Its Christmas Eve and I'm cooking. As ususal. I'm also thinking about Christmas' past. I don't think I can remember ever having a miserable Christmas. Ron died on November 8th of 2002, and I refused to start a 'tradition' of sadness. So I put up the tree and decorated the house. I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day with my family and I enjoyed the season. I still do. I am looking for a certain picture to post and I can't find it. Debi may have it so she is looking. I always got dolls for Christmas. I hated them. Baby dolls were not for me. I wanted cap pistols and a cowboy suit. To appease me, my dad would get me an 'Indian' dress and moccasins. But no guns. One year, when I was seven, Santa brought me a big old walking doll. She had red hair and wore a green dress. I didn't even take her out of the box. About 2 weeks after Christmas, my brother Bob, and a neighbor kid and I were playing cowboys and Indians. We were whooping and dancing around a sapling pine tree. Then we decided we needed to burn someone at the stake. So after much thinking and debating, I got a brilliant idea. I ran to the house and brought back the walking doll. We took off the dress, then we 'scalped' her with a pair of scissors (took awhile since we had to use those silly little school scissors) then we tied her to the pine tree. We gathered twigs and pine straw and put it all around the base of the tree. I found a box of those huge kitchen matches, and away we went. The tree went up in flames and the doll had just begun to melt when my Mother discovered what we had done. Needless to say she was furious. She put out the fire with the garden hose, but left the doll smoldering on the tree. It looked like something out of a horror flick. When my dad came home from work, we were lined up and did another dance under his belt. Of course I whooped and hollored again and cried, but deep inside, there was a grim satisfaction that Chatty Kathy or whatever her name was, would no longer be taking up space in my little tiny closet.
Well, now its the beginning of September. Major hurricane season for us. Ernesto just passed through a few days ago. Ernesto was a non-hurricane event and a blessing. We just enjoyed the rain. Folks went a little crazy of course, and bought gallons of water and prepared for a major hit. I guess thats ok. Better to be safe than sorry. Remember hurricane Donna? I sure do. I wrote an article about it so I thought I would post it here. Like Andrew, Donna was brutal in size and force. I don't think much about the fact that my father put our lives in jeopardy, he was just doing what he thought was right. And because Donna did not destroy our home, as he predicted, he would never again evacuate for a hurricane. It could have killed him. So here's my little article....hope you enjoy it.
Remembering Donna
by
Charlotte Carlile
There is an old Indian Legend that claims no big storm will make landfall at Cape Canaveral. I heard this legend many years ago. Being the skeptic that I am, I did not believe it. I learned the power of the computer early, and as soon as I could, I bought a floppy disk that tracked all known hurricanes at the time. I tracked every hurricane on the disk, and to my surprise, I found it to be true. None of those storms came in from the sea at Cape Canaveral. In July of 1926, one came at Florida from below Lake Okeechobee, then turned to skirt the coast and passed over the Cape. So the old legend still stands. But no matter where a major hurricane makes landfall, the devastation will be substantial and costly. Hurricane Donna is a classic example.On August 29th, 1960, the African continent spewed another rainstorm into the calm Atlantic. The warm waters and bright sun fed the storm as it skipped across the ocean toward the Leeward Islands. It developed enough wind and rain to cause an Airliner to crash in the Cape Verde Islands killing all 63 passengers. The march of death and destruction began its forward trek in earnest. It claimed 108 lives in Puerto Rico from floods and landslides. Hurricane Donna continued on to become one of the most destructive hurricanes in history. The storm caused billions of dollars in damage. My family would be held in its gray turbulence for many hours.By the time Donna reached Mayaguana in the Turk Islands, the wind gusts were estimated at more than 170 mph. This made Donna a category 5 hurricane for a time. The storm then turned toward the Florida Keys and by the morning of September 7th, residents began to evacuate. Many remembered the devastating hurricane that hit the Keys in 1935 and knew the terror, death and destruction it caused. Hurricane Donna began to grow in strength like a boxer training for a fight. On September 6th, the Daytona Beach Evening News reported a slowdown and a possible change in direction. This was an ominous warning for Florida. At 9am on September 10th, the center was located 80 miles southwest of Miami and 330 miles south southwest of Daytona Beach. Donna set a course north northwest and moved forward at 9 miles per hour. The weather bureau began issuing bulletins. Officials recommended those living in the low lying Halifax area to make evacuation plans.The eye of the hurricane expanded to a twenty one mile diameter and passed over the Keys around 2am on the morning of September 10th. Marathon was the storm’s first taste of Florida. It slowed in speed as it seemed to take pleasure in buffeting the Keys with wind gusts in excess of 150 mph. Donna severed the overseas highway in at least a half dozen places. When it turned again, the entire peninsula became a target. Hurricane Donna devastated lower Florida. She destroyed almost half of the mangrove and mahogany trees in the everglades and decimated the wildlife. The seawater flood covered Everglades City and made the small town a virtual garbage dump. Snakes and rats took up residence in homes and vehicles. On the morning of September 10th, Donna pounded Fort Myers with sustained winds of 120 mph and a tide seven feet above normal. The upward trek began continued. I grew up in Mims, Florida, just south of Volusia County. We lived across the river from the Kennedy Space Center. The summer of 1960 played out in quick childhood scenes for me. At twelve years of age, I could feel my childhood slipping away. By the morning of September 12th, it would be gone forever. The highlight of that summer was the ‘camper’. Long before motor homes became a trend, my brother, sister and I helped our Dad build one. He bought an old bread delivery truck and worked tirelessly rebuilding the engine. He cut holes in the sides of the truck and installed window frames and jalousie windows. We painted the inside and he installed a screen partition behind the driver’s seat complete with a screened door. We spent many weekends scouring second hand junk stores in Orlando and Daytona Beach. We found old treasures no one wanted. We bought an old fashioned ice box for $2 and a roll of linoleum for $4. We built wood frames for bunk beds and my Mom bought sheets and pillows. It turned out to be the envy of all the neighborhood kids and a source of fun and pride for us. It would be a faithful servant.We lived in a hurricane’s prey, a house trailer. A box of aluminum not made to hold steady in high winds or tornados. My father would anchor the trailer for storms and it always kept our little home grounded in hurricane force winds. Donna would be no different he said. I remember helping him anchor the steel cables into the eye hooks set in concrete. We stored all the bicycles, toys, garden hoses, outdoor furniture, minnow buckets and go carts, and we dismantled the swing set. We were ready for Donna. I felt safe and snug as I went to bed. My mother woke me up in the wee hours and told me to get my baby sister up and dressed. We went into the living room and I saw a box of food, blankets and water by the door. We were leaving. The wind pushed the sides of the trailer inward. You could feel it give as though trying to shrink from the pounding gale. The winds howled and screamed like ten thousand ghouls in purgatory. My Mother, being a third generation Floridian, knew what a big storm could do to those who did not heed the warnings. I remember being afraid. My Mother, though calm and in charge, gave off a palpable fear. My father pulled the camper at a right angle to the front door so we would only have to traverse a few feet to get to it. My Mom loaded my brother’s arms with blankets covered in plastic and sent him out to the camper. He didn’t know the truck had been moved so he disappeared into the gray howling wind and rain. I screamed for him to come back, and my Dad ran into the storm to get him.Once we were in the camper and dried off, my Dad started the engine and slowly pulled away. I sat on the engine hump beside him as we crawled along. I could see nothing but gray sheets of rain. The truck shivered and rocked in the wind, but hugged the highway. I remember asking my Dad how he could see. He said he was feeling his way. He drove the camper about a quarter mile north on US1 into the little town of Mims. He maneuvered the truck into a narrow space between two buildings and there we stayed. We did not sleep and we talked about what we would do if we had no home to go to. We heard things in the night. A car carrier circled the block looking for a place to stop. We heard the plastic flapping against the cars and tearing to shreds. The big tin Texaco star from Brinson’s Texaco went flying and we heard it ricocheting like bullets against buildings then clattering down the highway. A woman screamed in the night and the wind carried her voice away like a piece of paper caught in a tornado. We stayed safe in the little bread truck. Donna curved back toward the Atlantic as though looking for strength and smelling the warm waters off the coast. She made her exit between Daytona Beach and Flagler, taking the innocence of another generation with her. The next morning, the skies cleared to a pearly gray and the quiet was broken only by subdued voices. Quietness covered the land like a fog. People began to survey the damage. We went home. Our trailer was there, safe and sound and still standing. I remember being so relieved. I ignored the spasmodic cramping in my gut. There was too much going on to give it a thought. We spent the day cleaning up the branches and debris and we were thankful to be safe. My Father never again evacuated during a hurricane, but my Mother always took us to a local school to ride it out. Donna did not claim her children, and she would never allow another storm to come that close.Donna was the first media hurricane, and it paid off. Hurricane Donna is considered one of the most destructive hurricanes in known history because of its size, power and path, but there was little loss of life. That has been attributed to the early warnings and folks taking heed. In 1935, a major hurricane devastated the Keys killing more than four hundred people. When Donna hit the Keys in 1960, there were nine times more residents, yet only three people died. Donna cut a path from the Florida Keys to New England and only claimed fifty lives in the US. Thirteen of those lives lost were in Florida. In Fort Myers, a truck was blown off a bridge and the driver killed and in Port Orange, the bridge tender’s wife disappeared into the night and was found in the Halifax River. My childhood officially ended with hurricane Donna. I will never forget Donna and every year about this time, my thoughts turn inward to a gray howling night in 1960. It is a special terror that can only be imagined.Hurricane Donna Timeline
August 29th………..Donna was born in Dakar, Senegal off the tip of Africa.
September 2nd……..The gathering storm was identified as a possible threat.
September 4th……...Donna passed over the Leeward Islands as a category 5 hurricane.
September 5th……...The downpour caused floods and landslides in Puerto Rico taking
108 lives.
September 6th………Donna passed over the Bahamas and the northern tip of Cuba.
September 8th………Hurricane warning flags went up in the Florida Keys.
September 9th 10th…The storm passed over the Keys.
September 10th…….Donna buffeted Fort Myers then made a northern turn.
September 11th…….Central Florida braced and held on as Donna slammed into the area
then made its exit near Ormond Beach.
September 11th…….By evening, the storm reached the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
The eye expanded to 50 – 80 miles across and winds reached
115 mph.
September 12th…......Donna hit Long Island, NY with sustained winds of 100 mph with
gusts 125 – 130 mph.
September 13th…….The massive storm was decimated by the cooler air in New England
then it died as a low front over Newfoundland.
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August 3, 2006
Hello. I can't believe you are reading this. You must have too much time on your hands. I like to write. Just scribble a lot of nothing. Mumblings and nervous chatter. Maybe the story of my life and just growing up stories. After all, its all about ME. Right?
Today is a slow lazy day here on the beach. I'm sitting here thinking with my fingers on the keyboard. Nothing to say really. Not much in the way of thoughts.
I have been thinking of my Mom a bit lately. She died on August 31, 2000.
I cannot believe its been 6 years since she died. She was such a character.
She was 4 foot 11 inches tall and weighed 89 pounds the day I was born.
Her smallness was never a deterent either. She had that depression era
mentality and she died because of it. Don't spend money unless it is
absolutely necessary, and for God's sake don't go to the Doctor unless
you think you are dying. And she WAS dying. It was too late. She
worked on Monday and died on Wednesday. She worked with kidney
failure. She had a work ethic that was beyond overboard. I have seen
her work with a bucket to puke in. Never mind going home to bed. I
have some of that ethic...but not to that extreme. She hated to cook. God knows how she hated to cook. One of the reasons I am a good cook today is because she made me start cooking as soon as I could reach the stove. She didn't teach me. I had to teach myself. It was Ron's Mother that I really learned from. She was a witch no doubt, but she was one of the best cooks I've ever encountered.
Speaking of cooking...how I remember the wonderful Southern meals around the table at the house on Silcox Street in Augusta, Georgia. My father's mother, my Granny Hop, never wore slacks, ever. She kept a dishpan full of flour under her sink. Two, and sometimes three times a day, the pan came out, lard was plopped in then she added baking powder and buttermilk and salt. She made the best biscuits I've ever eaten. I am so sorry that I don't know how to make her biscuits. She had a 'pie safe' in her kitchen, and at Christmas, each grandchild got his/her favorite dessert. Mine was a 3 layer coconut cake made from scratch with cherries on top. My brother had a pan full of home made banana pudding and my cousin Sherry got a pecan pie. The rule was, no one could touch 'your' dessert without permission. I still remember my father asking me if he could have a piece of my cake. Of course I said yes, and I remember how magnamous I felt. What childish delight. I loved my Granny Hop. She had been married 4 or 5 times and I loved her stories. She told me that her best friend died in her arms and her last request was that she always look after her (the friend's) husband, Dick Hopkins. So of course she married him and thats how she became Granny Hop. He was the only grandfather we knew, and he was a wonderful old man. He had the first TV on Silcox Street, and I remember my Mom and Dad dancing in the living room to Lawrence Welk music. What a shock. There are pictures of my Mom, me and Bob sitting on the couch with Granny Hop in that house. Black and white barefoot memories. Grey and mauve linoleum on the floor and fresh painted walls in the square house with a big front porch. Daddy Hop was pretty well off I guess, because he had a pair of huge lion heads on either side of the front porch steps.
I have a story about Granny Hop's biscuits. Back in 1968, Ron and I lived in a little apartment in Fitchburg, Massachusetts. One day, I had a yearning for Ganny Hop's biscuits. So, I put a lot of flour in a big bowl, I added a plop of crisco and some buttermilk and salt and mixed away, confident in my ability and grim with determination. I formed them into disks as I'd seen her do a thousand times. I put my knuckle marks on top of those biscuits just in perfect imitation. I put them in the oven and the aroma was heavenly. I was trembling with anticipation. I took those lovely biscuits out of the oven and we sat down to dinner. I did notice the pan was a little heavy, but no matter, they looked grand. Ron took one out of the pan and tried to cut it in half. Then he rapped it on the table. It had the sound of a rock hitting an immovable object. He looked at me with a perfect deadpan face and said, "Well hon, you make enough of these and we can build a house." My devastation was complete and I withdrew to the bathroom to bawl. I got over it of course and he never tired of telling that story. I asked my aunt to teach me to make the biscuits, and though I can make delectable flaky soft biscuits, they are nothing like Granny Hop's . How I miss those people in my life. I don't make biscuits now. I may have one twice a year in a restaurant. They are just too loaded with fat and calories. Just proves God has a sense of humor. Why else would he make broccoli taste like broccoli and chocolate cake taste like chocolate cake. Think about it.
My thoughts and my life seem to revolve around food. The taste and preparation and everything that goes with it. I collect cook books like an old hound collects fleas. I pride myself on my cooking and the surest way to win me is to compliment my meals. Its no wonder I have a weight problem and fight it daily. I am sure that if you come here often and read my stories, you'll find it is a common thread. I just can't help it. I wonder about it sometimes, but mostly I don't care. It is an interest, and its just too bad I'm little and can't afford the extra calories I create here in this little condo. If you ever come to Daytona, let me know. I'll cook ya up some shrimp.
I cannot promise I will come here and write something every day. But I will come here every now and then when its upon me to jot words down and drain my brain a little. I'm one of those people whose mind doesn't stop. I have to conciously make myself shut up at night so I can go to sleep. I've been doing it for years and years.
Did you know I am descended from Kings. Yep. I can trace my geneology back to Robert the Bruce of Scotland. I am kin to George Bush and the Roosevelts. One of my ancestors signed the declaration of Independence and another made the Louisiana Purchase. That was the Livingstons. One of the Livingston brothers was in Florida in 1840. We found his name signed as a witness in the purchase of Silver Springs in 1840. By 1842, another brother, my great great grandfather, opened a store in Micanopy, and later moved to Orange Springs. There my Great grandmother and my grandfather and my mother were born. Back in the 1800s, only the oldest son inherited, and the rest had to fend for themselves. Can you imagine central Florida in 1842? The mosquitos and wild hogs and bear and the beautiful flowing Oklawaha River. Life must have been hard for Susan Waterbury, who came from New York to marry John Stevens Livingston in Palatka. I'm sure she landed in Jacksonville and arrived in Palatka by boat on the St. John's River with some inland travel. Susan and John are both buried in the little cemetary in Orange Springs. I have a lot of stories about my mother and her twin brother growing up in Orange Springs in the 1920s and 1930s. I guess I need to organize my thoughts and make some notes. My sister Debi keeps after me to write this stuff down. So I'll use this forum to jot things down that I remember and maybe try to make some sense of it all.
Thats all for today....drop by again.
August 9th, 2006
I'm at it again. And I should be packing. Flying out of Orlando tomorrow to spend 5 days visiting with a friend in Boston. I am really excited about a trip. I like going places. I should. I moved so many times growing up that we lost count. I started school in a village outside Ashville, NC. I moved to Titusville/Mims in the summer between the 5th and 6th grade. I started 6th grade at Riverview elementary then transferred to Mims elementary. Riverview was my 34th school and Mims was my 35th. Counting Parkway and THS....I attended 37 schools. Unbelievable....So why you might ask. I have often wondered. We lived in a trailer. Yep. Trailer Trash. It was a fun time. In those days, we didn't need a permit to move. My Dad worked in construction and we moved constantly. Oh do I have moving tales and memories. Although we had no telephone, he knew where the jobs were. He would come home from work, back the truck up and start hooking up the trailer. After we ate supper, we all had out jobs to do.
Find the dog, load the truck with the minnow bucket, garden hose and assorted toys and bicycles. Mom would never pack anything, she would take the pillows and push them into the cabinets to keep the dishes from breaking, she would wrap all of her 'what nots' in towels and wash cloths and put in the bathtub, and she would put the tv on the floor with pillows around it. And off we'd go. We usually had a car and she would drive the car and Dad would pull the trailer. I have a wonderful memory of Mom and me leaving Gainesville, FL in the buick behind the trailer, and I was in the back seat folding clothes. My Mom had just taken them off the line and they were still warm and fresh from the sun.
I also remember one night in South Carolina before Debi was born. We didn't have a car then, so Bob and I were in the cab of the truck with Mom and Dad. Mom was navigating with the map. Bob was asleep and I was listening to the Grand Old Opry on the radio. All of a sudden, the asphalt ran out and we were on a dirt road surrounded by corn fields. We bumped along for a few miles when my Dad said, "Rosie, are you sure this is the right road?" She said..."I think we should have turned a while ago but I was scared to tell you." He stopped the truck and got out.....there was a mist around the truck and trailer and the darkness was a velvet shroud covering everything. He made her get out and direct him with the flashlight while he backed up in a cornfield and started the complicated back and forth motion to get the trailer turned around. He took out about a quarter acre of corn when the shooting started. I remember the truck engine screaming as he pulled it straight out and took off....and left old Rose running down the dirt road with the flashlight cussin' like a sailor. She ran alongside the truck and jumped on the running board then managed to get in the cab without killing herself or get shot by a disgrntled farmer. It's no wonder Bob and I grew up cussing.
I remember the first trailer we lived in. It was a tiny green thing and didn't have a bathroom. The 'dining' table folded into the wall and the chairs folded out. All the trailer parks back then had a 'bathhouse'. We took our towels, soap and washcloth and pjs and trooped the bathhouse....had a bath and trooped home and to bed. We didn't get a tv until about 1954 so we didn't have one in the first trailer. There was a bed in the back and the couch opened up in the front and thats where Bob and I slept. It didn't take my Mother long to insist on another trailer...this time with a BATHROOM.
A lot of people lived in trailers back then. There was no such thing as trailer trash. Right after World War II....the young men came home to a serious housing shortage. It was either live with the folks, if you could, or find another way. There had been trailer 'camps' before the war, they were called Tin Can Tourist camps. A lot of those trailers were home made....then some enterprising folks started building and selling them to ease the housing crunch. It was perfect for my vagabond gypsy Father. He loved that life. He had left home at 15 or so and never looked back. He went to CCC camp before the war and enlisted in the Army Air Corps as soon as the war started. I have some stories about all that too....but I'll save them for later.
It wasn't as bad as you might think. I simply adjusted. If I lived in Florida and moved to Georgia, I would be way ahead of everyone in shcool. If I lived in Georgia and moved to North Carolina, I would be way behind in everything and had to dig in and work hard to 'catch up'. I found out early that I had no choice. We lived in Mayo, Florida. I was in the first grade. I wouldn't go to school. My mother had to make me get on the bus. I would put my head on my desk and cry all day. I don't know why. I did nothing. I remember the teacher was very young and tried to comfort me. I wouldn't lift my head. I wouldn't eat lunch. I wouldn't move until it was time to get on the bus to go home. I simply cried. And if you know me....you know that would be out of character. To this day I don't know why I did that. Was I being molested and blocked it out? Did the constant moving cause it? Who knows. But once we left that place, the crying stopped and I got on with my life. Bob couldnt' cope with it. He was put back in school and had to repeat the first grade. Of course that made all the difference. We stopped moving and settled in Mims because of it. I remember the conversations around the dinner table. Now that I look back, I wonder why there was no concern when I couldn't cope? Oh well.
I remeber my first day of school. I remember my first teacher, Mrs. Bruce. She had one leg longer than the other and her shoes were funny. I remember the first day because I looked forward to it with all the longing a 5 year old can have. I wanted nothing more in life than to start school. I wanted to READ. My Mom didn't teach me the ABCs or read to me as a child. I knew absolutely nothing when I started shcool. Not even the alphabet. But I caught on quick. I also missed the bus that first day. Well, I couldn't read. HELLO. When I went out...the buses were lined up and I had no idea which one I was supposed to get on. After they all pulled out, I went back to my classroom. There was another young teacher in there and she asked me why I didn't get on the bus, and I told her. She grabbed me up and off we went. She put me in her car and took off behind the busses. I don't have any idea how she knew which bus to follow, but she did. When the bus stopped at our park, my Mom was there holding Bob's hand waiting for me. I can still remember the look on her face when I didnt' get off the bus. The teacher told me to get out quick so she would know I was ok. I can't imagine how she must have felt...she had no phone and no car. She didn't know anyone either. But all was ok in the end...and they made me wear my bus number pinned to my dress until I could memorize it.
This is a picture of me and Mom and Bob about that time. She was not supposed to be in the
picture, but we were fighting. I was mad because Bob had gotten a new pair of shoes. You
can see those shoes in the picture. So she had to get between us. And after the picture, she
did buy me a little pair of white sandals. So I was happy. To this day I love shoes. I have way
too many shoes in my closet now. Such is life.
I miss the little girl in that picture. And I miss my Mom.
Until next time...........Love.
Friday, February 3rd, 2007
There were devasting tornados here in Volusia County last night. It's
awful to wak up with howling winds not knowing whats happening. 14 people
died here.. That is a low number
considering how many lose their lives in natural disasters around the
world. in 1976 an earthquake in China killed 255,000 people. I
don't remember any media coverage. In 1985 a volcano in Columbia killed 23,000 people. Bangladesh
suffered a loss of 130,000 people from a cyclone in 1991. In 1998 10,000 died in Nicaragua and Honduras from hurricane Mitch.. Of course we all remember the Tsunami which devasted the coasts of India, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Indonesia and other Asian countries. 120,000 people died. So while 14 dead here is a tragedy, I think how much worse it could be.
I am home from South Carolina. I am so glad to be home. Four months away from home and spending off time in a hotel room almost made me crazy. That little box got smaller and smaller and I couldn't wait to get back to the open blue skies and the never ending beach. The weather has cleared and its sunny outside. I will go walk on the beach soon.
I had a heart wrenching experience last Sunday in Florence. I was driving down Palmetto, which is the buisest thoroughfare in the city, when the car in front of me swerved. He swerved to miss the terrified puppy in the middle of street. That put it right in my path. I tried to miss is. I really tried, but I felt the tell tale bump and my heart fell to my stomach. I stopped the car and got out, the little thing was lying on the edge of the street breathing hard and its back leg was mangled and broken. I called 911 for help and was told. "we don't do anything about dogs on Sunday." I said, "what are you talking about, I need help here". The jerk told me to call a vet. I lost my composure and got a bit emotional. I told him I was standing on the side of road in an unfamiliar city on my cell phone on a Sunday, how the hell could I call a vet. I told him there were 2 police officers not 2 blocks away talking, and to send one to help me. He wouldn't do it. I told him I was going to call the newpaper for a reporter, then he said he would see what he could do. Which of course was nothing. I tried to pick up the dog. I was going to put in the car and take it back to the hotel and go from there, but it kept snapping at me and I couldn't pick it up. Then a homeless man came along and tried to console me. He said he would take the puppy to a pet store on Monday for help. He said you couldn't get anything done there on a Sunday....he said "This is the bible belt ya know, and nobody does nuthin' here on a Sunday." Well, thats a good Christian attitude. Don't get me started ! Anyway, the puppy got up and started hobbling down a side street....the homeless man said he would go after it. And did I have any spare change. I gave him a $20 bill and told him to get something to eat and not to drink it up. He swore he didn't drink and reassured me again he would go after the dog. I knew he wouldn't, so I just left. Doug said that probably the little dog was making its way home and hopefully the owners would take care of it. I doubt it. If they cared for it at all, they would not have allowed it to roam. I have a soft spot for little kids with no hope and animals. I know it wasn't my fault, I know I did all I could to miss the dog, but I still feel guilty.
Back in 1991, a fellow I worked with started talking about a litter of wolves he had. He said one had a deformed leg and the mother wouldn't allow it to nurse. In the wild, it would not have survived. He worked and worked with her and the pup, and she finally gave in and nursed it along with all the others. He was in the business of breeding and selling these animals, and apparently he was doing a little inbreeding. Well, his buyers were coming and he didn't want them to see he had a defect. So he was going to destroy the pup. I got angry and told him what I thought in no uncertain terms. He said, "well, if you'll give it a good home, I'll give him to you.". What could I say? I had let my mouth overload my ass. (one of my Dad's favorite sayings) (and something I seem to do quite often) So I said, "Fine!" Then I had to go home and tell Ron what I'd done. I knew I had nothing to worry about, Ron was an old softie when it came to animals. So he said, "bring it home.". That was the beginning of a learning experience and a true love. Dakota was raised by an old great dane, so he was loving and kind. He was a McKenzie valley wolf from Minnesota and was a smart loving wolf. Ron was the alpha male in our 'pack', then Dakota was 2nd in command....and when I got Cheyenne, she was 3rd and I brought up the rear with fat cat as insignificant outter edge females. It was a hoot. When Dakota was about 2 years old, I knew my old great dane Beau was about done with this life, so I went to the breeder and I told him I wanted a female to be a companion to Dakota and I would NOT be paying for her. Well, he agreed and gave me a runty little female from the same parents. Dakota apparently smelled his mother on her and bonded to her immediately. They became inseparable and lived a good life together. I can't describe in words how intelligent these animals are. If raised right they are gentle and loving. I have to thank Dr. Meyerer in Titusville for his advice and the tender care he gave to both 'my' wolves. I did what he said, and never had a moment's trouble. Well, maybe agression would be a better word. They were a world of 'trouble'....but not agression. As an example, I was told that Dakota could not be house broken. He spent very little time inside, but I didn't want him thinking he could do his business in my house. So the training began. He would piddle on the floor, I would make him smell it, put him on the paper by the door, give him a treat and praise him. It worked like a charm. After a few times, he peed in the floor, smelled it, went to the paper and wagged his little tail, waiting for his cookie and a pat on head! After thinking about it, I realized he had done exactly what I had taught him to do. So we took another tack. Once I recognized the 'signals', grabbed him up and took him out, he got the idea. He was trainable and brilliant. He had a deformed front leg. He was using it as a kickstand so Dr. Meyerer thought we should take it off. Unfortunatly, some of muscle on his shoulder was atrophied and he had to remove it. Dakota was never the same. He was balanced before the surgery, but after, he could no longer run on 3 legs and spent a lot of his time laying down. I wish I had left it. Another incident comes to mind. We had to take Dakota to a special Dermitalogica(I'm sure I didn't spell that right but not looking it up) vet in Orlando. He had a skin disorder too, another effect of inbreeding I'm sure. Ron always took him, it was such a chore. When the cancer and chemo had Ron so weak and sick, it fell to me to load Dakota into Ron's big truck and take him to the vet. I had never been, so of course I got lost. When I got to Oviedo, I made a left turn, and all of a sudden Dakota got very agitated, started getting up on the seat and whining. I called Ron on the cell phone, and he directed me back on the right path, as soon as we passed the intersection where I made a wrong turn, Dakota settled right down and rested his head on the door jam by the window. He knew I was lost. He had been so many times, he knew the way, and knew we were on the wrong road. He was that smart. And they worked as a team. One night we lost power, it was about 1am and Ron put up a Coleman latern and we sat outside watching FPL fix the transformer by our house. All of a sudden, Cheyenne made a strange noise in her throat. I had never heard it before. She flushed a rat out of the jasamine bush and was on it in a flash. As soon as she made the noise, Dakota was up and excited. Cheyenne didn't kill the rat, but picked it up, took it to Dakota and dropped in in front of him. He tried to 'pounce' on it, but missed, so she grabbed it again and dropped in front of him. They did this about 4 times until he 'caught' the rat. He killed it, then gave it back to her. It was a game. She knew he couldn't 'hunt' for himself, so she did it for him. I was mesmerized. She also had a sense of humor. Many times I watched her deliberately trip him. She would catch his good leg with her paw and he would fall. She tried to do that to me too. She would try to trip me, but it didn't work. But he was boss. Deformed or not, he was a powerful male wolf. The one thing you didn't do, was bother his food in any way. I fed him and walked away. He wouldn't eat until you were away from his dish. It was a wolf thing. I once had to take Cheyenne to the vet because he ripped her front leg from elbow to paw, to the bone. She tried to get a 'cookie' he dropped. And Fat Cat was another story. She was about 10 years old when the wolves came into her life. She was traumatized and never got over it. She didn't like them and always went 'high' when they came in. From pups they were taught she was off limits. They were very curious about her, and once caught her, one had her head and one had her rear, and they didn't know what to do. She was all screams and claws. I made them let her go and she hid for 2 days. Poor old cat. One day, I was looking out the back window without my glasses, but I could see Cheyenne coming across the 'back 40' with something gray swinging from her mouth. Ron went to see what she had. He had me come out and look, she had a big gray cat. She laid it down on the driveway and just looked at it. Curiosity killed this cat. I think it got inside the fence and Cheyenne just wanted to play with it. She was curious. But no cat is going to play with a wolf and she killed it. She always ate what she killed so I know she didn't mean to do it. Instinct. Ron quietly buried the cat and we didn't say anything to anyone. We lived in the woods and had no idea where the cat came from. Horses and wolves are natural enemies. It's genetic and natural, whether they understand it or not. We lived on a dirt road, and it was always interesting to watch people ride by. The horses would shy, and prance and snort the entire time they passed the house. They smelled the wolves and some little signal in their brains screamed DANGER. The wolves would just watch them dance by. Ron called the horses 'snacks on hooves'. But the wolves were very well fed and weren't interested in 'hunting' the horses. Way too much food. The dish on the carport seemed much easier to a couple of lazy bums.
Then Ron died. He was our rock. He was was our alpha male. And we missed him terribly. I was told to put a cloth on Ron's face when he died and let the wolves smell it, they could smell death and understood it. Morbid as it sounds, I did it. I don't think it was true. They watched for him constantly. I would find them together sitting by the fence in the corner watching the road. I knew they were watching for Ron. When I had to go buy salt for the softener, I dreaded it. I had to take Ron's truck. When I turned down our road, they would get so excited. I hated it. Then it would be me and not Ron and I could tell they were disappointed. I think they finally 'got it'. About three months after Ron died, Dakota started losing weight. Cheyenne became extremely aggressive toward him. I had to keep them separated a lot. I called Dr. Meyerer and he said Cheyenne was trying to kill Dakota. Instinct. He said to bring him in. Dakota was sick. Very sick. So the humane thing to do was put him to sleep. I sat in the floor and held him while Dr. Meyerer gave him the shot. He instantly became still and his eyes glazed over. I don't know when I've cried so hard. Not even when Ron died. It felt like I was losing my whole world. Then, about 3 more months passed. Cheyenne lost all interest in anything. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't even wag her tail for me. Then one day she just couldn't seem to get up. It was her time. So I lost her too. Of course it was a blessing in disquise. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything as long as I had them. But I still miss them. I always will. Ron loved them both and treated them like children. And they were devoted to him. One of the most wonderful memories I have of Cheyenne and Dakota is after a bout of wildfires. Not the 1998 fires, but way before that. They were both young. The fire burned right up to our fence, and there was a creosote soaked fencepost burning about 50 feet outside our fence. It was almost dark and I went out to check on the burning post. The wolves were sitting side by side, very still, watching the burning post. I could see the silhouette in the near dark. pointed ears, so alert and interested. I will never forget it. And I will never forget my sweet wolves.
This is the last picture I took of Cheyenne and Dakota. After Ron died, I couldn't wash them. Dakota had to be lifted onto a table and I couldn't do it. I was afraid to ask anyone to help me. I didn't know how he would react, so I didn't take that chance. So they were dirty. But of course they loved it. They hated a bath. It was much better after I figured out it was the cold water they hated. So I hooked the garden hose up to washer connections and used warm water to wash them. They still didn't like it, but they seemed to tolerate it a little better.
Well, this has been a long one. I've been in a writing mood today. And of course I should be working on an article for the Journal....but this is more fun. I hope you come back to visit with me.
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March 1st, 2007......Today's musings.....
Well, I've been thinking about that book I haven't written. The story and characters have started playing out in my head again. Its a story about the Cape. I've been thinking a lot about it lately, I love it out there. Its a beautiful place, still wild and protected. I hope it stays that way.
Nephews Jeremy and Bobby...then and now
Bobby and Shannon Christmas 1984
Bobby is now out of the Marines, and works as a Deputy in Seminole County, Jeremy is still working on his engineering degree at UCF (U Can't Finish) and Shan has graduated from college and working.
Visions of Christmas past
Ron and I were married on Nov 24th, 1966. 10 days later he left for Vietnam. This pic was taken Christmas morning 1967. He had just come home. He was so thin from a bout with malaria, but I managed to put some weight on him before he left again. He set this shot up with his camera and developed the photo himself. We lived in a little apartment near old downtown Titusville and this is a cherised picture and a cherised memory. He gave me a beautiful watch that Christmas. We spent 35 Christmas' together and almost made it to 36 before Vietnam claimed him.
Christmas 1991, I had made a Santa face for the kids...thats my brother Bob, his wife and Debi in the background.
Christmas 1979, me Bob and Debi with my dad in the background. Debi was pregnant with Jeremy. My tee shirt read...'feel safe tonight, sleep with a cop'. Ron loved it. You can't see her, but my neice Tonya is is behind me.
Tonya and her family Christmas 2004..
Our only baby....and she's growing like a weed. This is my neice Tonya's baby. They live in Ohio so we don't get to see her much....so we look forward to Christmas when they come 'home'.
I like to think I have a little writing ability....not much....but just a bit. I write for the Daytona Beach News Journal too....here's a title with my byline just so you know. Can you tell I'm bored and trying to take up some blank space on this page?
Latest postings at the bottom. Its getting too difficult to adjust pictures...everything shifts when I type from the top. Just scroll down.....
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Did you know there is a light house on the Cape? The Space Center allows visitors very rarely. Once a year the families with cemetaries out there are allowed out to visit the gravesites and clean around the graves. Sometimes they have dedications or 'events' and the public gets a rare chance to tour the lighthouse. If you ever get the opportunity to go see the lighthouse, go enjoy a day in the sun.
The original lighthouse was built in 1848 and had a set of 15 lamps with 21 reflectors. The first lighthouse keeper, Nathanial Scobie, abandoned the job for fear of Seminole Indian attack.
In 1860, plans were drawn up for a new lighthouse. Once the Civil War broke out, the plans were put aside and Mills Burnham, the keeper at the time, buried the lights in his orange grove lest they fall into 'enemy' hands.
After the war, construction began on the present lighthouse. It became operational in 1868. The bottom floors of the tower were used as housing for the keeper and his
family. Mills Burnham raised 5 daughters and a son and the daughters married keepers and contiuned the 'family' business.
The powers that be decided the lighthouse needed to be moved inland. It took 18 months to dismantle the lighthouse and move it bit by bit one mile inland. This was completed in 1894 and stands today in that location. You can still see the foundation of the 2 original lighthouses about 400 feet from the ocean.
On May 11, 1949, all the hoopla began. President Truman signed legislation establishing the Joint Long Range Proving Ground at Cape Canaveral. There were 2 communities on that end of the Cape, Stinkmore and Desoto Beach. Because of the danger of those early launches, the government moved residents to the Brevard Hotel during missle shots. That soon ended and both communities were 'closed' down and residents had to reloate. That heralded the beginning of the end of life on the Cape.
The Lighthouse became automated in 1967 eliminating the need for keepers. The launches were affecting the first order Fresnel lens and some of the prisms fell out the framework. The lens was removed, restored and is now on display a the Ponce Inlet Lighthouse just south of Daytona Beach. After restoration in 1995, a new lantern room was installed on top of the lighthouse,
The lighthouse now belongs to the Air Force. They restored the oil house and reinstalled the lantern room in February 2007. There is now a Cape Canaveral Lighthouse Foundation which hopefully will keep the lighthouse open and maintained.
If you come to visit, take time to go out there. Even if you can't see the lighthouse, a drive out to Playalinda is well worth it. Had the government not taken over the cape, it would now just be an estension of Cocoa Beach with neon lights, highways, hotels, condos and beach gift shops. I am all in favor of progress no doubt, and those who know me, know I lament the pitiful backwater town of Titusville (don't get me started). But I love knowing the Cape is still just the Cape. There for us to enjoy, hopefully for our lifetime. I am just a bit worried that one of these days the government will realize it can wipe out the national debt simply by selling all that property for developement.
So, what did you think of today's history lesson? My characters Min and Cal are talking to me. The story is playing out in my head. I love the story. But I can't make myself sit down and begin writing. I think I'm afraid of the committment. And maybe I can't do it. Maybe I can't do Min and Cal justice. Maybe I can't tell their story in the right words, so you can see them as I see them. The Cape and the lighthouse play a prominent role in the story and I guess thats why its all on my mind. I have often thought I would write the first chapter and the last chapter then it would seem easier to fill in the middle. And what if I can't find an agent, and what if I can't garner enough interest for a publisher. Oh the self doubt. Nah, just plain old fashioned laziness. I have an un-organized mind and I hate to 'focus'. So there ya have it. Maybe. Maybe one day I'll do it. Just Maybe.
Have a glorious day.....
Tuesday March 6, 2007
Where is the time going? I'd sure like to go out and play a round of golf today. As John Belushi would say.....BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOO. Why you might ask? Because I have a terrific case of the shingles. Yep, shingles. Old farts ailment. I have a line of rash around my back and chest thats just a lovely line of blisters. And it hurts like hell. Have a Doctor's appointment in a couple of hours so maybe I'll get some relief.
I have to go to Titusville tomorrow for a funeral. A friend of mine passed away. She was not a classmate, but she was 2 or 3 weeks younger than me. I've known her for quite a few years. She was a nurse at Parrish, and was accidentally stuck with a needle. She got a staph infection from it. She suffered the last few years with it. Its sad.
Of course it makes me think about my own mortality. I'm ok, but things are starting to, shall we say, go south. In more ways than one. I have to have a liver biopsy also. Certainly not looking forward to that. But its got to be done.
Life is still good.
I could have died at 7 years old. I stepped on a sandspur and a splinter from it stayed under my big toe. It formed a hard knot under my toe, and sometimes bothered me. One day I was sitting on the couch coloring, when my mom noticed a red line running from my big toe to about half way up my thigh. A hazy red snake just under the skin, silently stalking my heart. Blood poisioning! She panicked....grabbed up the kids, Bob was 4 and Debi about 9 weeks old, and away we went. I will never forget that day as long as I live. My memory of it is clear and correct and my mother always agreed with my memory of it. We went to a 'lady' Doctor. She put me in a big chair and sprayed something on my knee to freeze it and stop the pain. My KNEE? A nurse literally sat on me, straddled my leg with her back to me and held me still. The Doctor began cutting out the splinter and I began to scream. And scream and scream and scream. My poor little mom was standing there holding Debi and Bob was standing beside her, and he began to scream in terror. Which of course caused the baby to start screaming. There was nothing my mom could do. And for many years I had a fear of female Doctors. I'm over that now of course and I have a wonderful young energetic Doctor who types into a laptop as she asks questions. I continued to scream as the Doctor stitched up the cut under my toe. She called me a big baby. I cried all the way home in the car and my whole foot was on fire. When we got home, my mother gave me some aspirin and made me lay on the couch. We were all pretty shook up. The aspirin finally took hold, and when my mom wasn't looking, I snuck out to the car to get my crayons. I was very careful not to let my bandage touch the ground. Of course I was barefoot. Of course I stepped on a huge peice of glass and sliced open the bottom of my OTHER foot. I thought I would have to go back to the Doctor. We probably should have, but we'd all had enough. My mom gently squeezed the cut together, put medicine on it and bandaged it up. I was so grateful not to have to go back I didn't make a peep.
Someday I must write about my grandmother Lydia, my mother's mother. She went to nursing school in Waukegan, IL and planned to answer the call for military nurses during WWI. She graduated just as the war ended so that was that. Just before she finished school, her father was killed in a train accident. Her parents owned a small winter 'cottage' in Orange Springs, Florida and though Lydia had never been, her mother wanted her to spend the winter at 'the springs'. She agreed to go. She and her mother traveled by train to Palatka. I'll have to check, but I think this was in 1919. Orange Springs is located in Marion County, between Ocala and Gainesville. Its about 13 miles from Cross Creek, and thats another story. Lydia was 20 years old at the time. She met an 'older' man who owned and operated the general store at the Springs. His name was Will Wimberly and he was 32 years old. He was a bachelor. It was rumored the Wimberly brothers had some Indian in their background, so their pedigree was in question. Lydia and Will were married in 1920. Their first child Margaret was born in 1921. Lydia's family more or less 'disowned' her but she was happy. My mother and her twin brother Sandy were born in 1926 and were such a rarity, they were renowned. People came from all over to see these 2 babies born at once. What a childhood they had. Orange Springs is pretty small compared to most of Florida's natural springs, but it was plenty big enough for Rosie and Sandy. My grandmother was the only nurse in the district and spent much of her time taking care of the 'citizens' who lived in the county. She was not a 'cracker' and didn't live as one. My mother said she grew up with yeast rolls and steamed puddings. No cornbread and greens and sidemeat for them. Lydia was also a devout Catholic. Will drove her to Ocala every Sunday to attend mass. He never went to Church, but spent the morning talking cracker politics in Ocala with his friends. Lydia also played the piano and ran the social center and organized dances and parties. I have soooo many stories about all that. She always sang 'Shall we gather the river' for local funerals. Her brother Bruno also sang with her. Sadly, I don't have a picture of my grandmother, when my aunt Margaret died, all my grandmother's old pictures disappreared. I do have a picture of my grandfather though.
<<<<<<<< Here are 3 of the Wimberly brothers on their way to a picnic probably around 1910 or so. Not sure exactly when. Could have been later. Whats really cool, is that I did some research once online and found another picture. My mom told me that the brothers were on their way to a picnic at the springs and the 'suitcases' they carried were their picnic baskets. My granfather Will is the first one on the left facing the camera. Reid is in the middle and Lee on the far right. There were 2 other brothers, Fred, who ran a diary in Jacksonville, and Gordon, the oldest who farmed in Putnam County. Ried died in 1928 from a rattlesnake bite. Lee stayed at the old homeplace with his family to care for his aged mother. Lydia and Will ran the store at the springs until Will died of a heart attack in 1934. He had the heart attack while fighting a house fire. Lydia kept him alive for 3 more days, but his heart just gave out.
I so love the internet. While doing some research one day, I came across this picture of a tug of war between Kenwood and Fort McCoy at Orange Springs. I am sure this was taken on the same day, probably by an itinerent photographer. See the red arrow on the photo on the right...I think thats one of the brothers. And the yellow arrow points to Reid with the ends of his hat turned up, Too bad there was no date on this.
Pause
I'm home from the Doctor...yep....shingles....classic case. But I got drugs...so soon I won't even KNOW I have pain.
Anyway....back to my ramblings.....it seems that Will and Lydia lived next door to Will's cousin George Rast and his wife. One day the wife emptied her slop jar onto Will's pumpkin plants and really pissed him off (excuse the pun). So he built another little house on the other side of his store, he also planted an small orange grove and it prospered. He also kept a nice little garden. That little house is still standing. Renee and I drove over there a few years ago and I shared that magical little place with her. The springs are no longer open to the public, and is now a bottling plant and supplies Wal Mart with bottled water.
This is the house as it looked about 5 years ago. My grandfather died in the room left of the steps. The store was located behind and to the right of the house and was a popular local gathering place. My mother told of sitting in the back eating ginger snaps and listening to old hunters telling stories. My roots are deep in the Florida sand and my mother loved Orange Springs her entire life. It is without a doubt one of my favorite places and is entwined with memories of my mother and her stories. I know her spirit is there still and always will be. She loved it so.
This is Bob and me sitting on the curb around Orange Springs, taken probably in 1957 or 1958 maybe. Thats our little dog Cracker who enjoyed swimming in the springs as much as we did. You can't get a feel for it in black and white, but the spring was turquoise and blue with a white sand bottom. It is about 35 feet deep at the boil. Oh the fun we had swimming and playing in that cold cold water. My grandfather and his brothers added the concrete curb around the spring....mom said when she was a little girl, it was like a lake. The curb helped keep out the snakes and gators that sometimes invaded the spring.
This is Rosie and Sandy in 1955, the year Debi was born. This picture was taken in St. Marys, Georgia just after my Uncle Sandy got married. My Uncle Sandy was on 5 ships that were torpedoed and sank during WWII. He was a hoot and I loved him. He died 2 years before my Mom and she was devastated. He used to tell us that he would get so angry at shipmates from New York and New Jersey who teased him about being a 'wop'. He would tell them his dark skin and black hair and eys came from his 'Indian' ancestors. I found out that my maternal grandmother's maiden name was Deluga and it is a very common Italian name. Too funny. He WAS a 'wop'. They were so close. Uncle Sandy lived with us for awhile when I was little. He used to rock Debi in her clothes basket cradle by tieing a string to it and pulling it while he layed on the couch reading his magazine. And wherever we moved, which was often, he would find the local donut shop and there would always be a
young girl behind the counter so we always had a fresh supply of warm donuts.
While playing around on the internet the other day, I came across a couple of old pictures of the springs....I'll add them here...in memory of my Mom....I can't tell if this was taken before or after the curb was put around the spring.....
The other picture didn't work out....not clear enough or large enough to post here.
DO YOU GOOGLE EARTH?
If not...then you should. Its a lot of fun....you can plug in any address in the world and google earth will take you right to it. This is a satellite shot of Orange Springs as it is today. The deep green is the sulpher that grows in the spring. It always had long shreds of sulpher swaying from the sides but now its full of it since no one is allowed to swim in it because of the bottling plant. It always had a very noticeable rotten egg smell to it. But we didn't care. Next time you go to WalMart...look at their brand of bottled water and see if it was bottled at Orange Springs. Anyway....give Google Earth a try....its a good way to see how Titusville is growing. Just do a web search of Google Earth, download the program and start your journey. Its a great way to see the world......
Till next time.............love and hugs!
Wednesday April 25th........
Today would have been my Mother's 81st birthday. Debi and I always made a big fuss on her birthday and she always seemed to enjoy it. My birthday was Monday April 16th. It wasn't a happy day. I stayed glued to the tv watching all the media coverage of the Virginia Tech shootings. I have mixed feelings about the media...I think they show way too much and sensationalize everything, but on the other hand, I have an insatiable curiousity about what is happening in the world. I do appreciate the ability we now have to stay informed but I wonder if we need to really know who is the father of Anna's Nichole's baby. And I must admit that I was mesmerized watching the video that cho made before the shootings. I admit that I have a serious interest in the mind workings of these people and though I try to understand, I can make nothing of it. I can't understand it. I can't get my mind around it. It is foreign to me and I think there must some sort of chemical imbalance in the minds of mass murderers. I read that Charles Whitman who killed people from the University in San Antonio in 1966 had a brain tumor. Who the hell knows. But it is intersting to me.
I saw a serial killer in action and didn't know it at the time. 1972
I was standing at the sink washing dishes when a car zoomed in front of my house going into the woods. I remember thinking, "now where is he going, he'll get stuck back there, you can't even walk down that rut road now". Then I forgot about it. A week or so later, they began to find the bodies. Young women who were being killed and left in orange groves around Mims. The first body was found near my house. Of course I followed the news like everyone else. Then they caught him. Bernard Giles. He graduated from THS 3 or 4 years after me. This was before the term 'serial killer' was coined. This was before Bundy. I worked the all night shift at Southern Bell and after Giles was arrested, I was chatting with the hospital operator about it. She said that she and her husband had gone to see his impounded car. (this is Titusville remember, not much to do)....so I asked her what kind of car he drove. She said it was a 1964 white Ford Falcon. It was like a light went on in my head. A real epiphany. I just sat there. It all came together in a flash. I had seen him on the news and it meshed with a terrifying clarity. It was the car I had seen flying into the woods.; I saw his hair pulled back in a low pony tail and I saw the girl with her head against the passenger window. A serial killer and his victim.
So for years I walked those woods. I sometimes took a shovel to dig if I found a depression in the earth. It was always a sinking gopher hole. I wanted to call the Sheriff's office but Ron wouldn't let me. He was a new cop and he was afraid I would embarrass him. Over the years I found a pair of pink tennis shoes, each shoe in a different place and both of them were still tied. After the fires of 1998, I roamed the area again. I found 3 little brown beer bottles in a cluster. I dug all around but found nothing. I am convinced there is body around there, but I'm also sure it will never be found. He says he killed 11 girls, the paper only reported 4 and the sheriff's reports list 5. He is in Chatahoochie and will never get out. He didn't go to prison as he should have, but is in the mental hospital instead. There is so much more known about these people now, and they are not insane. Just psychotic. Anyway, thats my serial killer story.
Will write more later.
November 3rd, 2007
Well. Its been awhile I reckon. I am home from Texas for a rest. I am having a ball. If you've been reading this drivel, you know I moved a lot as a kid, so I think thats one of the reasons I have no trouble traveling and working. I will apply for social security as a widow this week. I will qualify in April. I probably won't start it though, too much work going on. But we'll see. I must look into all this. Wow. Social security! Egads.
I do NOT like south Texas. I have never been so hot in my life. We work outside much of the time, and it gets scorching hot. My car is covered in dust and grime, both inside and out. No trees. Very stunted landscape on the Rio Grande and I think south Texas has more ants per square INCH than anywhere on earth. I love the little Mexican Taquerias though. Really good Mexican food. You just have to be careful...with all the illegal immigrants, workers are not always tested for TB and other diseases. So we only ate in reputable clean places. I also got to see the Alamo when we were in San Antonio. That was great. We also visited the South Texas Museum in Edinburg. Very nice and very interesting. Totally different culture.
We all grew up in the 'cowboy' culture of the 1950s and early 60s. John Wayne and Bonanza, the Lone Ranger and the Cisco Kid and his sidekick. Roy Rogers and Trigger. Yantzee Darringer and Palladin and the Rifleman and of course Gunsmoke. All Hollywood. All fake. I'm sure real cowboys laughed at all that. I cannot imagine riding behind a herd of cattle in South Texas in the 1800s and finding it colorful and romantic. A chuckwagon around a campfire and the cowboys plunking guitars and singing cowboy songs. Yeah. Right. It must have been a terribly hard and lonely life.
I missed the beach. I'm glad to be home for a couple of weeks, then it's off again.
Next Thursday will mark the 5 year anniversary of Ron's death. It does not seem possible. I still miss him of course, and always will. But my life is continuing in a series of fast moving frames. I just have to blink my eyes to find myself in another one. But that's ok. I am not sad or depressed. I have my health for the most part and I am loving life still.
Speaking of health, I need iron infusions. YIKES. My iron stores are depleted. It's an 8 week course of intravenous infusions and I am waiting until we are sent to Dallas to get them started. I need to be in one place for awhile to get them going. In the meantime, I'm taking iron twice a day to keep my iron up. I have drug induced liver disease. No. Its not what you think. I've never even smoked a joint. Ron was a Police Officer fer cryin' out loud. The Doc says it's caused from my taking pre-natal vitamins every day for the first 3 years after my gastric bypass. My liver can't process all the fat soluable vitamins so they become toxic and cause liver damage. Its minor though and under control. Which reminds me.....I need to send a card to our Miss Foose (Mrs. Curtis). She has Cirrosis and I haven't heard from her in awhile.
Well, I gotta get going. Its almost 1pm and I still have on my jammies. Doug is playing golf and will be home any minute.
Come back and visit with me anytime.
February 9, 2009
It has been awhile since I journaled here. I've had a rough go of it for a bit. While I was in Chicago working this past November, I allowed myself to become dehydrated. That led to a 'series of unfortunate events'. To make it short, I passed out one morning in the hotel. I bonked my head on the tile, hard, really hard. It was my first ambulance ride (pretty exciting really), to a strange hospital and I was a little rattled needless to say. They thought it was my heart. Lots of tests. Found out it was low potassium, no fluids and a UTI. I came home to to recoup, and now I'm doing fine. The only good thing to come of it is that I had a lot of heart tests and I know where I stand. And I'm good. I had a crazy heart beat and turns out, it was caused by too much coffee and too much vitamin D.
I am alone again. Doug did me a huge favor and left me for a redhead down in redneck Edgewater. I am saddened to witness what vodka can do to an intelligent and otherwise decent human being. I am doing fantastic though and I'm honestly glad to be free. I am having a lot of fun and meeting some wonderful people. I am learning to love myself and realize that I am whole and healthy by myself. Though I would love to have someone in my life, I know that I can be happy on my own. I am secure, financially (whatever that means in today's economy), physically and emotionally. Thank God for strong genes.
I am dancing again. I go often and the exercise is wonderful. I've lost a dress size and needless to say, I am happy about that. I feel that I am getting stronger every day. I plan to live and dance until I no longer can,. and then I will do the boot scootin' boogie in a wheelchair in the nursing home.
I also want to say thanks to some of the best friends in my life. Especially Patricia. She is my best friend, my rock and my role model. I wish I had her wisdom, strength and spirit. I am happy to be the trail to her comet and I hang on for dear life. Thanks Pat....I love ya girlfriend.
Well, I'm off to go walk on the beach. That clears my head (well as much as that is possible) and reminds me how precious this place is.
Till next time.
February 23, 2009
How can it be 2009? Time is flying by. I have decided to live my life as I wish, and experience all I can, while I can. I will not compromise nor will I settle. I am happy and carefree (for the most part) and I am so looking forward to planning another get together with my classmates and friends. It is important to me. And I certainly hope it is important to you.
Pat and I are dancing again. We are both losing a bit of weight, she is doing better than I am. Probably because of the chocolate covered marshmallow eggs now in the stores....sigh. But all in all, I am doing ok. I so love to dance and go several times a week. I am also dating and meeting some wonderful people and enjoy being with them, and dancing with them.
I am also looking forward to spring and summer. I love the Florida heat and sunshine and waterways and ocean. It's in my genes and in my blood. I consider myself 4th generation Floridian. My sister's grandson Shaun is really 6th generation Floridian. We all have sand in our shoes and sandspurs in our shoe laces. I enjoy spending summer days across the street on the beach. I take ice cold watermelon, iced tea and a good book, slather myself with sun screen and just veg out. Life is good.
I am still in my little condo in Daytona Beach Shores. Next week is bike week, and for those who know me well, know that I loooove motorcycles and riding. I no longer have one of my own, but I can still ride. I now sit on the back, hang on and lean into the curves. I love riding up A1A with the wind in my hair, and that powerful free feeling in my soul. I probably got that from my Dad. he was all about Harleys and Indians. He rode like no other. In the 40s, his favorite thing was racing freight trains on the that long open stretch on US1 between St. Augustine and Daytona Beach. I think of my Dad every time I go by there.
Well, I guess I'll stop for now. Lots to do, but no motivation. I wanted to play golf this morning, but the wind is whipping and it's a bit cold. Any excuse will do not to exercise. Maybe I'll work up the energy to go take a walk on the beach and listen to ZZ Top. I need an IPOD .
Love and hugs to you and if you are reading this....thanks.
Charlie
