Forgetting

Sometimes I remember the strangest things.  How the sky looked that one day, last year during the snow storm.  All the words to a song that I haven't heard in over 20 years.  Simple things like....what did I eat for breakfast are not answered.  But ask me about what my car seat felt like when I was 3 yrs old.....sticky, brown plastic, tray over my lap.  Cold bar frames.  My mom used a high chair seat!

Sometimes I forget important things.

Things happen and I'm confused.

I watch blood pour out of my dearest friends nose.

He reminds me.  Cancer

I remember the first time I saw him.  Sitting on a stool, house right, up against the stage.  Large green shirt he kept tugging at.  His friend....who would soon become my friend, leaning over his shoulders to wrap him in a bear hug.  She wore a long red shirt.

My friend runs his fingers through his hair.  "So this is new." He holds out his hand & I watch a small clump of his reddish blond hair fall onto his lap.

But his hair never sheds...oh yes...cancer.

I forgot.

I can tell you, he has a freckle on his upper left eyelid.  A reminder he was born with flaming red hair.

But I forget my password to my work computer daily.

4 years ago in May, I remember how he walked over theater setting & hoisted  one long leg into the stage & with a push, his giant frame stood on the stage.  My mouth hung open at this display of agility for someone of his stature and age.

But how old am I?  I forget sometimes.  43? 45?  39?

Moments he looks me straight in the eye. No words.  His eyes droop slightly in the outer corners.  I wait for a joke.  None come.  Just his eyes studying me.

It's like he's trying to remember me. Not to forget me

before

the cancer takes him away.

The mantras

I've seen a few dead bodies in my time.

Family friends, a babysitter, a mother, close friends, a brother, acquaintances.  All waxy, all pale, all gone.

There are times I say "For this reason, I do not become attach.  Everyone leaves."

I have buried so many pets, broken so many special trinkets, lost meaningful things.  I keep telling myself, don't...get..attached.

I have close friends that sometime...I want to draw away from

Because everyone leaves.

I just watched a friend slowly die.  Leaving behind a life well lived.  The routine of death doesn't bother me.  I suppose I'm acquired to it.  I finally let myself cry of his untimely passing while driving to Walmart....realizing I hate Walmart and then pretending to cry over my hatred of Walmart.  But really, I cried over his death.

My beautiful friend became terribly sick once again & I watch as the sword of Damocles swings over her head. Her life marred by unrelenting hospitalizations, and yet...a life filled with happiness, creativity and joy.

I have a friend who put me
into a tail spin over their troubled soul.  Decided I was done and it was better to have never loved.  Period.  Never loved...then to give you little friendship heart away then lose it.  They of course argued, No...better to have loved then lost, then never loved at all.  I just stared, hot burning holes into their head.  Wanting to give up.  We both stared...they, with tears in their eyes afraid to lose me.  Tears in my eyes afraid to keep holding on to someone who I will inevitably lose.

Everyone leaves.

A few nights ago, that same friend, ended up nearly dying.  Seeing them hooked up to all the wires & iv's didn't panic me.  It was easy to joke about their bad luck, report the gossip of the day & just make fun of their predicament. Soon the minutes clicked by, the strain wore across their face....I made the investment again. Propped myself up against the arm railing of the hospital bed, ran my fingers through their hair.  Lulling them to sleep like I would my own child. Circle, circle, scratch, scratch..repeat...till mouth dropped open, breath became deep. I was fine...watching my friend fall asleep, until I saw their waxy, pale hand.  I saw that hand in the casket that one day they would rest in.  And all I could do was circle, circle, scratch, scratch...each breath out I uttered the mantra..."everyone leaves."

Something strange happened as I get older.  I have grown more compassionate.  In my youth, I was afraid of compassion.  Afraid of losing.  So in youth, I hung back, Afraid to become attached to people...who would only leave.  But now, It has become easier for me to physically reach out to others.  I squeeze a shoulder of a near stranger, and soon I become their therapist.  They come to me like a little wounded bird sitting on my knee spilling all their torn guts upon my lap...hoping what?  I listen?  Fix it?

 I do my best to sooth.  Sooth them with words I don't believe in for myself.  Advice that works for all, but not for me.

How do I tell them I have become empty?  How do I tell them I am the hollow box, wrapped in pretty lies and good advice?

Why do I even allow myself to reach out in kindness...knowing that kindness can turn to friendship.  Friendship turns to love.  Love can break your heart, weary your soul & grey your hair when that love leaves.

I think the only thing that keeps my buoyed is my mantra I uttered just a few years ago...

Life is too damn short.

My life has always been a battle between black and white.  Two vastly different voices clanging around in my head.

Everyone leaves.  Life is too short.

2 voices simultaneously screaming for attention. Two voices that make me want to crawl into my hollow box and swat everyone away like a rabid raccoon.

So here I stand, slinging my arm around a stranger, patting all the pretty birds on their heads, cooing sweet advice, handing my little heart to friends......

Uttering my mantra:

 Life is too short, everyone leaves.

I am that women

I am her...who rants and screams and curses at this religion of mine.

I am she who shakes her fists at God and Yells "Answer ME!"

I am the one who throws her temple recommend at her Bishop. "take it...I don't want it."

I am the women who approaches Bishops, a Stake Patriarch, Stake Presidents, a director of Leadership Development for the Church, a Mission President....and asks them hard questions.  "Why?  How? Tell me more. Am I alone?"

I am that women who questions my faith.

I am her that has given up.

I am the one that struggles.

I am that women who questions.

I am she who puts one foot in front of the other.

I am the one who makes the choice to stay.

I am her that falls time & time again.

And when I fall....it is them.... who catch me.

They are the ones who say

"I don't know"

"How can I help?"

"Can I offer a suggestion?"

"Well...this is the gospel according to me, so take it with a grain of salt, but I offer it up to see if it will help."

"I'm sorry."

"I truly care for you."

They are the ones that pray for me, and pray with me.

They are the ones that look me in the eye.

They are the ones who put their arms around me & squeeze... like I am their scared sister.

I am that women who is lucky.

For I am surrounded by those who love me. Who pull me out of the mud. They let me yell & question, and rant, and rage. They do not punish me for my questions.

Through all the struggle...they surround me. Safe.

I am that women that holds them.... to me.

I am the one who can NOT do it alone. Who does not WANT to do it alone.

They are men.

I am the women who holds the power of the Priesthood.

I hold these men close to my heart.  I am told, that will make me weak.  I am told that makes me less.  I am told I could do better.

How could I do better?  Not only am I covered by the hands of my sisters, with their tears, kindness, friendship & understanding.....but I am covered by the hands of those men.  My brothers who struggle just like me.  Who want to help. Who care.

I am that women who stands at the edge.

And in each of my hands, rest the hands of those who hold me grounded. One hand is the women's, the other...the mans. I pull and fight, but their hands hold fast.  I don't want them to let go. These men and women allow me to struggle...but they don't let go.  These men and women work together to save me from the edge.

I am that women who holds the power of the Priesthood.  And to those men who bless my life with that Priesthood, you are kind, you are good, and you are loved. Don't let anyone tell you, you are less. Don't let anyone tell you I don't need you.

I am that women who needs the Priesthood, and I am the lucky one that is surrounded by it.

Brian says Hi

Say hello to my brother Brian.

 You meet him back in this post. Pretty messed up fellow.  A man I loved, then hated, then loved again. Brian was 15 when I was born & at 15 he started down the path of drug use.

I was 15 years old when Mom died.  He staggered out of his hole to visit us & to say goodbye to mom. 

 After abusing drugs for 15 years, he died...alone, penniless, with just the clothes on his back, a duffle bag 

& a picture of me....his only sibling.

I joined my church & started the search for my brother who died & was buried quickly without a care by his "father".  We never saw his grave & we never cared enough to remember his death date.  We only cared that he died after we buried Mom.

All my searches came up empty.  I was told I would have to wait to baptize my brother after 101 years after his birth date.  I ended up thinking that was just fine.  One day he would be baptized, but not now.

Recently my son visited our Church's family history center.  He told the story of Brian to the professionals.  They had heard my story years ago, but this time....Sister Salt Lake decided to pull her weight & get this boy baptized.  

My son EZ pulled me towards the history center & said Sister Salt Lake wanted to ask me more questions about Brian.

I sat infront of the computer screen & up popped my family history.  I was asked

Are you the only one Brian has left?  I assured them I was.  His mother was dead.  His father had been a raging drunk all his life & I had no idea where he was.  It was just me...his sister...and a lost, probably dead father. 

I watched as Sister Salt Lake typed away at the key board.  She turned to me & said "You have permission to baptize him."

Wait....what?  What about the 101 year rule?!

"They don't call me Sister Salt Lake for nothing!  It's my call....you are his only surviving relative, so he's in your care now."

It was a surreal moment to be handed his temple approval slip.  I didn't know whether to he happy (Yeah!  It's over!  All these years!)  or really pissed off (Wait...all these years of searching & now rules are throw out the door?! )

The look on my sons excited face sealed the deal.  He was pumped!

Today I took that slip of paper & drove 3 hours to the Temple.  The night before I gave Ethan a picture of Brian & reminded him that this man lived.  He was once living with me, annoying me, playing with me & begging me for forgiveness.  He slipped the picture of Brian into his book.  I slipped a picture of Brian into my purse...and off we went.

I battled with myself a little during the day.  My faith lacks.  I will forever question everything.  But I remembered the dream I had of Brian all those years ago...the same dream my husband had of Brian in white, asking forgiveness & saying he was happy. Besides....this baptism is just an offer.  If Brian wants it or not...whatever.  It's his choice.  If this church isn't true...whatever....we are remembering our dead & offering a hopeful gesture.

Today I mumble to Brian when got out of bed & again as I ate & again as I drove & again as I stood in the Temple,

Let yourself be known.  Just let me feel you if this is ok.  Maybe you are not there or maybe you don't care.  Just throw me a bone.  I'm tired of chasing you.  I hope you are happy.  Just know

 I remember you.

Where am I?

A friend asked me

"Hey you....what's with your blog?  When are you going to write again?  Dance puppet dance!"

Let me explain something here for you.

It is very hard for me to write.  To write a post usually takes me around 2 hours on average.  Yeah....I know....right?!  I can't not start writing then walk away & finish it later.  It's something I have to finish...or I end up lying awake at night thinking.

Trust me....for someone who can't turn off the voices...the last thing I need is to be thinking about a stupid blog when I should be drooling on my pillow! 

It's been alllllmost a year since the last post & a few groupies have asked me

Well?!  Where are you now with your beliefs?!  Tell ME!

So here is goes......

My name is Jen Jen

I was willing baptized at 19 years old into the church knowing full well I had no testimony or knew even half of the history of the church.

I am now 40.

21 year later, I still do not have the answers.

I also believe YOU don't have the answers.  You struggle in your own little hell, just like me. Maybe your struggles are with faith, sadness, guilt, lack of understanding, anger, depression  & exhaustion.  And just like me....

     You question,

     You avoid,

     You go on.

I go on. I stay in this church because I have to. I stay because I choose to stay.

I stay because I CHOOSE to believe in this magical, mysterious God.  I CHOOSE to believe in Jesus Christ.  I choose to drag my sorry butt out of bed each Sunday because I have children that need stability.   

Onward and Upward I like to say.  Most days...those words come out in a long sigh.  

Some days I tip toe forward, scared of losing my religion completely.  I force my feet to walk on hot coals, doing my best not to stand up & scream during a church lesson "This is pure donkey POO! I'm outa here! Peace out!"

Days like those....Days of Abandonment, the only thing that anchors me is my family & my husband that opens my cage that I am flinging myself against & allows me to roam like an angry, hungry tiger looking for anything to sink my teeth into.  I grab my religion in my beastly teeth & shake it violently back and forth like it was a helpless animal.  Days like that, I destroy my religion.  I tear into it's flesh & snap it's bones.  I shred it to pieces.  

I saunter away, tired but satisfied at destroying the thing that give me so much grief.

"Why the heck would you stay with a religion that grieves you, angers you & most of the time torks you off?!"

  Good question?  I will answer your question...with a question....cuz I'm deep like that yo!

Have you ever worked at something that annoyed you, stressed you & drove you out of your mind?

Job?

Marriage?

Child rearing?

Parenting your parents?

Exercising?

Crafting?

Schooling?

We all have had to do things to better ourselves.  Now when I was in school, I hated it.  Some days I was a jerk because of the stress.  But I knew I had to stick with it.  I knew it was somehow good for me to stretch my mind.  It was good to struggle. I knew enough to know, that if I dropped out, I wouldn't be any happier.  It might of made my life easier for a bit.  But then the dust would settle and all that would be left would be a  wasted opportunity...and new stress...and new anger...and a new struggle.

Sometimes we have to do hard, annoying, maddening things to better ourselves.  Sometime we don't even know if we will be actually better off if we do these things.  But we press forward with a hope that at the end, we will gather up all these difficult things into our glass jar of life and mix all the experiences up to form a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors.  

I used to fear that I would never gain a testimony of my religion.

Now....meh....so what?  All the years of stressing over this...and for what?  How has that made me better?  It hasn't.  It just made me angrier & more inpatient!

I used to have anger at my God.  I did everything right.  For years I willing did what I was told, read, prayed, worked & hoped. All these things and yet, God never saw fit to take away my doubt or fear that all this was a lie.  I felt like the kid that wasn't picked for the baseball team.  Watching everyone else be high five'd & welcomed into that little club while I sat there scratching my head agonizing over where I went wrong & how to fix it.

Now, I'm 40 and I can say...whatever.  I have accepted I will probably always question God & the heavens.  It's just who I am at the moment.  I will still do my best to stand strong for my family.  I will press forward, onward & upward....and one day hope to join that elusive team and get my high 5.

Until then

"Faith is not without worry or care, but faith is fear that has said a prayer"

Truth be told

Many people think little O' Jen loves to confront.  Truth is...I hate it!  I hate it so bad that when I was in my 20's, I hated to return things to the store....even if the product was damaged before I even opened the box.  I had extreme anxiety over things like this.  I was so bad, my husband had to stage an intervention.  I had bought a curling iron.  I used it once...it sucked.  The words "Just return it to the store Honey"  sent me into a corner rocking & mumbling, covering my ears. So like a good husband that my man is....he drove me to Walgreen's, held my hand & MADE me return that stupid curling iron.  I remember wanting to vomit as I handed the cashier my iron...without a receipt!  (Oh sweet mercy...she's going to yell at me!)  And ya know what this lady said..."Ok.  Do you want cash or put it back on your card?"

So through the years my husband helped me overcome my social fears like no therapist could.  And soon I was a "return junkie."  Man, the sky would change color, I would return something!

But this new confrontation.....well.....I felt bad for the guy.  I wasn't returning a crappy curling iron...I was on the verge of returning my religion I bought all those years ago...without a receipt!

It's amazing how anger & frustration can make a person jump out of the safety of their own skin & ask the hard questions.  I got over talking with my Bishop.  Now....on to my next faze.....

Open my mouth & ask the question...

"Do you ever ask yourself...why am I here?"

My question to Brother High was bold & gutsy.  It was Christmas time.  Brother High & his family were viewing all the Nativities our church had set out for public display.  Right there in front of 509 baby Jesus's, I asked this great man....."Well...do you.?

This man stared at me, then eased himself closer to my face....leaning on his cane he said

"Every....damn....day."

I didn't know what hit me harder.  The fact that a very prominent, "righteous" member of our church used the word damn in front of 509 baby Jesus's...or the fact that he questioned!

Wait.......he ....questioned?!

My face must have registered shock.  Brother High laughed & put his hand on my shoulder "Sister, I swear there were times this church would kill me.  It's exhausting & draining.  It's hard work to be here at times. Sometimes I want to run away.  It would be so easy to"

But why do you stay?

"I stay because I want to. I stay for the gospel, not the church."

Brother High pats my shoulder & shuffles off. 

I stood a long time in the gym.  I couldn't move.  I stood anchored in the spot where Brother High had nailed my jaw to the ground.  Surly he was just joking.  Surly he was teasing.  Could a man like that...a man in his last years, who had served for decades in this church.  A man who lead & taught & held generations of a family together....surly he really didn't question.  Did he?

The encounter with Brother High gave me the fuel to throw caution to the wind.  Soon I became a question junkie.  I started questioning everyone.  No one was safe.  Heaven forbid I found you sacked out on the couch, avoiding class.  Or washing your hands in the bathroom.  I cornered & I pounced.  Asking over & over again the question that plagued me.  "Why do you stay?  How do you stay?  Do you question?"

The answers shocked me.  Everyone I asked...every...single...person told me

Yes, they question.
Yes, it's hard.
Yes, sometimes they want to run screaming.

After all these years in this church...after all the "Oh...I KNOW this church is true because the Holy Ghost testified to me that it was true.  And if you pray hard enough....." (cue the Mormon Tabernacle choir) 

Years of "Oh golly, this church saved my life!  Makes me a better person!  I never question because God answered my prayers!"

Years of not seeing the truth. Years of listening to only one side of a persons story.  Only hearing the pretty sales pitch of the church.

Years of feeling too embarrassed & alone....I finally hear the truth.

To live my religion is very hard.  Some things that have been taught to us...are hard to swallow.  We struggle to believe, to have faith, to have knowledge.  Everyone person I spoke to...must have felt I was struggling.  For everyone opened up to me in ways I never expected.

I found that these people, all at different stages of life & belief....wanted to believe.  Some, even without a shadow of a doubt KNEW the Gospel was true.  KNEW that Jesus Christ WAS the Savior.  But even for those hard line believers, THEY even had moments of questioning.  Moments of teetering.  Moments of..."what if?"

We are human. We are not Jesus Christ.  We will never be perfect in this life. We do not have all knowledge.  We all struggle.  Some of us stay in this church because we were born in this church.  Some stay because they marry into it.  Some stay because the Holy Ghost was so strong & fierce in their heart, they could never deny.  Some stay because they are lonely.  Some stay because they like to be challenged.  Some are rock hard in their belief & some are wishy washy.  Some members of this church are pure evil. Some members are too good to be here in this tarnished world.  Some are raging liberals & some are apron wearing conservatives.


2 years have passed since I told my Bishop to take my temple membership card & shred it.  2 years of wonderful "wondering" out in the shadows.  2 years of too tired for crying.  2 years of questioning.

2 years of asking all the right questions.

2 years and a new questions have emerged

"What have I learned & where do I go from here?"

Why do you stay?

Tell my Bishop I have no testimony...check.
Drink coffee on Sunday...........check
Let go of all guilt....check
Life goes on.....check
Breath a sigh of relief....check.


Well

Now what?

So...I'm in the church, not of it?  Yeah, that sounded about right!

Let me tell you friends....I felt like a dog that had just been sprung from a bath.  I was running around, shaking my wet fur to & fro then rubbing my body all along the side of the couch.  Yeah baby!  Liberated!

Now that I was free from my church-ly cares....I felt more at ease to piss people off, say whatever the FUNK I wanted to say & basically....be .....me.

Listen people....I knew at that point the church had NO WAY made me bottle up my essence & shove it down the couch cushion.  That was all me...trying to live up to what I THOUGHT a good Christian girl should be.  Forming an illusion in my mind of what was a Godly women. 

This symbolic break from my religion was a way for me to breath.  To give up paranoia, pain, confusion & the desire to please everybody.

I was starting over.   Instead of being a scared, wondering 19 year old...I was now starting off as a thirty something women that shot 4 babies out of her vagina while yelling HELZ YEAH BABY!  Dude...I was an old, married, baby shoot'n women looking for the truth.  I was light years away from 19.

Being a lady of a certain age....I tempered the urge to snort Blow & steal crap.  No...I must go about finding truth in a mature thirty year old Lady way.

Ok YES...I did drink coffee...& break the Sabbath by buying a McDouble....but you have to admit.....it was high time I did something cray-cray ya know?  Let lose a little.  Be badddddd.

After my bought of hooligan-ish behavior...I eased myself back into the real world.  The world of "Let's Pretend I'm Mature."

So now my quest began.  My quest of...."Am I alone?  Am I crazy? Should I stay or go." had now officially begun.

And for my first act of truth seeking.....I asked a very prominent, "high ranking" church man... "High Priest".... a question. A question I always wanted to ask but was to scared in my past life to ask it in fears someone would find out I was struggling.

"So Brother High.....do you ever ask yourself......"What the hell am I doing here?  Why do I stay?""

How he....and the others that I asked that question responded, threw me for a loop & brought me back down to Earth.

Beer Blessings

There is a joke I like to say about blessings.

 "If you need some blessings....drink a beer."

In the church we are encouraged to live healthy lifestyles.  No alcohol, no wacky tabacky, no coffee, no black tea.  Everything in moderation.  We can't drink, but we sure as heck can eat!  We love our food!

Anywho.  People who live in religion tend to become very paranoid....or was that just me?

 If I forget to pray over my food everyone will have the back house trots!

  If I don't pay my tithing (10% Sucka!  It's in the bible so don't be all like..."What?  Girl, I never heard of that!") my husband will lose his job & I will have to eat raw wheat for breakfast!


 If I skip church 1 Sunday I will have a crap week...& the dog will die & my husband will lose his job & I'll get the back house trots!!!!!

If I drink a beer my house will be sucked up in a tornado!

But truth be told.....many people who have left a church, drank that beer...they seemed to be blessed.  Blessed with money, better jobs, boats, nice hair & bigger boobs.

So my joke was always....drink a beer!  Car broke down & you have no $$?  Drink a beer!  You lost your job?...drink a beer!  Kid needs braces...drink a beer!

For so many years I lived with paranoia.  It started around 10 years old when my Mom got cancer.  I felt, as a young child, that somehow I could control how my mother felt by my actions.  If I wore a certain ring she would end up in the hospital.  If I wore my heart earrings she would get better.  Superstitious child grew up to become a paranoid adult women......who joined a religion!  Geez...you want crazy thoughts....try being in my head for a day!  God & paranoia walk hand in hand down the street!

So when I decided to walk away, I had a twinge of paranoia. 

"What if God punishes me & kills my whole family?"

Then I remembered my joke....drink a beer, blessings will come.

So I left in the most non-leaving way a girl could leave & I did

Not
drink
a
beer.

Because that would be lame & immature!  But I still left.

And wouldn't you know it?  Nothing bad happened.  In fact, I became lighter & happier & those paranoid thoughts...gone!

Most nights I didn't pray.  I didn't pay tithing.  I skipped church now & then.  I drank a coffee....on THE SABBATH!  Of course once I drank that coffee I laughed at myself for being a follower, a poser, a joiner & plain silly.  Then I dumped the gross coffee mostly full in a garbage can & realised how much I liked Postum & Teeccino.  And dang it....I was gonna drink Postum instead of coffee because it was healthier & I liked it!  Flame away baby....I like POSTUM! (chilled & drenched in evaporated milk/ condensed milk over ice....heck....yeah!)

                                            Hello my darling!  Everything tastes better in a mason jar!

I drank the proverbial beer & I was still alive.  My family was still happy.  I had wicked awesome friends.  I still had some of the same day to day problems.  I still was angry at God.  I questioned the existence of Jesus Christ.  I still cared about church issues. I was still me, just without all the religious superstitions that strangled me.  I felt free to question, to doubt, to be angry, then to forget it & move on.

And yes, I was blessed too.  My husband got raises.  I got a job.  My kids were awesome.  I traveled & played more with the kids.  And my hair......looked pretty damn fine if I say so myself!

See....proof my hair didn't fall out during my wondering out in the wilderness of disbelief!

Take this religion & shove it

In my religion we have a Bishop.  A guy who is "called" to counsel the people in the church.  He doesn't get paid.  He doen't have professional training.  He's just a regulor Joe.

My Bishop happens to be my friend.

People go to the Bishop for counsel or confession or to be given recommends to go into the Temples.  Bishops stand as "judges in Israel."

I decide to be a big girl & go to my Bishop......& tell him all that was eating me up.  And let me just say....for a girl who hates to disappoint people...this little stint I was about to do made me sick.

I had to do it.  I had watched a few friends slink away form the church never to talk to their Bishop.  Never even give the guy a chance to help.  I didn't want that.  Sure...I wanted the easy way out.  But over time I found that I needed to leave my childish ways behide....& be an adult.  An adult who wasn't going to run from things anymore.  Big girl........ meet panties.

But man.....all I thought was RUNNNNNNNNNNN!

On that day 3 years ago, I walked in....& quit.  Threw my hands up & quit.

My husband knew what I was going to do & had always been supportive.  He had seen how I struggled all those years.  He knew I tried.  He knew I gave it my all.  He also knew he coundn't help me the way I needs help.

So in I walked.  The door closes behind me.  And I sat face to face with my friend....who happened to be a Bishop.

And I let it all out.

And my dear friend did a really good job being a Bishop with a slight hint of friend. 

We talked...well more like I ranted, he listend.

I laid out my demands.
1.  Help me.

That's it.  Help me.

I did have guidelines.
1. I would not take my kids out of the church.  This was my problem...not theirs.  Even though there were times I wanted to be selfish & take everyone with me.....I knew for their sakes I had to temper that desire.  If they had problems with thier religion as they got older....well then that would be their problem...and as parents, we would help them out at that time.  But in no way did I want to stress them out by removing them from the only religion they had ever known.

2.  I would turn down a big calling that was handed to me a few days ago & keep my old calling I had held for 5 years.  I would do my best to do my job.  Luckly it wasn't that hard.....I was like...the church activity cruise director. I threw parties for the church....sweet!
    This new calling they wanted to give me was actually the catalyst for my change.  I realised how deep the lie I lived if the Bishop thought I would be faithful enough for this calling.  Time to stop being fake & time to let the B-Man in on my charade. 

3. I would support my husband in his calling....oh yeah...did I mention my husband was a Bishopric counsler?  He was one of the Bishops right hand men.  Yeah...that was fun!  Having a husband who sat up on the stand every Sunday while his wife dwindled in unbelif......so fun....ya'll should try that!

My Bishop seemed to breath a sigh of relief that I wouldn't just up & leave....& that I wouldn't drag my kids through my emotional, sprirtual mess.  But I could also tell I had hurt him & freaked him out.  Here was another one of his friends trying to walk away.

A few weeks after my talk with my Bishop....my husband was released from his Bishopric calling that he had held for 4.5 years.  I'd like to think his time had come up to move on....but I knew it was because of me.  You can't have a Bishopric memeber who's wife is losing her religion.

So here I was.  A memeber in name but not my heart.  My Temple recommend willingly given up.  My husband out of a calling that killed me for the first few years.

I stood hugging my friend the Bishop as he told me he loved me.  I knew he did.  I also knew he was ready to take on this task I had placed befor him.....of helping me find a testimony of my church....or finding it false.

Walking out the door I felt relief & hope.  To celebrate I hung out with my friends and church ladies for a day.....

At the Temple.

But this time I had no recommend to go in.  I was now...on the outside.

And I had not felt that relieved or free in a long time.

The Wall

I remember seeing "The Wall" out in the distance around the time I had gotten married.  There it was....a tall, brink a$$ wall far out there.  Leering at me with it's rust colored, dusty brick eyes.  "Awww yeah girl...one day.....your face is going to splatter against my awesome brink chest.  You can run girl....but ya can't hide!

Oh trust me...you can't hide from a massive brink wall my friend.  It will patiently stalk you, lumber up to you, back you into a corner & squish the poop out of you.

I was young, stupid & sometimes very cocky in my spiritual thinking.  Listen....you can't become weak if you do the right things.  If you read your Scriptures, pray daily, give tithing, go to church...basically if you lay down your life for the gospel...you'll be fine.  I mean....lets face it...those who can't take their trials or lose their testimony, are just aren't doing things right.  They obviously let Satan creep in to their brains.  They let Satan work himself into their thought & hearts.  But that wouldn't happen if they stayed strong.  People can overcome anything if they just work hard!

Oh yes....I...did.



Because that's what I was taught.  Trials will come.  Life ge4s hard.  But.......say this Hallmark card greeting with me.......

"God doesn't hand you anything you can't handle"


Come on...we've all felt that quote

(By the way...not in the bible.  Closest thing would be 1 Corinthians 10:13.  Or closer yet.....

"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much."

Mother Teresa

Even Mother Teresa felt overwhelmed....but don't compare yourself to Mother Teresa....cuz....she's freak'n Mother Teresa.... you are not!)

We've all heard some form of it spewed in church.  We've all fallen pray to that nasty little quote.  We've all felt small & weak because we couldn't get past the hurt of something terrible that has happened to us.

Sure...my Dad would seethe for years about my attendance in the church...But God will provide. wall

Sure....people really did/say nasty things to me in church.....But God will easy my pain. WALL

Sure....my husband & I had no $....but God will help us. wall

Sure.....I had my first baby & fell into the darkest depression of my life...But God will...wait....God?  Ummm God?  Hey, I uh....did everything you asked me too....could I get some help here? WALL

                                         God?

Sure...I dreamt of suicide nightly.....But God...will...maybe

 WALL

Every step of my life the wall follows.  Questions about early history of the church, current history, weird practices, theological questions...constant questions racking my brain.

Why did I join?

Why am I here?

Where is this testimony I have been working on for years?

Where is God?

Did Jesus really live?

wall
Wall
Wall
WALL
WALL

Everyone I asked these questions to always put me down

 (Of course it was never their intentions to put me down.  But would anyone say this crap to a women who spent years trying to get pregnant?!  Oh...well, I know when I have sex every other night I get pregnant.  I know when I get enough sleep I get pregnant.  I know when I stand on  my head after sex I get pregnant. Maybe you are not doing it right)

by saying "Well of course He lives! He listens! This is true! That is true!  I KNOW it's true because I pray!  Read! Go to church! Sing lame Primary songs to keep the Debil away!

Well La-DEE-DA!  Good for you honey!  But that still doesn't help me.  I still don't KNOW anything.

"Well did you pray?"

What?  Did ...you..just

"Well, you need to pray honestly.  Are you paying tithing.?

What the heck is your problem?!

"Are you reading the scriptures.  Answers will come if you read...how about attending the Temple, meeting, doing you callings, taking sacrament, doing your visiting teaching, bearing your testimony, volunteering, listening to wholesome music, confessing your sins, going to church classes, reading the conference talk, doing..."

STOP!  Shut....the....flip'N..heck......up!

"Well, with that attitude Missy...it's no wonder the Spirit has left you!  You'll never get your own testimony with an attitude like that."

AAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Headdesk! Headdesk! Headdesk!

That has been my whole 20 years in the church.

20 years & no....I KNOW this church is true.  I KNOW Jesus lives.  I know God is God.

nothing.

Nada

Zip

Fail

Flunk

Hang my head in corner.

My best....was not good enough.

                                WALL

3 summers ago....done. Over. Out

I left.  Walked into the Bishops office.  Handed him my special "I'm a good member" temple card & said....I give up.

Then I sat down across from him & said

"Bishop.  Meet....my Wall."

The 19 year old convert

Baptised.
Fresh
Clean
pure

I was now a member of a real live church.  I church I choose.  I church I hoped to one day fully know to be true.  I was happy & content.  Not a care in the world. 

I was surrounded by my old & new friends while I chatted after my dunking.  My father choose not to attend.  He said he could not support me in joining the church.  I couldn't blame him.  All the info he had about my church was from years back when he met some extremest fridge "members" back in the 60's.  They took him in after his rig broke down on a desert high way.  The gave him free room & board.  Fed him & fixed his rig for free.  He stayed a few days with the people.  Playing baseball with the kids & helping the men with their farm work.  He said they were kind, very poor, giving & polygamists.

He just could not support me in a weird cult.  No matter how much I tried to teach him what I was taught....the truth ..... he would have none of it.

And for the first time in my short life, I felt truly, utterly alone.

I pushed those thoughts away as I stood eating cookies with my new congregation. 
I...would enjoy my grown up decision with gusto!  I would eat cookies & cheese potato casserole with abandoned!  I had places to go, people to meet & a religion to adhere to.

The thoughts of loneliness & dread gave way to excitement & exhilaration

I was safe.
I was wanted.




I was a dumb as a box of rocks!

I fear it was my childish faith in the "arm of man" that brought me to where I was a few years ago.  Brought under & drowned in that sea of faithful but ignorant trust.

The night I was baptised a new missionary shook my hand.  He gripped it hard & stared me straight in the eyes.  He words to this day, etched in my brain.  But at that time, those words held no deep meaning.

"Sister...you must always remember.  The gospel of Jesus Christ is true...the people..... are not."

What the heck did that mean?  Well...I sorta knew what he meant.  But it wasn't until I walked through hell with these church people did I fully understand his words.

It took awhile to decode his meaning...which was pretty blunt.  I mean really...ya don't need a decoder ring from a cereal box to understand....GOSPEL = good.  People of earth = a$$hats.

I JUST DID NOT GET IT.

Not even when Brother Ay called those boys n*****s

Or I was called "sweet spirit" over & over again (sweet spirit means nice but ugly and/or slow)

Or when a young man told me he was disappointed in me when I could not fulfill my new calling (job in the church that is volunteer) teaching young children the Gospel...that I just was baptised into!  Even with the tears in my eyes & the vomit still on my shirt from having a panic attach in the bathroom after I fled in failure & humiliation from the room filled with children.

Or when I was taken advantage of for months by a man 7 years older (and wiser he might add) who had no right to touch me.  Who shamed me & messed with my head yet talked about his Priesthood power and how smart he was & how lucky I was to find him.

Or how I found out from a friend of mine, my name had been "written upon the walls" and I was known to a large group of young righteous men as a "snake"...a young women who used her charms (wait....wasn't I a "sweet" spirit few months ago?!) to lure young men to their carnal deaths....but yet all I had done was date the wrong man.  My virginity proudly intact after fighting off advances from that "righteous" Priesthood holding man.     

Or being insulted, demeaned, belittled & talked down to.

Or when I watched the father of the kids I was babysitting call his wife a stupid $itch over & over in front of his friends & his children.  And then to see him in the Holy house of the Lord....wha?!!!

Or listening to women tear into the flesh of their "sisters".  Watching the back stabbing, lying & venom spitting in aw & horror.

Or being just plain ignored.

Or the constant arguments from my father.  Our close relationship forever torn apart by my decision to join a cult. 




I would like to say I was strong in the arms of the Lord.  But at the end of the day,
 I was and will be, for the longest time

a lost, scared, hopeful
19 year old girl

Scales begin to fall

I....was blinded.

Here I was this August day
19
Living with my Dad
Innocent
Ready for an adventure

I joined a church filled with happy people.  People who took interest in me.  Guided me.  Fed me.  Entertained me.  Liked me.

At that moment I had rose colored glasses on.  A thin layer of shiny scales covered my eyes, my brain, my heart.  I had made a safe place for myself. 

I was safe from growing up.  Safe from going off into the world without a net.  This church...these people...would become my net.  I allowed myself to wander off in a crowd of righteous people.  They would guide me, place me on a path I needed to go....even if it ment jostling me about.

I was....safe.

Oh how beautiful those shiny scales made my life look.  How lovely the people.  How clean their lives.  Everything....rose hue.



A week after my baptism I drove to Great America with some friends & their parents.  I sat in the back of the steamy van as I listen to my friends Dad babble on about sports, weather & other mindless things I had no interest in.  It was so nice of this family take me out & about.  Adding me...the convert, so easily to their plans.  I was starting to feel like a baby bird that had been scooped of the ground & carried to a new nest.  Strange but safe. 

That day we ate lunch at our van.  We decided to spend the evening at the park to avoid the heat.  I still remember the ham sandwiches my friends Mom made us.  Yummy & soft.  Ahh, this is the life!

After all tidy & clean, off we walked, through the parking lot...heading towards a night filled with fun.  Up ahead of me I spot them.  2 young men...wandering through the parking lot after spending the day at the park.  They were tall. As they got closer, they become very cute.  Cute.....CuteRrrr...well Hello boys!  Dressed in t shirts & plaid long shorts.  Clean cut.  Tall....boyzzZzzz.

The moment before they pass me they smile & say Hello.  Were they looking at me?  Did my hair look ok?  I throw back a Hi & I ours eyes lock.  Boyzzzz.

Left foot......glance
Right foot....... "Ya know whats the problem with the world today?" My friends father loudly asks his walking brood.

Left foot....."No...whats' that Brother Ay?"

Right foot.....boyz pass me... I can smell their sweaty cologne...swoon.

Left foot.....  "What will mess up this world? 

Those

Damn

N****RS"







BAM!


My feet stop cold.  I feel like I have been punched so hard in the chest I can't breath.

"Damn n****rs" Brother Ay repeats as he marches ahead of me, shacking his head in disgust.

I had seen the boys heads whip toward me...righttt as they pass.  Brother Ay made sure those boys heard him.

I felt the ground slip beneath me.  I watched Brother Ay walk ahead.  He held a "high" calling in my new church.  He held the priesthood.  He had raised a nice family. 

He called those strapping, handsome boys...that..word.

I'm confused & bewildered.  I force my feet to march on the hot pavement. 

"Clink"....behind me....a scale had slipped off my eyes.

I march on to spend the day with my head spinning.  I don't enjoy my night at the park.  I feel hollow & weak.  I'm angry & disgusted.

I hear nothing but those hateful words.

I see nothing but the mask of pain on the young men's faces as they catch my eye....as my fellow member of my church calls them

unthinkable.

"clink"

Why I decided to become found

I was a good egg growing up.  I never got in trouble at school.  Well...ok...I did get detention ONCE in 6th grade for not turning in...get this....a paper for gym class.  I had a good excuse...I was in the process of packing my house & moving to a new town.  So one day, my last week of going to that little country school...I sat in detention.  Turned into more of a going away party for me.  My gym teachers thought it was hilarious.

Me....as the good egg.  And to the chagrin of my friends...very proper.

Smoking...was gross.  Watching...more like... smelling my parents smoke was enough to make me gag at the sight of ciggies.
Drinking....as a kid I went to lot of parties....I stopped drinking at age 6.  So I guess I did drink...yeah...another story for another time.  People who drank acted weird.  Besides...I knew it was bad for me...because in 5th grade I learned all about the dangers of drinking.  (This killed my Dad!  He couldn't have his customary after work drink w/o me being in his face giving all the facts of the hazards of drinking.)
Sex....I have no idea where I got the notion sex was special & reserved for married couples.  My parents never taught me.  School never taught me.  Church never taught me.....because I went to church only on the major holidays.  I just knew from a very early age that sex was special...weird...I know.

Maybe it was because my parents were older.
Maybe is was because I was raised in a barn
or because I saw Frank Sinatra in concert
or because I took ballet for 6 years.

I don't know why I never rebelled.
I guess I was born this way baby.

My rebellion came in the form of joining a religion.

I know...RIGHT?!  Who's does that?

This nutter....that's who!

Luckily I didn't have to leave a religion to join one.  But still my Dad was mighty pissed.   I don't blame him.  My religion can be perceived as wacky sometimes....well lets face it...all religions are wack!

I joined the church because as a 19 year old watching all my friends "grow up" & leave me behind...I was lost.

I joined because I loved the clean life style that was stressed.

I joined because I liked being in a community of people that did good things, & thought happy thoughts & helped people.

I joined because the guys...were really, really hot!

Needless to say... I joined for all the wrong reasons.  Come on people...I was freak'n 19!  I was barely out of diapers!

I studied the religion for about 9 months.  I went through 3 sets of missionaries.  I was stubborn.  I refused to join until I knew everything about it.

But soon...I just wanted to be apart of something good. I wanted to be ...a.....part.  A part of a family.  A part of a great work.  A part of a church community.

One day I sought out  my Bishop after church. (The Bishop is considered the "Daddy" of the group in that area.  That's the best way I can put it)  Bishop was wicked smart.  He never rolled his eyes at me all the times I dropped by his house to talk to him & his wife....which I did a lot.  Because I was kind of a stalker...& because I was a curious savage that couldn't get enough information crammed into my minuscule brain.  Well one day I asked him if it was bad to join a church just because I wanted to?  Just because it felt good at the moment?

 Could I join if I didn't have my own blazing testimony of the gospel.

His answer was  "You can borrow my testimony for a bit if you like.  But you must one day, find one for your self.  And that's not something I can give you.  Every single day you must work on finding your testimony.  And if you do find that you KNOW it's true...you STILL have to work to keep that testimony alive & healthy.  For you...gaining a testimony may take years.  It's not something that is just handed to a person.  That is very rare.  How real life works is, that after all the trials, tears, heartaches & joys...after all is said & done, then you see God's hand.  You will then know it's true.  But until then it can be a struggle.  And for you....it will be a long road....but it will be worth it."

I just sat there.  Trying desperately trying to soak up all his words.  Was I ready to be baptized into a religion that is all actuality, I knew nothing about.  I mean.....shouldn't I have gone to seminary or college to study up on this stuff?  Did I really have the ability to make such a huge decision...the biggest decision that I have ever had to make in my life?

The words "Faith is a hope in things not seen that are real." floated through my head.  I wanted Faith & Hope & hot guys in suits & community & friends & clean living & tithing & cheese casseroles.

I wanted these things.  I wanted things I didn't understand.  I wanted to take a leap of faith.

So I asked my Bishop...."I know I have no idea what I am doing.  I have been studying for 9 months & I feel I will never be ready.  All I know is I feel good & happy when I come here.  I feel safe here.....Can I be baptised even if I don't know for sure if this is the true & only church?"

My dear Bishop said "If you want, I will baptise you.  But do know...this journey will be hard...but it will be worth it.  If you have faith & feel you can work hard, then yes...you can get baptised.  You have to work every single day to be close to God.  If you agree...then it would be my honor to baptise you."

Little 19 year old girl who thought she knew everything...JUMPED at the chance.  I told him...I get baptised...today.  He was very cute.  Clapped his hands together & said "Tonight then...in 3 hours.  This is COOL!  This will be the first time I put a baptizum together is 3 hours!  Usually we have days to plan!  This is FUN!" 

So three hours later on a hot August night...I was baptised by my friend Lee Donaldson.

Here I go....feet first into the unknown.

Let me just say....I don't miss that stupid, naive as hell little girl....she is long gone!  For reality bit me in the butt the moment my hair dried!

Paranoid Ramblings...don't mind me

Well...I've gone & done it.  My family has jumped on the Dave Ramsey love fest.  We are working on the Total $ Makeover.  Woot.

So excited.

Can't wait...........to FAIL!

We have pinged ponged back & forth on debt reduction crap for most of our married life.  For the most part we have done well.  We have done well because my husband knows how to cook the books...wait...that didn't come out right.  We have done well because I take after my mother.  My father use to say "She could squeeze the poop out of a Buffalo coin."

I can squeeze the poopie out of a Buffalo coin....just like my mother before me!

I also am very paranoid about my financial security.

Paranoia has a place.  A nice place sitting on the fluffy chair in my mind.  Let's face it.....my husband owns & keeps me.  I...rely on his income.  I always have relied on others for survival.  First my parents.  Then my father.  And now...my poor husband.  Not only does he have the responsibility to keep me fed & clothed...but he has to keep 4 kids alive!  And a dog!

Some days he rocks in a corner.

and I point & laugh...SUCKER!

Then I take his place in the corner & rock.  Because relying on others...scares the poopie out of me.

Since I need a man to support me...I do my best to support him back.  Like not spending all his money on German chocolate, making him tasty meals, popping out 4 of his kiddos & well....lots of other thing that are not legal to discus.

Heck...I even went out & got myself a job!  A real job where I clock in & wear a uniform & attend meetings!  My tiny pay check is handed over to pay off something or another. 

That silly little pay check helps me feel....not so helpless.

Dang...I hate that feeling of being helpless. I think many women feel that way.  Women "trapped" in their home raising their children...watching their husbands work at a job he hates, day in & day out....giving up his dream (being a toy tester...yeah......dreams...successfully slaughtered!) all because he adores & loves his family more then that dream....of...testing..... toys.

Then I think of all those other women, who just like me feel helpless.

Women who's husbands...just walk away.
Women who's husbands care more about their dreams then the love of their family & refuse to provide
Women's who's husbands slouch over...dead.
Women's who's husbands bodies get ravaged by disease or accident.
Women who never had the pleasure of their man loving them enough to marry them.
Women's who's husband struggle w/ addiction.
Women's who husbands torture & beat them.

As a woman......I feel...powerless sometimes.  As an UNeducated woman I feel helpless.
What if my husband dies, leaves me, hates me, gets sick, get laid off, gets fired, gets jailed, gets drunk...on & on.

What if?

Damn you paranoia!

Oh well...I guess I will use my paranoia to get crack'n on Dave's debt beater-upper.....since I have nothing better to do then to rock in the

corner.

with my husband.











Being a toy tester would have been fun.

Night time habits

My lovely house I lived in had 2 bedrooms.  One upstairs that belonged to my parents. One down stairs..that was mine.  It had 2, deep windows & blue flower wall paper.  I don't remember being scared to be alone at the other end of the house.  But I was uneasy about my room.  It was always freezing cold despite the fact that the wall was...kid you not....3 feet thick.  It always had a breeze swirling though it & the light didn't seem right. And...I hated the blue wallpaper cause if you stared at it long enough you could see faces in it!

My bedroom was later converted to a very small dining room once the upper level was complete.  We used the room 3 times out of the year.  Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter.  Other then that, we hated being in there.  Can you see the deep set window...yeah....3 feet thick walls...awesome! Note the haircut....why mother, WHYYY????

One night, during the winter as I was fast sleep snug in my bed....my blanket was tugged. 
Tug, tug. 
Tug, tug.
 I remember being really angry that my parents were waking me up.  Soon I was woken up by the freezing cold.  My blanket had been completely removed from my bed....and I couldn't find it.  All I remember was being so angry.  Years later my parents told me that in the dead of night, they were awoken to their little 6 year old standing at the end of their bed yelling at them.  "Where's my blanket?!  I'm cold!  Why did you wake me!"

My Mom thinking I was sleep walking...trotted me back down the dark stairs, walked down the long hallway to my room & plopped into bed.  Apparently I cried & spit 6 year old venom at my haggard mother.  "I want my blanket!"  Once I was in bed....my mother started to get mad at me....my blanket was no where to be found.  She turned on my lights to find it.  It wasn't under my bed or in my closet.  She become steamed thinking I was messing w/ her.  Up the stairs she went to grab my Dad to talk some sense into me.  Fumbling down the the dark stairs my father grumbled.  No blanket = hysterical brat.  My Dad was now on the hunt for my cozy blanket.  He looked in the bathroom, in the den, kitchen then finally he clicked on the light in the living room.

There was my queen sized thick yummy blanket, laid out perfectly in the middle of the living room floor.




Sorry for the bad copy.  Here is part of the living room.  There are the stairs in the background, THEE closet door under the stairs & the hallway entry behind us.  The floor in front of my friend & I is where blankie ended up.Do you like my sexy fine perm?



At first my parents were mad at me...then...they thought about it.  Did I truly drag my blanket out into the living room, dragging it over the huge yellow couch only to splay it neatly on the floor...then to wind up screaming at my parents in my shrill little voice in the dead of night?

That night after they brought me upstairs to sleep on their floor my mother & father decided they would work on the upstairs bedrooms the next day so they could move me out of that room as fast as they could....of course it would take them about 2 more years to make it sleep able.

And for 2 years....it become custom every now & again for me to wake up in the dead of the night & feel that tug..then sliddddd of my blanket.  It become my cue to get up, go potty then hunt for my wandering blanket.  It would hide in the den, kitchen, crumpled on the yellow couch, laid out in the living room or hallway.

This is another picture of that great yellow couch of 70's sassiness!  I just can't get enough of it!  I wish I had it today...it's just breath taking!  carry on...

I would drag it back down the hallway & plop back into bed.  I would grumble a little thinking it was my Dad playing a joke on me.  Then I would complain to him the next day about his blanket joke & how it bugged me....I never caught the panicked look in his eye...only the nervous laugh of him lying to me..."sorry kiddo...I just can't help it." 

My room with a hazy presence.

Childs play

"I really need you to stop it.  I'm having a long day.  No one can play with me, Moms shopping, my Dad is working in the yard, my brother is a jerk & I'm bored."

"No really...you need to stop scaring me, that's not nice.  I'm going to be mad at you if you don't stop."

I often found myself having conversations like this in my house off Pleasant Grove Rd.  One day I was just...not having it.  Life was unfair!  I couldn't play with my friend, my stupid brother was visiting & I was stuck...at home...AGGGHH!  So hard to be a child!

I stormed down stairs after my doofus brother kicked me out of the bathroom.  Hey, it had good acoustics & I needed to perfect Barbara Streisand's Queen Bee...just...because!  Whatever fart face!  Stomp, stomp, stomp...down the stairs.  Flinging myself down onto the yellow couch I seethed & pouted & lamented.

"Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek."  The closet door behind me slowly opened a crack.  It never took much to have it creeeeek.  You turn the knob...creeeeeek.  A slight pull....... creeeeeek.  The sound of the door was horrible.  No matter how much my Dad WD40-ed it....it would always creeeeek! The door was a heavy solid wood door with an old glass knob.  It was to a closet that was tucked under the stairs.  Pretty cool hiding place.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek open...creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek close. 
"creeeeeeeeeeek"            Stop it!
'Creeeeeeeeeeek"            I said STOP!
"Creeeeeeeeeek"            FRED!  AGGGHHHH!

I started to joke to my Dad about the ghost in the house.  He'd laugh & never take me seriously.  He told me as he ruffled my permed hair "Oh...it's just Old Fred.  Just say Hi & he'll leave you alone.  He's just lonely."    He did a fine job about teasing me...but I knew he was just messing around like Dad's do.  Little did I know...the poor guy was doing his best not to tell his daughter "yeah kid....seriously, this house is jacked up! He's watching you.  Run kid RUNNN!"

"Creeeeeeeeek"  ALRIGHT!  I'll play with you but the door has got to stop!

I heard my smelly brother stomping around upstairs yelling for me.  Something about his toothbrush...that I may or may not have rubbed on top of his nasty B.O. stick.

Sensing my own doom at the hands of my cracked out bro I dove into the closet.  The closet went all the way back under the stairs.  The space above my head just got smaller & smaller as I crawled under my Moms fur coats.  I finally wedged myself deep in the bowels of my cave.  As my brother pounded down the stairs grumbling, I watched the light fade as Fred closed the door.  "creeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

"Hey brat...you think I'm stupid!  I could hear the damn door all the way upstairs!  I know you are in there!  Come out or I'll go in after you!"

Gah!  I hate my brother!  I covered my self w/ winter shoes & scarves stored for the winter season & waited.  Doing my best not to laugh & cry.

"Fine!  I'm coming in!"

Try as he might....my brother could not open the door.  I could here him struggle & hit the door w/ his fist.  The old 50 lb door didn't budge.

"Hey twerp, the doors stuck.  You'll be in there all day by yourself!  Dad's out side & he'll never hear you scream. Have fun punk, I'm out of here!"

Exit poop head brother.

I laid under the shoes, in the pitch black slightly panicked.  All I could think about was how was I going to pee?  I had no problem hanging out in the closet, but to pee?  yeah...this would be a problem!

No sooner had I thought that...the door clicked and

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

A little sliver of sunlight peeped in through the door.

I crawled out from under the tangle of hanging coats & out through the door.

My brother no where to be seen, my 9 year old life spared.

"Thanks Fred!  That was fun! I'll see you later!"

Out of the house I ran, to play with my ducks.

And somewhere in the house, I knew Fred would be waiting for me to come back & play. 

Things that go bump in the night

I was 6 when my mom happened to drive by an old barn in a little town & fell in love with it.

She drove home & told my Dad to buy it.

And so he did, because he loved her.

We left our custom built house down a winding lane a few hop, skips & jumps from a river and moved to

"Podunkville"

Population: 4,000

The house was built in the 1860.  First as a barn that housed pigs.  Then it was converted to a cheese shop in the 1880's, then converted into a house early 1900.  There was a bigger barn for cows that was razed.  That became a beautiful sunken garden.

When we bought the house in the 80's it was falling apart.  It had only 2 bedrooms.  One bedroom (mine) was on the first floor.  My parents bedroom was the only room upstairs.  You walked up the stairs & to the right was their bedroom.  To the left was a locked door to...well....the upper half of the barn.

This what was behind door #2!  A very large, open, dusty unfinished room.  My Dad eventually built a laundry room, bathroom (with a lovely sunken tub) small office & a large master bedroom.  The roof was so high he even was able to install a pull down latter that led up to more storage.


My Dad worked on the house making it, at first safe & livable.  Then finally he made it perfect.  We then after living there for 7 years moved... after all that hard work.

I loved the house.  It had about an acre or 2 of land.  It had an old horse barn for a garage.  I could play in a little forest, climb apple trees, catch frogs in the creek or pick flowers in the prairie section.  I had a rabbit, ducks, a dog & gerbil.There was always something to do.

I grew up with just my parents.  It was nice, just me, my mom & Dad.....and

something..or someone.......else.

When we bought the house....it wasn't empty.  It came with peeling wallpaper, a deadly furnace, leaking roof, rotting carpet & a ghost.

My parents never, EVER said anything to me.  But I found out years later we were not alone.  They had experienced things too.  My mom said the first night we slept in the house she felt it.  The haunting.  I remember it too...but I was so young...it must have been all in my head........

The house was cold that night.  The furnace didn't work.  Our furniture hadn't arrived, so we slept on the living room floor in sleeping bags.  The house was infested with mice so I got a kick watching them scurry around the baseboards.  My Mom...not so much.  Between the whimpers of my scared dog & the sound of the old barn moaning, I barely slept that night.  Coyotes cried somewhere in the fields & the shadow that floated on the ceiling fascinated me.  There was a blue hue to the room.  (I remember asking Mom were the light came from.  She said it was a blue moon that night.  Well, let me just say...that moon wasn't blue.  So I don't know what kind of hog wash she was telling me.) The shadow was in a shape of a man.  Sometimes it would hover above us...sometimes he would dart.  I enjoyed watching him....figuring at first, it was my Dad shuffling around.  But my Dad was asleep, snoring on my left, my Mom on my right.  I remember being confused at the man shadow & a bit uncomfortable.  By morning I was fine & happy to explore.  My Mom, I found out later knew...she made a grave mistake buying the house.

The fireplace was massive & was able to heat the rooms upstairs through vents.  My dog Tasha always by my side.  This was the room we slepted in the first night. 

I was never afraid of the house or the barn where my Dad like to tinker.  My dad loved his little garage/barn.  There he placed all his tools.  He was always working on something.  Handing me nails, hammer & wood I would work along side of him making airplanes.  But the garage was also the favorite place for.... Him.  Apparently my Dad was well acquainted with Him...who he named Fred.  (we named everything Fred.  The garter snake's in our garden, Fred.  The wounded birds I would find & feed, Freds.  The brown bunnies dotting our yard, Fred)  Fred was notorious for messing w/ my Dads tools.  My Dad would yell at me because I would move tools as he turned to grab something...but I never moved the tools.  After awhile my Dad realised...it was never me.  He thought he was going mad.  He became more aware of me...being out in the yard & his tools...disappearing right under his nose.  Most of the time they just moved around the table.  He would turn & the tool would be gone...only to find it under a cloth or another tool. (My Dad was scared of losing his mind he even went to a Dr. to see if he has dementia.  He did not)  One day one of his prized tool went missing.  He looked under benches, in his tool box, on the floor.  The tool was gone.  Vanished. 

A few days go by & still no tool.  He couldn't finish a job without it.  He got a hint one day as to where his tool might be.  He heard footsteps above his head.  He heard these steps all the time.  But when you live in the country, raccoons are as big a medium sized dogs.  They were always in our attics...garage & house. My Dad often had to cage or shot these very pissy, nasty things.  This day...he pulled up a chair & listend.  Really listened.  "Stomp, Stomp, Stomp."  His hair on his neck stood straight.  Those were not raccoon feet.  Those were feet w/ boots on.  He yelled up to the ceiling "Hey...I have a gun!  You have a choice, you come down now & I let you walk off the property alive or I go up there & fill you with lead!"

Silence.



"Stomp....Stomp...Stomp"...... Silence.

My Dad got the latter & his hat w/ a light attached to it...& his shotgun.  Up the latter he rose.  He slid off the ceiling panel & climbed up into the dark attic of the old horse barn.  Poor guy was sick & nerves.  He really didn't want a gun in his face & he didn't want a racoon to jump on his face either.  But he was sure a hobo was up there.  As he climbed up...he saw nothing.  No escape route, no hobo, no raccoons.  Nothing.  Just wood beams, barn dust and

His prized tool propped up against the wall.

My Dad flung himself out of the ceiling,  Crashed down the latter & ran  out of the garage.  He thought he was having a heart attack.  He laid down on a patchy piece of grass to calm down.

It had been confirmed in his mind...we...were not alone.