At one point in my life, I don't remember how old I was, but it was after my incident with Uncle Jim. Maybe it was soon after.... I'm not sure. All of the girls in the family, were brought to the courthouse to talk about any "wrong" contact with Uncle Jim that should be brought to light.. One by one, his girls, my sister and I, all of my other girl cousins, and cousins on the other side of the family that I didn't know, were taken into a room and questioned by some stranger, a woman as I recall.

I have no idea why or how he didn't get put in jail, but he only had to attend some sort of classes for one year as punishment. I wonder now if maybe his threats caused these girls to not tattle on him. I of course, told what he'd done to me, but I'm sure my incident alone would not have been enough to put him away. Maybe in those days, this sort of thing was not treated as serious as it is today. I wouldn't know, I was just a naive child.

Was I the only one who had anything to report? NO, I don't think so. I don't know for a fact, but I have always assumed he molested his own girls and I was pretty sure he had at least touched some of my other cousins, as he did me. Did none of them rat him out? Were his threats that effective? Did the people at the courthouse not believe us?... not believe me?

I have NEVER talked about this with any of my cousins. I don't know why we don't talk about it. Even now, so may years later, it seems never the right time. I guess I don't want to bring up bad memories for them. Maybe I think they'll deny it ever happened and leave me wondering and struggling even more than I am now. I know one thing for sure, though, I bet I'm not the only one who thinks about those times; especially when he shows up to a family gathering.

For so many years after this all came down, he never showed his face at any of our family get-togethers. Which was fine and dandy with me, but then he showed up to something about ten years ago. I guess when nobody held a gun to his head, he decided all was forgiven, because he shows up regularly now. I asked my Mom one time what had happened.... why had everybody forgotten what he did? She said they hadn't forgotten, but he's tolerated for Aunt Annie's sake! Mom told me I should try to find a way to forgive. My mother; such a beautiful, God fearing person. I should forgive. After all, he didn't really harm me, not like he harmed my sister. Oh, but he harmed so many of the people I love. How did Mom find it in her heart to forgive such a horrible man? I know my baby sister has not forgiven him and so far neither have I. It's going to take a miracle, I think.


 

I was old enough by the time Daddy died, that I didn't spent much time at Aunt Annie's house anymore. But, several years later, our baby sister had become enamored with my youngest cousin's horses and had started going over for weekend visits. I'm not sure how old she was when the visits started, because I was off doing my own thing by then, screwing up my own life. But I'm guessing she was probably around the same age as I was when Uncle Jim had touched me.

A few years ago, some secrets were revealed to me by my little sister. She said she couldn't keep them to herself anymore. One of those secrets she told me, was that Uncle Jim had molested her when she was a little girl, more than once too. My heart broke that day. The little sister, who was born ten years after me, I had always thought grew up happy and spoiled. But in reality, had suffered far more hardships than any of us knew. And worse, the family I thought I had grown up with was not the strong, normal family I thought.

Uncle Jim! Oh, how I hate that man!
When I asked my sister if Mom knew about the molestations, she told me yes, that eventually Mom found out. She had followed in my Dad's footsteps and confronted him with a gun. But the damage was already done.

I asked my sister why she kept going back? Her response was, she'd forget... she'd block out the nights and only remember how fun it was to ride horses all day. Then, when night came, all the bad stuff would come back to her.

I asked her why she didn't tell Aunt Annie. And she broke down and cried saying that Uncle Jim threatened that if she told anybody, he'd hurt Aunt Annie.... our beloved Aunt Annie! Still to this day, I cannot understand why she stayed with him. She had to have known what a monster he was! But, now that I think about it, he was no doubt beating her as badly as he beat his kids, or worse.

Now, I regret that I didn't pay attention to what was happening in the life of my baby sister. I should have known she might be in trouble. Mom should have known. Sigh

 

Years ago, I remember walking back and forth to the park with my older sister. We were probably about 9 and 10 or close to that age. We had been taking swimming lessons that summer and since Mom and Dad both worked, Teri was given the trust of walking us there and back safely. We only lived about 6 blocks from the park in a fairly small, safe town.

One day as we were walking home shivering in our little swimsuits, We walked past a car with a man in it. He smiled at us and waved us over. We were both quite shy and backwards and weren't sure how to handle this. He was an adult afterall, and we respected adults. This was at a time when kids weren't as well educated about strangers as they are today... or at least we weren't. We took a few steps toward the car but then noticed that something was not right! The man had been rubbing himself and had exposed to us, his very naked, very large penis! Well, we ran and ran and ran toward home, then Teri says, "We have to go back and get the license plate number. We have to tell Dad!" So we turned and went back to the park and sure enough, he was still sitting there so we both memorized the license plate number and took off running again. I was just so sure he'd come after us for that, but we made it home. We recited the number all the way home. I bet I can almost still repeat it some 40 years later. That was the first time I realized that something like this might be WRONG!

That evening we couldn't wait for Dad to get home so we could report the incident. Of course dad was right on the phone with the police. Later on, in private, I asked my sister if that was the first time she'd seen anything like that. "Well, yes, of course!" she said, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Well" I told her, "I've never seen one but I've felt one." She looked at me in disbelief, until I gave her the gory details.
Then she dragged me back in front of my father and made me confess my story to him. I thought I'd die of embarrassment. I never told my sister another secret from then on, I was so disappointed that she betrayed me.

Now begins an earlier story, one about spending time with my cousins across town. I was quite close to several of the kids in that family of 6. My brother and I spent a lot of time over there. We adored our Aunt Annie; almost as much as we adored our own mother, her sister. She happened to be married to a very mean man. To this day I still don't understand why she stayed with him. As a child, I really didn't question that his behavior was not right, even though we never witnessed this awful temper in our own home. I just made sure to never make Uncle Jim mad, because I'd witnessed his explosive temper a few times, when he beat his kids way beyond a normal spanking.

One day, I had been over playing with my cousin Carol, while my Aunt Annie was away. Uncle Jim, who was home, took me by my hand and said he was going to go look at the furnace in the basement and I was to come with him, while Carol cleaned her room. Oh how I wanted to help her clean her room, but I was not going to make that man mad. As we headed into the basement he slipped my hand into his pocket and forced me to rub his penis through the fabric. In my innocence, I was so confused by what he was doing, that I did not refuse. I was feeling very uncomfotable though. We walked behind the furnace where he was supposed to be looking at something, but he would not allow me to remove my hand, he kept pressing it into his penis and rubbing. It seemed like eternity, but eventually I heard a couple of the kids bounding down the stairs looking for their dad, and I was allowed to escape.
Later that day, he lined up several of the kids, marched them into his bedroom and proceded to beat them while I sat motionless on the sofa with my brother and listened to their begging and pleading and screaming. Then as he walked back through the livingroom afterwards, he stared at my brother and I like we could be next. Probably a silent warning to us. I don't know why I never said anything to my parents at the time. Who knows why kids think the way they do sometimes?

So, as I stood there telling my dad all of this stuff, with my mom listening in the back ground, I'm not really grasping the seriousness of the situation. I can see that my dad is very angry and my mom is telling him to not go over there (to my Aunt and Uncle's house). I'm wondering, why not? Confront this horrible man, so maybe he won't beat my cousins again! I'm thinking Dad's angry about Uncle Jim beating on his kids. Well... I'm dismissed... Dad leaves and Mom is extremely upset. I found out years later, that my dad had a gun with him that night, and that he threatened to kill my uncle if he ever touched us kids again. From that night on, that man kept his distance from my brother, my sister and myself. That is, until after Dad died.... then the threat was no longer in play!
 

Why is it they seem to want released at the most inconvenient times? Saturday, I fought so very hard to hold them back, and I succeeded, but it took all my strength to build a wall strong enough to hold back the inevitable flood, that would have made life uncomfortable for all nearby. Unfortunately, that wall proved awkwardly silent, making life uncomfortable for all nearby, regardless.
And now that I have time, I've opened the floodgates to expose what lies beneath, and all I can manage is just one insignificant drop at a time.

Why do I have to be so strong?

Oh yeah.... sanity.

 

It's that time of year again. The outside temps are dropping and the creepy, crawly things are finding their way inside.

Lately I've been consciously trying to be more kind and tolerant toward things that make me feel uncomfortable. So, last night before bed, when I found a spider in my bathroom sink, I grabbed the water glass off the kitchen counter and coaxed that spider inside, instead of washing it down the drain like I normally did. I then returned the glass to the kitchen - I'd take it outside later.

But... I went to bed and forgot about the spider.

Yep... you guessed it.
Half asleep, dark kitchen, middle-of-the-night thirst...
No, not me - but my husband - filled the spider haven with water and proceeded to drink it.
In the same instant he realized there was something solid in his mouth, he swallowed.
It wasn't until this morning when I asked, "What happened to the glass that was sitting here?" did we figure out what had become of the spider.

Needless to say, I think my spider rescuing days are through.
 

Today I was browsing the contest forums looking for something that would trigger that writing bug to make an appearance, when I ran across a prompt that sent my mind whirling back to my childhood.

The contest: "Invalid Item"   by A Guest Visitor
The prompt: "billowing on the clothesline". Here is my memory:

I was probably four years old when the innocence of my childhood was interrupted by this gruesome event. I suppose my reaction could have been blamed on the fairy tales that Mom had been so lovingly reading to my sister and I before nap time. When you think about it, some of those tales are really quite startling; there are witches who eat children, awful giants at the top of huge beanstalks, ogres who run wild around countrysides...

On this particular day, my sister and I awoke from our nap like any other day and wandered out of the bedroom looking for Mom. She could not be found in the house, so we wandered out into bright sunlight of the back yard, while rubbing the hazy nap-time dreams from our eyes.

There, swaying in the summer breeze, we beheld the hideous crime scene. On the clothesline, hanging by the scruffs of their necks, were our beloved friends; Blabbermouth, Lamb Chops, Bunny Rabbit and Dancing Bear, among others. They hung lifeless, their heads awkwardly dangling by threads, staring blank-eyed down at us.

Sis had the good sense to scream, which brought Mom running, while I just stood there with gaping mouth, trying to wrap my little mind around this grisly sight. Then the tears erupted. Mom had to comfort and somehow convince her babies that she had not killed their stuffed friends.

Oh, what a devastating day that was. How were we to know that while we slept Mom, had carefully taken the stuffing out of our animals so she could wash them. I bet she had hoped to get them put back together before we woke up.

How times have changed, Today, in our throw-away society, those stuffed animals would have just been tossed and replaced with new ones. I just wonder now.... were our toys that dirty, or was Mom just a clean freak?





 

Dear empty nest,
You seem colder than usual today. I was looking forward to spending a cozy Sunday in your midst but you seem so big and unfamiliar. I'm having a hard time feeling the warmth you once possessed.

Maybe it's because I sense the approaching winter in the air outside. You know I hate winter. It helps when I can light a fire in the stove, but the chimney hasn't been cleaned yet. I lit a candle thinking it might melt some of your obvious gloom. But it only created a false comfort, soon my restlessness returned. I wonder why I seem to find comfort in fire anyway? Doesn't that seem odd? Watching the flames' fingers reaching aimlessly, somehow gives me a feeling of calmness, like meditation.

Perhaps being alone today is the cause of my melancholy. I have so much I could, should be doing. But since I'm alone I don't feel like I have to prove my worth around here. Nobody's watching but you. So I wander....to Shannon's room, in search of something I cannot grasp.

Maybe you seem so distant because of the conversation with Shannon last night, when we realized it was going to be another two months before we see her again. This will be the longest she's been away, ever, six months total.

And empty nest... it will only be a visit this time. You are not home for Shannon anymore. Oh.... I understand now.... you are missing her too. I suppose we better get used to it. It's a new life for her with this new fellow and new job. She's happy.

Would a fresh, new coat of warm terra cotta on your south wall bring you comfort? Perhaps a new, updated window covering would cheer you up.

Empty nest, we will get through this together....
 

I've been into "heavy" writing so much lately that I decided to try something much lighter today. I'm going to expose another side of myself. A side that even I have to chuckle at when I think of what a goofball I am. Be warned, you might have to laugh.

First I need to tell you about a syndrome that affects one person in every generation of my family. I happen to be that one! Some call it the "Edith Bunker" syndrome, I call it the "Aunt Annie" syndrome, because she is the one inflicted in her generation. And lately at family functions, I've heard it called the "Aunt Sandy" syndrome as my neices and nephews joke about it. It starts to become apparent that the syndrome has taken hold in the mid-thirties, and symptoms become more frequent with age.

The symptoms? Well, goofiness, for one thing, is the most obvious...."incidents" just innocently happen to us. It's not like we try to be funny. NO WAY!!! I'd rather die than to purposely attract this kind of attention to myself. But with the syndrome, I've learned that all one can do is find the humor in it and laugh with the rest.

Now, with that bit of information, I'm going to tell you about the week my coat decided to humiliate me; two specific days to be exact. I hope you all will have a good laugh as you get to know another side of me.

It was a chilly morning and I was headed to work. I'm a beautician and work part time in a nearby town, thirty minutes away. Well, as of late, for some unexplained reason (the syndrome), I'd begun to misplace my car keys on a regular basis. It was something I'd never understood when it happened to other people because I ALWAYS knew where my keys were, but now it was happening to me, more often than I'd like to admit. So, I wildly tore the house, garage and car apart looking for those keys, when I remembered my coat. Just the day before I had washed my coat and it was still lying in the dryer. So I dashed to the basement to retrieved my coat and sure enough, the keys were still tucked away in my coat pocket. Off to work I flew, remembering I needed to stop at the store and grab something for my lunch as I wouldn't have time to go out and eat. I ran in the store and quickly picked up a frozen cuisine of some sort and went up to pay for it. The cashier was friendly enough, but I could tell she was quietly hiding a smile. She must have exchanged a joke earlier with another customer or cashier and was still chuckling over it.
Next stop.... work. I walked in and my co-worker/best friend turns to greet me and exclaims, "What do you have hanging off your coat?" I looked down to where she was looking and there, in plain view, a pair of black panties hung off the velcro closure (which I never saw much use for, since I only used the zipper) In my haste back at the dryer, I missed that little "embarrassment-waiting-to-happen". THAT COAT, being black also, had hidden those panties from my eyes. So, the clerk at the store, my friend and several clients in the shop had a good laugh at my expense.

Day two: No it's not over yet! Oh NO, my coat had to try me once again, the very next day.
It was a chilly morning and I was headed to work. (sound familiar?) Yes, once again, the car keys are lost. Again, I tear the house, garage, and car apart, when I remember the coat! Yes... I patted myself down and sure enough, the keys are there. So out to the garage for the third time to head off to work. I can't find the keys in any of my pockets! I'm dumfounded. I hear them jingling... I can feel them... but they are definitely not in my pockets. They are in the lining of my coat! GRRRRRRRR. I carefully search my pockets for holes. NO HOLES! How can this be? How did those keys get into the lining? I finally said to myself, "Okay Sandy, you can use your spare set of car keys, and if you get to work and find YOU have to open the shop, the shop key is with you.... lost in the lining but definitely with you. You can deal with it then."
So off to work I head. Sure enough, I get to work and find the shop locked up and I need to open it. Now I'm getting a bit concerned. I once again, go through every pocket... No holes. I NEED THAT KEY! So I pull the coat off and proceed to examine it, inch by inch. No help! Out of desperation, because a client just pulled up and I needed to get that shop open, I decided to rip the lining out of my coat. I hated to ruin a perfectly good coat... but then again at this point, I'm thinking this coat has turned evil... maybe not so perfectly good any more! And as I find a place to start ripping, my keys fall out on the sidewalk. WHAT???? I'm losing my mind! Realizing which way the coat was hanging when it let loose of the keys, I looked closer... again. And much to my amazement, I found a hidden pocket. Behind one of the big, deep breast pockets that had flaps over a top opening, was a side pocket. Who puts a pocket behind a pocket? An even better question.. who put those keys in that hidden pocket? I needn't ask that latter question though, because.....
HEAVEN HELP ME! I'VE GOT AUNT ANNIE SYNDROME!!!!!
 

The words of Charles Dickens sum up that year so well for me:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us..."

1975
Something inside me had been building and building, as happens in the lives of most teenagers, and the time was finally here; I was graduating from high school. My thoughts were beyond reason, though I wasn't aware of that. I figured changes were in store and I was ready! After all, I had been playing grown-up-like for a while; I had a car, a job, spending money. It was a time of "free love" and my friends and I had jumped blindly into that, as well. Life was good. Yep... I was ready!

My Dad and I on the night of my Graduation

I had whined to Sam (my husband) that I had an urgent need for some "rough" camping, before the weather goes cold on us. "We just went camping," he informed me. Oh sure, we had gone to his sister's cabin two weekends ago, but I was left unfulfilled. Yes, her cabin is in the mountains under some pine trees, but it is a house.... with running water, bathroom, power, television! So I whined and whined until finally, this weekend, I got my way.

All I needed was a place far away from civilization, a tent, sleeping bag, air mattress of course (my 50 year old bones are a tiny bit picky about where I lay them), plenty of junk food and alchohol, and most importantly, a campfire. sigh... I'm now fullfilled!

Here are few things I learned on this camping trip:
I don't like to go on hikes after drinking Twisted Tea.
Crawling under a barbed wire fence instead of going around it can shred clothes.
Ants are amazing little bugs to watch.
I can stare into a fire for hours and not think about anything.
Not all creatures that ransack camp in the middle of the night are bears.

This little donkey woke us up at 2:30 a.m. tearing up our camp. Of course as we are listening to all the ruckus outside, our thoughts are racoon, deer, bear! But Eyore? My husband, brave soul that he is, got up and escorted the little fellow out of camp and put the ice chest etc. inside the vehicle. Our visitor was still grazing nearby when we got up in the morning.