918 Mother's Day

2009-05-10T19:11:00.002-05:00

2009-05-01T14:48:00.002-05:00

Last night I woke up from a 918 nightmare. The dream involved both the dinning room and attic doors with male and female grabbing hands. Deeply disturbing. What happened in that house?

does this sound familiar?

2009-04-22T19:26:00.002-05:00

what are little girls made of
snips and snails and puppy dog tails
and that's what little girls are made of.

did I get this right?
painted on the closet doors

what are little boys made of...?

I may have it mixed up?

Lovely Snowfall Video

2009-03-17T12:12:00.002-05:00

See Paul Davis' beautiful video "Requiem for a Snowfall", here. It reminds me of spring snow in Wisconsin.

Mom's food...come on sisters

2009-03-02T21:39:00.001-05:00

yummy to this day

baby june peas

Mummy's stitching

2009-02-08T18:06:00.003-05:00

"Burn your candle at both ends..." given to Uncle Paul "Pops" and Aunt LuLu

been thinking about Dad lately

2009-02-01T20:29:00.000-05:00

pOUPEE? iS tHAT yOU?

2009-01-17T15:52:00.000-05:00

Twist and Shout!

2009-01-02T15:16:00.003-05:00

ACK ACK ACK SNOW

2008-12-24T18:03:00.005-05:00

Osprey's snow post brought back these snippets of memory:

Walking through crusted snow in my rubber, faux-fur-topped boots, feeling the icy crust scraping my calves raw and red, with tears freezing on my face.

Shoveling until I thought my heart would give out, and hardly getting anywhere.

Painting the lawn furniture on a hot april morning, then having the paint ruined by 8 inches of snow on it that afternoon.

Inchworm

2008-12-23T09:35:00.001-05:00

On Youtube there is a slot to the right of the video screen that is labeled "Embed". If you copy that information, you can have the video play right in the blog, as above.

Hans Christian Andersen:Danny Kaye

2008-11-01T14:00:00.004-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJzwC_8f6nA&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXi3bjKowJU

sisters song: you really must listen to this...!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YhTKiFEMAg&feature=related

Tina Schober

2008-09-20T14:40:00.002-05:00

Mueller, Christina Mary (nee: Schober)

Our dear, loving Chrissie (Tina) was called by our Lord Jesus to her Heavenly home on Aug. 16, 2008, after a courageous battle with many illnesses over the past four years.

Christina was born in Green Bay, Wis., on June 10, 1952, to Ruth (Christoph) and Leonard Schober. She graduated from St. Joseph Academy in 1970, attended Mt. Senario College, and received an associate degree from NWTI in Police Science.

On Aug. 16, 1974, she married James Mueller, of New Holstein. She was preceded in death by her husband (April 30, 2004), her parents, and mother-in-law, Mary Olszewski.

She is survived by her brothers and sisters, Thomas (Suzan) Schober, Green Bay; Prudy (Christopher) Smith, McKnightstown, Penn.; Cathleen (David) Holmes, Racine; William (Lisa) Schober, Chicago; and John (Ann) Schober, Dubuque, Iowa; her devoted father-in-law, Roger Olszewski. She will be especially missed by her dear sister-in-law and friend, Doreen (Paul) Balazs, who loyally acted as caretaker of Christina before and following Jim's death. She is also survived by brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, Paul (Annie) Mueller, John Mueller, Pat Mueller, Mark (Angie) Mueller, Mike (Sue) Mueller, Mary (Pat) Dugan, Bob (Marybeth) Mueller, Tom (Jody) Mueller, and many nieces and nephews. Also left to miss Chris is her darling cat, "Angel" .

During their 30 year marriage, Jim and Chris opened their home and arms to several foster children, including, Christine Abler, who they adopted, Tammy Standifur and Kim Beu and their children.

Chris had a happy smile, and was very warm and loving to everyone she met. She was devoted to her husband, Jimmy, her family and friends.

She enjoyed needlework, and often made special hand crafted ornaments and pictures for family and friends, as well as rosaries and scapulars for her church.

The family wishes to thank Willowdale Nursing Home for their caring staff. A special thank you goes to Dr. Dennis Pleviak, for knowing Christina so well and ministering to her unique needs with prompt, tender care. A huge thank you to all the nurses and doctors, social workers and hospice workers at Calumet Medical Center and Sheboygan Memorial Hospitals. And finally, thank you, to all her friends at Taft Street Apartments for surrounding Chris with love while she grieved the loss of her dear husband.

A traditional Latin Mass will be held on Sept. 13, 2008, at 1 p.m. at St. Michael's Church, 1784 Chapelle Rue, West De Pere, Wis., with Father Bolduc officiating. Family will greet friends in the main hall following the Mass.

Memorials can be made to Willowdale Nursing Home, the Diabetes Foundation of America, Aurora Visiting Nurses of Wisconsin Hospice, Visiting Nurses of Calumet County, Taft Street Apartments, New Holstein.

while searching for mom's obit-

2008-08-01T18:39:00.002-05:00

Flatley, Robert Hugh

Robert Hugh Flatley, 91, Green Bay, a man loved for his warmth and humor died Feb. 14, 2000 at a local nursing home. He was born in Chicago, July 3, 1908.
Bob's career began at age ten, working in his uncle's store, Callaghan Grocery on the West Side of Green Bay. He worked summers as a surveyor on Mackinac Island, attended St. Norbert College and went on to graduate from University of Wisconsin Law School and practiced law in Green Bay until the 1990's. Among many accomplishments he was in the FBI during World War II, was a Taft delegate to the 1952 Republican convention, belonged to the Lions Club, was President of the Green Bay School Board and was admitted to the United States
Supreme Court. Bob was a lifelong Packer fan.

He is survived by his wife of 62 years, Margaret Murray Flatley; and five daughters, Anne Taylor, Houston, Texas; Sherry Trenchard, Lake Bluff, Ill.; Ellen Martens, North Tonawanda, N.Y.; Robyn Flatley, Brattleboro, Vt.; and Betsy Berres, Portland, Ore. Ten grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren also survive him.

A memorial service will be held at Schauer & Schumacher Funeral Home, 340 S. Monroe St., Saturday, Feb. 19, 2000 at 11 a.m.To Dad from his loving Daughters From your twinkling Irish eyes to your true loyalty and discretion, you were a father for all seasons and we daughters will celebrate our memories of you all of our lives. We truly cherish the way you lived in accordance with the highest
aspirations of humanity.

our her-story or not on Mackinac Island

2008-07-31T16:55:00.004-05:00

Image of the Murray Hotel

How about a little help, I'm curious if any of you know this family history.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mackinac_Island
Murray Road (159): Road from Leslie Avenue Through Old Fort Gardens to Crooked Tree Drive.

Rev. Patrick Bernard Murray, an early Catholic missionary on the Island, was badly frozen in an attempt to reach a sick Indian on a dark night. The name of this road my also be termed a tribute to the distinguished Murray family which is so thoroughly interwoven with the history of Michigan. It was on the Murray farm that the grave of Father Marquette was discomered in 1877. Mrs. Murray, of the New Murray Hotel, is noted for her generous hospitality and gracious manner. She has been frequently called “The Queen of the Island.”

What If WE Went Back?

2008-07-24T13:34:00.002-05:00

Just a thought. I am watching "Peggy Sue Got Married", and I wonder what I would do if I were back in high school? What would YOU do, knowing what you know now?

Cofrin Family

2008-07-13T07:58:00.001-05:00

I found Peter, Tish, Doug, and Andrew: no John or Penny

Peter Cofrin- a neighborhood friend

2008-07-12T16:18:00.004-05:00

I am sure dying of lung cancer is painful and difficult. I am so sorry Peter probably suffered. I feel the loss of a neighborhood friend.
I took a moment to ponder all our neighborhood- wish I had stayed closer to them. Oh dear. Life is terribly transient, isn't it?
http://www.greenbaypressgazette.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080711/GPG0101/80711039/1206/GPG01

Remember eating Roasted Pepitas

2008-07-10T20:35:00.002-05:00

while combing my hair

2008-06-27T16:58:00.001-05:00

while combing my hair

I yanked and pulled
a tortoise shell comb
thru mahogany stained tresses
and this is what I found:
Buddha's teachings
a tickle session with my sister
my first menses
afterbirth of my son
scent of pine-tar
snap of rider cards
mother breaking dishes
sis reciting "WRECK OF THE HESPERUS"
desk drumbeat of daddy's nails
mate on one knee
nutty scented roasting brown-rice

all tangled in my hair
and released upon my shoulders

flight of the rare bird

2008-06-11T23:10:00.003-05:00

a soft purr of red
she fled
over midnight terrain

airport run-a-way rearview mirror
overhead New York plane roared
lost her head
as mirrored bits
flew off her fist

an insistent wail
hot on her tail
broken clouds forever rain

a stolen glance back
flash of red lights
they had arrived

closing in
blue uniforms
grabbed at manic butterfly

trail of soot black tears
over sallow cheeks
crush of glass

forced into a beige cocoon
wrapped too tightly
and no ribbon
she collapsed

pretty mama pretty
your turquoise dream
what a pity
birthday package of pain

Happy Birthday Dragon Lady

2008-06-08T07:34:00.001-05:00

The Crockery Issue

2008-04-24T14:10:00.004-05:00

Mom was a champion china buster and pan rattler. We all agreed that you could tell if she was in the kitchen by the noise level. Fortunately, neither Mom nor Dad really cared if they broke every dish in the house between them and us.

Two stories come to mind about their attitudes. The first one involves a couple who came to dinner. The husband complained that his wife had broken one of the cups in their set of good china. My father took that opportunity to go into the kitchen and bring out a soup bowl that was filled to heaping with cup and soup bowl handles. Dad said, "Oh, you mean like these?" The guest husband was aghast, and Dad was delighted to have shocked him.

The other story is of the melamine incident. Sometime during the 50s, melamine dishes came out, and were touted as being unbreakable. Of COURSE Dad immediately threw them on the floor to watch them bounce. One hit exactly wrong and broke; Dad crowed triumphantly ...they were breakable after all.

Peony Bush

2008-04-23T11:00:00.005-05:00

We had peony bushes all along the side of our garage, and once a year, in May I think, they would form buds and ants from everywhere would gather to peel the petals, bit by bit. Our parents were also big fans of Danny Kaye, who sang:

Twas the peony bush there in the garden
That made you turn around and smile at me...

I tried opening the buds by hand, but that was much too fast for the peony and it was like peeling a cabbage down to the nubbin, tightly folded to a tiny middle, nothing like the spectacular full blooms that the ants unfolded.

The Treehouse

2008-03-27T12:24:00.003-05:00

One early summer, after an abortive attempt at a kid-constructed treehouse, and a lot of pleading by children, several fathers collaborated and sawed off one trunk of an apple tree in our back yard. They found a sturdy wooden packing crate (would one even be available now?), removed a plank to form a window, and sawed another plank out to form a door. Somehow they hoisted it onto the trunk and then nailed boards to the trunk below it. VOILA! A treehouse of our very own!

Several of us would jam ourselves into it and hold "secret" meetings, play all sorts of fantasy games of Tarzan or the like. It was painted blue-green on the outside, with the inside left plain wood. It was in our yard (presumably because the other yards were too small or landscaped for such an obtrusive child dwelling), so we had dibs on it. I would hole up there at times and just daydream.

It was removed, along with the apple trees, the currant bushes, and the swing set, when Mom and Dad had the patio built and the yard landscaped. I did not even miss it, as I was long gone.

VALENTINE'S DAY

2008-02-14T20:45:00.004-05:00

What a pair these two did make!

Happy Valentine's Day Dear Sisters...

Our very special day...

Love, b

O' Ill-fated party

2008-01-15T20:08:00.000-05:00

Right from the start
Peg’s wealth gave Bob pause
His pride be the cause
Still he gave his whole heart,

Rather humble of birth
Lack of money the stumble
At first glance he did tumble
She ignored his low worth,

Peg’s openhearted gaiety waited
His empty hand be dreaded
Her patience was shredded
A moment past was fated,

Ending my sonnet I disparage
Given I was born of their marriage

Five Sisters, A Playlet in Progress

2008-01-13T16:16:00.000-05:00

FIVE SISTERS
By Ellen McCormick

On a darkened stage, five women are seated on chairs a few feet apart, facing the audience; each has a phone.
From right to left, their names are Susan, who is dressed in office wear, Carrie, also in office wear, Rachel, in jeans and brightly-colored T-shirt, Roxie, in all black, and Megan, who is wearing loose cotton clothing that has a third-world look. All appear ethnicallly Irish.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE: Woman #1 (Susan), #3 (Rachel) are spotlighted. The others remain in the dark.

Susan: I can’t believe she’s doing it again! I called the home on Friday, and they said he was fine!

Rachel: Yes, and she told me she could barely sleep on Friday night, and that she packed a black dress just in case!

Susan: Oh my God. What excuse did she give you?

Rachel: She said she didn’t want us to worry.

Susan: But he’s ninety-five years old! And we live a lot farther away than she does. If this had been fatal, she would have been there already and we wouldn’t even have a day’s notice to get airline tickets. I don’t understand why she does this. Is this a control thing, or what?

Rachel: I don’t know, but it bothers me, too. I told her that from now on I want to know immediately if something happens. She said she would call me earlier next time.

Susan: She has agreed to that before, and now she’s keeping us in the dark again!

Rachel: Well, I have to call Roxie and Megan. I love you. I’ll call you later.

(Stage darkens. Spotlight on #3, punching in numbers, then on #4, who picks up phone)

Roxie: Hello?

Rachel: Hi Roxie. Carrie just called me to let me know that Dad is in the hospital with pneumonia, and he’s in intensive care. He’s doing okay.

Roxie: When did he get sick?

Rachel: I guess the nurse noticed his coughing on Friday night, and got him to the hospital immediately. He’s also got congestive heart failure, and they were really worried. Carrie went up there yesterday morning, and of course, Mom has been at the hospital with him.

Roxie: Why didn’t Carrie call us sooner?

Rachel: She says she didn’t want us to worry.

Roxie: Yeah, right. I guess she will call us one day to say that he was buried two days ago, and tell us where to send cards.

Rachel: Whoa. I didn’t think of it that way. Listen, I still need to call Megan, so I’ll have to let you go, okay?

Roxie: Okay. Love you.

(#3 punches in numbers, spotlighted. Phone rings for a few times, then we hear a voice machine greeting with #5’s voice)

Megan’s machine: Hello, it’s Megan. Please leave a message!

Rachel: Hi Megan, it’s Rachel. Sorry to call you so early, but Carrie called me this morning to let me know that Dad is in St. Joe’s with pneumonia. She says he’s doing okay now. He got sick on Friday night, and she went up there Saturday morning. That’s all I know now. Talk to you later. Bye.

(#3 goes dark, #1 lights up, dialing. #2 lights up, answering)

Carrie: Hello?

Susan: Hello Carrie? Rachel told me that Dad is in the hospital with pneumonia. I know you know that I want to be called immediately when something like this happens.

Carrie: Well, if you were in touch with Mom and me more often, you would have known.

Susan: Oh, is that what this is about? That I don’t talk to you as much as you would like? I had hoped that you would call sooner. I asked you to do that last time. And by the way, I did call Parkside Village on Friday, in case you think I am not calling the home enough.

Carrie: Susan, you know I wouldn’t keep it from you, except I was so worried, and I didn’t want to call anyone until I knew what was going on.

Susan: I don’t need you to protect me from reality, thank you. Next time, PLEASE call me immediately.

Carrie: Of course! Well, Mom is almost ready to go to the hospital. I’d better let you go.

Susan: Okay, goodbye.

Carrie: Bye.

(#2 hangs up, goes dark. #1 dials)

Susan: Hello, could you give me the nurse’s station in Intensive Care please?

(pause)

Susan: Hello, my name is Susan Baker. I am calling about my father, Tom Gallagher, in intensive care. Could you tell me his condition? (longish pause) Thank you. Please give him a message for me? Tell him Susan is thinking about him and sends him her love. Okay, thank you. What is your name? (pause) Okay, Heather, thanks again. Goodbye.

PEGGY, A Work in Progress

2008-01-13T15:40:00.000-05:00

PEGGY

by Ellen McCormick Martens
Copyright 1996

Peggy: I wake from a dream of dancing with Archie at the cotillion, my turquoise silk gown floating behind me as we swirl in a glittering spiral through the room. Those times are really gone now. I open my eyes to a dim blur. My breathing is difficult as I turn onto my side and begin preparing to go upstairs to the bathroom.

The girl will be here soon to help Bob bathe and dress, but until then, I am alone in our bedroom listening to him make his breakfast. My furniture and silver are all I have left. So many good friends are dead now. I want a cigarette.

* * * * *

Ellen: The night birds were so soothing when I slept at Mom’s house in the summer. I wish I knew what they were. The sounds of those summer nights -- the rumble of the coal docks, freight trains, those birds’ high, strange piercing voices, and crickets -- sounds of contentment for me.

I used to go pick up Lou-Lou and bring her back here for dinner and her one-glass ration of wine. She and Mom would smoke and talk and laugh together, and I heard more about their childhood. Lou-Lou was always so full of life and humor, even though I know her pain was nearly intolerable. Mom told me she resented having Lou-Lou nearby, because of her blindness and her dependency. Lou-Lou could have learned Braille or been more willing to listen to books on tape, but she remained passive, preferring to complain, rather than do something to help herself.

My trip up there from Janesville was much nicer in the summer, driving up the shore of Lake Winnebago, cutting over to Chilton, and coming in through DePere. In the winter I used I-43, because although it is longer in miles, it still took three hours, and I could count on it staying open even during snowstorms. Sherry and I have gotten to know one another again, after all these years. She is so funny, and fun to be around. I wish I wish I wish Mom would stop making comments about her weight, and Anne’s. I reminded Mom of Nana and how she lived to be 84, roly-poly and full of mashed potatoes and gravy.

She probably talked about my weight to Robyn and Betsy, pretending to be concerned for my health, too. I know it was my appearance; I wasn’t thin and fashionable, with a high-priced hairdo and wardrobe, like her friend Barbara. She likes Barbara -- they smoke and drink together, like sophisticated society always will in Mom’s mind. I don’t think Barbara knows Mom is a schizophrenic. I wonder whether she would still visit if she knew.

* * * * *

This town is so odd. There is this invisible wall around it, to keep out the world. I hated it, growing up -– the smell of sulfur dioxide in the air hurt my throat when I breathed some days; the paper mills with their bleak brick windowless rectangles, the poisonous rivers. Lou-Lou said once that the river was “money green”. It makes me sad when Dad tells the story of how he used to swim in the Fox.

Our family was in limbo in many ways. Yes, we were Catholic, like most of the town, but my mother’s illness had a lot of consequences. Money that she spent in manic sprees couldn’t be spared for Christmas presents. The silence of denial meant both not being able to confide in friends and also pretending they couldn’t possibly know. We weren’t allowed to blame Mom for spending the money, because when she was manic she could be so cruel. Dad was so in love with her he couldn’t see straight, so there was no point in talking to him about it. It’s ironic that she always castigated him for not making enough money. After all those shock treatments she can’t remember anything. So we are stuck hearing how he wasn’t ambitious enough for her.

* * * * *

Peggy: I know they don’t believe me, but it’s true, it is! These men are talking to me through my brain waves. I keep telling the girls to make sure my brain is autopsied, so they find the implant. The ring of evil psychiatrists is so powerful. They know what I watch on TV because we have been on Nielsen’s for years. The TV records what we watch and transmits it to them.

The thing that makes me so mad is that Alex promised me there would be a movie of my life, and then she left me hanging. And Dan Rather too, he was supposed to send me a four-million-dollar check today, and now it isn’t here. Why do they keep doing this to me? The voices are really cruel -- they make fun of me. I remember that evening in London when I was walking down the stairs of our hotel, and the voices told everyone to look at me and then they made fun of how I looked. I keep trying to tell the girls, but I can see in their eyes that they don’t believe me.

* * * * *

Ellen: Mom suggested that we make a movie about ourselves, her five daughters; she said we could call it PEGGY! Sherry’s therapist says none of us is our parents’ favorite. Mom is Dad’s favorite, and she is her own favorite, too. The rest of us are simply bystanders.

Mom and Dad first saw one another in an elevator downtown. He was really cute – sandy hair in rippling waves, blue eyes with that roguish twinkle. She turned her big turquoise eyes on him and it was all over for them both. She invited him to a party, then went home and asked her mother to help her plan one. Their family was well-to-do. None of the children had the sense God gave a flea, but they grew up with money. When Peggy wanted to marry Bob, Nana warned her that if she married him, she’d never have a pot to piss in. It was 1937, the depression was ending, and they had high hopes but little else. Dad had a law degree, but then lawyers were a luxury.

* * * * *

Peggy: After my last shock treatment, they made a deal with me. They would follow my life in a study of manic-depressives, and I would never have to have shock treatment again. That was when the voices started. Oh, the terror of being paralyzed, unable to breathe, while that current ran through my brain. Now I can barely breathe anyway, and they have told me I have emphysema. They say I am going blind. I can’t bear it. No more beauty, or light?

Now everyone tells us to sell what we own and go into assisted living. I don’t know what to do. Bob wants to move, too; sell all our beautiful things and move into a closet at the end of a long, bleak hallway? No, I’ll leave this house feet first. Well, time to put the drops in my eyes and take my morning pills.

* * * * *

Ellen: She should never have had children. Someone should have told her. Lou-Lou wanted a big family, and envied Peggy. Peggy would have gladly traded for the life of parties and glitter Lou-Lou had.

In 1941, the story goes, Mom and Dad went to South America because Dad was in (briefly) the rennet business. On the ship, Mom received a telegram saying her brother Michael had killed himself. She was pregnant with Sherry at the time. Mom was heartbroken. Michael was a schizophrenic, but our grandmother Nana blamed Michael’s wife for his suicide.

The period of Sherry’s birth and first five years was sunny, in spite of the war. Dad went into the army, but his mother got him out by stating that he was her only son, although he had not lived with his parents since he was seven, when his grandmother Ellen took him in. Then he became an FBI man, and for a little while they lived in Queens. Later, in his law office, Dad had a photo of himself shaking hands with J. Edgar Hoover. The story of how they returned to Wisconsin varies, according to who is telling it. Some say Nana wanted Mom to come back and she did. Dad says he looked into the subway window one morning and saw the same grim expression on his face as he saw on the faces around him, and thought he’d better get out before it became a permanent scowl.

However it came about, they moved to Allouez, a suburb of Green Bay. The stories I hear are that this was the Golden Age of the young family. Dad was taken into a firm, they had a Scottie, and I then was born.

* * * * *

Peggy: I almost died when that big lug Ellen was born. They let me go through hour after hour of labor, and then pulled her out by one foot, like a sack of potatoes, ripping her out of my body. Bob wanted a boy, but here was the third girl! The nurse told him he’d better not complain, because of all I had been through. They performed an emergency baptism, naming her Mary. We tacked the name Ellen onto the beginning, after Bob’s grandmother. That birth was the beginning of my problems. I went into a depression, and stayed terribly down for many months.

Suddenly I was pregnant yet again. God, I felt cursed. Would I have to go through that ordeal all over again? I hated both babies. No, I didn’t hate them, I just wished it hadn’t happened. Funny, Robyn’s birth was the easiest of all . . . after all that fear. But it didn’t help. I felt like I was in a phone booth. I could see everything around me but I was cut off from all of it. They gave me insulin shock, and it made things worse. Then I was in hell. I hope you never have to go through anything like that in your life.

* * * * *

Ellen: My memories of growing up are mixed, as I assume everyone’s are. Crystal rosaries, Tarzan movies, pancakes. Sunny days lying behind the garage in the grass because I was grounded for something. I was happiest alone. Mom had “nervous breakdowns” every couple of years, following a pattern of mood swings. The tension in the house would build as her behavior became more and more erratic. Finally, when no one could stand it any more, my older sisters would beg Dad to put her in the hospital.

Betsy was born, Caesarian, and Mom said she would have liked the doctors to put in a zipper. The image of her sitting on the windowseat in the dining room with Betsy in her arms is burned into my brain. The window streaming with May sunshine, lilacs in bloom. She had her legs wrapped in the deep-peach colored satin comforter. Mom and this tiny redheaded baby--an icon of mother and child.

She was like a big neon sign when she was high. Everything she bought seemed to be turquoise. I remember when Nana died and Mom got her inheritance. She bought a turquoise car and a silk turquoise sheath with a matching turquoise swing coat. It was one of her spring illnesses, and it was a warm night. My uncle found her lying on the front seat of her car, at the airport, repeating “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ”. The sheriff’s office brought her home, and as she came through the front hall door, I saw a huge blood stain on the back of her dress. I was frightened, and asked her if she was all right. She screamed “Shut up!” and stomped upstairs to change for her trip to the mental hospital.

While she was in the hospital, we relied on Dad, and whatever housekeeper he could find who was willing take care of five children. Sometimes they were kind. My memories are of Mac, who was stern but very reliable, and Dorothy, who had terrible stroke damage.

Dorothy’s left arm and leg were atrophied, the left side of her hair was white, her left eye, walleyed. She had a limp, like Chester on Gunsmoke, swinging the bad leg out to the side to get it in front of her. Her husband, Charlie, was plump, loving, and we all thought he was retarded. They had a three-foot baby doll that they dressed and undressed, keeping her on their double bed during the day while they were working. My friend Sharon’s mother received confidences from Dorothy about her sex life. She told me, “Once when they were doing it, the bed fell down, but they kept right on!”

If you look up the word faithful in the dictionary, my father’s picture is there. He would come home from work at 5:30 every day and we would all sit down for dinner together. He tried very hard to make up for the hole Mom’s absence left. Once he even baked a lemon meringue pie, which, unfortunately, could have been used as a Frisbee.

When Mom was well, their life was full of social events. They had gambling nights, when we were supposed to go to sleep in spite of the racket of drinking and laughing, and the sound of the roulette wheel. Between parties I used to play with it, making it twirl smoothly on its ball-bearing center, holding my finger on the metal sections, feeling it slow down and my finger going numb and tickly.

We would go up to Otter Lake every summer, to the cabin my great-grandfather built as a logging camp. There were two log cabins, Camp Comfort, Nana’s cabin, one owned by Other People, and a smaller place, Camp Two, where thousands of my cousins swarmed under a double White Pine that we could see from our side of the lake. The water was the color of root beer, and on the bottom were fuzzy, slippery rounded rocks.

In front of our cabin we had a white raft with red trim that had faded to soft pink, and we had a white sailboat with a matching pink (again formerly red) sail. Anne and Sherry would invite their friends up there for big parties, diving and splashing and laughing.

For the three of us younger children, Robyn, Betsy and me, it was wonderful there. In the evening, we would go into our bedroom. Thin plywood walls divided the main cabin into a living room and two bedrooms. The walls were about seven feet tall. The high peaked roof rose above them, open--no ceilings in the rooms. On the inside of our room was a big iron bed with a high back. Above it was a shelf. We would climb the bedstead, go from there to the shelf, and finally get onto the huge, peeled-log rafter. We would straddle it and then jump from there onto the couch, which was a sleeper. We would keep this up until we were banished for the night. Back in bed, we would gaze at the rafters reflecting the firelight. The murmur of the adults’ conversation and the soft brush of the trees on the upper windows put us to sleep.

We would swim and play, plagued only by ticks, leeches and mosquitoes, in the thick woods surrounding the oval lake. We weren’t allowed to bring Gypsy, our mutt, because Nana said she would scare away the wildlife. For many years I fantasized that some day I would move to Otter Lake and live there, a reclusive, beautiful artist.

Once upon a time I was a black dog...

2007-11-21T22:54:00.000-05:00

I was chained
then she appeared
with her sleek black hair
she released my clip
magic hair
I followed her home
all night I was scared
she held me
I whimpered
she held me
all night
then I was found
and became her
black dog

Oh, Seventeen ...

2007-10-09T14:10:00.000-05:00

I remember sometime around the age of seventeen being confronted by my drunken mother and brother-in-law, who were asking me, "what are you going to DO WITH THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?"

I think this is an insane question to ask of a 17-year-old in the first place. I felt pinned like a butterfly to a board, and I had no answers, only fear and anger. It seemed for years that question was written in blood on the bathroom mirror.

Robyn got me out of there and away, thank you forEVER Rob. It is REALLY REALLY hard to be 17, then and now. We must rebel in order to become our truest self; we cannot take others' advice, because they have their own lives and views. We must make mistakes, because that is how we learn what is not right for us.

Let us remember how it felt to be an adult on the outside and a child on the inside ... let us recall how painful it was to be facing the world and not knowing which direction to take. Let us remember that we do not know the best for others, and that the inner promptings, for right or wrong, are what we all have to follow.

photo booth dream book

2007-09-25T19:36:00.000-05:00

here's a flash from the past...

O'Muireadhaigh-O'Flaithfhileadh

2007-09-25T09:02:00.000-05:00

our very own hyphenated name.

Sisters: charcoal rendition of photo booth picture

2007-09-18T10:16:00.000-05:00

Gangsta & the Nun

Botz in 1977

2007-09-13T11:13:00.000-05:00

I believe this is the photo I worked from to do the painting below. According to the note in my scrapbook, it is from the summer of 1977. Botz looks her beatiful, intense self, with her halo of hair surrounded by the lovely soft white of the bathroom curtains. MMMMMM...

summer's end

2007-09-11T18:35:00.001-05:00

dear 918 sisters...

here is the end of summer and another turn of the wheel. autumn often meant sadness for mom, with the end of visitors and family reunions and the busyness and commotion of family. back-to-school days for her children and up came the memories of deep depression, and loneliness, the harsh wisconsin winters ahead...the party is over...big sigh.

for dad i think it was a deeply rewarding time, the end of busyness and the coming of quiet, going inward, pulling out the old sweaters and rakes and cherry blend tobacco and pipe. i remember him smiling to the skies in the back yard with his red knit sweater on and the sweet smell from the pipe blending with the autumn leaves and fresh air is with me in the fall.

well, 918, i might not be able to participate as fully for a couple of months because the computer will not be as available to me, but i have to say what a pleasure it has been to read your posts and see your pictures...immensely enjoyable. i wish poet would share more of her wonderful self in this blog, and i wish S enjoyed being a part of this but...all is perfect in the way of it...as is.

this is a painting of enjah's of botz in 1975 when i joined her in portland. beautiful isn't it?

love, b

the artist in nyc

2007-08-18T19:02:00.001-05:00

botz's drawing of enjah in manhattan at a cafe near MOMA, the year of the great move to NYC.

robyn reading

2007-08-18T18:50:00.001-05:00

during one of our many journeys back home, i found a quiet moment to draw robyn reading.

bb's self portrait

2007-08-18T18:41:00.001-05:00

here's a pen & ink drawing from the monroe st. times on christmas day, 1974.

robyn's drawing

2007-08-18T18:29:00.001-05:00

robyn drew this of botz in 1973. beautiful shadows and light.

enjah's portrait of botz

2007-08-14T18:04:00.001-05:00

here is a portion of the original painting by enjah of botz painted somewhere in the mid to late 1970's in portland. soon i will take a photo of this scrumptious painting and post it in it's entirety. the pinks below, presently unseen, are delicious.

Dream of Betsy

2007-08-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

Many years ago, I dreamed of Betsy standing under a gingko tree, with the shadows of the leaves on her hair, dress and skin. I even did a painting, but I have no idea where it went (typical of me).

Mackinac Island family history

2007-08-09T08:58:00.000-05:00

I have wanted to see Mackinac island. Our family linage, David Earle, Pvt and Martha Earle had a farm on the Island. On August 4 of 1814 there was a battle between the British and Americans on the Earley Farm (now the Wawashkamo Golf links) during the war of 1812.
David and Martha's son (our great great grandfather) Michael Earley married Mary O'Malley. My linage information states that Mary O'Malley may have been buried on the Island.
I invite anyone else to add more information.
Rob

Three Flashes from the Past

2007-08-03T14:54:00.000-05:00

These images are consecutive in my sketchbook from 1977. I went to Green Bay to visit my children and parents, was there with Robyn and Botz, then we drove a "Drive-Away" car, a Mercedes Benz, out on I-90, through Madison, to Portland. My recollection is that on the way we climbed that Mound and saw those flares or whatever they were.

Strangely Coincidental

2007-08-03T14:26:00.000-05:00

As this sign states, there was a huge forest fire in the area of Black River Falls in late April, 1977, just a few months before we climbed Bell Mound. Bell Mound itself is mentioned as having burned in just a few minutes. Click on the picture to read the sign. I still wonder what those flares/UFOs were.

Little Women

2007-08-02T19:54:00.000-05:00

I read this particular copy of Little Women several times. It is still in existence because I cannot bear to throw it out. The binding is mended with cellophane tape!

The paper is yellow and crumbling, the cheap binding is falling apart. The words are still alive and priceless.

1988 at 918

2007-07-13T21:00:00.001-05:00

Happy would-be birthday!

2007-07-03T13:12:00.000-05:00

HAPPY B-DAY PAPA!

Dad's 100th Birthday

2007-07-03T09:04:00.000-05:00

I dreamed I had died and was on the other side last night.
I'm going release Dad's ashes for his birthday in 2008 when he turns 100.

Otter Lake

2007-06-23T22:24:00.000-05:00

http://www.pbase.com/trwtrw/the_quinlan_family

check this website out. Wonderful family photos!

FAMILY LABELS

2007-06-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

Every family tends to label it's family members...this is how i remember it!!

Poet the Responsible One

S-----the Comedian

Enjah the Genius

Robyn the Artist

Botz the Dreamer

peggy's birthday

2007-06-09T00:41:00.001-05:00

June 8th at 918 always meant birthday cake...and
chocolate covered peanuts, and frosted glasses of beer,
lots of laughs and sassy jokes,
a card game somewhere,
a hot temper somewhere else,
but mostly a lively bunch on this yearly return.
our mother was born in 1916.
cheers to Peggy!

The Golden Age of Popsicles

2007-05-24T08:21:00.000-05:00

During the 50s, there were popsicles that no one tastes any more ... sadly. Popsicles were also joined two to a pack. You had to split them apart, leaving a jagged edge with a different texture from the ultra smooth outer surfaces.

If you are an ancient one, you may remember:
Rootbeer
Blueberry
Banana
Lime

Maybe you even remember other flavors I have forgotten. Now I go to get a package of popsicles and it is Orange, Grape, and Cherry. I guess those were the most popular flavors. Now they have Tropical flavors, too, but that is not rootbeer!

My Nature Abused

2007-03-30T08:23:00.001-05:00

A broken branch
I grew
like a river split
in two

I reach back
hold that child,
shield that baby,
heal my baby-girl
who is me

One river
one tree
a woman grown

A Family Christmas 1963

2007-03-24T17:30:00.000-05:00

Apparently Sherry took this picture with her Polaroid, because she is not in the photo at all, nor is Mom. I guess someone said something amusing, because Dad is laughing, and everyone else is smiling. I am not amused, but I no longer remember what was going on inside this pouting teenage girl.

Seated, from left to right:
Peter, Anne, Dillis, Ellen
Standing, from left to right:
Botz, Robyn, Dad

918 reborn 1965

2007-03-09T14:37:00.000-05:00

Sure feels good to have this site come back to life.

yup, it's #4

Boxing and Wrestling

2007-03-07T17:36:00.000-05:00

Dad enjoyed watching boxing and wrestling on television in the 50s, and I would watch it with him. I slowly became more and more repulsed by the violence of boxing and the mock violence of wrestling. I remember seeing "Gorgeous George", a platinum blonde wrestler who used to throw his hairpins into the audience as mementoes. I saw Rocky Graziano and other fighters.

I am not sure why these activities are any better than dog fighting, cock fighting or bull baiting. I would not ban them, because these people are fighting voluntarily, but I find it repugnant in the extreme.

Whatever Happened to Peanuts and Carrots

2007-03-05T18:43:00.000-05:00

Long ago, there were two little redheads who used to come to dinner. One or the other would arrive, announcing her name, since they were two members of apparent triplets who all lived in our household. The third one was Botz, who we know as our sister, but these others claimed not to be related to us in any way. The fact that they were identical in looks to Botz made us suspect otherwise.

Peanuts and Carrots both had the same food preferences as Botz, although I think they really loved the foods after which they were named, as well.

I have often wondered what happened to these little girls since then! Maybe Botz can enlighten us?

The Yellow Bus

2007-01-11T19:44:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I admit it, this started out as a black and white 1955 Ford. But OH the memories when it is yellow!

The Quarry

2007-01-05T21:31:00.000-05:00

All the teenagers in our area used to swim at THE QUARRY. It was a flooded limestone quarry, and it had a sexy aura ... When the kids swam there, I got the impression that it was a place for mating. I went once, found the water deep and cold and green. There were kids diving off the precipitous sides into the deep areas (picture Acapulco without waves). Rumor had it that some kid (or maybe more than one) had died there, probably having dived onto a hidden limestone shelf in the water.

I doubt there was a lifeguard ... I don't remember one. Sadly, when I got to be a high school student, no one seemed to want to go to The Quarry any more, but I still think of it as our town's Riviera.

918

2007-01-05T09:31:00.000-05:00

wood housed memories
penny nails secured
wallpaper charged with mood
furniture rotated around rooms
family not comforted

I dreamed of 819 inside-out Otter Lake

2006-12-18T19:34:00.000-05:00

I floated like down
laid myself down
my body was flashed with silver
Nana's hair was waving iron gray and silver
pungent pine tar gum stuck to my shoe
I picked up my black paten leather shoe
dreaming of two tall trees reflection shimmering
a silver dollar falling through cold mountain water shimmered
I float myself down
through hair combs laced with silver
tapping coal black shoes
lays my mind shimmering

The day was hot with the hiss of cicadas song
pungent pine gum wafted under cool shade trees
I was floating down to dream
of silver fish and half dollars falling through icy water- shimmering
beneath the shallow root beer colored mountain water
I tasted iron and blood
a curling smoky red snake between my legs
cramping as my face broke the rippling lake's skin
my bleeding madras shorts- vivid
I awoke with a sudden inhale

I dreamed about Otter Lake last night

2006-09-10T20:56:00.000-05:00

It was an evening daydream...where I just floated back in time and space. I could smell the mushroom under brush.
It was an overcast day. The lush green was vivid. I was leaning out of the breezeway door looking at the forest walk around. Nana had a two wood plank walk made that arced in a circle and was accompanied by a skinny wood railing. The first building on this path was the outhouse. As a child, when I arrived for vacation at Otter Lake I would run the circular walk way. The boards would bend and heave, my bare feet worried about being pinched between the planks. Once there was a huge snake running ahead of me. I'm not sure who was more frightened. I never saw a snake run before. He took great loopy leaps and disappeared into the forest beyond the wooden path, where my little girl world ended.
then all the memories evaporated...I tried to coax them back but really they just escaped like the snake.

Once again I am peeking through 918's letter slot

2006-08-31T13:42:00.000-05:00

I spy something beautiful and old.

fall

2006-08-21T19:40:00.000-05:00

918's fashion runway for the autumn attire. tennis anyone?

bonnets

2006-08-04T00:16:00.000-05:00

another easter sunday picture in which you see five sisters decked out in their finest 1950's coats, wearing corsages, white gloves, patent leather shoes, or saddle shoes! and easter hats. i actually have on a bonnet!

we almost always had a mad rush getting to church on time. lots of hysteria trying to find the right match to our gloves, or crying because our shoes were lost. "dad, where are my gloves?" "well, I haven't been wearing them!" he would get so frustrated with us and curse under his breath something about the irish and time.

we were late alot. and it was almost always ten minutes late. strange. so, they set the kitchen clock to be ten minutes ahead. somehow, we all liked it this way. it seemed more natural, somehow right. of course our visitors and guests would have quite a start and pack up to leave prematurely thinking it was much later than it was. didn't everyone have their clocks set forward?

918 Easter

2006-08-03T12:58:00.000-05:00

This may have been the same Easter in both pictures, I'm not sure.
Check out the stuffed baby duck in my hands!
I loved the skirt E is wearing.
Wasn't mom's dress lovely?
B & I in-front of our yellow bus, our nickname for the old Ford. With great irritation, dad taped over the oil light because it came on one too many times and the engine seized up for lack of oil. His mechanic proudly displayed the motor in public, which may have made dad chuckle? I know my other sisters know more about this story...I invite them to help me out.

caboose

2006-08-02T15:28:00.000-05:00

here's the front porch fashion runway. and that is the inner lining of dad's fedora crowning my head. the front of 918 had two landing strips of concrete that made a great perch to view all the coming and going. and it was a very active household with many visitors, always welcomed warmly.

being the baby of our family was like being the caboose of a very fast moving train. i could often get a glimpse of the engine ahead when we were on a fast curve but from my vantage point, i could only go along with the momentum and direction we were headed. sometimes we'd get off track, sometimes go in for repairs, and come out for a smoother ride. it was ALWAYS exciting and unpredictable, not to mention, a little nerve-wracking. i sometimes sucked my thumb when feeling insecure, unsure. where are you?

918 waits

2006-07-30T23:36:00.000-05:00

(Almost) Stealing Big Old Jesus

2006-07-29T14:51:00.000-05:00

In the parish church, there was a big old crucifix behind the altar, with a writhing and flesh-toned Jesus on it. The large dome of the church was painted with a biblical mural and all those images added to the story of the religion. I have never understood why Catholicism chose to focus on the image of Jesus on the cross, when the promise and wonder of that myth is the resurrection, but anyway ....

In the 70s St. John's started to renovate, to "move with the times", as many other Catholic churches did. They painted over (!) the mural, and they took down the lurid Jesus and leaned him and his crucifix against a back wall of the church.

Dogstar and I went down to see the church one day while we were in Green Bay (I do not recall if we were living there or just visiting at that point). We saw Jesus leaning there, looking dejected. They had put up an empty slim cross in his old place of pride. He seemed forlorn.

We very nearly stole him, dear reader, very nearly. There were a couple of good reasons not to:
1. The POLICE
2. The weight of the cross on our shoulders dragging him off ... and where to?

So we left him there alone. I wonder how he is doing and what he is up to now?

summertime

2006-07-28T19:34:00.000-05:00

aaahhhh yes...summertime in the back yard of 918: restful sunday mornings, crossword puzzles, iced drinks, breeze in the birch tree,
exchange of comments, especially the articles of irony and humor.

dad was a hambone in front of my camera on this glorious sunday morning in the backyard, sort of a combination of ease meets shyness.

you can see how blissed-out he could be in this last photo.
he was enjoying this moment.

he was such a loved man...

Who's this good-looking guy?

2006-07-28T13:01:00.000-05:00

#4 gets the key

2006-07-27T14:39:00.000-05:00

~~~~
#4 reached into the center of the yin yang image and extracted the crystal key. In her hand the key vibrated and a high pitched tone emanated. She fell off the swing and into the red current bushes. #4 was determined to keep hold of the key. Her hand turned white. The garden disappeared and there came a great darkness.
~~~~

Dark mirror in 918

2006-07-26T09:25:00.000-05:00

As the witch’s procession disappeared towards a big green house with the number’s 918 over the door, I could hear tar-baby's voice talking to white dog, “Hey, Cinderella let’s take a break and sniff our way to the neighbors...”
I walked to the door as tar-baby and cinderella ran off. Witch had passed through the door without opening it. As I grasped the tarnished brass handle the house seemed to lean in towards me and the door opened. Pink and blue heat lightening peppered the edges of the night sky. Fireflies in great numbers swam around my head. They were sticking together and making letters in the air. I couldn’t read the words that the letters formed at first: ‘you wlil fnid the cyrastl key in the lienn clesot dno’t let wtich see you’. Had I dreamed this about this crystal key? The fireflies dispersed. I entered the front hall, stopped at a small vestibule table and struggled to open it’s drawer. White gloves sprung out, some of them cotton others misshaped kid, I put on a pair of soft gloves that fit well, I inserted the pearl buttons into the buttonhole at my wrist. Above the table I noticed a large dark mirror where my image shimmered. My face in the mirror was mouthing something to me that I didn’t understand, “I can’t hear you,” I whispered. The house seemed to get very quiet as if listening to me and my reflection stopped moving and stared over my left shoulder.

My Recent Trip

2006-07-26T03:37:00.000-05:00

My trip to my 50th high school reunion was a huge success. I only recognized a few of my former classmates, but Camille Euclid had made name badges with our graduation pictures on them. It helped all of us to reconnect. Friday was our day -- a Mass, a luncheon and then a dinner out. Julie and I traveled together and we stayed in Bonnie & Dave's tranquil house. He is a Master gardener and she a Master quilter. Saturday night we went to Howard Johnson's to join the guys from Central/Premontre. Joe Kastor referred to me as his "first love" which made me feel appreciated. Royal D was there with his wife. I drank 4 draft beers over the course of 7 hours. I should not have done that but I put off my lithium by 12 hours and my ankles lost their swelling the next day.

Next I flew to Chicago to stay with Eddie and Liz. My grandsons, Luc and Max, were very good to me, sometimes gossiping about current events with their other grandmother. I purposely did not force myself on them or move too fast to connect. Alexa wanted only me to fix her hair which was almost a full time job. Liz looks so well and I know she feels she belongs in Illinois. When I leave them, I always wonder when/if I will see them again.

ripples

2006-07-23T22:18:00.000-05:00

The youngest sat by the lake in deep contemplation. This was her favorite place to sit when she needed to ask the Great One for direction. Listening was easier within the inner ear, in the gentleness of Nature. She tossed a pebble into the clear, calm surface of the lake and it made a 'kerplunk' sound that tells you how deep the water is and how far the pebble needs to travel to reach the bottom. The soft ripple circle spread out, then another sister ripple, and another.

"Help me find the words, how to share with others, what exactly happened within the ring of fire that burned away the past. Please, show me", she whispered.

Layer after layer of human thought burned away when she surrendered and jumped into the Center, stripping away thousands of years of human made illusions:
who we are; who is the enemy; what and who is valuable; who to reject and discard; how to be top dog; how to conquer and control to dominate. Even her personal ideas of who she was burned away: the sister of...the daughter of...the youngest of...not to smart...won't amount to much...etcetera. It was actually a very fragile belief system that only hangs there in a subtle agreement within the psyche. And it is only the Relative Truth---not the Real Truth. The Real Truth is a whole lot older. It is very, very old and when you remember it, It feels like Home.

kerplunk...ripples and circles...ripples and circles...

"Soon, i will know how to share..."

#4's Journey: yin~yang & crystal key

2006-07-22T11:50:00.000-05:00

~~~~

Her carpet of moths had transformed into a hammock nestled between two old apple trees in the backyard of 918. #4 woke to the barking of pair of black and white terriers. Clapping her hands in glee the dogs looked at her eagerly. Deep within the eyes of the dark one she was pulled to see vast amounts of space without light. In contrast, the white one glowed with the candle power of every living thing. #4 sat upright, it appeared, the hammock had become a swing, she gave herself a big push. As her feet flew through the air she knocked some apple blossoms into the sky. While the petals rained down around her she pondered how the dogs seemed to be moving in and out of a yin yang symbol while chasing each others tails. In the center of the symbol floated a crystal key. She jammed her feet into the earth and bolted off the swing. Black and white spun around so fast that they blurred into gray and the key was there within her reach.

~~~~

Fierce Therapy

2006-07-22T11:22:00.000-05:00

A long time ago, when the anger at the witch was at its height, Elle had spoken to a kind woman about her mixed feelings. "I am angry and hurt, yes, but she could not help the way she was, so I feel helpless. I cannot simply hate this witch, yet I cannot forgive her, because I am still so angry."

The kind woman said ... "pretend this pillow is that witch, then hit this pillow as hard as you can." Elle hit the pillow over and over, but it was not enough. Elle asked if she could tear at the pillow with her teeth. The kind woman said, "yes go ahead, destroy the pillow if you need to."

So Elle took the pillow in her hands and tore it apart with her teeth. Then she tore apart another pillow as well. At the end, she felt the anger and hurt ebb away. The inner witch was dead.

From that time onward, Elle could really SEE the outer person who had been the cause of the inner witch. Elle developed a fondness for that person and could see she was a human being like herself. The outer person was deeply flawed, and helpless in her illness.

the crystal key

2006-07-21T13:09:00.000-05:00

the youngest is compelled to remind by saying:

Hidden within One's Greatest Challenges,
Lies One's Greatest Gifts---

The Key to Opening these Gifts is FORGIVENESS.

where is the crystal key???

Back to the Old Witchy

2006-07-20T20:36:00.000-05:00

Elle turned around, suddenly, with a realization that she had to visit this witch she had overheard saying to #4 "I never wanted you!". Why #4 would WANT to be wanted by a witch, Elle did not know.

Back to the secret door, back to the wall, and finally to the witch's house she went. She knocked on the door of the house and a frighteningly cold voice said, "Yes?" in a very irritable manner. Elle said, "May I come in please?" The witch said, "All right, then, come in." She sounded exasperated at the thought that this child wanted to speak to her. Maybe she had to say yes, because of her manners, thought Elle.

Elle walked up to the witch, who had one eye like a goat's, with a slotted pupil.

Elle asked her straight out, "Why did you say you did not want #4? What is the point of saying something like that to your own child?"

The witch's eyebrows shot up and her hair moved backwards on her head. Her eyes narrowed and she screamed, "Because when YOU were born, you were too big! You nearly KILLED ME! You big lug! Because of YOU I went crazy, because of YOU I did not want to have another baby!"

Elle said, "You are a very immature woman, and you have let these memories ruin your experience of life. You have spoiled the childhood of #4 and she is a very sensitive person. I know you are ignorant, immature and mentally ill, so I will stop telling you what is wrong with you. BUT if you EVER say that to #4 again, I will come back and kill you myself."

#4's continued journey to find reality

2006-07-20T16:43:00.000-05:00

~~~~~~~
“Well back again so soon,” the flower chimed.
“Yes, well there’s so much to think about,” said #4 as she edged away.
On her left she saw a path that glittered with blue moon dust. Upon closer inspection the dust was thousands of Luna moths fluttering. I want to be on the path, she thought to herself. She put one foot on the moving carpet of winged creatures and off she went.
“Goodbye and good luck ,” said the flower.
#4 laid back on the moths and fell deep into the sleep of the dead.
~~~~
I fastened my gaze on this woman. Did she know me? Had I seen her face before? Is there a key to fit that eye and if so, where is it and what would it unlock?
“I know you are waiting for your father to come home,” she barked.
What? Do I have a father? My mouth froze shut.
She grew impatient with my silence and turned away.
In her wake tumbled two dogs. One was pure white and the other soot black.
They were having a conversation about the witch.
“Sometimes I wonder,” said tar-baby, who was the black dog.
“Why would you wonder,” yelped white dog.
“There are these men who thrive in witch’s head
they appear when it pleases
dreams they narrate while she’s in bed
there are these men who chat in witch’s head
mumbling under her breath, so much is unsaid
she claims, it is her wheezes
there are these men who control her head
they disappear when it pleases,” recited tar-baby.

2006-07-18T14:51:00.000-05:00

the youngest's ending of red wagon...

2006-07-18T13:44:00.000-05:00

having dove through the shimmering center it burned away her old self and she felt stripped of all the old ways, cleansed so to speak of the past...her name, where she had lived, her past experiences, her family, even her body had transformed and was restructured. there was a new sense of spaciousness and ease, the mind quiet, the body relaxed, yet she had not felt so completely present as she did now. one could even call it ordinary, in this new way. it was profoundly simple and loving and kind. there was a constant, gentle tingling of energy scourging throughout her body and it loved to swirl inside her feet. it was LIFE ESSENCE itself. this was now her anchor into the beauty of each breath.

she could feel a growing patience with others that were still wrestling with the old ways and found out what compassion looks and feels like. although, she wished others could stop the incessant thought patterns that rule the human experience, she knew also that it is a necessary step, like an initiation, that we all must go through. and if it gets bad enough, and painful enough, maybe, if one is so very uncomfortable, one will be motivated to find another dimension to living this moment fully. she realized that that is all we really ever have anyway: this moment! it was the end of madness. and the beginning of LOVE, real love, nothing syrupy sweet, but profoundly deep.

she looked over and saw the middle one walking happily with the red wagon trailing behind; she saw the eldest untangling the second sister's golden hair as they giggled. and she wondered if the moon still glowed on #4's beautiful face. she was grateful for such amazing sisters that were her teachers in so many ways...and she hummed a lovely melody and lived happily ever after!!

THE END!

Posting page

2006-07-18T09:41:00.000-05:00

This is what the posting page looks like on my PC. What does it look like on your mac, Rob?

Red Wagon Conclusion

2006-07-18T09:02:00.000-05:00

The rules of the red wagon fantasy collaboration, as set forth by robyndogstar, were these:

"Fantasy Collaboration
The rules of this are simple: - Post the next two or three paragraphs in this story. - Every post has to be coherent with the last post. - Please, no posting anything that is not story - Keep it clean, er...well, you can try. - Remember, the genre is fantasy. I'll start:Once upon a time there was a little red wagon."

SO I guess the red wagon is finished, because robyndogstar posted her picture, then a post about changing her font etc. and Botz responded.

THEREFORE, here is the conclusion of the Red wagon story:

A huge thundercloud appeared over the garden and as the rain splashed onto Elle she woke from her dream. She found her way back out of the garden, realizing it was a distraction from her role in life. She knew that "Forth", the fourth child, child of woe, was confronting her most dramatic memories once again. The baby of the family, was working on her spiritual path. Elle knew that for her, the spiritual was here and now. She took up the handle of the little red wagon and walked onward, as the sun peeked through the clouds outside. People's faces were friendly, she could see, now that she was holding her head high and looking at them in an interested way.

Her family had been obsessed with its own problems, and now she knew this was not the way for her. She looked around at the other people and saw that every family had something serious they had to cope with, and that did not stop them from living and enjoying all the many things life had to offer.

If she had to leave the family to live well, she could do it now.

First Meeting with Witch

2006-07-15T08:40:00.000-05:00

child #4
1.
The forth child, filled with woe, drifted into the light.
She bore the weight of pain.
A delicate child, full of sadness:
she moved into the golden hue and only knew the color blue.

2.
#4 followed her sisters into the magical place.
It was night and the garden twinkled with fire flies. Large luminescent moon-flowers shimmered. #4's eyes reflected the hue of a blue moon that floated across the ink black sky.
"Hey, don't step on me."
Startled, she searched the dark underbrush.
"I'm over here...."
"Why, I think it's the moon-flower taking to me," she whispered.
"Yes, that's right," it replied.
#4 put her face into the creamy white flower.
A delicious scent filled her nose making her sleepy.
"Oh how my eyes burn," she said rubbing them.
"Lay down your burden, lay it on down..." the flower's voice began to sing quietly.
#4 let the weight of her body ease down onto the earth. Yawning she curled up and fell deeply asleep.
3.
~~~~~~
In the dream I drifted in deep blue mists for what seemed longer than forever when a tiny pinprick of light appeared and I was magnetically dawn to follow. Suddenly my body felt like a fist crushing me with an unbearable tightness around my head. A hard metal object squeezed my temples and I thought my head would burst.
~~~~~~

“Good morning,” the flower said brightly.
“Gosh, I have such a headache,” #4 replied and fainted.

~~~~~
I was inching through a tight undulating space and still intent upon following the light. The head crushing stopped. I inhaled with great difficulty then opened my eyes.
A wiry haired woman glared at me with one keyhole shaped eye.
“what the hell are you doing here? I never wanted you!” she sputtered blue vitriol.

centering

2006-07-14T21:05:00.000-05:00

after what seemed an eternity (sorry, i was a t the beach...ahem, ahem) the youngest blinked and blinked yet this beautiful being remained before her. it was shaped like an egg...but was it water or fire? she had seen paintings of mandalas Back Then and spent hours resting her eyes on the colours, shapes and patterns and it was an escape, like taking refuge, from the dark, thorny times.

but this was WAY beyond those two dimensional pictures: this was alive, shimmering, dancing licks of flame folding inward. it looked like sunlight dancing and making patterns at the bottom of the swimming pool but with a rhythmic order, continually merging towards the center. was it liquid or gold leaf? whatever it was, it was mesmerizing, hypnotic. there was a sound so sweet and familiar, it made her cry. it was her secret language...how did this being know her private language? so many questions, so much wonderment.

"enter if you wish but know that you will never be the same again." "what do you mean? who are you? where am i?" "enter and you will know everything...and you will know nothing. you will know the no word place, where there will never be the darkness again. but there will never be the colour paradise either. you will know both, you will know the CENTER." "o, i'm not sure what to do." she had lived in the hell realm at a much to young age and it would be a great pleasure to leave it once and for all. but she hadn't explored this new full colour paradise hardly at all. "is it scary?" "it is the end of fear, it is KNOWING." "is it as beautiful as you?"
"YES...more so."

she looked around wishing her sisters were near to come with her. they were always so brave and daring. no, she would have to grow up and trust her own way. suddenly, there was a flash of white. was that elle, flying on a white horse??? what the...
in the distance was #4 in a blue bubble of mist, sleeping. her face in a gentle smile, shone like moon light.

it was time...time to surrender. she took a deep breath in and dove, like off a swimming board with hands together in prayer pose, right into the CENTER...

The Wall

2006-07-12T16:59:00.000-05:00

Elle, the third and middle child, did not know any of her sisters were in the garden with her. She came to a stone wall in the exotic place. Light from the other side of the wall glowed and pulsated, and she was drawn to it. She tried to climb over the wall ... but was repulsed by an invisible force. She tried to go around it ... but she could not find the end of the wall. Finally she found a strange looking, almost invisible key lying in the leaves and moss.

The key was made of crystal! She turned it over in her hand, and it sparkled and glowed. Maybe there was a way to use the key to get to the other side of the wall! She started to examine the wall a bit more closely. Time seemed to drift away as she looked at each stone. Each one was individual of course, and each one seemed to have a story embedded in it.

There were many stories, about kings and queens, fauns, centaurs, gods, fools .... but nothing about a crystal key, and no stone had a place to insert the key. She grew tired and sat down with her back to the wall to rest. Her eyelids drooped and things looked more and more blurry. What was that coming toward her through the garden? A white horse .... she opened her eyes, and it disappeared!

Slowly sleep claimed her consciousness and the white horse came for her again. This time she mounted it, with the key in her hand. The horse circled, in a gentle canter. When he came back to the wall, he leapt over it as if the stone wall were nothing but a twig in his path.

entering

2006-07-11T16:31:00.000-05:00

by the time the youngest of the group peered through the gateway, she saw the dare-devil middle child way deep into a most unusual place, with glowing birds perched on her head and shoulders, cobalt blue puffs of light floating in the air as if hoovering to see this new girl-creature that dared to enter. there was a soft golden light illuminating the middle one's way and to this day, the youngest swears she saw her levitate at least two feet above the ground.
the youngest felt immense confusion which way to go. she looked at her beloved other's continuing on the path, but it held the memory of the dark time, such saddness. she saw the middle in full color paradise, but it was unknown, different. looking back and forth, her loyalties were torn: go the wisdom way of the elder or enter the new, exciting world of wonder. then what appeared before her was of such breathtaking beauty that there was no more doubt...enter she must, and the new world now engulfed two out of the five.

Middle Child Syndrome

2006-07-11T12:00:00.000-05:00

The middle child, not paying attention to the group at all, stared into the doorway. She saw adventure there! Leaving the group, she plunged into the unknown beyond the door, leaving it open behind her.

The light inside was completely different from the gray skies outside. The sun shone on beautiful exotic plants and shy gentle creatures that peered at her from behind huge glossy dark green leaves. Birds sang songs she had never heard before and coaxed her farther in, moment by moment, farther from the doorway.

red waggin' tail

2006-07-11T09:16:00.000-05:00

The oldest, of the five children, was curious and peeked into the deep dark doorway. Quickly she pulled back, successfully freed the wagon wheel, and then trudged on because her job was to get these little ones home. The next in line was the second born. Her bright yellow curly hair caught on the brambles that surrounded the entrance.

red wagon continues...

2006-07-10T19:32:00.000-05:00

no one had prepared them for what had occurred and they were to small to know what to do. with eyes down cast, they walked on, not knowing where they were going, not even caring anymore. so deep within sorrow, they almost passed the half hidden entrance altogether! the wheel of the wagon caught in a rut and spilled the ragged toys right there in front of the secret door.

Red Wagon

2006-07-10T08:32:00.000-05:00

A weeping little girl pulled the wagon which was full of her ragged toys. She walked slowly along the street, sighing and occasionally wiping her nose on her sleeve. The others walked along with her, heads down.

Fantasy Collaboration

2006-07-10T08:21:00.000-05:00

The rules of this are simple:
- Post the next two or three paragraphs in this story.
- Every post has to be coherent with the last post.
- Please, no posting anything that is not story
- Keep it clean, er...well, you can try.
- Remember, the genre is fantasy.
I'll start:

Once upon a time there was a little red wagon.

Otter Lake slumber

2006-07-10T08:07:00.000-05:00

Dad asleep on the porch.

A Second Life for Mom

2006-07-09T17:24:00.000-05:00

I guess the blog has brought Mom back to life after all! Here she is at my gallery in Second Life!

2006-07-09T15:43:00.000-05:00

Nana in her usual blue and black patterned silk dress, possibly at Otter Lake.

Tribes of Wisconsin

2006-07-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

This map is from a site on Wisconsin Indian Tribes that is very informative. There were more tribes in the area, for example the Sauk and Fox in southern Wisconsin. The Menominee were very important in our area, as were the Oneidas and Stockbridge.

For the most part the tribes in Wisconsin lived peacefully side by side with the European newcomers. The Menominee were a very large tribe that are now a sovereign nation within the borders of Wisconsin. Read their history here. The reservation became a county, then went back to being a reservation. The land and waters of the Menominee are beautiful and clean.

natural innocence...

2006-07-07T19:32:00.000-05:00

otter lake was a beauty in the land of a thousand lakes. the entire area for miles was untouched forest being perched next to the wisconsin national forest. it had a potent infusion of magic in it's aura, perhaps having been the home of creatures now extinct or nearly so. the first humans were of course Indians. they knew how to listen to the winds, brave the subzero winters, hunt, fish, make clothing from hides, homes from skin and weaving.

nana told us stories about going into the "modernized" kitchen in the log cabin to cook breakfast on the wood burning, cast iron stove to find a seated group of Chippewa and Wabeno tribe's members wanting to trade beaded moccasins and tobacco pouches for ground flour, cornmeal and lard. nana acquired many "toys" from them: miniature birch tee pees and canoes; a ceremonial drum painted blue with images of leaping deer, the parameter of which was rimmed with white spotted red fawn fur (we sang our little girl songs to the beat of this exquisite drum); a buck skin dress for a young woman; a thick birch skin basket or purse with dangling acorns. someone said these things were donated to the Neville Public Museum.

these gifts from a different century held a tactile memory, a gentle power of nature and seeped into one's being. i cannot imagine this coming from someone's cell phone or computer. maybe i'm just sentimental...but even the smallest patch of moss reflected the Mystery...what we call fractal intelligence.

i had a dream of otter lake after it had been sold. the dream showed me where the new cottages were built and how the otter was disturbed. later i told our father this dream and was shocked to hear how exact my night vision was. he brought out the blue print where all the lots had been sold. yup...heartbreakingly true. this is only a small inkling of what the Indians must have felt.

swing at otter lake

2006-07-07T15:32:00.000-05:00

one september afternoon in 1956, botz swinging in the soft sunshine with otter lake in the background. dig those shoes.