid smell coming from downstairs. Grandma mumbled something about what was he cooking now? She threw her bathrobe on and flew down the stairs, I could hear her yelling about whatever it was that he was cooking .... throw it out and get that terrible smell out of her kitchen. I wandered down stairs to see Grandpa shuffling around to throw stuff away and Grandma FUMING. She was right though, it smelled terrible. And it was no wonder. He decided that sardines would be good in an omelette. He would make an omelette out of everything. He even tried some of Grandma's chili once. Crazy old fart.
As he got older, his health got pretty bad. A heavy drinker and heavy smoker... it all eventually broke him down. He had trouble walking and shuffled his feet alot, and it annoyed Grandma to no end! He slowly but surely was losing his ability to do a lot of things and Grandma berated him at ever turn.
One morning I woke up (at home) to get ready for school. I walked downstairs and saw Mom and Grandma sitting at the kitchen table. Grandma looked a little upset, but no one said anything to me. I was going to wash my hair in the kitchen sink. I had taken a long bath the night before and taking a shower the next morning was a no-no if I had done that. I turned the water on and heard Dad's voice behind me. I turned the water off and turned around. "By the way, your Grandfather died last night." Then he left the room. That was it. Mom just sat there and Grandma just sat there. No one said a word to me. I turned and went up to my room and stayed there for the longest time. Crying. I was in High School when he passed away. And I had felt sorry for the old guy for a long, long time. I really didn't know him well. As he aged, so did I, so by the time I was in High School, he was pretty old and not doing well at all. Sometimes I wonder if he even knew who I was. Grandma obviously didn't like his aging and was always saying 'don't slouch, pick up your feet, Tom, sit up. Tom, wipe your nose.'
In his later years, he may've been a broken down old man that drink and cigarettes had destroyed a whole hell of a lot of him, but I DO know that he was also a very talented man that at one time had a stellar reputation in town of being the best Denturist. Even after he retired and did some work out of the house, a lot of people that used to go to the clinic that he worked for (Pattretti--- not sure of the spelling), ended up coming to see Grandpa instead because of his talent and compassion. I used to hang out with him in that cold basement and watch him work. He was maticulous. He took great pride in his work, that was clear. He even made a set of dentures for my Dad. Dad had them 'til the day he passed away and as far as I know never had any problems with them. He was quite proud of them and the good job that Grandpa did.
So, I guess Grandpa did teach me something in an off hand way. Be proud of what you do and take care in what you do. But even still, with all of that, he seemed like such an outsider to me. Maybe that is how he felt. I never really thought much about it until just now. Hmmm. It's a thought.
Whether he truly did feel that way or not, I don't know, but no matter, he was still my Grandpa, and he was always kind. Always, kind to me. He was a kind and gentle man. That is how I choose to remember him.

A little of one, None of the other.

2006-05-09T15:20:00.000-07:00

Even though I am wanting to do this in some kind of chronological order, as I have said, I am having a really hard time doing that. My brain just won't go in that direction much anymore. My brain is more what one would call "flighty" these days.

Today hasn't helped. I was going through some CD's that I have some family pictures on. (Thanks to my sister and her hard work in uploading them to me.) Those pics will be easy to transfer to this "project". I know I have pictures around here in the OLD form, actual PAPER pictures, but I have no scanner, so they do me no good right now. But what I did run across today, I thought should be added to this, because it is a very significant part of the entire family. I think herein lies the back bone of the entire family and how it was shaped the way it was, and why..... at least a big part of it.

The picture above is of my Grandpa Thomas. Orin L. ( "L" meaning nothing, from what my Grandma told me, back then middle names weren't that big of a deal or something, but at some point Grandpa was asked about a middle name and he just the letter L. Like I said, that is what Grandma told me.)

He was older than Grandma, (exact years, hell if I know). My Dad referred to him as "Pop". Many years later... not until I was in Jr. High, did I learn that the Grandpa that I had known wasn't my biological Grandpa. He wasn't my Dad's biological father. I was VERY shocked. And how I found out was quite by accident.

Grandma used to have this old box with a bunch of pictures in it. I used to love to go through that box as a kid. There were pictures of my Dad throughout his young life in there. Pictures of all my Grandma's sisters and brothers. (5 girls and 2 boys!) I used to call them my aunts and uncles because Dad was an only child. There were some pictures that were torn that would show just Grandma or just Dad and Grandma. When asked, Grandma just would say that it must've gotten torn over the years or something.

One day I was looking through the "picture box" again. Scrutinizing each and every photo. I ran across one that I didn't remember seeing before. I looked at it for quite some time, trying to figure out who this person was. I had no idea. Holding it in the air for Grandma to see.... I innocently asked..."Who is this? My Grandma, took a step closer to the kitchen table where I was sitting, then her face changed completely. She seemed to get a little nervous. "It kinda looks like Dad", I said.

Grandma took a few mintues and finally spoke. "I didn't realize that was in there. Uh, that is Bill Evans." I had no idea who this Bill Evans was, I had never heard the name before. She handed the picture back to me. I wish I could remember if her hands were shaking. I imagine that they probably were. I know mine would have been. I looked at her, puzzled, hoping that some memory would come to me so that I knew who this person was. Grandma didn't look so good. "He's your Dad's real Dad."

HUH??????? REAL Dad?? Then Grandma slowly sat down at the table. "The son-of-a-bitch left when your dad was real young. When he was around 5. Just up and left us. But your Grandpa Tom, he adopted your dad after we got married."

I remember just sitting there. My mind reeling with all kinds of questions. I had another Grandpa? I actually had 3 Grandpas??? "That is kinda neat", I thought. "Where is he? Does Dad see him? Why haven't I?" Grandma's face got real hard looking. Oops. I may've walked into dangerous territory here. I knew by this time there were just some things you didn't talk to Grandma about, or if she got that hard look on her face, you went some place you weren't supposed to.

" I don't know where he is and NO, your father hasn't seen him. The good for nothin'..." OK then, I guess that is the end of this conversation, I thought. Grandma started picking all the pictures up and placing them back in the box. "It's time for lunch", Was all she said.

Over the years.. little by little I came to learn a little more. Only just a little bit from Grandma, but it was my Mom that told me the most of it. She said that when Dad would drink, he would talk about his real Dad, but not mention him much at all any other time.

Just a couple of years ago I learned a lot more about my biological Grandpa, Bill Evans. It was through one of my Dad's cousins, Little Charlie. He was kind enough to call me, at my request, to fill in some of the blanks of that side of the family.

I learned that what I had thought all these years - my Grandma was madly in love with this man, Bill Evans. Apparently he was quite the charmer and Grandma fell for him, hook, line and sinker. Bill Evan's dad owned a grocery store up by Lewis and Clark High School in Spokane and Bill Evans used to work there sometimes. I guess his dad was a real SOB at times. At some point later, he went to work for Wonder Bread. There was a factory near downtown Spokane, near the YMCA. Later in life I wondered if he had still worked there when one of my elementary schools took a class trip there one time to see how Wonder Bread was made and how it made to the store shelves. At the end of the class tour we were supposed to get a mini loaf of fresh bread, but when we were all standing at this one window this guy was watching us and he came out to where we were and handed me a loaf of that bread and smiled at me. For the life of me, I can't remember what he looked like, or why he even did that. I thought it was strange and all the kids in the class got pissy because I already had my loaf of bread.

Bill Evans also had a passion for motorcycles, and the ladies. No one really knows what happened, but they do know that it had to do with another woman and my Grandma held that grudge,hurt and anger within her for the rest of her life. She was devasted when Bill Evans left.

No can seem to remember if Grandma and Bill E. married in Spokane, or if they married in Bellingham, or if Grandma took off for Bellingham after the divorce or what. None the less, that is where Dad and Grandma eventually ended up, and it was in Bellingham that Grandma met who I knew as my Grandpa... Orin.

From the time that Bill Evans left his family and my Grandma married Orin- over the years I had heard stories about the life my Dad had. Left to stay with his Aunt Gertrude for long periods of time, strange men around. Basically,it sounded like Dad was just shoved to the side while Grandma pursued another man. It sounds really shitty on the outside. But one really needs to look at the times. Women alone, raising a kid, well, that just wasn't good. It was practically a sin to do such a thing. You HAD to have a man, otherwise you were an outcast. I imagine that was a lot of pressure for my Grandma. But I don't discount the fact that she was probably "running angry" all that time too. That is how some people deal with the pain of being hurt by someone else. It undoubtedly was a combination of those two things.

Unfortunately my Dad suffered because of it. He was going through his own kind of pain with not having his Dad around anymore, now his Mom was always gone and he was shoved here and there. No doubt he felt like his Mom was going to leave, and I guess you could say... in a sense, she did. She abandoned him emotionally. When he needed her the most. But she was dealing with her own hurt, she was trying to survive too. I understand that, I have gone through it myself.

Then as a "newly wed", Grandma spent a lot of her time with her new husband. Their place in Bellingham was small. Grandma and Orin lived in the main part of the "house" and Dad lived in some out- building with no electricity or running water. From old photos that I have seen of the area around this place , it looks like they lived out in the middle of nowhere. (I realize that wasn't too hard to do back in those days... to live in the middle of nowhere, but this looked like it was stuck out in the middle of the woods some place or something.)

Even today it breaks my heart to remember the stories of my Dad when he was a young boyIt lived deep inside of him, his whole life... that pain, that rejection and he grew up to be a very angry and "pissed off at the world" man. I don't know that he ever forgave his Mom for things that she did and chose in her life. I don't know that he ever came to realize that Grandma had her own pain, she was trying to survive too. I suppose it wouldn't have mattered to him, anyway. He just didn't understand that we all do only what we know. And the ironic thing of it all is that I ended up having to be in the same place as my Dad. Not because he abandoned his family. At least not physically. But emotionally, yes. Over the years, I had to work HARD at forgiveness for my Dad. I have had to understand in my mind and in my heart that my Dad was just doing only what he knew. And only acting on the choices that he made on a day to day basis.

For much of my adult life, my heart has hurt deeply for my Dad. The pain he must've felt, for so long. The bible talks about the sins of the father. That the generations will pay for the sins of the father. Well, I can attest to that. My Dad paid for it, and I, as well as the rest of the family, have been paying for his. But I made a vow to myself A LONG time ago, it would stop with me. I have strived all my life to try not to make the same choices, to try to fight against what history had been. Sometimes I have been successful, sometimes... not so much.

Even though there was bitterness, anger, pain, confusion, and a host of other things within both my Grandma and my Dad. I had a love/hate relationship with the both of them. They both taught me a lot of things, things that have shaped me. Uh, yeah, good and bad.

I wish I could have met my biological Grandpa. I guess no one ever thought that, though my hole isn't as big, I would have one too, just like Dad. A part of myself that I never came to know. It's kinda sad, really. There was even a time in my life when I wanted to change my last name to Evans. As far as I was concerned that was my real name. That was my blood name.

But the Grandpa that I did know, the guy who watched out for my Dad. The guy who my Dad called "Pop". The guy who loved my Grandma to pieces. (You could see it in the way he looked at her, and sometimes in the way he talked about her).... that guy was a character in his own right. And I do believe that is who I will write a little about the next time.

But for now, as I look at these pictures, I see a bit of myself in them. People who have seen the picture of Bill Evans, think I look more like him than I do my Dad. Hell if I know. I think I look like a meld of both Mom and Dad. My sister on the other hand looks more like Dad. She even got his beauty mark just above her brow. It is on the opposite side, I think, but she got it. And I got something that Dad always wanted and would even shove pencils in his cheeks to get... dimples. I suppose another cruel joke the world played on him, I don't know. I say..... "typical." That is just how it all works sometimes.

How Far Back Can My Mind Stretch?

2006-05-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

Yikes! This might hurt! Making my brain stretch that far back. Actually, I do remember quite a few things when I was probably around the age in the picture up there. The only way that I know FOR SURE the above picture is me is because I remember it when I was a kid, plus I recognize those dimples. Somehow through the years I have managed to retain them. So many friends of the family called me "Dimp-"Dimps". What the hell kind of a name is that? Well, I guess it is a skosh better than the one mom came up with years ago. For the life of me I can't remember WHY, as in what prompted mom to start calling me this, I don't know if it was because one of our neighbors called me Lynnard, and mom having this quick and sometimes "way out there" wit came up with Lyddia, then she stretched it to Lyddia-Oddia, and as if that wasn't enough she HAD to add this.... Boddia. So it became, Lyddia-Oddia-Boddia. The thing is, now a days with the thyroid disease, I DO have an Oddia-Boddia. Great, I guess it was predestined. No wait, Mom put some kind of evil curse on me, yeah, that was it. Yeah, right... I don't think so.
I think it was around the age of this picture that Mom went back to work. Before I was born, she worked as a secretary in some dudes law office. I don't remember where she went to work at that time, if it was back to that law office or what. Hell, don't expect me to remember EVERY damn detail!
Since both Mom and Dad were working, that meant that I went over to GT's house and she took care of me during the day. I have absolutely no recollection of me being hauled back and forth from GT's house to our own, which is kinda strange. For all I know, they just dropped me off there one day and left me there until they decided to move to Seattle when I was about 5 years old. I am kidding. Geesh! I can see Mom reading this now. A puzzled look on her face and then a look of horror and her saying, "Oh my, we didn't do that did we?" LOL Of course I would have to say to Mom in an all serious tone, and put on this REALLY sad face and say, "Yeah you did. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong." And then me, not being able to keep a straight face after I saw the look of shock and horror on my Mom's own face.... she would notice and then say, "Oh geez, we did not!!!!!!" And be all embarassed cuz she fell for one of my bullshit stories.... AGAIN.
Nice aren't I??? ;o]
So, there I was, at GT's all day. Unfortunately she felt that the sun rose and set on me. As a small child, I suppose I didn't mind it much, but as I grew into my "terrible teens" I found it EXTREMELY annoying because I KNEW I was no angel, that's for sure. I was as most kids in their teens- an ass, and that was on my good days.
When I remember some specific thing from that time in my early little life, I honestly wonder how in the world my Grandmother put up with me. On rainy days I couldn't go outside. (I'd probably melt or something. Grandma was the Queen of Oldwive's Tales!) So.... what do you do with a kid that basically LIVED for playing outside and riding her cool red tricycle? Well, if you are my Grandma, you let her ride her trike in the house. Yes, you read that right. IN THE HOUSE. Now, naturally, as a kid, you are thinking, cool! Lots of room! Tear around, etc. Uh, no, not so. Grandma's house wasn't that big, but some how I managed. How did I not ruin every stick of furniture in her house? How did I manage to not knock Grandma on her rear? How could she stand that going around and around and around for God knows how long? And across her kitchen floor! She would mop that floor every morning after breakfast and dishes, then here I would come tearing along .... through the living room, hang a sharp left into the small entry way by the front door, into the kitchen, screech to the left again around the kitchen table, on into the dining room, trying hard not to hit the dining room table, through the living room again..... Holy Crap! Maybe Grandma was on some kind of tranquilizers or something... she had to have been!

I also had this strange fascination with bagging groceries. (Shaking my head, I have no idea what I was thinking.) But while Grandma was doing dishes or something else there on the counters, that is when I would decide to climb up on the stool that she had there by the phone and the kitchen counter, climb up so I could reach the cupboard, open the cupboard and one by one start taking stuff out of the cupboards, mainly canned goods, I would want Grandma to pretend that she was shopping and then I would "bag" her groceries. After I was done with that strangeness then I would put everything back in the cupboards. I wonder if Grandma ever would be in that cupboard looking for something, not be able to find it and let out a string of swear words, followed by my name??

The other thing I loved to do was go get into Grandma's car. That bright red Studebaker stationwagon. I would sit on the driver's side. Could not see out of the car, but I would pretend that I was driving. And speaking of driving...as I mentioned earllier, back in those days there was no such silly thing as seatbelts or car seats for kids. How Grandma would want me to "sit" in the car while she was driving around town... was to stand beside her on the bench seat and put my little arm around her neck. That is how I would hang on. I remember I told someone that story once and I will never forget the look of complete and total terror on their face. Naturally, I laughed my ass off. Hell, it wasn't THAT bad. I managed to survive. And it is in that very spot, right next to Grandma, going God knows where - that I spewed forth my first words... yes, I had been listening to Grandma as she drove for awhile now, and it showed when someone pulled out in front of us, Grandma's arm came flying across to protect me and I said in a rather loud tone, Son of a Bitch! Yes, that's right. I remember this incident, well, I remember saying the words, I didn't remember why, or that they were my first words, Grandma filled in the rest of the information years later. I think I remember it because it was the first time (of what was going to be many) that I could see Grandma stifling a giggle or trying her damndest not to smile. Through the choked giggles and the hand up to her face to try to hide the smile, she tried to tell me that it wasn't a good thing for little girls to be saying. Knowing me, I no doubt thought.. "And why not? He did a bad thing!"
I wish I could have been a mouse in the corner when mom or dad or whoever came to get me (if they even did ~insert loud evil laughter here~) and Grandma, again trying to keep from cracking up, announces, "Your daughter said her first words today." Mom I would imagine would have been a little sad that she didn't get to hear them, that is until she learned what it was that I said. I wonder if at that moment Mom thought, "Oh dear God, help me, this one is going to be interesting."
When I think about that story, I always chuckle. In a lot of ways, my memories seem like something that happened to someone else, or it was like I watched it on TV or something, but when I hear or I remember that story, I don't doubt for one second that I did that. I haven't changed a damn bit! No wonder I still feel like I am only 5!!!!

For you, Ma..

2006-05-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

Those childhood memories. They hit you at odd times. Sometimes you don't even need any kind of reminder,, it just shows up. They make you smile, giggle, chuckle and even roar. Sometimes tears form in your eyes, making it hard to see, making it hard to smile.
The older we get, it seems those childhood memories visit us more. I don't know if it because as we age, we see the coarseness of the world and something deep within us needs something "softer". Is it a defense mechanism that God built into us? To be able to remember "softer" times; times that were innocent, times when we looking at all the world with wonder and most of the time delight. Is it these childhood memories that get us through our "golden years?"
I remember as a child, old people were always talking about when they were kids. Did they feel as I am starting to now? That my body has defied me. I am stiff, every joint in my body aches, my memory of what I did yesterday is shot to hell, but by God, I can tell you what happened when I was 4 years old.
I am an aging baby-boomer. 50 is just around the corner. (I have to tell you, as I type that, I felt a nausea in the pit of my stomach. As I look at the number.... 50, I am shocked, I blink my eyes a couple of times, jut to make sure. It is downright appalling... especially when emotionally I feel like I am still about 5 years old.)
What has prompted me to write this stuff down, the memories that are stored in my little brain, is because the other day I was having one of those "reliving childhood moments" and within that memory I could hear my Mother's voice, 'Lyd, you should write about that stuff." My Mother has been telling me to write a book or something for as long as I can remember. (You know what? That saying...'for as long as I can remember' is kinda funny when you get older... cus, hell, most of the time you can't remember a damn thing.)
I digress.... (what's new?) Mom, her telling me to write stuff down. This little lightbulb sputtered and popped and finally lit up over my head... 'Mom's right, I gotta get some of this stuff down.'
You see, my Mom, the witty, intelligent, empathic, gentle woman that she is has been having some memory problems for a few years now. A lot of it is due to the fact that stress got the best of her when she was dealing with a husband that was going through life with a chip on his shoulder, angry at everything, confused, frustrated and mostly just plain afraid of his failing health. He didn't make things easy for my Mom. After she retired, she was having to be home with him all day, and it really took its toll.
And Mom, being the dedicated person that she is, stood by him, maybe she was gritting her teeth and cussing up a blue-streak under her breath the whole time, but she hung in there until his passing a couple months ago.
So, Ma, this is for you. Let's take a little trip down memory lane- you could use the laugh, I'm sure. And please don't fall over from shock that I am actually doing something you suggested. I do listen, ok, well, some of the time.
With all my love,
"Lyddie"

To Be That Kid Again

2006-05-03T12:34:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was a wee one, my grandparents would take me on trips with them in the summer. They had a comfy stationwagon and I had the entire back-end all to myself. LONG before seatbelts and kiddie car seats were mandatory. Back when a kid would wander all over the inside of a vehicle while Mom, Dad, Grandma, or Grandpa was screaming down the highway at 80-90 miles an hour. Grandma would fix up the entire back area for me. I had blankets and pillows, all my favorite reading books, crayons, coloring books... things that would entertain me for hours. A lot of the time just having those things around me was a comfort, I would spend most of the trip just gazing out the window at everything that was passing by. Farm houses nestled between trees, surrounded by acres upon acres of land. Deep gorges cut out of the earth to carry rivers to the sea. Little towns that were not in a hurry, where everyone smiled and stopped to talk to the new faces on the street.Shaded, cool forest roads where I would hop up to the seat in front of me and roll down my window so I could breathe in the musty smells of the forest. Coastlines,I would do the same, roll down the window and inhale the salt air. It is as if these things caressed my soul. When I close my eyes, I see myself then, tiny, sitting in a huge car with lots of room to roam around in, face half out the window, smile on my face, breathing in all the wonderful smells and fresh air, a peaceful and content feeling. No worries, not a care. I was also fascinated by other travelers on the highways. Passing us in their big cars. (EVERYONE had big cars back then. Big- heavy- slabs of steel on wheels.) Other kids crammed in the backseat, faces pressed against the glass, staring at me, as if to say... "how come you have all that room? Or, "where are you going?" Funny how kids will look at each other when out and about, but for adults to make eye contact, well, hell, that is just unheard of! Maybe we feel as though we would invade the other's personal space or something. Kids, they just stare at each other. It's like there's some kind of telekenesis going on.
I live in Washington state and the trips I would take with my grandparents were to the coasts of Washington and Oregon. Some of my best memories are of those times. Also, some of my most disturbing and saddest- but not right now. I am relishing these happier memories.To get from one side of the state to the other we had to go through a desert area, dry, unbelievably hot and just plain nasty. My grandma did most of the driving back then and she liked to leave on our trips at a time where we would hit that area in a cooler part of the day, but life being as it's always has been- inconvenient...it didn't happen that way sometimes. Grandma was prepared though. She would bring a bottle of water and some washcloths or dishtowels, once the heat got too unbearable, she would soak the washcloths or dishtowels and then hang them out the window as we blazed down the highway. It would cool off the towels and we could press the coolness up to our faces and necks. I was always amazed at how quickly it would cool me off. We must've looked like we were in some kind of distress. White cloths whipping through the air. I wonder if anyone thought momentarily that our car was racing madly down the highway, completely out of control and we were trying to flag someone down. I never thought about that until just now... that is damn hilarious!