Tag: history

Women’s History, according to Grandma

I found myself scrolling through Tiktok…and I found this. It reminded me of a story that my grandmother told.

yes I am talking about the same grandmother from Grandmother’s Wisdom!

She was born in the 1930’s in Washington DC. She said that young women were not allowed to carry any weapons…but they had hat pins. I put a picture on this post…She told me that the hat pins were sharp and it baffled me. How did women use them with out poking themselves? The hat pins were seriously the same as a dagger in the hands of these young women.

Her story made me think that DC was a really bad place in her youth…(though I guess I can’t say it is a good place now)

I don’t remember the whole story but it was full of the necessary thrill to ensure that the teen I was would be hooked on every word. Now the woman I am in the middle of a dystopian nightmare for women am wishing I could have recorded every single story she told. I will always remember her telling me that Roe vs Wade didn’t make abortion easier to get, it merely made safe abortion easier to get. Women were still getting them, just most of them were dying. She told me about back alley butchers. I was so happy that I was born in post Roe vs Wade America…now I am sorry that I have lived long enough to see my home become a place where I am no longer free.

Engagement, And family.

Photo by Fidel Hajj on Pexels.com

I will never Marry…but I came really close once. He was a handsome lad, who truly acted like I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had dark hair and pretty blue eyes. We had dated for a while when I was in high school. I had gone to a special camp for occupational therapy. He was there and we hit it off. He was so cute, with a little bit of a problem with authority…yeah I know I have a type where men are concerned. Almost all of the men I have actually been attracted to have had that same issue with authority. I left him and the facility. Then a year or so later he and I met again. We hooked up. He asked me to marry him. You know what…at the time I had an awful amount of stars in my eyes where love was concerned. I wanted that damn white picket fence with six children. I wanted happily ever after like the poets speak of. (Says the poet) He made me think I was worth that love.

I was nearly twenty-one. I was an old lady to my mind. Thirty was an impossible dream. I had one child already. My best friend was engaged to a charismatic stoner. We were a group. At the time I thought that the traditional monogamy route was the only way life was. I also was quite deep in the metaphoric closet. I had girlfriends, but I was hiding them and our relationships because I was convinced that being myself was a bad idea. So, I was convinced that I would marry him. We would be together and there would never be a reason why we would not.

Then I walked in on him and my best friend on my couch. Yeah. He apparently had different dreams than I did. I had a one night stand with her fiance as revenge. That was an incredible memorable night. We are still friends, that one night stand and I. The best friend and the husband to be…well I haven’t seen either of them in 26 years now. I left the area and joined Job Corps. I met my boyfriend. He was unlike any guy I had ever dated. Yesterday is the anniversary of the day we met.

He is my best friend. He makes me laugh. He and I will never marry. We don’t want to. He and I had an open relationship from the first. It worked because we were able to be honest with each other. He closed it off when I found someone I could actually have considered getting close to. He realized that he wasn’t able to find anyone else who was even remotely like what he had in me. I still am able to find a girlfriend because there is things that a girl can provide that he cannot. But I have the only man I will ever have. And I am okay with that. (If he was gay the situation would be open there, but he is not.) I had in my youth figured that I needed to marry. I needed to have the house with the three-car garage and white picket fence to be normal. I was so foolish. At forty-seven I have learned a lot. I have carried to term 3 children. I had to give one up for adoption. I miscarried 2. I have found my home. It was not in a building. It was at the side of a man that loves me. It was being Mom to a neurodivergent Girl who thinks I am some kind of hero…and I still am trying to convince her she is mine. It was allowing myself to be me.

I have some definite opinions about Roe vs Wade. This story has a lot of family intonations in it. If I had grown up without the option for an abortion, it would not have mattered to me. I would have not aborted any of the three. However, I miscarried. Twice. Both were emotion killing moments. I wanted both babies. I barely survived having my beautiful neurodivergent girl. The doctors told me if I got pregnant again I would die. I can never carry another child to term. Roe vs Wade means I have the choice. I hate the idea of getting one. I still want that choice. I was raped after my son was born. If I had ended up pregnant I would have wanted that choice. I didn’t report it. I was terrified of the idea. I had told about the sexual abuse I endured as a child. I was told I had lied. Why would anyone believe me if I said that this had happened?

Ending RvW will not stop abortions. It will stop safe abortions. There was abortions before RvW. There were no safe abortions. Women have been choosing to slip pregnacies since the dawn of time. We are supposed to be an advanced society…so why are we discussing this again? It was solved in 1973…

Radios, rednecks, and the results

My dad was a plumber. The majority of his friends were blue collar – construction workers, bikers, and truckers. We had cb radios in the house and in every vehicle. My mom met her second husband on the cb. It was a central part of our lives.

That radio has been featured in a couple of stories over the years. Once when I was 10 or 11 Daddy had a bunch of friends over. I was bored and trying to find trouble as all kids do. I snuck into one of the cars and got on the cb. My handle – the name you use on the cb – was/is Sasssy Suzy.

One of the guys who was visiting heard me on the cb flirting with anyone who would talk to me. He proceeded to get on and inform the audience of my age. The radio went silent.

The first time I met my Pop – mom’s second husband – he was talking to me on the cb. He called me honey and I was sure that he was thinking that I was Mama. He chuckled and said that he knew who he was talking to cause he was outside and mama was with him. Man…I miss him.

Remember my handle? The first year I was dating Joe, we were messing around on the cb. Joe has been a trucker for most of our lives together. I started flirting as I was prone to do on the cb. I still remember the response. Some dude I didn’t know came back announcing that he knew Sassy Suzy and she had an ass the size of a 747. I don’t think my backside is or was ever quite so large. It did offend me enough to stop the flirting and caused Joe fits of laughter.

That cb was a feature of so many other stories. Too many for a single blog post. I may tell a few more tomorrow.

Story of humor and headache

A quarter of a century ago I lived in the garage behind my current home. The house belonged to the grandmother of my boyfriend. We have been dating since we were 21. I moved into the garage with him after only knowing him for a week. It never occurred to me that I was being impulsive.

That door covers a smaller door into the small space that was our home. His grandmother put a bathroom on the back porch of the house – where the laundry room is now. We had a fridge and a gas stove. We slept on a couch against the back wall of the garage.

We would play D&d and hang out and live our lives in that garage. One night the boys got me laughing. I threw my head back in laughter. The garage is made of porcelain brick. I cracked one with my head when I threw my head back laughing. (nice little concussion)

Now that garage is behind my home. sometimes the little changes are huge.

Tuesday Tunes

Pink Floyd – Another Brick in the Wall

Lyrics ~

We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey, teachers, leave them kids alone
All in all it’s just another brick in the wall
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall
We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave those kids alone
Hey teachers, leave those kids alone
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall
All in all you’re just another brick in the wall
“Wrong, do it again! Wrong, do it again!”
“If you don’t eat yer meat, you can’t have any pudding
How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat yer meat?”
“You, yes, you behind the bike sheds, stand still, laddy”

My two cents ~

Ok. I promised to give you a story last week. I had my first child at fourteen. I was six weeks late starting high school as he was born on September the first. Talk about hell. Starting a new school late and for such a scandalous reason. I was so nervous. I was terrified.

One of my step brothers was dating this amazing girl. She was held back a couple of years, and was so beyond caring about the “social norms”. Our school had the main entrance into the cafeteria. She knew the day I was starting. She knew how scared I was. So I got off of the bus, and saw her sitting there at the doors with a boombox (it was 1989.) Seeing me, she hit the button. Out of the speakers, at a volume that shook the glass in the doors of the cafeteria, she blasts that song. It started my high school career off on a better note. I was laughing. I was suddenly feeling like I was accepted. This song has been that feeling for me ever since.

Thursday Straight Talk (a day early)

Tw: mention of abuse, suicide, and rape.

I have ptsd. This is not something that I tend to talk about often because it has a stigma attached. I get claustrophobic. I hyperventilate. I dissociate. I struggle with the urge to hide. I am an insomniac. I am a survivor. None of the things I have listed make me a bad person. Most are the result of trauma and of keeping myself so hypervigilant for so long. I see a doctor. I take meds. Some days are better than others. I have learned coping methods. I have learned to be aware of my triggers. No I am not a snowflake. No I don’t have to have a safe place. I don’t even know what a safe place is. I take life one day at a time. I have panic moments as so many people do. They are from knowing that real monsters exist in this world. Monsters that hide in human skin. I am not suicidal. I really don’t want to die. However on my bad days I find that I wish I had never been born. I struggle with telling my story. I spoke my truth. I was called a liar. I came forward with one piece… And was not believed. I only told one person, because I was a child. If a child tells you their pain… Believe them. For you may be the only one they tell. My journey has been long. I was so fractured that I had at one point nearly 13 separate “alters” I am down to two. I used to have nightmares nightly. I am down to on average twice a month. Struggling with this does not make me less. I have come an amazingly long way… From losing months of time to now I lose an hour rarely. I am healing.

This is not something that I expected to post, if I am honest. I am careful about letting this all be “known” because I have others in my life that I know are embarrassed when the topic comes up. I have no reason for embarrassment. I am not ashamed of who I am. But, I love them. So I hold my tongue sometimes. However, I have been thinking about it. Perhaps it is not the right thing to do. I think that perhaps sharing the struggle might be more helpful for others who are struggling. I don’t know if I will share the details, yet.

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The man who did it abused others. He served time for one, and only one, of his victims. He has never been to court for what he did to me.

I survived a gang rape. And I survived another rape.

I survived domestic violence, by more than one of my relationships. My current love is the first time I have not been physically abused by the man in my life.

I have been homeless. I have been without food. I learned how to survive in each of these cases.

I have done things that I was not proud of. Hasn’t everyone? So, if I have a bad day… I might post some depression memes on social media. My poetry may get a bit darker. My art angrier.

Still. I survive. I am always here ready to listen. I understand what survival costs. Some days are better than others. Today I did not sleep. My mind would not quiet. Today my mind was attacking me with my faults in litany. Tomorrow may be better.

I know that this is published on Wednesday. I will post the art for Wednesday a day late because I think that this is important.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “HOME” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

If you or a loved one is affected by sexual abuse or assault and need help, call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-800-656-4673 to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area.

memory lane and its potholes

found a 80’s site today. made me nostalgic. for me that is always dangerous. i remember working the summers during the 80’s. i worked on a tobacco farm for an old man who wanted to see what was in the jeans i always wore. i had a friend who worked with me. i wonder where she is now. I had a love affair with hair bands, and at the time i had a figure. i remember running away from home. I hitched from LaPlata Maryland to my cousins place in Alexandria Virginia. I was twelve and had no idea what kind of danger i put myself in. I remember being flattered when the guy who picked me up thought i was nineteen and was flirting with me. I was so unafraid of the world outside. there was nothing there that could be worse than what i lived with. I kind of want back the innocence i had then. I was not as afraid of walking where i needed to go. i carried a butterfly and i knew how to use it. Joe was so frightened for me when i started seeing him, as i was unafraid of going out for a walk at 3am or whenever. I had lived in Alexandria. I was used to walking in an area with a very high crime rate. I am in some ways sorry i let his fears scare me. I know he worries because he cares. but i miss being unafraid to leave home without a reason. i want the stability of a home, but i am a bit of a kin to the westward wind on occasion. i need to stretch and fly. as i said am pondering the past. makes me feel old. I have lived 32 years. i have in those 32 years lived several lifetimes. I have worked on a farm, i am mother to three children. I have survived several bad situations, i have looked down the barrel of a gun and felt no fear. I told him to shoot. not because i wanted to die, but because i want to see death coming. I died once. i drowned and was dead for a full minute before i was revived. I never want to think that death is a bad thing, just a new adventure. yet i am not ready to die, as there is alot of possibilities still here. plus my daughter still needs me. I have seen the U.S.A from the cab of a big rig. I have used a urinal (no other option and pregnancy made me have no choice in this) I have wrote poetry and dreamed impossible dreams, I have done many things that i won’t list here. and i learned i can cook. I make my own bread. this to me was the biggest surprise. and now at 32 i am thinking seriously of going to college and making one of those impossible dreams reality.I am probably out of my mind. and if you read about them locking up some crazy woman who thought she could do life and failed, wellll then you know i didn’t do what i planned. but who knows. if i did all this, why can’t i do school too??