Be forewarned, I lost what I had planed to write here while sleeping, so I apologize in advance for my lack of flow and cohesiveness.
Well, I've been trying to write on and off all day, unable to decide on what to say today. And here it is, 1:03AM, as inspiration takes me. Oh, I am a night-owl! Redundant, no? But you know what I mean, and my kids love the morning sunshine. So, off we go!
I've always loved the outdoors, and animals. Particularly puppies and cats of any age. And I've always been... what's the word? Independent, aloof, mischievous, inquisitive. All of these things, and on top of this, alert and calculating. I literally have a catalog in my brain, everything I've read, watched, seen, heard. I can honestly say I remember 85-90% of the events of my daily life from age 3 to present. I have a section on road maps and trails. Everywhere I've been, since I was 7. Survival instincts, photographic memory, whatever you chalk it up to, I put it to good use. At age 7, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, "A con-artist, like Catwoman."
I was an escape artist. Four years old and I would slip out of the yard and through the trailer park to the back, where there were always stray and pet puppies and kittens. Now, when I said slip, I meant I would weave between the trailers, avoiding the roads like when we played hide and seek. Though I talked with whomever I encountered. I knew many people, especially older folks, through the park. Many days when I was older and allowed to run with friends we didn't come home for lunch, it being provided 'long with lemonade or koolaid by one of many elderly ladies who'd previously needed garbage taken out, mail collected from/or taken to the post house, or flowerbeds weeded and/or watered.
When I was four or five it was common occurrence when we were at the grocery store or mall for me to "vanish." Even when leashed, I would free myself, leash the little girl my mom babysat, and disappear. I could be found in the toys, or Disney store, up on the stuffed animal display below the movie screen. This behavior continues to present, though much more predictable now that I have children.
This trait of mine was most pronounced during early puberty, when I found my family didn't quite like me, and I found I didn't quite belong. I was five or six the first time I went into the woods, and I remember many adventures in them, but not which particular trip was first. There was going into the woods behind Grams' (My dad's mom) with uncle Chuck and all my cousins. Mom, Krissy (My sister, Kristina), and me going through the wooded trails between the park and the farmer's backyard where the blackberries grew. The time she took me and Krissy down the trail to the river, and I was right at home on that steep muddy hill, like an elf, like a deer. And Kristina so clumsy, she tripped on a root, and then again, slipped on the river bank rocks. We weren't allowed to go down there anymore, but I'd already been, seen and collected the pretty rocks and shells and flowers. The trail was so easy, right off the back corner of the trailer park. Soon, I was going every chance.
My Grams, she's a religious lady. I grew up going to church weekends with my dad, Grams, sister, and extended family. Southern Baptist was her brand, and probably my favorite out of established branches of Christianity. But my brand is not her brand, and probably not yours, either. That's a whole n'other philosophical and theological discussion, though. She had strong opinions, too. And well, she didn't like my mom. You see, my mom was promiscuous in her adolescence, 19 when she had my brother. For whatever reason, she convinced a man who was not his father to marry her and gave my brother his last name. When it was discovered that my mother's husband, and his mother, were abusing my brother, my Grandpa quickly ensured with a shotgun a quick absolving of the marriage. Four years later, my parents marry; and a year later my sister is born. Get this, moms birthday- May 2, dad- April 2, brother- April 12, sister- May 12. Me? December 29.
My mother was, much like my sister is now, a shopaholic. Also, a hypochondriac. She had four separate doctors, each told a separate set of symptoms gleaned from a medical text. One of these doctors prescribed a trial medication, that in combination with other prescriptions and genetic predisposition, triggered the onset of my mom's paranoid schizophrenia when I was three years old. That year my mom sewed my zebra blanket, and I watched her descend into madness further and further as she started the story-pillow set. She spent some time in a ward. She painted a picture of our trailer while she was there, I still have it.
And then the divorce. I was always mommy's little princess. You see, my sister has a degenerative hip disorder, Legg Perthes, and spent most of her 3rd grade to 5th grade in the hospital prepping for and recovering from multiple surgeries and physical therapy. Before then she'd been in beauty pageants and gymnastics. No wonder we've never been close. On one hand the crippled diva, the other the wild Fae. For a long time, I believed my Grams when she said I was a changeling, and what was wrong with Krissy and I growing up to be like mom? She was fun, beautiful, loving, ethereal. She told wonderful stories.
I didn't know, but I knew I didn't like all that yelling.
I took to the woods full time after dad got custody of us when I was 7, when Gram's started babysitting sis and I. From 4pm to 1-3AM weekdays and all day most Saturdays.
I'd always played outside a lot, but when Gram's started babysitting it became apparent that she favored my cousins. They would get snacks [Ho-hos, oatmeal cream pies, cookies, pop] after school, sis and I got nothing until dinner. My oldest cousin had her own room, the younger slept in Gram's bed. My sister and I slept on the living room floor. I tended to stay outside until dinner, and right back out until dark if I was allowed. I roamed the creek and woods, pretending to be a landscaper, an indian, a priestess. I built TPs, forts, tents, and huts. I was out, year round, except for the worst of storms. When I wasn't pretending, I was reading. Words, words are my air. Information my food. The stories, my life.
And it is getting late, lack of sleep is wearing on me, and this has gotten longer than I intended, and has not come close to what I wanted to write about. I guess I will continue to unleash the past until I can embrace the present.
Well, I've been trying to write on and off all day, unable to decide on what to say today. And here it is, 1:03AM, as inspiration takes me. Oh, I am a night-owl! Redundant, no? But you know what I mean, and my kids love the morning sunshine. So, off we go!
I've always loved the outdoors, and animals. Particularly puppies and cats of any age. And I've always been... what's the word? Independent, aloof, mischievous, inquisitive. All of these things, and on top of this, alert and calculating. I literally have a catalog in my brain, everything I've read, watched, seen, heard. I can honestly say I remember 85-90% of the events of my daily life from age 3 to present. I have a section on road maps and trails. Everywhere I've been, since I was 7. Survival instincts, photographic memory, whatever you chalk it up to, I put it to good use. At age 7, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, "A con-artist, like Catwoman."
I was an escape artist. Four years old and I would slip out of the yard and through the trailer park to the back, where there were always stray and pet puppies and kittens. Now, when I said slip, I meant I would weave between the trailers, avoiding the roads like when we played hide and seek. Though I talked with whomever I encountered. I knew many people, especially older folks, through the park. Many days when I was older and allowed to run with friends we didn't come home for lunch, it being provided 'long with lemonade or koolaid by one of many elderly ladies who'd previously needed garbage taken out, mail collected from/or taken to the post house, or flowerbeds weeded and/or watered.
When I was four or five it was common occurrence when we were at the grocery store or mall for me to "vanish." Even when leashed, I would free myself, leash the little girl my mom babysat, and disappear. I could be found in the toys, or Disney store, up on the stuffed animal display below the movie screen. This behavior continues to present, though much more predictable now that I have children.
This trait of mine was most pronounced during early puberty, when I found my family didn't quite like me, and I found I didn't quite belong. I was five or six the first time I went into the woods, and I remember many adventures in them, but not which particular trip was first. There was going into the woods behind Grams' (My dad's mom) with uncle Chuck and all my cousins. Mom, Krissy (My sister, Kristina), and me going through the wooded trails between the park and the farmer's backyard where the blackberries grew. The time she took me and Krissy down the trail to the river, and I was right at home on that steep muddy hill, like an elf, like a deer. And Kristina so clumsy, she tripped on a root, and then again, slipped on the river bank rocks. We weren't allowed to go down there anymore, but I'd already been, seen and collected the pretty rocks and shells and flowers. The trail was so easy, right off the back corner of the trailer park. Soon, I was going every chance.
My Grams, she's a religious lady. I grew up going to church weekends with my dad, Grams, sister, and extended family. Southern Baptist was her brand, and probably my favorite out of established branches of Christianity. But my brand is not her brand, and probably not yours, either. That's a whole n'other philosophical and theological discussion, though. She had strong opinions, too. And well, she didn't like my mom. You see, my mom was promiscuous in her adolescence, 19 when she had my brother. For whatever reason, she convinced a man who was not his father to marry her and gave my brother his last name. When it was discovered that my mother's husband, and his mother, were abusing my brother, my Grandpa quickly ensured with a shotgun a quick absolving of the marriage. Four years later, my parents marry; and a year later my sister is born. Get this, moms birthday- May 2, dad- April 2, brother- April 12, sister- May 12. Me? December 29.
My mother was, much like my sister is now, a shopaholic. Also, a hypochondriac. She had four separate doctors, each told a separate set of symptoms gleaned from a medical text. One of these doctors prescribed a trial medication, that in combination with other prescriptions and genetic predisposition, triggered the onset of my mom's paranoid schizophrenia when I was three years old. That year my mom sewed my zebra blanket, and I watched her descend into madness further and further as she started the story-pillow set. She spent some time in a ward. She painted a picture of our trailer while she was there, I still have it.
And then the divorce. I was always mommy's little princess. You see, my sister has a degenerative hip disorder, Legg Perthes, and spent most of her 3rd grade to 5th grade in the hospital prepping for and recovering from multiple surgeries and physical therapy. Before then she'd been in beauty pageants and gymnastics. No wonder we've never been close. On one hand the crippled diva, the other the wild Fae. For a long time, I believed my Grams when she said I was a changeling, and what was wrong with Krissy and I growing up to be like mom? She was fun, beautiful, loving, ethereal. She told wonderful stories.
I didn't know, but I knew I didn't like all that yelling.
I took to the woods full time after dad got custody of us when I was 7, when Gram's started babysitting sis and I. From 4pm to 1-3AM weekdays and all day most Saturdays.
I'd always played outside a lot, but when Gram's started babysitting it became apparent that she favored my cousins. They would get snacks [Ho-hos, oatmeal cream pies, cookies, pop] after school, sis and I got nothing until dinner. My oldest cousin had her own room, the younger slept in Gram's bed. My sister and I slept on the living room floor. I tended to stay outside until dinner, and right back out until dark if I was allowed. I roamed the creek and woods, pretending to be a landscaper, an indian, a priestess. I built TPs, forts, tents, and huts. I was out, year round, except for the worst of storms. When I wasn't pretending, I was reading. Words, words are my air. Information my food. The stories, my life.
And it is getting late, lack of sleep is wearing on me, and this has gotten longer than I intended, and has not come close to what I wanted to write about. I guess I will continue to unleash the past until I can embrace the present.
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