I’m more than half way unpacked. While unpacking I haven’t stopped to cook a meal or anything, I’ve just eaten sandwiches and salads. The other night as I sat on the futon and picked out Chinese crunchy noodles, I was reminded of all those nostalgic times with an old girlfriend I used to traveled with. Sometimes we only traveled across town, but across town there’s a really wonderful hotel that serves free cocktails every Thursday evening. She and I checked in Wednesday, closed the curtains to shut the world out then we’d chat until all hours of the evening. We’d sing show tunes in the hot tub, dance in the room and sit down to a candle lit microwave meal and a side salad. Once Thursday evening hit it was Cosmopolitan time for me and several Tom Collins for her. After free booze it was back upstairs for more girl time. We had a blast doing that. For most of nine years she and I found a way to have mini vacations like this. Expensive? Yes, but well worth the bonding time.
Tag Archive for 'family'
Just like most psychopaths, my mother had parts of her that were not violent and destructive. I’d like to list a few things she did right. The list is in no specific order.
- My mother taught me to look decent when I leave the house. Don’t go out looking like any old thing. Be clean and presentable.
- My mother taught me the importance of speaking a foreign language of
- typing, shorthand and other basic secretarial skills. She taught me to type when I was 8 years old.
- She taught me the importance of manners. Thank you. Please. Those basic manners make a difference.
- She taught me God’s name. (She did everything in her power to mess with my head with religion but she did teach me God’s name. That much she couldn’t mess up.)
Ah yes, family photos!
In these you’ll see my Pretty in Pink years, the years I thought Corey Hart was the greatest person on earth and my sister’s “I’m so hot” poses. There’s a rather embarrassing one of me with a piece of wheat in my mouth while holding a guitar (which I don’t know how to play). There’s one where my sister and I have “dukey braids” and others of me, little duck, at various stages of duckling-hood.
Quack!
I don’t exactly remember what you look like until I see your photo but I remember your voice, your hands and your eyes. The rest of you escapes me.
Photos of you as a child show such sadness only I feel no sympathy for you. I know what was done and how horrible it was yet I feel no sorrow for you.
I’m not sorry nor am I happy that she beat you, but I am sorry you chose to beat me. I’m not sorry nor am I glad that you were molested and raped, but I’m sorry that you CHOSE to do those things to me. I’m sorry that you blew a chance to turn our family’s legacy around.
I’m not grieved by nor am I pleased that your heart breaks because you know your mother doesn’t love you. I’m sorry that you CHOSE not to love me. I’m not sorry that you hated having me as a daughter. If I was such a horrible, horrible person and you decided to keep me anyway, why, that was your choice too. Continue reading ‘I’m Not Sorry’
It was terribly ugly. In addition to dealing with an entry that put me on edge and disappointed the hell out of me I was dealing with being two doors down from my father’s house. My father is not an abuser it’s just that the area itself brings back frightening memories. I went to get the blanket not knowing how close it was to so many memories. I wasn’t ready, hadn’t prepared myself mentally for having it all thrown back on me so quickly. Had I been prepared for it I may have handled it better.
We in this house spend a lot of time judging one another. So-in-so isn’t doing enough around here. So-in-so gets a check and doesn’t work. So-in-so sleeps all day. So-in-so does this, that and the other which I’d never do because I’m responsible. Why can’t so-in-so be perfect like me? Oh yeah, we toss words about one another all the time. What’s more, we each act like our own routine is more important than the other person’s routine. We even all act like fools (in our own way) when our routine is interrupted.
How do you manage a house full of people who have no respect for one another and who are prone to acting out? How can we expect those around us to manage their behavior when we ourselves are out of control?
I recently saw a photo of my aunt posted on her business website. The first thing I noticed is how fragile she appears. She no longer looks big and powerful. She’s no longer the person I remember who had me cowering in the corner. As she held her fist above me all I could see was wood, wood detailing, a wooden door, and wooden floors. When I saw her photo all I saw was an aged woman with bad hair.
My family is made of the strong work horse type. We live forever but we don’t age gracefully. My grandmother is still living. I’ve seen a photo of her. She doesn’t look so strong anymore either. As a matter of fact it looks like if you blow on her she’ll fall over. This isn’t the woman who beat her children with a walking stick. This isn’t the woman I remember who could make my mother a small girl with a word. She too has bad hair.
My other strong genes come from my grandfather who endured poverty, served in 2 wars, survived 3rd degree burns from the waist down then finally lost his life at 87 to his 9th stroke. He’d been through enough. He had nice hair. My greatgrandmother was the “Matriarch of Pain” who finally died at 95 of leukemia which had gone into remission when she was 5 years old. She had pink hair. We have many, many family members who made it to their late 90’s all with really bad hair. So here’s the thing, I know my life isn’t going to be easy. I know I’m going to continue to have major trials and tribulations but I ask, I implore, that I not end up with bad hair.
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