Living Italian

The second time I was considered to be a teen run away, I was actually placed in another home for two weeks by the Police for suspected child abuse.

My father had gotten very angry at me for not taking out the trash one day and found me sitting in the family room with my feet up on the coffee table watching the Simpson's, much as I'm doing right this very second. He tucked the toe of his boot under my knee and shoved hard. Some would say he had kicked me. At the time, I said he had kicked me. He honestly didn't. Then he picked me up off of the couch by my ponytail. He then threw me to the floor by it, not intending for me to land on the rock mantle of the fireplace, but indeed that is where I collapsed.

My knee was swollen the following day. I sat in my English class massaging it during the teachers lecture. The girl that sat next to me in class asked me what was wrong. I'd never talked to her before other than asking her once what the teacher had said about hyperbolas for my notes. For some odd reason I decided to tell her everything. I even embellished a bit to make the story more interesting. The next thing I knew, I was being rushed to Tirzah Tolman's house that day after school and the Police had taken a full report on everything.

It was only a week before my 17th birthday when all of this happened. Without planning, without warning, I was suddenly thrust into another home, all because I told the Police that I didn't want to leave home. They took it as a sign that I was afraid of my parents. When I told them my Father didn't hurt me, that I had been stupid and kicked a post the day before trying to show off my martial arts training, they didn't believe me. My leg had been fully extended before I made contact with the post and I felt a pain screaming through my leg, radiating out from my knee like thousands of needles covered in acid and fire. That night when my father pushed my legs off of the coffee table with the toe of his boot, he had no idea that I was already in severe pain. I had done it to myself. The Police thought I was singing the familiar tune of a tumble down the stairs when I told them all about it. I was looked at by them like a kid that had told a story of walking into a door handle with his eye.

Tirzah's family was amazing. She had two sisters that just adored me right off the bat. Both of her parents were teachers and were under the same impression as the Police. I decided just to not talk about what had happened. I was tired of people looking at me with sympathy like I was a pathetic child afraid of the world and all it had to offer. I finally just shut up about it all together and stopped trying to defend my family.

I was given a list of chores. The bathroom downstairs was my responsibility to clean twice a week from top to bottom and spot clean every day. I would sweep the floor in the kitchen on the even days, and on the odd days I would vacuum the living room. Tirzah and I traded off for these chores, while her two little sisters, still in grade school, had the simple chores of cleaning their rooms, clearing off the dinner table, and sweeping the front porch daily. Everyone in the family pitched in. We even gathered each night to read a passage of the Bible. For the first time in two years, I felt like I was a part of something, like I was a part of a family.

When my birthday came, every member in the family had gifts for me. Tirzah gave me a beautiful purse / backpack in black faux leather. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. Her sister Rebecca gave me a candle. It was a Cinnamon Apple candle to be more precise. To this day a Cinnamon Apple candle reminds me of that birthday and of Tirzah's family. I was there such a short time and truly grew to love every one of them.

The Police came by only a few days later and told me that they were sending me home. Their investigation had turned up no results. They told the Tolman family that I had "made everything up" and I needed to go home. They actually apologized to the Tolman's, telling them that it was a shame they had to put up with me for so long over something that I had clearly made up. Tirzah never spoke to me again - but for two weeks, I didn't just have a sister, but three sisters and a real family.

I often think about Tirzah and wonder where she is. I hope her sisters lived up to their brilliant potential. I wish Tirzah all the good things life has to offer. She was such a kind girl to take in a relative stranger when she thought I was in trouble. May she never loose that divine spark and the desire to help others. She, and her entire family, were wonderful.

The Horrible Success

In January of 2007, I planned a dinner party for several people. It was the first I had ever fully planned, and it was my way of saying thanks to the couple who invited us over the week before to share their dinner with them.


At their house, dinner was a buffet style. They had made tacos, and this way everyone could choose what they wanted to put in them. I loaded up my taco with a little of everything, topped it off with salsa and homemade guacamole from avocados I had brought over, and I watched my date do the same. When we sat down to eat, I asked him if he noticed anything was missing.


"No," he replied. "What do you mean?"


Feeling that it was a remarkably unobservant remark for a veteran Police Officer of 13 years, I pointed out the one obvious fact he had failed to notice.


"There's no meat."


"What?!" Incredulous, Pete looked at me, down at his taco, and back at me. I could see him thinking for a second. "You're right!"


"I think they're vegetarians," I said quietly. George and Rachel were still putting together their tacos, so that moment of privacy was the only moment I would be able to point out my simple observation without incurring an uncomfortable silence.


"So," Pete said in a much less tactful way when they sat down near us, "you're vegetarians, huh?"


"Oh," George and Rachel proclaimed. "We forgot to tell you. Yes, we've lived a Vegan lifestyle for the past 3 years now," Rachel explained to us, "but I was a Vegan long before that. It just took me a while to convince George." She kissed him sweetly on the cheek while his mouth was wrapped in a big bite around his taco. He smiled a bit.


"Yeah," he concluded after chewing his bite and clearing his mouth. "I wasn't easy to convince."


Before I realized it, the night was nearly over and we were headed home. I couldn't seem to stop myself from speaking when I invited them over for dinner the following week. I'd never cooked a Vegan meal in my life.


I started cooking that Saturday at 9:00 am. It had taken me all week to decide on a menu, and then I discovered that there were so many options that I couldn't decide between them. The final decisions were left to Pete. The dinner party had grown from 4 people to 5 couples, so I knew that no matter the menu, I would have something for everyone. Still, the majority of food was to be Vegan by design.


The first thing I worked on were the appetizers. I chopped the stems and crumbled the bread crumbs for the stuffed mushrooms, wrapped the brie rounds in the Phillo dough with walnuts and Jalapeno Pepper Jelly, and sent Pete to the store for more pears. The baked brie was to be served with apple and pear slices along side a variety of crackers.


Then I got to work on the salad. What Pete's sister described as a "California Salad" is precisely what I made. I started out with the fancy lettuce variety – arugula, baby spinach – the like. Then I tossed on some chopped walnuts (left over from the baked brie) some Feta, also to be used in the lasagna, some sweet yellow peppers, later to be cooked in with the vegetarian lasagna, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. It was wonderful! I served this to the guests as soon as they stopped chowing down on the appetizers and chit chatting over the days events, a good half hour after the first couple arrived. They also turned out to be the last couple to arrive. The rest of the group except Rodney (minus the girlfriend) cancelled at the last minute.


Then I made the HAND ROLLED lasagna – two different kinds. I had the traditional meat and tomato, but also the spinach and cheese. It was very good, I'll admit. I had only made it once before. While the guests worked on their salads, the Lasagna was baking in the oven, making the whole house smell wonderful. Noses turned to the air, sniffing wildly as George mopped up the last bit of Raspberry Vinaigrette with a baby spinach leaf.


Next I tossed the ingredients together for my own Cherry Cobbler Cake – a whopping 4 ingredients. This cake is simple, fast, and always a party favorite. I threw that in the oven just as the Lasagna came out and the guests were setting down their salad bowls. Each piece of lasagna came out as a beautiful presentation, and having previous experience as a food server, it was nothing for me to carry three plates at once. Pete carried ours. Ever the polite hostess, I even offered choices.


I had plated two servings of the vegetarian lasagna for George and Rachel, knowing full well from the previous week that they had been Vegan for years. The chances of that changing in less than one week were slim to none.

"Would you like the Spinach lasagna, or the traditional?"


George and Rachel exchanged quick glances. Rachel spoke up first.


"We'll try the traditional."


Agog, I had Pete hand the two plates of traditional lasagna to our guests, while the third I handed to Rodney. The two plates of Spinach lasagna went to Pete and myself. Our confusion was obvious, I guess. George offered an explanation.


"We went to a friend's house on Wednesday. He had been cooking ribs all day long and it had been so long since I had ribs. I said I would take a bite of one just to see how they tasted. All Rachel had to do was taste the BBQ sauce on the ribs and we were both hooked. I suppose I should have told you guys sooner, but it slipped my mind. We're not vegetarians anymore, by the way." His fork cut into his lasagna and he removed a bite sized piece. "Sorry." He emptied the contents into his mouth and his face lit up. "But if I hadn't gone back to meat on Wednesday, I would have now! This is incredible!"


"It is," Rachel agreed after swallowing her first bite. "I've GOT to get this recipe from you! I've never seen Lasagna look like this before. It's so... well, pretty!"


Before everyone finished eating their lasagna, I claimed to have some errand in the kitchen I needed to attend to. The smell of the Cherry Cobbler Cake wafted through the house when I turned off the oven and opened the door to allow it to cool.


The final touch was the Poached Pears. I'd never had poached pears before and I knew it sounded good, so I was curious. I threw together the ingredients in a sauce pot and got it boiling. While waiting, I collected the empty and polished lasagna plates. Had they been any more spotless I would have accused them of licking the plates clean. Then I returned to the kitchen where I peeled, cored, and boiled the pears, but while they were boiling, I garnished the desert plates.


The desert plates were garnished with Raspberry Syrup and Chocolate Syrup swirled in one corner around an orange slice and a raw apple slice. The cake went in another corner, the poached pear next to that. A single scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream finished the presentation, and it came out looking like a miniature work of art. When the desert was served, I got the biggest compliment of the evening.


"This is the best desert I've had in so many years," Rachael proclaimed.


"Everything has been so wonderful!" Pete said.


"Wow, Amanda – you've outdone yourself here. Wonderful." Rodney thanked me.


"I'm so full I feel like I cant swallow any more, and yet I cant stop eating!" George cut a slice of pear off with his spoon and tasted it gingerly. "Oh Wow," he said in a hushed tone. "This is the best desert I've ever tasted." George smiled up at me and then looked at Rachel. "Why don't you ever cook like this?"



Rachel's face fell in embarrassment and she refused to look at me for the rest of the night. She didn't say much after that, and it was clear that she was extremely hurt by what George had said. While I was openly embarrassed for her, inwardly I was stunned that my food had garnished such a compliment.


It was a crowning achievement; a great and horrible success, and an overall wonderful moment for me while also being a most humiliating moment for Rachel. If only the 8 people invited had showed up rather than just the three that did, maybe the comment would have been lost in random conversation.

There were certainly PLENTY of leftovers. To this day I've not made another batch of Vegetarian lasagna though. I know I probably wouldn't eat it if I did. It was good- very good. I just got rather burned out on it.


George and Rachel never came over again, and we never were invited to their house for dinner after that. We rarely saw them at all, and the few times we did, it was clear that Rachel still had rather hurt feelings. She hardly spoke to me.


Part of me wonders if she thought my purpose was to out-do her taco dinner we had at their house, but I know that wasn't the point at all. My only purpose was to make something I would enjoy making and that people would enjoy eating. I wanted to be creative and I saw my moment to try something new.


It was, in the end, a horribly successful dinner party that I'll never forget. I've got money on the fact that Rachel won't forget it anytime soon, either. I still feel bad for that one.

Rodney, Myself and George.

Life in the Jungle Part 2

(Part one can be found here)

I struggled to make ends meet. I worked hard and sacrificed every ounce of personal life in order to pay my bills and keep Oliver and myself fed, even if it was on Ramen Noodles. Much to the chagrin of some people around me, I would work 12 hour days 5 days a week when asked, never so much as a hint of hesitation in my voice. I would jump at the chance to see a better pay check, knowing that if I could make just a little more money, I could move up to Hot Dogs and frozen Pot Pies. On the biggest paycheck I ever got durring that time, I even bought a small pint of Ben and Jerrys Ice Cream, certainly a luxury in those days.


I missed having a bath tub and brushing my teeth over a sink. I missed having an air conditioner on the hot days and a heater on the cold days. I missed having a door knob on the inside of my door. I missed having carpet under my feet, new sheets, fluffy pillows, clean laundry and real food. All of the things I missed just drove me to work harder though. On my days off, I found myself at a loss for something to do. I would watch TV for a bit, write for a while, and stay walled up in the boat house all day long. I couldn't afford the gas to go anywhere. I didn't have any nice clothes anymore after being robbed. The one great thing about working at my job was the lack of choices over what to wear. I had a uniform I wore daily and I was ok with that. It took out the embarassment of having to wear the same jeans and T-shirt day in and day out for weeks at a time. I had a severe lack of options only 7 months ago.


I vowed the day I saw someone cry over how I brushed my teeth over the toilet that I would make some changes to my life, and the goal I had set before myself was my 30th birthday, December 11th of last year. I made that goal in Mid-October. Through a lot of hard work, determination, perseverance and the friends I made along the way, I not only reached my goal, but blew it out of the water.


I managed to get a promotion to being Supervisor at work. With that promotion and meager raise, I was able to start looking for a new place to live. I couldn't afford much more than I already paid, though. Still, on a strict budget and tight belt, I could afford a place of my own in a nicer neighborhood. Luckily I had worked very hard over the past few years to clean up my credit, or even that wouldn't have been possible.


By November 15th I had signed a lease on an apartment in one of the nicest areas in all of Los Angeles County, a little place called Belmont Shore. I went from living in South Central to living at the beach, so close I could smell the salt spray as I slept. I didn't officially move in until the end of November, but I finally had a nice home.


It was a tiny apartment, and I knew right off the bat I was going to have a hard time making ends meet each month. I knew the lack of funds would prevent me from having an eventful Christmas, and one thing after another came up causing me to delay the Christmas shopping I had planned to do using my one credit card. Life kept getting in the way, and work WAS life. I was putting in as many hours as I could get away with just in order to pay my bills.



I lived out of piles of boxes heaped in my new living room floor for weeks, hardly able to find a clean shirt or fresh pair of socks among the candles, cables and clutter tossed among the cardboard walls. I slept on a blanket tossed on the floor, but it was a carpeted floor and to some degree was more comfortable than the bed I had been borrowing - because it was MINE. Finally, a week after my 30th birthday I had managed to save enough money to buy a dresser at Ikea. I stayed up until 3:00 am putting it together. I unpacked before work the next day, working as hard as ever to get things in order.


Though I expected absolutely nothing for Christmas, Karma has always had a way of catching up to me, good or bad. I had focused so hard through the past 6 months to do better for myself that I had failed to realize that I was making friends along the way. All I could think of was providing a roof over my own head, taking better care of the Cat and never having to spit into a toilet again.


I wouldn't say it really began raining gifts or anything, but a few surprises certainly had a way of making me feel that way. First there was my Uncle Roger. After many years of not hearing from him, he got in touch with me and we started communicating through emails, daily. He told me things about my family I never would have known without him. I now have a photo of my Grandmother and Grandfather on their wedding day I don't think I had ever seen before. As if that wasn't gift enough, suddenly I got a birthday card in the mail from this long lost Uncle, making me feel overjoyed that someone was thinking about me. My Uncle has since grown to be one of the many voices I look towards for an honest opinion and a kind word when I need them most.


People who knew me well knew that I didn't lock the doors to my car because of an odd distrust in society. I would have rather had a thief open the door and realize there's nothing worth stealing than leaving me with the cost of fixing a broken window only to come to the same conclusion. I never kept anything of value in my car whatsoever, so I didn't even worry about locking the trunk release inside the cab of the car most of the time. Someone who knew me very well took advantage of this. One day after work I went to throw my backpack in the trunk of my car only to suddenly be left gasping for air. Someone anonymous had placed a 20" LCD Flat screen 1080P HiDef TV in the trunk of my car with a pretty little gift receipt. I almost cried. In fact, I'm not ashamed to admit that I think I did cry on the way home.



A few days later, on the 21st of December, I was promoted at work AGAIN to being the Head Honcho on site. Suddenly I could loosen my belt a single notch and I knew without a doubt that I would be ok. I had worked hard, but I had gotten what I needed and wanted in order to survive. It couldn't have come at a better time. It still took a little time for that last raise to hit my checks, but I knew it was on its way. The promotion was exactly what I had wanted for Christmas. Thanks, Santa.


On the morning of December 23rd I was called to the main office at the end of my shift. The Office personnel had drawn numbers to select which baskets of food and treats they would take home to their families from the many gifts they had received. The three left over were given to me, the Maintenance guy and the head of Housekeeping. I chose the Belgium Chocolates, of course, though not for myself. I instantly had a plan for them.


That night, on the night of Christmas Eve, I went down to Lake Elsinore to spend the evening with a wonderful Dutch family that took me in completely. They were such wonderful people with huge American Bulldogs as lap-dogs. Even the dogs took me in. I felt instantly loved. They were so wonderful to invite me into their home on Christmas Eve and let me stay the night, since I didn't have any family around and didn't have to work until the afternoon on Christmas. I had decided to give up my Christmas night in order to let more of my employees enjoy the Holiday. Karma again. That night after we sat down to eat, Lou asked me if I wanted to open my gifts. Flabbergasted, I stuttered and sputtered, obviously not knowing what to say. I felt bad for only having brought the small box of Belgium Chocolates I was regifting.


I didn't know or care what this family had gotten for me - just to know they loved me that much sent me over the edge. It had been one of the hardest years I'd ever had to survive, and to come out on the other end like this didn't seem possible back in July. My entire life had changed in the matter of 5 months. Most of it I made happen, but certain things, like me sitting there with four dogs at my feet holding two brightly wrapped gifts of blue and gold in my lap, were completely a surprise and never were a part of the plan. Tears were brimming in my eyes.


At the urging of my small audience of Lou and Gabe with the four dogs, I opened the big one first. It was large enough to fit all the way across my lap and cover my legs entirely. I pulled the bright blue paper back to reveal a cardboard box underneath. I expected the gift to not be what I saw on the box until I noticed that the box was still sealed. It was a brand new Blu-Ray player, Wireless capable and played regular DVDs as well. I couldn’t contain it any longer. I didn’t let either Gabe or Lou see me, but I cried.


Remember I said there was a second gift? Lou and I had been walking through a Borders just a few days before Christmas, browsing. I wanted to show Lou the Art Book I used to have that went the way of the U-Haul back in July. I guess the excitement showed all over my face when I talked about one particular portrait in the book that I had fallen in love with as I was reading the book from cover to cover.



“What makes this one so special”, Lou told me “is that it’s the exact one we were looking at in the store.” Lou had gone back that night and bought the book. It had been the only one on the shelf at that Borders, and the only one I had seen since I began looking for it in July. Lou had asked me that night if I wanted it and I answered that it cost too much and that I could wait. Well, Merry Christmas to me, here it was resting in my hands. I instantly turned to the page with that portrait I so loved, the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.


The same man I tried so hard to escape from in Prague invited me over shortly after Christmas for dinner. It was a wonderful evening I was able to spend with a dear friend I've known since October of 2002. Bill's always been good to me, even when I least deserved it. He presented me with two gifts, both of which I cherish. The first was a fabulous book entitled "1001 Paintings To See Before You Die" that I began reading cover to cover that evening. The second gift was a watch to replace the one he gave me so many years ago. It was a gorgeous blue faced Seiko 100M watch with diamonds around the face. I nearly cried when I opened it. I wanted another watch since the one he had given to me was in the Uhaul, but never did I imagine something so beautiful. On the back was an inscription I still look at each time I take off my watch. It reminds me of how well he knows me and how much he has always cared for me.

"Always, B"

The greatest gift I got this past Christmas season wasn’t something I could hold in my hands though. It wasn’t the beautiful card that was so personal and sweet from Lou. It’s wasn’t the Blu-Ray player to go with the “mysterious” TV or the wonderful Christmas Dinner left over’s that an employee brought with him to work for me on Christmas night, though that was the first home cooked meal I'd had in months. It wasn't the beautiful watch with the dark blue face. It wasn’t the new apartment, though I admit it was just what I wanted. It wasn’t even the promotion. The greatest gift I was given this season was just this:


Christmas Eve, I sat there at a table with a warm and loving family; Stefan, Vicky, Lou and Gabe – four wonderful people. Under us sat the dogs; Spot, Mugsy, Tyson and Sasha. I was warm, loved, and accepted by a family who didn’t know much about me and didn’t care about that tiny detail. Before we picked up the first bite of food, I followed suit when the family bowed their heads to pray. Sitting between Vicky and Lou, I smiled. I hadn’t said a prayer over food with a family in far too long to remember. Right then, as I searched for the words to explain in a prayer just what I was feeling, I knew that no words were needed. The prayer was not ever in the words, but in the heart behind them. The greatest gift last Christmas Season was that family and the kindness and love they shared with me. The greatest gift of the year was having people who love me there to share in that moment. It was a long drive to Lake Elsinore for Christmas Eve, but it’s a drive I would make a million times over just to relive that night.



It was the greatest Christmas I had ever known.


I’m not big on prayer or waiting to see what happens after a prayer is uttered, but the final gift I will write about today is the gift that I give to each of you.



For in that moment of clarity and thought filled emotion, I thought about all of you out there who helped me to survive this past year. There are some of you I don’t see eye-to-eye with except maybe once a decade. There are those of you I can’t seem to disagree with at any point. There are people who love me and who hate me, who like and dislike me, and who have no reason to pay any attention to me whatsoever. Still, those are the people who helped me to survive.


I thought about the young mother cradling a new baby in her arms, wrapped up in the stolen quilt my Grandmother had made for me. I thought about the guy next door who warned me that the street sweepers were coming and I needed to move my car so I didn’t get a ticket. I thought about the families in South Central who watched over me, making sure I had food. I thought about the boss that believed in me, the friend who helped me move, the people I've loved and those who loved me. I thought about the man I once called a friend. I thought about my wonderful Uncle Roger, my Aunt Debbie who put us in touch, my brother, my son, my father and mother, and even those dogs under the table keeping my feet warm.


May you all have the clarity throughout the coming years that I had in that moment, sitting at that table with my head bowed, thinking about each of you and what you’ve meant to me and to others. I wish you nothing but prosperity and good will for the glorious future to come. May you shine as brightly as a star even on the worst of days and may you never loose hope. If ever you do, just think back to how much this one person’s life changed in the mere matter of five months. I may have lost everything back in April only to loose more in July, but it gave me the will to fight back and survive, an survive I did!


YOU are and were my inspiration. May you always have your inspiration like you’ve provided to those around you.

Life in the Jungle Part 1

here are certain things in this modern age that we take for granted. For the majority of people, these would be things like friendship and family. Though I'm certainly guilty of both of those, there are some things that my eyes were opened to as recently as last November. I never realized certain things were luxury items. Only a little more than a hundred years ago people lived with far worse conditions than what I lived with just before Thanksgiving of last year. Though it seems so trivial in so many aspects, how did people survive without indoor plumbing? It certainly had to be uncomfortable, but it was a way of life back then and something they were used to, not something out of the ordinary as it would be today.


On October 6th f last year, I moved in to a place on the spur of the moment. I needed somewhere to go and a friend of mine was able to help me out. His family had a room I could take, and were more than willing to help me out in any way they could. There were a few minor things that most people would likely have a heart attack over, but for me I saw it as a challenge, and something I could claim as my own. Realistically I moved for my cat. I needed a place where I could keep him with me always, and they were ok with me having a pet. With my extremely limited funds and them not asking for a deposit, it was a match made in heaven.

It was an interesting place, and when I first moved in I saw it as an adventure. I have always had a hard time turning down an adventure. Sure, there was no bath tub, and the bathroom was separate from my room so I had to get dressed to go outside and down the alley to my bathroom, but it was MY bathroom and I loved it. My feet were in the shower if I was sitting on the toilet, and my only door on my bathroom was a dolphin printed shower curtain, but it was all mine and nobody else ever used it that I was aware of. I could put all my shampoo and conditioner and smelly, girly stuff in there without worry that someone else would move it, use it or take it.

My room was tiny and I didn’t have anything when I moved in after I was robbed just last July of my U-haul while I slept. I didn’t have a bed or much of anything else even then, but what I had when I moved in to my new place in South Central Los Angeles, otherwise known as The Jungle, was even less. The people of the main house, my landlords, treated me as they would a family member down on their luck. They loaned me a bed WITH bedding, a TV, cable box, microwave and even a fridge. I couldn’t believe my luck for the peanuts I would have to pay monthly. It was so very much for so little asked of me.

Simple rules like “no parties” only endeared the place to me even more. In my first few days there the weather was nice. I would often sit in the hammock by the pool and read, or shoot a few games on the pool table. Late at night when I had phone calls I would sit on the steps to the Jacuzzi back by the Persimmon and Lime trees just over by the diving board for the pool. I had a swim suit or two. I had plans to put the pool to good use, and just didn’t get around to it before the weather turned cool. The lady of the house loved plants, so the yard was wall-to-wall beautiful green. It was my own tropical oasis on the other side of my little iron fortress. My cat, Oliver would trill at me when he saw me coming. It was always a pleasant homecoming.

When it was nice weather out, showers were an absolute pleasure. I would take the thick, oversized zebra stripe bathrobe I purchased for $2.99 at Goodwill to the outdoor bathroom with me. There I would close my dolphin-printed plastic door, strip down while avoiding the prospect of facing the shower curtain that divided me from the outside world due to the blank spaces in it, and step into the shower. The water would take a moment to warm up, but when it did it stayed fairly warm for a while unless someone was washing dishes or clothes in the main house. There were times when the shift from too hot went to ice within seconds, and I’m sure the neighbors heard me squealing a time or two. By the time I got out my robe was half wet and the floor even behind the toilet was drenched, but I had a little pink towel they let me borrow to dry my hair with. I would hang it by the doorway when I was done and wander back with my arms loaded down, wearing that zebra striped robe and fuzzy slippers. I would walk down the alley by the side of the house, ducking if someone was in the kitchen or one of the two bedroom windows I would pass on the way back to my room.

When the weather was warm, I would often sleep with my door open and the screen closed, since I didn’t have any windows for ventilation. As the weather changed though, that changed too. I couldn’t stand the cold. The only blankets I had were the ones loaned to me, with the ivy printed sheets and matching comforter, rather old and thin. There was no heater and no air conditioner in my room, so when the weather changed I often got the worst of it. Still, I didn’t complain. It was Ollie and me all the way. If I wanted things to change, I would have to do that myself.

In the mornings I was met with a new challenge. I was too broke to buy food, so all the food I had was dry-storage items like Ramen noodles from the dollar store. They fed me for quite a while. Certain people got rather sick of hearing how I ate Ramen all the time and started to chide me for it. I made so many promises to eat better, but until recently I wasn’t able to. I continued with my dry storage items, eating only what I could afford and never straying outside of my budget of $40 a month on food, barely more than a dollar a day. Ramen fit that budget perfectly, since at the dollar store they’re usually 4 for $1.00 or there about. Breakfast tended to be one Dollar Store granola bar in the morning. Brushing my teeth was yet another adventure.

You may have noticed that I didn’t mention how the sink in my bathroom was positioned. There’s a very good reason for that actually. I didn’t have one. That sounds odd, but until you are in the situation of not having a sink, you’ll never understand fully what this was like for me. Washing my face had to be in the shower, so I didn’t do it three times a day anymore. Washing my hands was the same way. I would have to hide behind the shower curtain and reach around it if I wanted to wash my hands without getting drenched. Often I was soaked head to toe afterwards anyway. But how does one fill their mouth to rinse after brushing without a sink? Once done rinsing the mouth, where does the spit go? Down the shower drain? I've had a few interesting stories about toothbrushes, but nothing like I was about to encounter.

I bought a case of water at the Dollar Store. The water where I live is so bad it’s a necessity anyway. I would grab a bottle of water in the mornings and take it with me to the bathroom. There I would grab my tooth brush from it’s place laying on top of my bath towel and hold it out over the toilet. I would pour some water from my bottle onto the tooth brush, letting the excess fall into the commode. Then I would apply the tooth paste and brush the way any normal person would – except I would be on my knees in front of the toilet. One day a friend came over and was chatting with me when I said I had to go brush my teeth. Thinking nothing of it because it had become almost routine to me and rather comical in my mind, I saw nothing wrong with my morning ritual. When I finished brushing and spit into the toilet, rinsed with my bottled water and spit again, it seemed almost natural in a very unnatural way. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw the tears standing in my friends eyes that I realized just how far I had fallen from regular society. Here I was on my knees in front of a toilet in the back yard of a total strangers house brushing my teeth, feeling like this was ok, or even half way normal. What had become of me?

As so many of you know, life hasn’t always been easy for me. I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and I keep on fighting. I was too embarrassed to share this story with anyone for quite a while, but I write in order to share my stories. It's time I share this one. I had hoped to move again before my 30th birthday on December 11th. I wanted an indoor bathroom with a sink. At this point a tub wasn’t even a priority, though in the past it always had been. It would have been nice, but just so long as I had a sink I’d be happy. I just had to somehow save up for a deposit on a place before then. With winter coming quickly, finding a warm place to sleep and a indoor shower was a major priority.

It wasn't forever, but it was my life only 6 months ago. It wasn't the end, but it was far from the beginning. Even now, I continue to grow and learn, being humbled more and more each time I think I’m untouchable.

If you think this can’t happen to you, think again. It can happen to any of us. Good or bad, high or low, young or old, we all hit hard times in our lives. There are some people out there in far worse shape than I was. I at least had a roof over my head and my lovely Oliver. I still had people who loved and cared for me. In that respect, even then I had it all.

Things did get better, but it all started with me.

TO BE CONTINUED....
(Click here for Part 2)

Uneven Bars

On my way to work this morning I heard a song that reminded me of my childhood. The singer mentioned something about calloused hands and I looked at my own now dainty and feminine hands. They weren't always that way. My nails weren't always long and could never keep a coat of red on their surface. They were once the hands of a tom boy, and then the hands of a gymnast, and finally the hands of a roofer before they became the gentle hands they are today.


Callouses used to line the edges of my palm, just at the base of my fingers. I would spend hours climbing trees as a kid. I thought I was half monkey in all honesty. I wanted to be half horse, graceful and beautiful, but I was never a graceful child, and I couldn't have been farther from beautiful. I would play in the mud and always have mud caked under my nails. Mom would spend long periods of time trying to clean under them with a brush. When I was around 5 years old, she painted my nails pink after my begging her for what seemed like forever. All the other little girls in the neighborhood had their fingers painted pretty colors, I wanted pretty hands too. The first thing I did when she finished was go dig up worms with the boys out in the pumpkin patch.

I used these hands to punch a hole in a glass window once. I've used them many times to defend myself, to place shingles on the roof of many houses, to build towers with blocks and to escape miraculously from impossible situations. They were damaged, worn and bruised most of my life, up until just recently.

I used to play on the uneven bars at school when I was in the 5th grade. The playground was a lonely place for me back then. I didn't have many friends. When I discovered the uneven bars, I saw the things other kids were doing on them and wanted to learn how. Instantly I jumped onto an empty one and tried to swing around it by my legs. I fell, landed in a heap on the ground, brushed the sand out of my hair and tried again. The first time I made it all the way around the bar by hooking one leg over and one leg under I was amazed. I learned how to swing my momentum to get me around more often at at a faster pace. I learned how to stop swinging around and swap legs. Then I learned how to swing around the bar with both legs over the bar and using my knees and hands. The callouses ripped open on my hands and I would be in pain trying to write in class, but it was worth it. The adrenaline pumped in my veins and I felt like I was learning something I could be good at.

It took weeks and months to get to where I could transition my hands from one side of my body to the other. I eventually tried swapping legs in mid swing on a continuous cycle and got quite good at that. Another kid dared me to do the Cherry Drop, so I tried. I fell on my head and again brushed the sand out of my hair with my dry, calloused hands. Then I jumped back up and tried it again. I learned which bars were too close to the ground by smacking my skull a few times on the dirt, but I never forgot those lessons.

The Cherry Drop was a challenge. I would hang upside down on the bar from my knees and swing back and forth. When I felt that I was swinging out widely enough, I would unhook my knees from the bar and flip around. I was supposed to land on my feet, but that took a while to get. Most of the time I landed on my butt. Finally one day I got it. I landed on my feet and felt like I was on top of the world!

I had gotten so good on the uneven bars that other kids began asking me how I did it and what my secret was. Feeling proud of myself for having mastered something so well, I started to push myself harder. I wanted to not only be good at it, but I wanted to be the BEST at it! I worked harder and harder. One day, as I swung around the bars with both knees hooked on, I swapped hands in mid swing. I would put both on my left, then both on my right, then both in the middle. Again I heard a dare. Someone dared me to take both hands off of the bar.

The world whizzed by in a blur as I swung wildly by just my knees. I saw the sky race past, the swings behind me, the sand below me, the brick wall before me, the crowd of kids beyond that, and then the school off in the distance. I grabbed the bar again with both hands and went around once more before stopping. My heart raced. I had done it!

Kids everywhere were asking me how I had done it. I didn't know what to say, other than I had just tried and somehow it worked. Others began trying and several were sent to the Nurses office for head injuries. I just kept on.

Each day I would practice at recess. Kids would come from all over the soccer field, the 4 square and tether ball areas and kick ball practice area way off in the distance just to watch me. I felt like I was on stage. Each day I grew more brave. I would start to swing around and do a complete show, always changing things for the 'performance' and always wanting to push myself just a little farther.

One day I decided to incorporate the Cherry Drop with my routine. The kids all knew not to stand too close to the bars in case I lost hold and went flying out in front. Knowing there was a clear space in front of me, I began flipping backwards around the bar and let go with my hands. I rolled around backwards on the bar using nothing but my knees for a full 12 rotations before I picked up the courage, and when the timing was right, I let go. I launched out in front, soared up into the air, and landed squarely on my feet. The other kids applauded and ooohed and ahhed. I had done something nobody else had been able to do and it was coined the Death Drop.

The Death Drop became my signature move. Other kids wanted to copy it, but they were too afraid. One day a boy came and asked me to teach him the basics on the bars, and so I began to mentor the 6th grader. He was a year older than me in school, but he wanted to learn so I started to teach him. In no time he grew to be quite good and we would give dual performances at school during lunch. Within a few months, he landed a Death Drop and amazed everyone. I couldn't be more proud - my Student had gotten to be as good as I was. In due time, kids started asking him to teach them. Pretty soon we were teaching side by side. We would have anywhere from 5 to 20 kids a day we would work with together. We worked as spotters, making sure they didn't fall. After having learned the hard way myself, I made sure none of them ever got on a bar that was too low to the ground so that they didn't skid to a halt grinding their heads through the sand.

Once or twice we had a kid fall off the bars, but with the other kid there to help me, nobody was hurt. The kids that refused help and wanted to do it all themselves often ended up in the Nurses office by the end of recess. The audience grew, and the school threatened to either add more uneven bars or to remove the ones out there due to the danger and attraction they provided.

I was still the best at what I did. My first student and then co-teacher was very good, but there were certain things I wouldn't teach him. I was selfish. I wanted to be the best at what I did. To some degree there's still that competitive side to me, I want to be the best.

Mom came out to the school one day for Parent - Teacher conferences. I told her there was something I wanted to show her on the playground, so she followed me out there. She was thinking I was going to swing across the jungle gym or go really high in the swings. She was unprepared for what followed.


I went through my very best routine, and she stood back in awe. She had no idea I was able to do all of those tricks on the bars. Finally, in my moment of grandeur, I performed my Grand Finale with the Death Drop.


She screamed.

She yelled and screamed at me. She made me swear I'd never do it again. She threatened to go to the office and ask what they were thinking by allowing me to perform such stunts at recess.

That was the end of my pseudo-career on the bars at school. In two years I transitioned to 7th grade soon and didn't have the bars at recess, or even a recess at all. Lunches were spent from then on eating food alone until we moved to Utah. I had no friends in Jr. High and had a hard time for the first time in my life forming new bonds with total strangers. Nobody liked the little nerd girl with too many freckles, a stick figure for a body and crooked teeth. The other girls had begun to blossom into young ladies and I was still just a kid. I became a wall flower. It was a hard transition to go from being a Bar Celebrity to being nobody in an eager sea of strangers.


As I sat on the grass alone eating my lunch one day, I looked out into the lawn between buildings and saw a kid off in the distance. A crowd gathered around him in a long line. There was a ton of room behind and in front of him, so I watched. I was curious to know what was going on.


The young man suddenly sprang into the air and did a series of back flips and front flips and amazing stunts I'd only ever seen performed on television. He had a full Olympic routine memorized from the looks of it. I completely forgot about my sandwich and went over to watch...


When he finished, the crowd clapped for him. I looked close and knew he was familiar...


The Student had surpassed the Teacher.



.

Despite All Odds

Each day I live with the knowledge that my parents are ashamed of me. Each day that passes I know they claim that they do not judge me, but rather disagree with the life I live. Each day I wake up, I know that there is so little they know about me and how I live. And - what is judgement if it's not a disagreement with how someone lives or what choices they make?

I'm a strong, powerful, self sufficient woman these days. Maybe I haven't always been that way, but things change. Even though I live each day knowing they judge me and 'disagree' with my choices, I don't dwell on it or think about it each day.

I live my life with purpose. I've tried to find meaning in my life, and though most of the time I can't find it, I know it's there. Yes, I look towards the future, and yes, I remember the past. I even share stories of my childhood - but I live in the moment.

For the first time in my life, I live alone. I have no roommates except for the cat. I watch what I want on TV, I eat what I like, I go where I choose and I fully support myself. I pay my bills on time, I parallel park my car on the street and I go for long walks when I'm having a bad day. More than that, I'm a good person.

My parents were convinced that I was sexually active when I was very young. I didn't loose my virginity until I was 17, and even then it was to someone they knew. My mother was at one time convinced I would marry the guy. She never knew about us. They were also convinced that I was addicted to drugs at about 13 or 14 I believe. I actually took myself off of Ritalin at 15 years old after an 11 year addiction. I imagine my unusual behavior symptoms at that time could be contributed to having withdrawals after being on a highly addictive drug for so long. I flushed the Ritalin daily. When they noticed the signs, I was taken to a shrink and put on Paxil, Prozac and Klonopin, which I flushed down the toilet each day. One night when they were angry at me for something (something I undoubtedly deserved their anger for) I went down stairs and FINALLY took the medicines I had been prescribed by the military head doctor. When they called me up to 'talk' to me, my eyes were dilated. They didn't believe that the only thing I had taken were the medicines I was told to take daily because they didn't know that I hadn't been taking them thus far.

Once or twice my mom would make me take the medicine in front of her. I tried to hide them under my tongue to spit them out later on, but she found them. I tucked them into my cheeks, but that failed too. On the days I actually took the medicines, I nearly passed out on the bus to school. I couldn't focus all day. I would grow paranoid and became highly reclusive. I skipped school because I couldn't stand the noise of people talking around me. I grew fearful of everything and everyone. On the days that I flushed the pills, I felt like a normal kid.

I lost a lot of friends during the time I was going through all of this. I also lost all of my possessions, having them taken away one at a time. A lot of people don't know the true story of what happened to me back then. I was living in a daily Hell and fought back every second. I knew I was strong enough to make it and I was Hell bent to prove it to myself.

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and put into the school for troubled kids. I focused on my art and writing, finding an escape in every day activities. I never sacrificed my own morals or beliefs in order to survive during the times I ran away, despite what my own parents believed and told others about me.

I was beaten and abused by a boyfriend at 18. They never believed me.

I was kidnapped at 19. They never knew.

My ex-husband was controlling and manipulative, depressing, appalling. They wouldn't listen.

I nearly starved to death once and got down to about 96 lbs., showing every one of my ribs. Anyone could count my spine beneath a T-shirt. I asked for help in order to survive and they said no. They wanted me to return to the abusive relationship.

I stopped asking for help or telling them what I was going through because I knew it didn't do any good. Likewise, I didn't tell them how well I was doing. I just decided not to tell them anything of importance from then on. Last year, I decided to try again and was disappointed.

Three years ago, the day Pete proposed to me, I didn't want to tell my parents because I dreaded their reaction. Something about that is incredibly sad. It should be a happy moment. I told my Dad and he grew very morose. He said something to the effect of knowing it was doomed to fail before it started. When I told my mother later on, her response was simple.

"Promise me you'll give the ring back when you break up."

There has never been much faith from either of them, and yet I've worked my entire life to prove them wrong. I've worked hard to prove myself right - that I can survive and be happy. Perhaps they have hope - but they have NO faith in either of their children.

More than a year ago now when I called them to let them know that Pete and I had broken up, they told me "we knew it was coming" when I expected just to hear "I'm so sorry to hear that." When I had my hair done for Extreme Makeover, the first words out of my mother's mouth after years of not seeing her were "Your hair is too dark" instead of "you look lovely" or "Hi". When I moved out 2 days after I turned 18 and they couldn't understand it, my father said that my mother gave me 6 months before I came crawling back to them. My father gave me 3 months. When I went to stay with them last year, my father told me "You had a good run of it, Kiddo - but you remember what I said. We always knew you'd be back." It's no bloody wonder I left again in such a damned hurry. There was no way in Hell I was staying there for a full year. The breaking point was when they threatened to kill Oliver or turn him out into the streets because he had gotten out of my room while I was gone.

I left in July of last year. I called for birthdays, I called on Thanksgiving - but something was amiss. Something was wrong. Something was broken and I couldn't fix it. Then my 30th birthday came and went without a phone call, without a card. It was then I realized that they had no faith in me, and equally no hope. Truly, they were that disconnected from me.

I've done better since that exact moment than I've ever done in my life. I have the highest salary I've ever gotten right now. I have a job where the people respect and love me. I have 9 people working for me that would do almost anything for me that I asked of them and a boss that speaks frankly with me out of respect and understanding. I have more at this exact moment than I've ever had before in my life... Self respect, dignity, humility and a loving understanding of the world around me. I have my cat. I have furniture, groceries in the fridge, a reason to wake up in the mornings and a passion for all things in life; past, present and future.

It's been a release for me, knowing finally, once and for all, that I do not have the approval, respect or understanding of my parents. I never will. That's not something I'm looking for anymore. For 11 years, that was my greatest mistake. I wasn't trying to figure out who I was - I was trying to be who everyone else around me wanted me to be. I wanted more than anything to be a success so that they would FINALLY be proud of me. Knowing now that it's something I will never achieve has made me open my eyes to new possibilities. Now, I am finally proud of MYSELF.

I have people who read my blogs, who listen to my thoughts and stories, who respect and love me and want more than anything for me to succeed. As much as I love each of you for that part of you, I have to tell you that the only person I have anything to prove to anymore is myself.

I don't know if I'll be the hero of my own story or if I'll perish as an unknown at the end of the final chapter, but I wish the world to know that I have truly lived a wonderful life full of happy and wonderful moments, love, laughter and LIFE, despite all odds.

Without You - song from My Fair Lady

Eliza (singing):
What a fool I was, what dominated fool,
to think that you were the earth and the sky,
What a fool I was, What an elevated fool,
What a mutton-headed dote was I!
No, my reverberated friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.

Professor Higgins (speaking):
You impetant hussy! There's not an idea in your head or a word in your mouth that I haven't put there.

Eliza (singing):
There'll be spring every year without you. England still will be here without you.
There'll be fruit on the tree.
And a shore by the sea.
There'll be crumpets and tea without you.

Art and music will thrive without you. Somehow Keats will survive without you.
And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you.
I can do without you.

You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.

They can still rule with land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado we can all muddle through without you.

Professor Higgins:
You brazen hussy,

Eliza (singing):
Wihtout pulling it the tide comes in,
without your twirling it the Earth can spin,
Without your pulling it, the tide comes in
Without your twirling it, the earth can spin
Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by,
If they can do without you, ducky, so can I
I shall not feel alone without you
I can stand on my own without you
So go back in your shell
I can do bloody well
Without...

Professor Higging (singing) interupts:
By George, I really did it,
I did it, I did it,
I said I'd make a woman and indeed I did,
I knew that I could do it,
I knew it, I knew it,
I said I'd make a woman and succeed I did!

(speaking)
Eliza you are wonderful

(Eliza)

Goodbye Professor Higgins. You shall not be seeing me again.

Comfort Food

Wikipedia defines comfort food as a "simple, familiar food that is usually home-cooked or eaten at informal restaurants." Wikipedia goes on to say that "more generally, comfort food can be defined as food that brings some form or measure of comfort, sense of well-being, or easy satisfaction... [It] may also involve foods that have a nostalgic element either to an individual or a specific culture."

Well, tonight I went in search of some "nostalgic element" food and ended up with a full plate of spaghetti that I devoured within minutes.

It's been one of the hardest weeks I can recal in a very long time. Communication is lacking in several areas of my life right now and I'm growing more and more recluse by the day. These days the only people I get a chance to interact with are the people who work for me. It's hard to socialize and vent to those people you would be venting about. I can't very well take one Officer asside and tell them what the other guys have done to piss me off, only to chose another Officer to complain to about the one I had just spoken with. Things don't work that way in the business world.

I love (or loved) my job when I first got my title on December 21st. It was a momentus day for me - the day I finally got recognized for the dedication and pride I took in my work. There was nobody more qualified than I was to get the job done, but more than that I took such pride in what I was doing and knew exactly what I wanted to accomplish. Was I too ambitious?

I still have high hopes for my crew and want to make sure we get high praise for a job well done. With the way things have been going, this hasn't been happening and it's not likely to happen on the path we seem to be treading.

I'm a perfectionist in many respects. I beat myself up if I feel I've not done a good job. I can't help but feel like I could be doing better than I am at the moment, but I don't know what more I can do. Already I work 10 to 12 hours a day, and I'm about to go from 6 days to 7 days a week. I can't do it all myself, and these guys just don't realize that.

I've tried hard to make them understand that I will never ask them to do something that I myself wouldn't do. I bring treats (like the basket of varied chocolates for Easter I brought in today or the cupcakes I brought in to the meeting on March 27th) that I pay for out of my own pocket. It's no wonder I can't afford to buy dinner for myself - if I get a little extra, I give it back to my crew.

I think that's going to have to stop. I like being able to share with them - and Lord knows they're the only people I see these days, so who else can I share with? My life has grown to revolve around this post the past few months. I guess I'm maybe taking it a little too personally when someone decides to transfer away, and I shouldn't. Unlike me, they all have families and friends they like to spend time with. These guys are all I know of life here in California at the moment. It's sad, but it's true. I'm kind of like the "Mom" it's been said several times. Some people love their mothers and would do anything for them. Others take their mothers for granted and do whatever they can to get away with murder.

I've been taken advantage of here at work. I give them ALMOST anything they ask for, like days off, vacations, schedule changes, shift swaps - the like. Well, as much as I hate to do it, that's about to change. I'm going to have to be rather strict. That's not a side of me I like to see, and I'm certain they won't like it either.

It's sad when my life revolves around work. I spend about 70 hours a week at work, and hour going to work and an hour going home from work. If I added up the hours, that would be about 82 hours a week spent revolving around work. That's not including the phone calls at all hours of the day and night (and I always answer. I make sure the guys know I'm ALWAYS available when they need me) and the number jumps up closer to about 85 hours a week. When there are only 168 hours in a week, that leaves me about 83 hours a week to myself. If we break that down, it works out to
about 11 hours each day to sleep, eat, bathe, feed the cat, go grocery shopping, get my laundry, iron my work uniforms, clean the house, BLOG, and spend time with my friends. If that 11 hours is factored down and sleep time is taken out that leaves me about 3-4 hours a day to get ALL of that done. No probem, you say? HA! Somehow I still don't manage to go to bed until midnight and have to wake up at 6am. That way I give myself more time to get things done.

Life exists only for work these days - except Saturdays. Saturdays are mine. That is a full 24 hours that nobody can take away from me. That day is far too important to me. I might not even leave the house on a Saturday, but that's my choice and one I'm more than happy to make. Now, if we go back and take that 24 hours out of the 83 hours a week I can spend on myself durring the rest of the week, that leaves me only 59 hours a week before and after work to get my tasks finished. That's about 8.5 hours a day, and now it makes sense why I go to bed so late still feeling like I didn't get anything done.

I'm making myself sick. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months. The bags under my eyes are growing every day. I use blush to hide the fact I'm as pale as an Easter rabbit. I'm not eating properly and have dropped about 10 lbs in an unhealthy way. I used to look forward to going to work.

I need a vacation and I know exactly where I'm going when I get one. I'm going to be about 5,000 miles away from work, away from home, away from bills and phone calls and these problems that are causing me to develop an ulcer.

So - I decided to do something nice for myself. I really couldn't afford it, and I'll be paying off this spaghetti for months since I put it on my credit card, but I was hungry and needed some comfort food rather badly. It was comforting, I'll admit. I'm feeling better already - but often my venting on a blog helps that immensely.

I'll be ok. I just have to wrap my head around it and take strong control. I need to "suck it up" and get the job done. And I will, no doubt in my mind, I will. I'm just not sure how yet.



So - what's YOUR comfort food?

Maybe a Better Tomorrow?

"You're the light in the dark days,

and you're the hope

that fills my heart with the dreams of a better tomorrow."

That is never more true than it is at this moment.

I've had a hard day. I'm going to leave it at that.