LexiMe - My journey of faith

I used to frequent the art studios. Rhonda would go with me because she knew where everything was. I used to draw back then. I was in need of some charcoal. While there, Rhonda elbowed me and drew in close to tell me there were two men staring at me. I just rolled my eyes. I got my charcoal, paid for them, stared at the men in passing and left.

I had been told that I was always watched by a lady in the shop across from where I worked after teaching school. To me it seemed to begin to be ridiculous. I was not who I was to draw attention to myself. I can understand that I stood out in a new city. I didn’t look like the British women. I didn’t dress like them. They seemed to always be talking while stuffing food in their mouths as they walked. They appeared happy so who am I to say anything different. But it seemed like I was followed, being watched.

Rhonda and I went to Hanley to the art studio there. It had a little bit more of a selection. I picked up my pastels there. I had not been to Hanley so we walked around. I knew then not to wear my pumps on the cobblestone streets. Yet we had a great time and stopped at a bistro for a bite to eat then back to our town.

The next day I stopped into Rhonda’s work to see if she wanted to go check out watercolors with me. I told her I had seen Brian, her husband, earlier and he was going to meet us for lunch. She took an extra long lunch and we went to our local art gallery again. I only got a small amount of watercolor because of not knowing if I would do well with them. The two men were there again. My first thought was to go over to them and ask them if I was going to be having a problem with them but thought better of it. We left, yet we were watched as we walked up to the bistro. We met up with Brian and had a great lunch. She told Brian how I was being watched. He asked if I wanted to speak to the police and I said no. They did not look like what they called yabos.

Months after I went into the art gallery to get a new eraser. Someone asked me a question and when I turned to answer, it was one of those men. It was Gordon King. I had heard of him. He started talking to me then asked if I would pardon him, he needed to make a call. After a while, the other man came to where I was. His name was Douglas Hofmann. They asked if I would join them in the sitting area for a drink. I agreed knowing there were plenty of people around. They apologized for staring at me. I asked them if I reminded them of someone. What they said next just about knocked me off of my seat. They wanted to paint me. I asked them a lot of questions, got my answers and told them I really had to think about it. I told them I taught at school and did not need to be noticed. They assured me I would have certain things changed so not to be noticed. I thanked them for my tea and left. I have to admit I had a smile on my face. Not because I thought I was anything special but as I put it, “Whoda thunk”.

I met with them a couple of weeks later only because of running into them while at the markets. I agreed to pose. As long as my requests were met. I went on my way while thinking, “Girl what in hell are you thinking”. I have never shied away from my sexuality. I have never flaunted it but I have never shied away from it. This was my Aha moment. My coming into myself. A new chapter.

About a month later I was to do what I figured would be my first and only painting. He could tell I was a bit nervous yet, I just didn’t think about me being nude. I went with how freeing it felt. Nudity was quite the norm in the Uk. Almost through it, Gordon said he was going to name his painting of me Contemplation. I did not say anything at first but finally asked why. He told me I was going to contemplate doing another. I raised an eyebrow to that. This one was me. Nothing done to disguise me but I did not think it looked like me. It had a more feminine touch to it and I was no girly girl. I made him promise that it would not be put in the storefront windows as other works of art were done. And I have to admit, it did come out good. I also have to admit I was contemplating. He said with the next one, I would be disguised. I told him I would think about it. When he showed me this painting, I was proud of it.

Less than a month later, I was asked to prepare for the second painting. It was a little more daring. And he certainly changed it up. There was more of a brown color added to my hair. He gave me some bangs and my nose, all I could think of was that it would have made a nice ski jump. He had me holding up a sketch he had done and he even had me with a smile. And as usual when he was almost done he would tell me the name of his painting. This time I was Catarina. I wondered if he had a Catarina in his life at one time and I reminded him of her. I did not ask any further. After getting dressed and looking at it, I was not impressed at all. Of course, I would not be, the face was not mine. He had really done a good job of disguising it with the different hair color and OMG that nose. Doug came to see me before I left and asked when I was ready for his painting. I just looked at him and said, “Say what?” I did not know he wanted to paint me. We sat and talked about it. He wanted me to be more daring. I really had to think about that.

I did my first painting with Doug. He had the same girls work with him on this painting that Gordon had used previously. They asked me if I had ever used henna in my hair. I knew nothing about it. They said, and I will remember their words until the day I die, “It will wash right out”. What a bunch of ballocks that was. They had blow-dried and made my hair look thick by adding products and curling it. The painting was a bit more revealing. I got dressed and looked at it and I was pleasantly surprised. I had always wanted dark hair with dark eyebrows and lashes but it was not to be in the cards for me. I saw evidence of me working in my garden back home in the nude. I did not have one tan line. I thanked him and told him I was all done posing. I would not know what to expect next and I felt I had exposed enough of myself.

Fast forward to May 6 of 2020. For the heck of it, I went onto the art gallery page and looked to see if anything caught my eye. There I was in…..ahem……all my glory shall I say. I did not know what to think. I certainly did not want to be on the internet. I called the art studio and told them I wanted to buy that painting and have it sent to my friend’s home in the USA. It was Phil that had answered the phone. We chatted back and forth and he said, “Is this Rhetta?” I said that it was. We talked for a while. They had moved their studio to where I taught school. I guess a lot had changed back there. I told him I did not realize I was on the internet so wanted to buy the painting to get it off. He said it was a very popular painting. I asked him what that meant and he told me that they took all of their most popular paintings and turned them into lithographs. I had not a clue what that was. He told me to google it, that it would be easier to understand that way. but reclining nude was one of the most popular and was ranked as number one at that time. I then did a google search and there I was in all my glory. I could have shit myself. There was no way I could buy all of those and even if I could, there would be more produced. I was really having a WTF moment. That painting was expensive.

I remembered the horror of the henna that was put on my hair. I had had such pretty, healthy hair but the henna made it unbelievably thick and unruly. And it did not “just wash out”. I had a lot of explaining to do to people I worked with. I just let them think I was stupid in allowing someone to put henna on my hair which in all actuality, I was. Ian, my boss looked at me in disgust when I walked into work that Monday. There were no words said at home. Only hateful looks. My hairdressers had been quite busy trying to get me back to my blonde. I just let my hair grow and kept having them work on it to get rid of the henna. I did not realize how long my hair had gotten. Rhonda and Julienne had taken pictures of it and when I saw it, I could not believe it. I am just happy that eventually all of the henna was finally out of my hair. It took a lot of highlighting and treatments but it was gone. In the end before coming back home, I had it cut up to my chin.

I have to admit that sometimes I looked at my painting and wished I was back in that shape again but I knew I would never let anyone put henna in my hair, ever. I did get the painting shipped here and left at a friends place. My husband would have had a fit knowing what I had done. I just about shit myself at the cost of the painting and the cost of shipping it here. And as luck would have it, as my friend who said they would keep the painting for me, and I had just driven past his house, the painting had been delivered and left on his porch steps. Sheer panic I felt thinking that the tree street neighborhood could have seen it if anyone had opened it to look at it. My friend stopped, put it in his house then we went back to where he worked and I left in my car to go home. I had brought me home, sort of.

I remember seeing Julienne while I was working at school in the UK.  Our eyes met and it was as if we had known each other in a previous life.  She must have been another old soul.   Funny how the old souls just know each other without ever meeting.  I smiled, nodded and kept on where I was going.  I did turn to look and found she had done the same.  Yup, another old soul.

She was outside of my work again and asked if I remembered seeing her a few days ago.  We talked from there.  She had asked what days off I had and we got together on those days.  My first memory of her was how she was so full of life.  Her laughter was infectious.  I felt so at ease with her.  I started to tell her about old souls when she stopped me mid-sentence and finished what I was going to say.  From then on we made many wonderful memories.

  One thing I did notice about her that she was a great prankster.  And she was wide open about them.  Did not matter where she was or how many people were around, she was full of herself with laughter when she was that way.  I liked doing a little joking with people but it was done on a more intimate level.  One time we were hanging our feet in the water of one of the Queens’ Gardens.  She “dropped” a little of her washing up liquid in the water.  It was not long before bubbles were forming.  The thicker they grew the more I wanted to get out of there.  Not her.  She did not do things to be noticed in any way.  She did not have an ego that needed to be stroked.  She just loved life and living…..and laughter.  She was such a breath of fresh air in the city where hardly anyone ever smiled.

  She took me to a beach that was different then the others we had gone to.  She loved taking pictures and I was not one to want my picture taken.  As she lay on her towel, I went out to take a dip then meandered around the beach.  Unbeknownst to me, she had taken two pictures of me.  When I saw them my first thought was OMG….my hair.  Salt water and my hair never got along.   I was also in awe of how long my hair had been.  Luckily enough I had brought some of John Frieda’s product to put on my semi wet hair to help it to behave.  When she was done taking her nap and I was done meandering around the beach and rocks, we just lay closer to the ocean to talk.  I miss those days.  I miss our talks.

I ended up modeling for her, for her job she worked for. We also did shoots for charities. In time she struck out on her own and did very well. It was fun at first but it got really tiresome never really having any time for myself. It seemed a camera followed me everywhere. I met a lot of new friends and went to lots of different places but it was nothing like being home. I was not one to move around like she was used to. I spent a lot of time near or in the water or horseback riding. I much preferred nature to being in front of a camera.

  I heard from Miss Julienne recently.  The ever present prankster let me know by putting pics on my FB.  It was in the evening of Jan 1st.  I was getting ready to shut down to try to get some extra sleep.   A popup telling me someone had liked one of my pics.  I did not think twice where I was tired but it was not long before I realized that I did not post any pictures so went back online to look.  There were no words that could have completely described how I felt but I got what she had posted off of my FB and changed my settings so she could no more post what she wanted. The prankster was at it again.  

  I have since spoken to her.  She has not changed at all.  Her laughter is still infectious.  And she still lives life to the fullest.  Nothing can ever replace those times.  I had been blessed to find another old soul in my lifetime. We surely did have some crazy times, Miss Julienne.

Usually every night there is a bunch of us girls who get together in a group to talk.  The things we talk about could be anything from A to Z.  With this covid isolation thing, more join in. And there are also the ones which I will only call the prudes that gasp in shock but still read what we are saying. It helps us pass the time with laughter and it also cements our friendships more.  I think it also shows a different sides of ourselves. I think I shock and awe most of them. A few of the girls said they wanted what I was having which made me laugh. They had no idea of what I was not having, but had had before. I am also to assume that I had been having more of what they wanted in their lives. That is where it comes to giving up control and being in that moment.

  Last night someone brought up motion lotion.   Jannie had no idea what they were talking about.   I tried explaining that motion made the lotion heat up.   I had to drop a few more hints and then she got it. She then said “Why would I want that hot stuff in me.”  Oh man, we were all busting guts laughing.  That is when I told her the lotion was also for females.  Oh my fucking word, the laughter.   Jannie was still Jannie.   She thought she must have led a sheltered life.   

  We talked back and forth for a while, then told her that the hush bunny was lethal.  I shut down and finished up doing what I had started before the talk.  This morning, I signed on and had a message from Jannie asking me what a hush bunny was.   OMG, the laughter.  I sent her two links.  OMG…they had diagrams of the different ways one could use one….I was pissing myself laughing with what she would think.   Later that evening, she came back with how she really led a sheltered life. 

  I had to remind her that I was half Italian and when I love, I am totally uninhibited and I had been that way long before there was a twinkle of 50 Shades of Grey in the author’s eyes so 50 Shades of Grey got nothing on me.  That is where that conversation ended.  I had never laughed so hard.  This is what happens when we get talking about God knows what and we get laughing so hysterically that it is hard to catch our breath.  I will admit I slept good last night.   

  Tonight we kept it level.  No going off on different subjects but we were still laughing about last night.  Most of the women were straightforward with their thoughts which made my eyes bug out at times but thankful that they held nothing back. So different from the women in my neck of the woods. I am so thankful for my friends even though some are far away.  We’ve never met but we are as close as friends we have known for years.   Us, with all of our differences of opinions.  With our different beliefs.  Seeing that when all is said and done, we share similarities.  And laughter.     

Just read an article on why younger men prefer older women. The article goes on to say that older women are more self-assured, offer space, devotion and herself which is true. I cannot speak for all older women but I am more playful, relaxed, know what I want, and am not afraid of saying what I want.  Emotional stability and lack of sexual hang-ups are other traits.  We are also not afraid to take over and lead the way.  And we also realize that intimacy is not all about sex.

  I am fortunate that I have never had the hangups that others have.  When I love it is completely and passionately.  It just comes naturally to me.  I feel blessed I am one to be able to just let go and enjoy.  I have been with a younger and older man.  There was no difference. It came down to attitude.

  If one just lets go of control then that is when the most magnificent sex happens.  ​I also have to admit that what they call make up sex, is divine.  Too many think sex should be this way or that way when all it really needs to be is just open and honest and felt deep within the depths of one’s soul.  I have also heard of men who watch porn then try to do what they watched.   That is really laughable.  Come on guys, it’s not real. And another realization? A smart woman will know you have been watching porn by the way you interact with her, ​she will know fake when it happens, so pack it in and just be yourself if you really want a good time.  ​I have also known couples who have to watch porn to get the “visual turn ons” of seeing another couple having sex.  If that is what turns you on, that is your choice.  I much prefer to look at the man I love.  My imagination will do the rest.     

  Intimacy is not always about sex.  It is how a person looks at their partner, the hand-holding, the arm around the shoulder, the kiss, the hugs, the laughter, the being able to talk about anything and the cuddling in bed.  That is the best foreplay to me. And I have to add, if they know how to run a vacuum or cook, that also works for me.  If sex should happen because of these things, then great.  If not, also great. 

  With everywhere I have lived and with the people who I have been around, I have found that where the man feels less than a man because he cannot perform on cue, well women also have the same issues.  For lack of a better word(s), women cannot always “get it up”.   And if one partner feels like making love but the other does not, one can still satisfy their partner.  Do I have to draw a picture?  I find it to be the most sensual act that I could perform on my partner.  It is nothing to be shameful of. It ​can be such a turn on. 

  The couple could try tantric sex but most people are afraid to try anything new.  That is when it takes a couple to want to better their sex lives.  ​There are many different positions if a couple is comfortable in doing so.  And it does not always have to be in a bed.  One can find pleasure anywhere.  I have also found that when one or the other gets tired of sex with their partner, they tend to blame it on the other.   And when someone else who is not their partner speaks to them in ways they ​”think​” they have been wanting​ or missing, the wandering begins.  That solves nothing.  And notice I said “think”.   

  People who are not happy in their lives need to understand they have a void in themselves that only they can fill.  No other sweet-talking​ or gorgeous man or woman is going to fill it.  I know many men and women who have kicked themselves for losing what they had by thinking that someone else could “kiss it and make it all better.”

Then there are those who are afraid to let it all loose for many reasons. It can be their physical size or shape, or their sexual bits, they may feel are not big enough, small enough, the list goes on. That is where letting go of control comes into play. Let go of every thought in your mind except for what you are feeling and if your partner can do the same, it’s a win-win situation. Age does not matter unless it is illegal. What does matter is if you both are ready to give up control and as the Nike ad say​s, just do it. 

Was just talking to someone about how things used to be. I grew up dirt poor. Thankfully we had a huge veggie garden. My dad would hunt for meat for our dinner table. In time he had a chicken house. I never knew of so many different ways to use chicken. We had a cow, pig, sheep and a workhorse, Molly.  I learned to ride bareback on her. We never had the best of anything but we had what we needed to get by and we worked damn hard on the farm.  Most of my clothes were hand me downs taken in or made from leftover scraps of material because of being so small compared to the rest of my siblings. I feel I am blessed to have grown up with the “less” we had.  If all went to hell in a hand basket, I would at least know how to get by until things got better.  I learned the hard way without even realizing it was hard, especially as a child.  It was all we knew.  I grew up without running water, a toilet or electricity.  I survived and I could again.

Now as an old fart, I am still a “What if” or “Down the road” kind of person. What if I need milk, what if this happens down the road.  No I am not being pessimistic, I just tend to look at it as “better to have and not need, than to need and not have” because we all know that day of “not needing” will come around to needing.  And worrying won’t make it any easier.  I have had new vehicles but will never again and I am good with that.  I don’t like debt.   I don’t have the best furniture, the best of this or that but I am good with that.   People don’t live within their means anymore.  They get a raise and it is like a green flag to spend it to get bigger and better.

I don’t go over the top for holidays. I wait for the best time to buy and snatch things up then plus get money back for using an app that gives me money back.  Some might say I am tight fisted and I am on most things.   And if someone asks me what I want for Christmas, I prefer homemade.  Something that will give me many memories for the rest of my life instead of some trinket that I will never use.   

I am also blessed to have been able to do and have the nicer things but you know what?  I will take good old memories anytime over the nicer things. I do have a massage every now and then but that is the only thing I do for myself.   I try to eat healthy and that might cost a dite more; I keep my pc up to date for it is my existence to the outside world as far as keeping up with friends overseas, paying my bills, doing research, doing my family history and blogging/writing.   I still wear clothes from when I was in UK and after getting back home here in 2001.   I’m not bothered.   I’m happy and that is all that matters.   When I do update appliances I research them so that I will buy what will last me my lifetime and I take care of them so they will last.  And my older ones go to someone who can use them.

Spending what you don’t have is like living on borrowed time.  It’s going to run out someday.  I will take simplified any day over having things complicated.  Being this way doesn’t afford me many friends but I am okay with that too.   I’d rather have  4 quarters than 100 pennies.

I woke with a wet face from tears flowing, repeating  “I could not save them”.    I had not had this flashback for many years.  No matter how long I had spoken about it with my therapist, it still comes back to haunt me in times when I am feeling helpless.  It is as if I am right back there in time.  The helplessness I felt, the emptiness, the loss of 3 little lives.  The more I cannot sleep, the darker the circles under my eyes get.  People look at me and ask if I am okay.  Allergies I tell them.  I cannot say if they believe the lie I just gave them but in all honesty, I really do not care.   

It was back in the 70’s.   Steve had started working at the school that I worked at.  I was introduced to Dorothy.  We became good friends.  In that time Dorothy had accepted Steve’s proposal for marriage.  Dorothy had children from a previous marriage.  Two daughters and 3 little boys.  I cannot remember if they had been triplets or not.  It was so many years ago.  All I remember is hearing their screams.  Screaming for their mama.   

The wedding was wonderful.  I met a lot of Dorothy’s family.  I started spending more time with them at the farm Dorothy had.  The house was warm and inviting.  The smell of fresh baked cookies and bread is what I remembered the most.  And the coffee pot was always going.  

It was one night that we had been out to their place to have a meal with them.  I left about 9 that night.  We got home, I put my son to bed and had taken a shower and wanted to read.  I ended up falling asleep in the recliner and that is when I got the call.  A fire had broken out where we had come from earlier.  I hollered to my husband telling him what was going on as I wrapped my son up to take him to my neighbors house, telling them I did not know when I would be back and headed to their farm. Bob had already left in the school van, I, in my car. 

Half of the house was ablaze.  I could see a few people from a distance but did not know who they were.  As I got closer, I could see Steve and Dorothy but that was all.   I heard someone shout my name.  It was one of the paramedics on my team, working on a young woman.  It was Dorothy’s daughter, Melanie.  She had tried to go into the burning building to try to save her brothers and had received 2nd degree burns on her hands, wrists and some on the side of her face.  Dorothy had been taken to the hospital. They had made sure Steve went with her. The fire department went in but could not get anywhere near the stairs that would lead them to the boys.  The fire was so hot even the truck’s ladder could not get close enough and with the building showing signs of caving in, they could not enter. 

I had put on a spare firemans coat and helmet and started to go in and one of the boys grabbed onto me. He picked me up so I could not move while I was screaming for him to let me go. I kicked and shook to get away from him and it took two to keep me away from the fire. I do not think anyone’s heart wasn’t affected as we had to stand by and hear those little boys cry and scream for their mama, and us not able to do anything at all.  The top of the house then collapsed onto the floor beneath it. That was when I crumbled. All I remember is that I was picked up and sat against the fire engines steps. We were covered in soot and some of us had some burn marks on us. A bit of my hair was singed. Why could not it had been me instead of those boys. Numb. All I felt was completely numb. Staring at what was just a few hours ago.

I stayed pouring over the remnants of the burnt building, helping others to find the 3 boys and anything that would point to the cause of the fire. It seemed the hours turned into days. I tried to think of anything but what I knew I would find. My first thought was how it was nosy to be going through someone else’s stuff. What right did we have to invade another’s personal life. I thought of anything so not to think of what was eventually going to be found. I also prayed with every step that I took. I had to borrow a pair of the mens boots so I had to scuff around and even fell at times, tripping over God knows what. I prayed for their souls. I prayed to find them quickly. It was perhaps a half hour later when we found them. All huddled together. Arms wrapped around each other. Burnt yet recognizable as 3 small children. I had to get out of there. I had to get some air. I fell a few more times getting out of the building. I remember kicking the boots off and running around the side of their barn and puking my guts out. I just crumbled to the ground and sobbed. When I could hear the others hollering my name, I knew I had to pull myself together to join them.

I remembered the funeral.  The fire department, most of the school was there along with Dorothy’s church members.   What has made me think of this now?   My friend lost her son.  He shot himself at only 24 years old. 

Triggers, they call them.  The last time I had woke up with a wet face and saying that I could not save them was back when I lived in the UK.  Back when the back of the store I worked at was set on fire. The feeling of being “helpless” in situations is what sets it off.  I know I could not have saved Joey.  And in all honesty, I know I could not have saved those three little boys but I felt I should have. I felt that perhaps I had not thought of another way to get to them. 

This is when I miss having someone to hold me when I am going through something like this.  Do not get me wrong, I am proud that I am a strong woman.  I never cry.  Tears may fill my eyes or run down my cheeks but I am not a sobbing out of control woman.  I have always been the strong one for everyone else.  It is all I know.  It is what I do.  I do not know what it is like to have someone who can be strong for me. 

I had a shit night for sleep last night.  It would be so nice to snuggle up to someone who I felt safe with in hopes of getting a good nights sleep.  Just to know someone was there for me.  Someone to hold me when I am like this. Yet I go on being strong.  God forbid if anyone ever found out that I am a gob of mush inside.  

I continue to wake up in tears. I wonder if it will ever end. I keep going over everything step by step trying to find anything that I may have missed. It drains the life out of me. Days later I may not think so much of it…..until the next time. Then it is right back, the same nightmare. And here I am alone, with no one to talk it out with. No one to hold me when I need it the most. No one to help me make sense out of everything.

I tell myself to stop pissing and moaning yet I find I sit and relive everything over and over in my mind. There must have been something I could have done. Why did I not see that one thing that could have saved those little boys. I may never find the answer. Now, if I could not think. Period.

I have always been an organized and structured person yet since being retired I have lost all of that.  I am still somewhat organized but the structure has gone out the window.  I remember before life seemed so much easier.  Up at 2:15 a.m., be to work for 3 a.m.  Work until 11 a.m.  Leave for my other jobs.  Pick up what needed to be picked up at the grocery store.  Go home, do my housework, prepare the evening meal, laundry, etc… 

  I was always a morning person.  I loved getting up while others were still asleep.  Perhaps an occasional car would be out but nature was at it’s best.  Nothing like having it be very quiet and all the different birds singing and squirrels out rustling on the grounds looking for their food.  No one talking loudly or arguing.  No kids squealing as they were on their way to school or playing on the playgrounds.  I always found my cardinals awaiting my arrival at work.  They would get in the tree that was above where I parked my truck.  They would greet me and I would whistle their song back to them while leaving seed for them to eat.  I miss those days.

  I try as I might to figure out when I lost all I loved so much.  And why I lost it to begin with.  Had I gotten lazy?  Many thoughts ran through my mind.  I often wondered if it was a new kind of loneliness.  Before retirement, I was alone but at work I had interactions with many then once I was home I was back to being alone.  Seeing the people at work was my socialization.  I was not one to require people around me all the time.  I prefered my alone time.  I craved it.  I found a lot of times when people did drop in to visit that they did not know when to shut up or go home.  I chuckled at that one but it was true.  I had one neighbor who would be at my front door while I was coming in the back door.  She would talk relentlessly about people I did not even know for hours.  I would sit there in my chair and sometimes I would fall asleep.  In the end I really got tired of this and met her at my front door one day and had to tell her that she did not know when to shut the fuck up or to go  home.  She could not understand until I had to point out that my day was not over and I really was not the type to sit and gossip.  She never spoke to me again which was quite alright.  

  I still sit and think about how my life used to be.  Another chapter.  I admit I am having a hell of a time figuring out how to start my new chapter.  I miss getting out and walking.  It would be nice to have a walking buddy.  I used to get out walking then come home to do my weights.  Then start in with my daily chores.  I know what I am missing but I cannot have it now.  I miss having my veggie garden.  I miss having my flower beds.  I miss the different trees I had put in.  I miss knowing my things were where I had put them.  I live with a person who likes to mow down my flowers.  He says they are in his way.  He has pulled up my trees.  Same excuse.  The veggie garden has been gone a long time.  Too much work he says.  I did not even put my bird bath out this summer.  It would have been in his way.  Not having these things that I love the most leaves me with just the house.  I clean, I organize but it never stays that way.  And so it goes.

  I am hopeful I will have the simple things that fill my soul again.  Who knows, by that time I may not be able to physically enjoy them.  So now I have thought about going back to something else I enjoyed years ago, my charcoal drawing.  Where would I keep my items?  My home is very small.  I still have my easel but it is tucked up on the cellar rafters.  

  So many thoughts, so many questions.  Now to find solutions.  I really need some structure in my life again.  I have a real need to feel all those feelings I have tucked so deep down inside of me.  The biggest is what I dare not speak about openly. It is my “home”. It will never happen.

Awake between 2 and 5 this morning. Hate this cold? that I have been given. Do not know what will get done today but that is okay. Tonight I shall take my water bottle with me to bed.

  In my poorly state today I watch as Sophie inhales her breakfast. I did not eat my turkey last night so I put it in both of their breakfast dishes. Sophie lives to eat where Maya eats to live. Tessa whines until I feed her. I call her starvin Marvin. She takes 2 bites then gets down.  WTH.   Maya has had to go out numerous times to see if Mr. Squirrel is out. She is such a herder. I could not let her run loose like my Mason Man does at his home. She would be gone.

  The music I listen to makes people roll their eyes. Joe, Jaheim if I spelled that right, and of course my Maxwell. Today I have some Colin Raye on. One only knows what I listen to. I am not up to date with music of today. I do not listen to any radio station. I like to download what I like and make it into a cd.  I listen to music that makes love to my soul.  

The way my mind wanders onto different subjects I have been told I am another Tim Cotton. Go figure. Well he cannot be all that bad – the boy in blue. Have never figured out why I have such a diverse amount of friends anywhere from riff raft to law enforcement, judges and politicians. Little ole boring me of all people. Maybe it is because I see outside the box. Even color outside of it too.

I had the weirdest dream last night.  Slept until past 9 this morning.  I had dreamed that I was still teaching school in UK.  I had to go fetch supplies and ended up with them in my trunk.  Someone was with me but cannot remember who but I bet it was my favorite student, Miss Amy.  I had called the school to let them know I had arrived and when the kids shouted to the other teacher (they called her Auntie which is not what they did……why auntie? the students there always referred to us as Miss) that it was me on the phone, a man took the phone and said he hadn’t heard my voice in a while.   He talked away to me as if we had known each other for years.  I was trying to place the voice but could not, yet his voice was very soothing and I did know it but from where and when. 

  The kicker was where I had parked my vehicle was at the end of my grandmothers driveway.   My sister had lived next door to her in a trailer.  That could be where the term “auntie” came from.   Wonder what the dream was trying to tell me.    Teaching school could be associated where I did teach there.  Supplies?   I used my own or is it telling me to find what I need to have here during this virus.   I remember the supplies finally came in so it must have meant that they were hard to find.   

  Whose voice was telling me he had not heard from me in a while?   The voice was real smooth.  A voice as smooth as an impressive single malt whiskey.   I woke up talking out loud to this man, explaining how I had a hard time finding supplies, and I was speaking into the phone, in my normal tone.   Or was the voice from someone else.     

  Anyway, when I woke up it was as if I was right there still in the dream, talking to this man.   Is it telling me to go down to my old haunts?  And why teaching in the UK?  I guess time will tell.

  It still bothers me, the dream.  I asked one person and they replied……:I read it as a new beginning and lots of changes for you. Roll with the flow.   

There are many kinds of fear.  Fear of flying, heights, enclosed spaces, insects, storms, animals, snakes, needles and the list goes on.  It is said that we are born with only two innate fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud sounds.  Just drop an infant onto a bed or make a loud sound, watch its eyes and body language.  Is fear a natural instinct? 

  Associated with fear is anxiety because it is natural for us to be afraid, it is also natural for us to experience anxiety.  Anxiety can be an uneasy, apprehensive feeling we get when faced with dangerous situations (physical, mental and emotional).  I believe fear is learned.  I have always believed that we are not born with any.  It is instilled in us by our parents, siblings, our surrounding.  I also believe infants are like animals in the sense that they can tell when someone is a bad person.   And I also believe that when children are brought up with fear, they end up fearing most things in life.  That old fight or flight acute stress is a hard way to live. 

  I grew up in a fearful house.  I have to admit that I did not seem to acknowledge fear perhaps when I should have.  As a young girl I was supposed to be able to trust my parents.  My dad I could.  My mother was another story.  She was filled with such hatred.  She, her sister Mary Francis and her brother Paul were put into an orphanage by their own mother as young children.  My mother and Uncle Paul ended up in a Maine orphanage.  I do not remember where Aunt Mary Francis ended up.  I had always heard stories growing up about my mother being demon seed.  And after hearing stories from people who knew our family back in the days of us being kids, I had to believe it.  I always wondered if it was her pain from not being wanted.  Even her own mother, my grandmother, had told me that my mother was demon seed.  

  I know my oldest sister was terrorized and humiliated by my mother.  My brother was 6′ 4″ and I remember seeing my mother knock him to the floor, then jump up and down on him.  She would make him wear an apron and wash the dishes in front of the men who helped my dad on his farm while embarrassing him in front of them.  My other sister was never touched or ridiculed by my mother.  I never could figure that out for the longest time.  In the end it was because she was just like my mother.  I think my mother was afraid of her.  I pitied the children that she would have. 

With myself, I knew from a very early age that my mother hated me.  She would make me sit on the potty chair and if I didn’t pee or poop or if I fell off of the chair, she would smack me leaving marks on me.  I was  8 months old.  I thought it was just a bad dream but my dad told me I was potty trained very early.  Then he asked me about the potty chair, I guess to test me.  I told him exactly how it looked, colors and all.  He had thrown it out after I was potty trained.  He was amazed that I remembered back that early in my life. It would be years later when I was told I had Hyperthymesia. Oh joy another word to define me besides dyslexia. I actually believe why my mother hated me so was because I was the runt and my dad always paid more attention to me.  I also looked like her.  Guess it was like looking in the mirror and not liking what she saw.   I still remember hearing her on the phone as she had called her mother wanting to go to live with her.  I heard her say, “No it will be just me”.  Even as young as I was, I knew my mother wanted to leave my father and us children.  I felt nothing.  One never misses what they never had.  In the end, her own mother told her no, that she did not want her back or to even visit her.  

  The only child that would act up was the sister that was never touched.  She would swear like a sailor, kick, bite and spit on anyone.  I remember the time she wiped her ass on my dress that was hanging on the back of the door of the bedroom we shared and I got blamed for it.  Whatever my sister did, I always got the hell for it.   She killed my mothers canary and I got a beating for it.  

  I want to say that my mother was not always miserable.  It was as if she was fine one moment then the switch was turned on and we paid for her moods.  She was Italian so we heard a lot of operas, arias.  I actually loved them.  One time I went to sing along with one.  She grabbed me by the hair on my head and smashed me into the floor.  How did I know she was listening in on the party line.  It was back in the 80’s that I heard from many people that she had kept my hair long so she could grab me by it.   One of my dad’s friends who had known us a very long time told me he didn’t think I would have survived childhood, and that it was a miracle that I was still alive.  Even my dad, years later, told me it was a wonder that one of us kids didn’t kill her. I never thought about killing her. I only wanted to understand what made her like she was.

  We had a wood stove we used year round.  To the left of it was a white metal cupboard.  She was on the phone again listening in on the party line conversation.  I opened the cupboard doors.  I guess that I was not supposed to do that because she was right behind me.  She slapped me and in no uncertain words told me I was not to get in there.  Then she took both of my hands and pressed my fingertips onto the woodstove.  I don’t think I had ever screeched or cried so much.  The older kids knew better than to see what was going on.  My dad worked two different jobs and we all knew not to say a thing to him when he came home.  If he had asked, my mother would tell him what she wanted him to know.  It was not until the latter part of 2003 that I found out I had no fingerprints on the tips of my fingers.  I had applied for a job that needed them done.  I remember the young man telling me that I seemed to not have fingerprints on the ends of my fingers so he had to do the whole finger.  In my mind, I had gone back to the woodstove but said nothing.  

 Sometimes my dad would have time enough to play with us outdoors.  I really hated being the runt but I was included in the sports and I gave it my all.  I had my own catchers mitt and baseball bat.  I think he bought me those to give me that little bit of a boost in my ego for being so tiny.  That baseball bat and her fist was what she used the most on me.  Back in 2007 I had to have a cat scan of my head at St. Joe’s hospital.  One of the techs came running around the corner to ask me if I had ever been in a real bad accident.  I told him not that I had known of all the while remembering my mother and my baseball bat.  I never told people that I grew up with an abusive parent.  All they would want to do is pity me and that is not what I wanted. 

It wasn’t until I went into therapy to deal with my issues because of her that my dad had any idea what had gone on while he was working.  “Rhettie, you were always so happy,” he said.  I told dad that every day was a brand new day hoping things would be better, but they weren’t.  I was the only one that skipped to the breakfast table and would say “Good morning” while everyone there would look at me like I had a want about me.  Only my dad would say “Good morning Rhettie and what are we up to today?”   I was the only happy one, well besides my dad.  And in my old age now, I am so proud to have taken after him, having his good nature and his dry wit.  

  My mother would embarrass my oldest sister in front of her friends and even in front of her principal at school.  My mother never believed any truths we ever told her.  We always got beaten to say what she wanted to hear and when she found out it was a lie, we got beaten more.  My oldest sister was late in getting home from school one day.  And of course, my mother believed it was because she was with a boy.  My oldest sister was beaten into submission and told my mother that yes she had been with a boy when she hadn’t been.  My mother took her to school and in the principal’s office told him what a slut my sister was and kept running her down.  After the doctor’s visit, when my mother actually found out that my sister had never been with any guy, then she told everyone that my sister had lied to her and even made her apologize to the principle for lying. 

We never had any of our friends come to our house.  We were scared to death to have them see how we lived.  We actually didn’t make many friends where we stayed to ourselves, because of fear.  My oldest sister got pregnant to get away from my mother.  My brother joined the navy even though he was terrified of swimming and water.  My other sister used my dad to get away from her by having him go to court to get custody of her then she moved in with her friends.  I wanted my dad to help me get away from my mother but where my other sister had lied to him and used him, he thought I was doing the same as she had and didn’t dare to go to court and be hurt again. As unhappy as that made me, I understood. Why was I always the one that understood. He did tell me to call him every day if I had to so he would know I was alright.    So I stayed until I was almost eighteen.  It was my graduation day.  That was the last time she ever hit me.  I got away from her and ran to the police station. They showed me where the judge’s office was.  I then signed papers to have her arrested and I took off.  I stayed hidden until I turned 18 but even then I was terrified of her.  

  I was the only one of my siblings to go through therapy to deal with what we had gone through.  The others, their choices were drugs and booze.  My sister that had never been touched by mother tried therapy once.  She didn’t like hearing what the therapist said.  She could see right through my sister.  And isn’t it ironic that the one sister that never got hit has had such a hell of a life.  She kept on doing the unforgivable to her own children. She is on multiple antidepressants plus other drugs to keep her going.  I think it was seeing that is what made me get into what I had.  I wanted to help kids and others like me who had suffered or were suffering from abuse.  It was rewarding but I felt I could do more.  I just wanted to help people who had gone through similar things as I had.  I had no one to turn to.  I wanted to be someone’s someone.  I wanted them to know that there was a light at the end of their tunnel. 

  I grew up being terrified of thunderstorms, loud noises, confrontation, just about everything.  I was so shy.  Therapy helped me in dealing with those issues but also my dad helped me.  His Indian roots-he taught me about mother nature and how to accept and respect her.  My siblings thought I was stupid for learning what I did but who are the ones on drugs and who drink?  Not me.  I also tend to be more of an Eastern person.  Yoga was a big part of my life.  And meditation.  I think meditation should be taught in school.  Yoga should be a part of physical education.  It’s how I deal with my pain.  I also believe in trigger point therapy.  I don’t panic like most people do.  I tell them to calmly go down every avenue.  That way they know the best and the worst that could happen.  Most people run from danger.  I run towards it and that is something else I never understood about myself.  If there is a fire, I run to help. An accident, the same. I wished I didn’t feel this way at times.  I can’t seem to help it.  It is just in me.  My daddy always told me I was an accident waiting to happen where I was one to run into danger.  He always told me I would need someone to take care of me, to keep me safe. Well that never happened. I have always had to fight my own battles maybe that was what my dad was afraid of. 

I guess I am the lone wolf.  I do not see my siblings.  I refused to take the blame for their problems.  Some of the problems they had early on, I wasn’t even born or I was an infant, a young toddler, or I lived far from them.    However, I was the only one that didn’t let things bother me like they did.  It didn’t make much sense to me to blame someone else for something they never did.  I guess they will blame until the day they die.  My oldest sister passed away April of 1919.  I never saw her before, never went to her funeral.  All of my sisters have slept with every man that came their way. I was always WTF. I used to have my niece Stacy in my life but her stepfather came from money and his parents left all grandchildren annuities.  So Stacy chose getting 25,000.00 every so often over me.  I am good with it.  She will be the empty one.  Money is everything to her.  She might as well accept it will be the only thing that makes her happy.  She had slept with so many men that she ended up with herpes and when she tells new men that she has it, they dump her.  She is such a needly person which does not help her. She doesn’t even know who her father is.  Sweet Jesus, just sitting here thinking about how my siblings have lived and how their children live now, damn I have been lucky.