Kermit

 So...We are there.  We are in the new "Big" City!    Phoenix is actually the Nation's 5th largest city.  However, it doesn't really feel like a "true" big city because it is not as congested as other large cities such as New York City, Los Angeles, or even San Francisco.  Phoenix is spread out and then you have all of the smaller little cities or towns that surround Phoenix however, when speaking to someone who is from the area you will hear them refer to being from Phoenix or the "Valley" rather than stating they are from Avondale or Glendale.  

As I previously noted we lived for a while in my Mom's tiny one-bedroom apartment that she shared with her greasy old boyfriend Skip.  He still makes my stomach curdle or automatically makes my face turn downward with the "eww" face people make when they walk through a stinky area.  His face was literally greasy.  His hair was long and greasy, everything was greasy about him.  

Again, when you read some of this don't get offended by what I am writing, please remember we were three young girls from very small towns where most people were Polish or German...very rare to see anyone of a different race or ethnicity.

We stayed there for a few weeks until the incident happened that forced us to leave.  All three of us girls who drove from Michigan got jobs working at the Metro Center Mall.  Now, for us...this mall was huge! It was like something no one else had ever seen!  The mall had a roller coaster in front of it!  I believe all three of us worked at a men's clothing store called DeeJayz.  The managers absolutely loved us working there.  Of course, they did!  Why wouldn't they?  There was 2 younger male manager and an older (to us she looked really old but was probably in her 30s) female manager, therefore, the male managers loved us young women who were naive, open to doing anything, and since we knew how to flirt with the men that came in, we made a lot of sales.  

While working there we made friends. We made all types of friends.  I remember one person one of us met who was a black Irish man. All three of us found this incredible to actually meet a person from Ireland who was black!  I still remember his name, Kermit!  Therefore, how many men do you meet with the name Kermit?  The only Kermit we knew was Kermit the frog!  This was all new to us.

It was an afternoon after work or a weekend when Kermit showed up at the apartment.  I was in total shock!  I was like, how did this man get to this apartment in the hood?  I was so embarrassed because of where we lived, and then in shock that this man who was actually on the smaller side drove into the ghetto to locate us,  without google maps back then the only way you could find an address was because someone verbally told you how to get to the address.  I asked both of my friends how Kermit knew where we lived and who the heck invited him over? I was so stressed, so humiliated that someone invited another person to my Mom's house!  One friend told us that she gave him the address to the apartment but didn't know he would drive over unannounced.  I guess Kermit wanted to do something with us or something like that because he too was new to the area???? cannot remember exactly. But, we found out that time that a person from Ireland is not too shy to get out and do something with new friends!

After Kermit left, we went back into the apartment and my Mom got in our face, literally approximately 5 inches from the face (more directed to our friend that provided Kermit with the address) with the craziness in her eyes, she leaned forward stretching her neck as far as it could go and jutted out her lower jaw so a person could see her bottom front teeth as she yelled.  She had her arms down straight to her side and her hands were balled into fists.  I wish I could find a photo to better provide an idea of how pissed off my Mom was at this moment.  She started yelling at our friend something about "I didn't tell you that people could come over here, and you bring a N****r to my house!"  "Get all of your shit and get your ass out of my house!!!"  and there were some other racist expletives that were thrown at our friend.  Because I knew my Mom knew that unfortunately, I had the temper that she passed down to me, therefore, when I got back in her face and got in between my friend and my Mom, my Mom wouldn't do a damn thing to me.  You see, even though this lady scared so many people including family members all of her life, she did NOT scare me.

We left packed up and moved to a friend's house (I cannot remember how or who met these ladies) to stay in their apartment for a few days until we could get our own.  

What got me so confused about the racial hate that came out of her mouth that day.  And was still has me in awe is she had so much hate for this nice black guy who was dressed well and showed up to her place.  BUT.. she didn't hate the thugs that came to the house to deal the heroin she loved over anything else in her life  to that nasty man Skip!  

Now What?

 Now that the three of us are in Phoenix, now what?  It is funny when I watch TickTock and see clips about Gen Xers not giving a fuck about anything and not being scared of anything.  It is so true!  We grew up differently and my two friends and I fit right smack dab within the description of what a Gen Xer is.  I mean, we just hit "adulthood" and traveled from small towns in upper Michigan and the U.P. and drove to Arizona via paper fold-up map by ourselves, eating spaghetti-o's and fruit cocktails from the can so we didn't have to spend money on food and doing so in a two-seater car with no actual trunk.  We end up in the literal "hood" of Phoenix (not exaggerating with the term hood) with the only actual fear being how we were going to get a job to start making money.  

    Funny side note story to give you an image of where we were living....the day we got there or the next day, my friend and I decided it is a good time to call home and tell our families we got to Phoenix safe.  We had to use phone cards at the time to call home on a pay phone, yes a pay phone and we put our ears against the phone to speak.  We actually didn't know what type of neighborhood we were in because we had never been around a neighborhood like the one my Mom lived in before and basically we didn't know good neighborhoods from bad ones and we just plain didn't care.  As we were walking down the road to the payphone we were approached by a pregnant lady who was holding the hand of a toddler who was not any older than 2 years old, both were pretty darn dirty.  The lady was actually a pretty large woman compared to my friend and me with hair going everywhere in literally every direction.  The lady says "Do you have crystal?" I looked at my friend confused thinking why does she want A crystal?  My friend looks at her and says no and grabs my hand really fast to walk away.  I looked at my friend and say "Why does she want a crystal?, you have one around your neck" My friend says "No Dummy! She is talking about the drug!"  Even after my friend said that to me I was stumped...drug?  What was crystal?  Not till later I thought about how bad I felt for that child she was dragging down the street with her.  

     Back to that Gen Xer that we are; the entirety of "figuring it out on your own" was real with us.  We needed to figure it out on our own how to survive in the new huge city (remember we were all from small little itty bitty towns in Michigan) on our own.  I didn't have a parent to ask for help.  BUT BUT BUT!!!.... have no fear I had Susie there! 

     Believe it or not, my Mom told us how to hustle for money.  She told us, if you need money, go to the corner gas station put on our pretty smiles, look cute and ask men for some extra cash to fill up the little ol' Fiero even if we had enough gas.  And yes people it worked!  

   Was it safe?  Absolutely not!  However, we did what we needed to do to make it work. 

     

Stevie, I hope you are well

 Stevie was one of the siblings to who I was the closest growing up.  I was closest to him because we kept more in touch with him than my other siblings.  I didn’t really meet my other siblings until I was an adult. I really don't know the reason, and I was a kid.  I don’t know if I asked or not.  When I think about it Stevie and I really weren't that close.  I really don't know if he enjoyed coming to our house to visit or if he was forced to do so.  I don't know why he came around when he did.  He didn't call too often.  I remember my Grandma asking him one time why he didn't call and maybe we chalked it up to him just being a boy or a young man and being a kid, he may have not thought of it.  I lived in a town where there wasn't too much to do so maybe he didn't like that portion of visiting.  But it seemed as though he enjoyed being with us when we would do crazy outdoor stuff like fishing, swimming in the swimming hole in the river, fighting the roosters, and helping my Grandpa do outdoor stuff like helping with wood, or mowing the lawn.  We would have a great time in the woods, fishing in the river barefoot & swimming in the swimming hole in the river (which I would never do today!).  For some reason even though I was not on the mind of my brother, I absolutely adored my older brother.  When he was around I wanted to be around him.  I always wanted to be by his side. I always wanted to touch him (not in a weird way) and I always wanted to show him off to my friends.  Just like my Mom and how I always wanted to show her off even if she wasn't worthy of showing off to anyone.   Steve was worthy of showing off.  

    All of the girls loved Stevie.  He had dirty blonde hair and sky blue eyes.  Yes, we have no similarities in the looks.   I think he got the blue eyes from my Grandpa and the blonde is from his Dad's side.  When I saw him as an adult I see his Dad.  He looked just like Steve Pahlkotter.  

     The last time I have seen Stevie was in Phoenix, he moved to Phoenix to find our Mom after his Dad passed away from a car crash.  I guess he wanted someone to be in contact with some form of parent.  I don't think Stevie had the greatest relationship with his father, but I am not really sure and I do t want to speak for him because you never k ow they may have been super close.  The father-son relationship was never spoken about.  When he moved to Phoenix he made the move after he was supposed to be on an extended leave from the Merchant Marine position he held.  It was a great job for him.  It was alot of hard work from what I understand but he made lot of money due to the fact that they stay on the boats/ships for 6 months a year.  I have heard that the single guys just make money because they don't have too many bills stateside and they don't get off the boat too often to spend that money. 

     When he went to visit with our Mom duing his leave, I almost can guarantee you that she manipulated him to stay in Phoenix, live with her and she spent his money on whatever she deterimined she was going to tell him he needed to buy her.  I know she layed the guilt  trip on him bad.  Probably said any story she could think of to make him feel as if she wasn't guilty for anything that happened and the reason why she left him when he was a baby.  The “whoa-is-me” was laid in thick.  Even though the guilt factor was huge, I am almost sure the story about why she left was true, the way she told the story made the difference.  I wish I could explain better her manipulation but I just can’t.  You all probably know a person who manipulates.. twists words etc.  but, multiply that by 10.  This is how she manipulates.  She is the queen of gas lighting. 

     Back to why I am writing about Stevie.  I think  about him so much because his heart was so filled with empathy for his Mom.  He wanted (maybe still wants) her love.  

     The last time I saw Stevie around 2006, he was riding his old 10-speed bike in Phoenix to his job in Walmart in Glendale.  Probably a good 15-20 mile distance in the Phoenix heat to work during the summer.  He was now broke.  My Mom most likely talked him out of all of the money he saved from the Merchant Marines and he was no longer working for them.  He did not extend his contract. My Mom would go to Walmart to make a ruckus, have one of her “fits”.  Not sure how long he lasted there with her going to his job to make a commotion.  He couldn’t have a girl because my Mom would break them up.  

Because I think of Stevie & the last thing I ever heard my Mom say; I pray Stevie is doing well. 

          

HATE

While having a conversation with a person I heard them speak about a family member and the person said "I hate them, no really, I just hate them".  I don't know if the person really meant that they really did hate their family members or if they were just really angry at them for one reason or another.  

 Hate is defined as; feeling intense or passionate dislike for (someone) or intense or passionate dislike, of course, a person can utilize the word as a verb or a noun.  

I was taught the word hate is a very strong word and shouldn't be used.  A person may "hate" what another person has done or hate a certain feeling they may get about certain food.  "I hate that they acted that way" "I hate anchovies".  However, stating you "hate" another person is a very strong word that is utilized very rarely.  I believe that a person should never utilize the word "hate" when speaking about a family member.    Of course, there are good reasons for maybe hating a family member such as maybe rape or murder.   

I cannot stand some people and have a very dislike for them and they make me cringe thinking about them and I automatically make a disgusting face when I think about them but I don't know if I use the word "hate" because I don't personally know them.  I have had a boss that automatically makes my face look disgusted even thinking about him and what he did.😤

One of my siblings has said they hate my Mom and she was dead.  I basically knew she was not because someone from the police department or morgue or someone who deals with the dead would contact me because my Mom has always had my information somewhere on her person.  I was so upset that he would say something like that out of the blue.  Why would a person say "she's dead, I know she's dead"?  It is just sickening to me.  Was it what he was wishing?  And even though I know a word about her death would get to me, I did call the police departments and the morgues to find out if there was anyone with the name Susie or Sonny Green found dead.  She is still alive.  

When telling a family member that story, a different person says something like "I wish she was dead, I wouldn't give a damn if she was found rotting in a dumpster".  Now, hearing that got me.  I didn't say anything because I didn't want to ruin the day but how could someone, a person of God say something like that?  Even when I think about what was said that day, today it still chokes me up when I think about it.

You know, all of the pain she has put me, my siblings, and my family through time and time again, I have never said, "I hate my Mom" or said "I hate you" to her after all that she has done to me, my siblings, or my family throughout the years.   I told her I was done with her, and I can't take her no more especially when her words got really mean.  I don't hate her.  I love my Mom.

Will be cursing in this post

 This morning as I was walking my dog when my memories started.  Sometimes I know what will trigger a memory of my past and my Mom.  Sometimes it is a certain smell, or when I am looking at jewelry.  I remember her loving turquoise with silver.  She wore the big turquoise rings and silver bracelets.  Not sure why she wore so many rings because unfortunately, our genes did not pass down the beautiful long thin fingers like you may see some women have.  Sometimes a trigger may be me seeing someone walk similar to the way my Mom walked.  I actually had a friend tell me "I like how your Mom walks".  She did have a special type of walk.  She has long legs and would almost seem as though she walked on her toes.  I will tell you that she always had great posture.  Always kept her shoulders back and her stomach tucked in, I never recall my Mom slouching.  

This memory sorta starts from where I left off after the three of us moved in with my Mom for a few days at least.  As you know, my Mom didn't live in the greatest area in Phoenix.  It was the hood. My friends didn't judge.  I guess we were so happy to be in a big city and we were just excited to get out and explore.  Had no idea where we really were, and we were completely invincible, blind, and just down-right ignorant to the area we were at.  Even later that day or the next day when my friend and I walked to the payphone to call home to let our family know we got to Phoenix safely when big lady with hair all over the place and a toddler in tow came up to us and asks us "do you have any crystal?".  My ignorant self looked at my friend puzzled and whispered to her "you have one around your neck" my friend looked at me and says "No dummy!  She is not asking about that type of crystal, she is asking if we have the type you smoke!".  I just started laughing and we both just started walking away (maybe running) from the lady to the payphone.  And at night there would be gunfire.  Still didn't phase us.  

I did get phased when I used the bathroom in my Mom's apartment and saw these old pantyhose hanging from the doorknob on the back of the door.  It seemed odd when I noticed that the hose were tied to have knots throughout them, and what looked like splotches of blood.  I knew exactly what that was, I knew exactly what I was looking at hanging from the back of the door.  These were ties she used to tie off her veins when she was shooting herself up!  I grabbed them and went out to her asked her "what the hell are these?"  She made up some bullshit about her using them when she gets a cut from shaving her legs.  I didn't say anything more because I didn't have to.  She knew what I was getting at and turns around and grabs them and says "see baby, I will throw them in the trash!".  I was still pissed.  But there was nothing I could do, I brought my friends to Phoenix to "save" my Mom and I had to stay there, we had no money and nowhere else to go!  

Do you remember when I posted she was never alone? Or any addicts never start their drugs of choice alone?  That she always had someone else to get the drugs for her?  That is so true!  That nasty greasy, nasty buck-toothed mother fucker called "Skip" was the one that she couldn't live without, the one "that gives me things" "he is good to me Bridget" was outside the next day in the back seat of someone's car with his nasty ass hanging his greasy arms into the front seat making an "exchange" in the car.  Skip was her provider, this is how he kept her happy.

Road Trip of a Lifetime!

 Three girls from small towns in Michigan, only 18 and 19 years old, did the craziest, scariest, and funniest thing a girl our age could do.  Packed up what we could put in a "trunk" of a Fiero and headed out.  When we were driving through Chicago and getting on and off our first "big city" on-and-off ramp, this one completed a full circle.  I was driving; it was dark, and I was scared as hell to drive on that ramp.  We all screamed the entire time we were on the ramp.  

  Our plan was to drive all of the ways through to Phoenix.  Why not?  We had three drivers, right?  Well, it sounded like a great plan that was almost pulled off.  However, we never thought that three people in a two-seated vehicle would be uncomfortable and not very sleepable.  We did pack food to eat along the way; we ate spaghetti'os out of the can and apple sauce or canned fruit (I believe). I don't remember stopping to eat; we only stopped to use the bathroom (maybe).  We would check out the boys that would drive beside us and make signs to say something to them; we would laugh and have a good time with people that would be driving past us on the freeways, young and old.  We had a good time.  

     Well, our plan of driving all of the ways through didn't plan out too well. While driving through the northern part of Texas, I remember Amarillo, Texas, because I thought the name of it was funny, and I could swear we actually seen a real armadillo. Still, it could have just been the fact that all of the signs in Amarillo had an armadillo on them. I must have fallen asleep at the wheel because suddenly when I woke up, I was driving in the desert!  All dirt!  It seemed like that anyway. I guess luck was on my side, and we didn't run into anything like a pole or another car.  After I got back on the road, we stopped somewhere we thought would be safe to get a few hours of sleep.  It was scary, but we all slept in the cramped car.   It only took a few minutes for all of us to sleep for around 4 hours, but it felt like 10 hours.   

     Going into New Mexico, we ran into a wind storm and actually had seen our first tumbleweeds tumbling across the roads.  It was so great for us!  We have only seen stuff like that one TV.  But now that I think about it, it really was not great and we could have gotten pretty hurt.  

     We got to Phoenix and we needed to find out where my Mom lived and actually call the folks in Michigan to let everyone know we made it.  So we got to this little itty bitty torn down house in a sketchy neighborhood that was actually scary.  When we got out and took in the heat that just hit us, I knocked on the door.  A greasy grubby man with a big belly, long grey hair and beard greeted us at the door with no shirt on.  He was nice to us, and let us in.  All types of emotions were going through me at that time.  Is this the right house?  What will I see?  What will my friends think?  We don't have any more money and we don't have any where else to stay!  I don't know if my friends walked in with me or not at that time.  

     So, as I walk in I didn't see my Mom right away, she didn't come to me.  I walked in a little more and look to my left....In the middle of the living room I see my Mom sitting smack-dab in the middle of the floor with her legs in a criss-crossed style. She was almost falling over, mouth a little open, eyes rolling back.  

    I can picture this trance she was in to this day.  

28 years

      The other day my friend texted me and reminded me that it had been 28 years since we made our voyage from our small little towns in Michigan to Phoenix, Arizona.  

     Right before I graduated from Beauty school I was actually called by Nicole who was one best nail techs known in Alpena in 1992 asking me when I have to take my exams to be licensed as a cosmetologist.  She explained to me that I worked on one of her clients while she was on vacation and she wanted me to come work in the same shop she worked.  I was so frekin happy!  Of course it was extremely hard to get clients right away since I was only doing nails and not full cosmetology services, and I was hoping to be the next Nicole...but it was hard.  So luckily the owner asked to me work the counter also while I was trying to increase my clientele which brought in a little more money.  

     Almost the same time after I started my job, my Grandparents had another talk with me and it went a little like this "Bridget, you are 18 and it is time for you to move out.  You are a good kid and did nothing wrong but we raised 4 girls of our own and you.  You are very independent and can make it on your own."  I really don't know if I was shocked that I was being kicked out, or happy that I was moving out.  So... with this news, the hunt for a roommate started.  I decided to ask one of the girls that I hung around with in St. Ignace  to be my roommate. I think she was looking for a place to live also.  We ended up moving into a single story very old, 1 bedroom stone house.  I think that the rent was maybe, maybe $400 a month?  It was really cheap and we both could afford it putting both of our earnings together.

     So now we are moved in to our new little place, I am working, I have no idea if the other girl worked or if she just got money from her parents (can't remember).  And  of course the partying began.  We had some pretty good parties.  Let's just say a lot of jungle juice 😎.  I decided to try to go to the community college at that time because well, seems like everyone else was.  That didn't work out too well.  

     After being in the house for probably just over 6 months or so, and my clientele at the shop not increasing, I didn't see too much of a future in Alpena so I made up my mind that it was time for me to pick my stuff up and move to Phoenix.  In my mind and what I told my Grandparents was "I'm moving to Phoenix because I need to help my Mom".  I think I actually had in my mind that I could "fix" my Mom.  

     I told my roommate and she wanted to come with me.  And then one of my best friends who had a full academic scholarship to Michigan State University told us over the phone that we could not leave without her.  Her finals or mid-terms were going to be completed in a week or two and she was coming with us right after she was done.  

     I sold what I could sell, even my little blue citation which in hindsight probably would have been a much more comfortable of a ride to Phoenix.  The three of us packed up what we could fit in a Fiero "trunk"  Between the 3 of us, $700.00, a fold-up paper map all squished up in 2-seated Fiero….let the road-trip of a life-time begin….. 

     Phoenix here we come!  Three young ladies who were truly "wet" behind the ears from small towns in Michigan were ready to take on the world!  Well, at least Phoenix...and the heat!

 

Never Alone

     I watched a series on either Prime, HBO, or Showtime.  It is about a man who worked over 20 years as a Border Patrol Officer when unexpectantly things turned for the worse.  He was trying to help a friend out and he ended up on the other side of the border and in the end he was smuggling drugs into the US so he could get or keep his family out of harms way.  During the series, the man was falling for a beautiful Mexican woman and he states something like "your people are bringing drugs into our country". And she looked at him and says "your country keeps on buying the drugs".  It is a pretty much in-your-face statement that she made.  If our country stopped buying the drugs the people who produced the drugs wouldn't have a reason to bring them to the country.  It’s basic business,  if people are not buying what is being produced or what is being sold, the business will eventually fail. 

     With drugs, it is not only a one-sided story or a single person who is doing bad.  When I first smoked weed when I was like 18 or 19, I didn’t go out looking for it myself, I wasn’t out hunting it down, someone else was smoking it and asked if I wanted to give it a “go”.  With my Mom and her drug addiction, she was never alone.  She always had someone with her or someone to introduce her to the new stuff that would make her feel better.  There is always a person who shows another person who to go to or where to go to get what that person wants to make them feel better.  "I know a guy who knows a guy" type of situation.   All of my life my Mom had a guy who knew a guy or introduced her to the guy.  I know that she didn't or wouldn't put the work in herself to get what she needed.  What she got herself into was usually because a guy took her to what she needed.  She usually can or could coax or talk a person to do something for her.   She had that way about herself.  She used words to people to either pressure or con them into doing something that would better her.  

     Even though she is very guilty of what she did, and she had the choice to do better the addiction was too strong to not make the right choice.  Her addiction was so strong that her choices led her to making unforgivable decisions. Those unforgivable or unforgettable choices were letting all of her kids go for the need and want of the drug.    

   However, when I was growing up and still to this day when I hear how bad Susie was, or that she should rot in the back of a dumpster, I wish those people saying this remind themselves that she wasn’t always alone in the decisions she made.  

 

What next?

 The next few years went by pretty fast.  When my Mom left the last time, my Grandparents decided to adopt me.  My Grandparents had to put an ad in the Alpena news to my Mom and anyone else who may have something to say about my adoption.  I am not really sure the legal reasons why this ad had to be done, but I guess it had to be done.  I remember my Grandpa asked me to sit down at the table because they, being my Grandma and Grandpa, wanted to talk to me about something.  We all sat down at the kitchen table.  Then my Grandpa says with his low voice something like "I think it would be best if we adopted you."  Is that something you would like?  I remember the feeling for just a brief second of "why now?" and “hmmmm....do I really want to be adopted?” And then my Grandpa says that it would help them out financially if I were adopted and they would pay me $50.00 a month if I agreed to it.   After thinking of it more I did feel a little different about being adopted.  How would people think of me?  I knew my Grandpa was adopted and he said people treated him terribly because he was adopted when he was growing up so, as a teenager I wasn't sure how people my age would treat me if they knew about it.  And then I thought, OK if they are going to pay me $50.00 a month...why not?  And then my Grandpa asked me if I wanted to keep my last name Pahlkotter or change it to their last name Green.  I chose to keep my last name because it would be too difficult to explain why my last name changed.  Plus, I was actually really used to my long "odd" last name.  

     The adoption happened, there was no celebration, no new feeling about myself, no new feeling about how I felt about anything.  I still called my Grandparents Grandma and Grandpa, called my Aunts Aunt, and my Mom Mom.  And I think I only received one monthly payment?  I didn't ask about the payment because I just thought that if they wanted to adopt me they probably really needed the money. I actually never brought up the adoption to anyone until I became an adult and had to fill out official paperwork, especially when I married my husband who was in the Military and it was time for me to get a passport. I just recently found out after my Aunt has been bothering me about not believing I was adopted, was my Grandparents never let my Aunts know I was adopted.  From what I gather, my Grandpa didn’t want to let my Aunts know because they would have caused trouble for them and there would have been fights.  Well, the “cause trouble” part came about 30 years late... my Aunt started harassing me this year about my adoption.  Not exactly why she is so torn or worried about it now.  She didn’t really care about my well-being when I was a kid.  

     I continued to work in St. Ignace that summer for the entire summer break. I worked at Big Boy for a while then upgraded to being a waitress at a White Fish restaurant to make more tips/ more money.   I made enough money that year to buy my first car which was a light blue Chevy Citation.  It was pretty funny looking, but it was in excellent condition!  It ran really well and had brand new tires and the interior was in perfect condition.  My friend and I used to call it the "Blue Egg".  I loved it.  It was actually really comfortable also with well-maintained seats.  

     My Junior year in High School was OK.  I wasn't allowed to go back to St. Ignace to work that summer though.  I am not sure why I was not allowed again, I made good money over the summers I worked up there and I didn't need any assistance buying my school clothes.  Just wasn't allowed to go back.

 Just before my senior year, my Grandpa sat me down again at the table and says "I think you should go to beauty school".  He said, you are always doing someone's hair and I can just hear him saying "hell, you would even do my hair".  Yes, there were times I would stand behind my Grandpa and curl his few hairs on his head with my curling iron.  He would just sit there and let me.  It was funny because one time I accidentally burned the top of his head.  He had a big scab on the top of his head for a little while 😄.  He then went on to tell me that I wouldn't have to worry about a job after I graduate and he said it was a successful career.  

     During my Senior year in Beauty School, I was not allowed to drive my own car to school every day because I could not afford the insurance while I was in school.  My Grandparents could not afford to add me to their insurance either.  So, my Grandpa took me to school every morning and drove me home every night.  At 17 years old and at 17 it was so embarrassing to be driven to class every day.  But thank God for Grandpa being a person who always wanted to be early to everything because I was almost always the first one to the school every day before others could see me :) and I made it to class every single day and was one of the first to finish my 1700 hours of training.   The best thing about doing this was that I was able to graduate from both Beauty School and High School at the same time.  The next best thing about this was my Grandpa loved me very much.  He would do things to get on my nerves on the way to school every day but when I think about it now, I wish I could get some of those times back again.  And for this man who had already had 4 girls of his own to raise, a man who was put through the gauntlet with my Mom and her problems to wake up every single morning to take me to school and then drive back to pick me up to ensure that I succeeded in life is pretty incredible.  My Grandpa took me to Detroit to pass the “Boards” to be certified as a cosmetologist.  I actually got offered a job before I graduated from Beauty School as a nail tech at a boutique in the mall.  I still love nails and have my own nails done as a routine.  And I can still do hair, I am not scared to cut my hair, & I still remember how to wrap a perm.

I have carried this around since 1992.  I lost the larger one but carried the wallet size everywhere we moved

     I don’t remember a whole lot of communication with my Mom during a couple of years.  She probably called once in a while from Prison & she did call when I graduated.  That was nice.  

I Got Robbed!

     When I wrote the last blog, I thought I remembered my last memory before my Mom was on her way to prison.  However, this memory slapped me in the brain when I was driving home from an appointment.

     I am not sure if my Mom came back one more time after her stint in rehab or if it was the next year.  I just cannot remember, and I cannot remember which scenarios can exactly put "two-n-two" together.  However, I can remember this particular time that sticks out well, and why I am so protective of my things that I worked hard for and paid for myself.....

     This time when she was home, she knew a trucker.  He was a nice guy.  He was an older man, not anything special; he was just a plain guy that drove rigs.  She did mention one time that she knew him because she has gotten rides from him before.  

     She stayed with us for a little while. I remember taking her to the Alpena Mall to walk her around; the funny thing about this adventure to the great mall (it is actually a tiny mall with about 10 stores 😁) is that I wanted to be seen with her. I wanted someone to see me with my Mom.  I was only known for living with my Grandparents, so I wanted people to know I had a Mom.  I actually thought my Mom was so beautiful.  I wanted people to see my beautiful Mom. Even though a few of her teeth were starting to fall out. There were no people my age that day at the mall.  I didn't get the chance to show her off.  On that visit, she actually got her hair cut also.  She got a crazy haircut; it was what was "in" in the 90s. I think it was an asymmetrical haircut, short and spiky on one side and then got longer as it went around the head.  

     After staying with us for a little while,  she went and lived with the trucker for a little while.  She had a way to seduce and use men who were not real "lookers" and not rich, just ordinary men who worked hard for their money.  She could get these men to give her stuff.  The trucker is one of those guys, basically a good-guy from what I know.  He had his own house, so that was a good thing....right?  She probably got some money from him to get whatever she wanted or needed.  I remember at one time during this visit home, she came back to the house to get a few bags (trash bags) of clothes, and then she was gone. 

     When I looked in my closet later, I noticed that she loaded that trash bag with my clothes!  She filled it with my jeans,  shirts, and sweaters! And then I found that she stole my good boots that were expensive! Expensive for me because I had to work hard for them.  I was pissed!  I was robbed by my damn Mom! It really pissed me off because I worked so hard over the summer to buy those clothes, and I loved those boots!

    To this day, if someone takes anything that is mine without me giving it to them, or if they ruin something that is mine that I worked hard for and earned, I will have a really hard time trusting them again.  

      

What Happened Next?

      What happened next?  The day after I noticed her hands shaking in the bathroom?  My Aunt Angie, her husband Tim, and their daughter came over.  I want to say it was late afternoon because it was still daylight outside and at the time of the year the sun would go down pretty early.  

      My Grandpa had this God-awful looking chair that I think may have been a rocking recliner. The color of the chair was sorta a baby pea puke color with a hint of gold in the stitching of the material. My Grandma put out a nice spread of things to eat.  My Aunt Angie was making a plate for herself and her daughter around the table and my Mom was sitting in my Grandpa's chair (please make a note....not too many people were allowed to sit in his chair).  Everyone was getting some food and my Grandma asked my Mom if she was going to get something to eat.  My Mom says she wasn't feeling too well so she wasn't going to eat anything at that time.  Before you know it, you hear a whoomp! My Mom actually fell over in the chair, she laid on the floor still sitting in the chair however, the back of the chair was on the floor and her legs were facing the ceiling.  

     We rushed her to the ER in Alpena.  They took my Mom back and the only thing I could remember hearing was that the nurse was trying to find a vein due to my Mom's veins in her arms were actually calloused overdue to the drug use.  They needed to find the vein or a good vein because  she needed to be rehydrated and possibly something else to lessen the side effects of withdrawal.  I think this is when she found out that she, or maybe more like “we” her family found out that she was infected with Hepatitis C.  When you look up how a person gets Hep C., basically it is like AIDS, most common transmittal of the disease is from sharing needles or from unprotected sex, & at that time there was not a medicine to cure or reduce the affects of the disease.  Basically a person will eventually die.  

     I don't remember if she came home or if she went directly to a rehab home in Traverse City.  I do know she went to rehab first and then onto a half-way house to assist with  transitioning  her from drug use to a "normal" life without drugs and maybe how to be a successful productive sober member of society.   The house did have a curfew and there were rules and regulations that needed to be abided by.  I don't remember visiting when she was in the rehab home however, she was successful in completing the entire rehab.  I do remember visiting her a couple of times while she was at the half-way house.  She did make a friend of a young girl that was just a year or two out of high school. I remember this because when I went to visit my Grandma brought up to my Mom that I was asked to go to prom.  The girl said that she had a prom gown I could borrow because she had just worn it a few years ago to her prom.  (please see the previous post about this memory and myself going to prom 😉)

     I believe my Mom was actually kicked out of the halfway house because she left when she was not supposed to. Basically, there is only one-strike-and-your-out bylaws.  She didn't come home after this occasion because the next time I remember hearing from her was when she was back in Phoenix.  After this occasion, there were not any real visits with my Mom for a few years.  The same ol' phone calls, a few collect calls from a penitentiary and then a couple from Prison in Arizona.  The prison was actually outside of Phoenix.  I know it was past the Good Year area but cannot remember exactly where.  

     With all of the different stints in jails over the years, I guess finally caught up to her and she was prisoned for 2-3 years (can't remember the actual sentence) for breaking her parole. 

Withdrawal

      I had to think really hard I will use this next memory and when it happened. I couldn't remember if it was when I was 14 or 15. I do remember it was after I started my job at Big Boy (I almost spelled it at Big Boys with the 'S" because that is how we pronounce it in Michigan😏) restaurant in St. Ignace.  After thinking about it for a while I figured out that I was 15 and a Sophomore in Highschool because I started working at Big boy the summer when I was 14, just getting ready to turn 15.  I also remember the age of this particular visit because I was asked to go to the prom.  And this prom was was my sophomore year.   

       I don't think it was during Christmas time, like I said before I don't recall her coming home during Christmas or spending a Christmas celebration with us.  It was probably in February or March? When she came home this time, it was still very cold out.  On this visit home, she brought one suitcase and I don't remember a man with her this time.  I remember her coming into the house with the one suitcase and she was allowed to sleep in my aunt's room because my Aunt had married and moved out by then.  My Aunt's room was was actually quite a bit bigger than my room and it had burnt orange carpeting (it was the 80s when we moved in) I was always jealous of my aunt's room because it was closer to the living room and basically warmer. My room was at the end of the hallway of our double-wide house (now referred to as "manufactured home") and my aunt's room was at the beginning of the hallway.  We had a wood stove in the house and my grandpa would put a fan in the back of the woodstove to help push the warm air down the hallway. With my room and my Grandparent's room at the end of the hallway, we didn't get too much of the warm air.  I think I had around four blankets piled on me at night to keep me warm.  Later I got a heated waterbed that helped to keep me warm. 

    I cannot remember what color that suitcase was for the life-of-me however,  I do remember what she had in the suitcase.  She came home very very unhealthy skinny this time and when she unloaded her suitcase I remember she pulled out tall high heels and little what-I-call Bobbysocks which had lace that went around the ankles. The high heels were platform heels with probably a 5-inch high heel. She had some other stockings that were a little bit sexy and of course just a few other things such as her makeup and probably personal items...she was always concerned about her make-up, her Baby Soft perfume for you, and those shoes.  It was funny because at that time I pulled out the shoes and I asked "what kind of shoes are these?" she looked at me and said, "what baby those are just my high heels that's all,  I love my high heels" now if people knew my mom when she was in Michigan my mom didn't wear high heels that damn high too often and those shoes actually looked like "hooker heels" and they basically went with the little bobbysocks you know that hookers wore. From the looks of the contents of her suitcase, she literally brought everything she owned and nothing more.  Right then and there, I knew that my mom was doing things that she was not supposed to be doing on the corner of Van Buren and wherever in Phoenix to get whatever amount of money it took to get to the drugs she was using.  I knew there was something more going on because of her how skinny she was.

    I remember she went to the bathroom and of course, I followed,  she gave me big hug. My mom always had great hugs. She put all of her warmth into her hugs.  (My entire family are good huggers) I remember a lot of her hugs, I can still remember the smell she had with the hugs.  She would have on her leather jacket and I would be able to smell the mixture of leather, cool cigarettes, and her Baby Soft perfume.  This time was a little different with her hug...I could feel her clavicle, scapular bones, ribs, and spine very well. She was so so skinny. She was so skinny that one time she did ask me if she could wear a pair of my jeans (acid washed with a zipper & bow at the ankle) and at that time I think I wore size 1 or  3 and the jeans were way too baggy for her 5'7" frame.  That's how thin she was. 

     The same time we were in the bathroom, I noticed her hands were shaking really bad so I asked her why her hands were shaking. She looked right at me without flinching or trying to think about how to answer and said "I'm going through withdrawal baby" The way she said it was like it was a "normal" thing. There wasn't any waiver in her telling me, no sitting down and explaining what was happening to her. Just point blank as if everyone knew what she was going through like it was a normal everyday thing!  Of course, I actually had absolutely no idea what-in-the-world withdrawal was!  I had no idea......but, the next day I found out exactly what withdrawal is.  

Addiction

      

ADDICTION is defined as:

" 1.  a compulsive, chronic, physiological, or psychological need for a habit-forming substance, behavior, or activity having harmful physical, psychological, or social effects and typically causing well-defined symptoms (such as anxiety, irritability, tremors, or nausea) upon withdrawal or abstinence: the state of being addicted

2.   a strong inclination to do, use, or indulge in something repeatedly"  (www.merriam-webster.com)
     There are several forms of addiction and some people feel that one addiction may not be as "harmful" as another due to the idea of how the addiction can harm a person's body physically, psychologically, or might hurt others.  
     There are several forms of addiction: drugs, alcohol, gambling, food, sex, etc.  How or why does one become addicted?  Basically, the want or craving a person has is due to the chemical imbalance in the brain called dopamine.  This is a "good" feeling a person feels when they do or an action and the person always wants or craves that "good" feeling.  The feeding the addiction allows a person's brain to NOT feel the uncomfortableness they may be feeling.  Feeding that addiction gives the person a "calm" in their life.  DNA (family genes) is also a factor in whether or not a person may be prone to addiction or may have an addictive personality.  Addictions that come from genetics may be present in every generation of a family member i.e., father to daughter, daughter to grandson, etc. or the addiction gene may skip a generation such as father to granddaughter.   
    With my Mom, I believe she did have the gene which made her addicted.  It may be the gene from my Great Grandfather on my Mom's side.  From what I have been told by my Grandma is that my Great Grandpa Ciupka was a "drunk" he would drink and then become very mean to his wife and kids.  But, as I got older and my Grandpa got older and as I put two-and-two together I can see how maybe it would have come from his genes also.  My Grandpa had a very bad back and had surgeries for his back, he also had a terrible time with his hands and pain in his hands which turned into what is now called "trigger finger" I think he also had Rheumatoid arthritis.  As he aged I would see and hear that he "needed" pain medication such as Norco.  But again, growing up he never drank too much, take too much aspirin.  But I do know his pain was very real and maybe he did want to suppress the pain.  
     As I may have said in a different post, my Mom broke her back in gymnastics when she was young and of course given pain meds.  And she also was pained with no longer being the "baby" of the family after my Aunt Angie was born.  For 11 years she was the "baby".  All attention on Susie.  Just from those two examples of what happened to my Mom, a person can now see how a person who is genetically prone to having an addiction will become an addict.  I am sure she was thinking "What can make me feel better both physically and emotionally with the changes that have all-of-the-sudden popped up in my life?  Pain meds take the physical pain I have in my back away and the "stronger" stuff will take the emotional pain away."  Right?  
     In the 60s and 70s, when my Mom was in her pre-teen and teen years, there may not have been as much science or studies where people would have known about addition.  Or spoke about addiction even though during the Hippie era drugs were big.  Now-a-days  you can find out what you want to know about anything by just looking it up on the intranet.  Back then, and still now, "addicts are bad people, they are dirty, they are trouble makers" they were embarrassing.  I mean when you think about it, there was actually Cocaine in Coke!  
     I found out not too long ago while speaking to my Grandma, the first time my Mom was involved with drugs was when she came home from the park at 12 years old via Police escort due to having possession of marijuana.  Now, the subject of marijuana (weed) use  and weed being an "gateway" drug which can lead to harder drugs, which can easily kill a person, and then eventually become a terrible addiction is often a subject of disagreement or maybe even controversary.  Some folks who utilize weed as a "social" drug such as social drinkers do not look or have the urge to have a "better" high and move on to harder drugs such as crack, cocaine, meth, opiods, or heroin.  I smoked weed a few times when I was young and never had the feeling of wanting more.  In fact I didn't really enjoy the way it made me feel or how it altered my thinking.  BUT, I truly believe if a person has to smoke weed when they wake up, need it when they go to work, or need it when they end the day every day the person is addicted to marijuana.  That is what I think.
    I don't know what stages my Mom went from using pills or weed to fulfill that "good" feeling it gave her to the harder drugs. I don't know if she went in stages from weed to coke to crack to whatever.  I do know that she and the men she was with throughout the years were following or chasing the drugs. I don't know who introduced or how she was introduced to heroin or even how a person would think sticking a needle in your arm to get high was OK.  I don't know what age she was.  But she did.  And I remember exactly when she was a full blown addict and when she was maybe, just maybe at her lowest.   

     

The Windy Road-Long Rapids

      I want to say I was around 11 or 12? Again, I try to keep my memories in order but sometimes when thinking about them, I cannot really remember my age or what order they occurred.  I think sometimes I combined the memories also.  My Mom came home again and of course with another man (I think?).  To tell you the truth, the amount of times my Mom has come and gone from our house throughout the years by hitch-hiking from Michigan to Arizona or California is actually incredible.  It is incredible because it is a long way to walk and hitch a ride and it is incredible that she didn't show up dead.  I am sure some things may have happened, or someone tried to do something bad to her throughout her many hitch-hiking adventures.  But again, with her little spurts of violence (downright crazy violence) I am not fully sure someone would actually do something to her. Plus she was very strong.  So if someone tried, they would probably get a good fight. This man that showed up this time was not allowed to stay at our house, I think my Grandparents really didn't like this one.   He was tall, skinny, with dark skin and bushy curly hair.  

     This part is a little confusing for me so I know it may be confusing for you...When I speak about the men she came home with, a lot of these moments were when I was  9, 10, or maybe 11.  When I put two and two together, I truly think it was during the time she was with my sibling's Dad.   I know she spent a lot of time during that 3-year span in Michigan in the Lansing area.   She came home to Alpena more often during this time span to visit. Plus she had Tess in Arizona and a picture of the two of them while in California.....Therefore, they traveled to and from California and maybe a few pit-spots in Phoenix because they did know some friends, not-so-good friends in Phoenix.  

     Anyhow, she was home, and she did not have a man with her but she did come home with a man, not sure where he went.  During the visit, the man was arrested. For what?  I did not know. This is what my memory serves me. I do remember someone was picked up because she was very off, very nervous (she usually acted pretty nervous but I am not sure if it was withdrawal or not).  During her visit, my Mom, my Aunt Angie, Grandma, and I were driving home from town.  My Grandma drove a butter yellow Chevy Impala.  You know the ones that had a full seat in front so three people could sit in the front seat? That is the car we were driving home in.  My Mom sat in the back seat with me.  My Grandma was driving and my Aunt was on the passenger side. My Grandma drove fast..." like a bat-outta-hell" my Grandpa usually would say, down the Long Rapids road.  It felt like it was fast back then and it was a windy two-lane road surrounded by woods.  We didn't have to wear seat belts so the windiness would make the ride home a little more adventurous!  If I could take you to the Long Rapids road, I would be able to tell you exactly where this happened.  As we were driving, we see a man walking down the road on the dirt shoulder and as soon as we starting approaching him, which was pretty quickly because my Grandma drove fast, my Mom leans into the window and follows him with her head as we pass him.  I can see this happening to this day.  It was sunny, with so much green in the trees.  We were all happy.  

We all knew who that man was, even I knew that feeling of "uh, oh".

     We got home, probably about 20 minutes after we got home my Mom says she wants to go to the corner store.  The Male's store.... everyone went to the Male's store to pick up this or that and kids would ride their bikes there to get candy or pop.  She grabbed my Grandma's bike (it was a cruiser style of bike, reminded me of the bike the lady rode at the beginning of the Wizard of Oz), no one could stop her because she was a grown woman and she was going to do what she wanted to do one way or another. Now, I had no idea my Mom was such an athlete to be able to #1 ride a bike, and #2 ride the single-speed bike to the store.  Now I do know though that she did have the endurance, she was always able to walk several miles to hitch a ride to-and-from the West Coast!

      An hour later, my Mom never returned.  My Grandpa went to the store to see where she was.  No Susie.  My Grandpa drove around a little bit in the direction it would take her to leave our area and leave Alpena....No one on foot anywhere.   There were only two directions to leave and the next main roads to get out of Alpena and from the house we lived in was a good 10-15 miles away!  Gone....and the man my Mom found so interesting walking on the road....gone..... disappeared.  We couldn't figure out how they even hitched a ride that quickly out of the area we lived!  We lived in the country, folks stuck to themselves in our area and wouldn't think of picking someone they didn't know especially picking up a hitch-hiker.  Gone......Again.....  My Grandpa went back to the store a day or so later and asked Mr. Male if he had seen a bike and Mr. Male said there was one underneath the Thunderbay River overpass bridge right by the store.  It was still there, no one took it.  My Grandpa brought it home and it looked as though nothing happened.  A few days after my Mom calls us from Phoenix.  Whatever she brought with her this trip she didn't take with her.  Only maybe a purse which she would have taken to actually buy something at the store if she took that.  

**   About 2 weeks ago I spoke to my Grandma about how she felt about my blog.  She brought up this memory also and told me what she remembered:  She said one day my Mom told my Grandma that her back was hurting her and she needed to go to the doctor.  (Remember she had a bad back due to her gymnastics accident when she was a kid, and always thought she needed the pain pills....or that was her excuse)  From what my Grandma remembers, she and the man went to a doctor and when the doctor left the exam room they stole a prescription pad.  They wrote out prescriptions for whatever they were trying to get and then tried to get the so-called prescription filled at one of the local pharmacies.  Well, long story short...they got caught and put in Jail.  "The man" had someone bail him out and of course, my Mom got out. I think when he was walking down the road he may have been coming to find her.  

  

 

Invasion? Jealousy? Envy? or just pure hate?

      As I have stated before, I was brought to the Green household when I was a toddler, 2 years old.  I do remember visiting my Mom in her house throughout my younger years, I remember certain things like her having a wooden cable spool table which was stained with a very dark stain, her burning incense, and I have a really strong memory of her taking a bubble bath and calling me to come into the bathroom while she was in the bath.  I have no idea what she wanted, but this is an odd thing I remember.  I do know I was visiting her long enough for her to pierce my ears with a needle.  I don't remember it being done but my Grandma did tell me all about how she had to add another piece of string every day to make the hole bigger, basically re-piercing my ears over and over.  Now holes are basically a slit in my ear (age does this 😏)

     I think that the idea of me joining the Green household really must have had an impact on my aunt Angie.  She was eight years older than I was so there was a little bit of an age gap, just enough to maybe get the "invasion" feeling.

     I don't remember a whole lot of problems of course before elementary school but as I got older she got more mean.  I did get in trouble it seemed like a lot when growing up.  I don't know exactly what I did wrong when I would get in trouble especially prior to the teenage years but I did get in trouble.  I didn't get spanked on my butt growing up however, I would be slapped across the face quicker than myself actually getting the "B" out of my mouth for the word "But".   I really don't remember doing things to get myself in trouble.  I probably made a face I was not supposed to make at the time, or just didn't get up fast enough when I was a teen.  I do know I had a messy room.  That got me in a lot of trouble.

     As I got older, I would see my Aunt would get everything she wanted from my Grandparents, she had a special bond with my Grandma, she would be given dogs to show, she would go to dog training and the shows with my Grandma, she would do ceramics with my Grandma, do arts and crafts with my Grandma, etc. and when she needed money my Grandpa would give her money whenever she wanted.  When it was time to do chores, I would have to get up, do my chores and "get outside, I don't want to smell you in the house!".  That is usually when I went into the woods to make a fort or go across the street to fish or hang out with the Wymans across the street.  However, my aunt was able to hang out inside the house and bake or whatever she did with my Grandma.  Saying all of these things makes me sound like I was a little jealous, doesn't it?  Of course, I was!

     I was jealous because I was told over and over again "Bridget I will always be honest with you, you are not my daughter, you are my granddaughter"  Now, to my Grandma during that time it sounds very good, to be honest, and not leave anything behind or out of the story?  But it really wasn't good to the child that actually felt she was "not a daughter". And to be reminded that I was Susie's daughter, time and time again.  I looked just like Susie so I guess that is why I was reminded I was Susie's daughter.

     As I said earlier, my Aunt got crueler to me and would belittle me as I got older.  It seemed to me as though she took every chance she could to slap me and send me to my room when my Grandparents were not at home, and took each of those slap moments and tacked on a "you are just like your Mom!" insult.  But as soon as my Grandparents would get home I would be in trouble one more time because  my side of the story really didn't matter.  It was back to my room I go.

     One thing about what my Aunt did get right when she would say "you are just like your Mom!" or when I would hear her say "She is just like Susie", is that I had the temper of my Mom. From what I am told my Mom actually threw one of my Aunts through a screen door and jumped through a kitchen window to chase one of my Aunts down the driveway when they pissed her off.  I would see that temper later in life when some of the "fits" she would have would come to life.   My temper decided to show up when my friend Kristy was over to play, and for some reason, she got mad at me, sent Kristy home, and took me into the bathroom to yell at me and she slapped me across the face....hard.  My Aunt was a big girl compared to me, she probably weighed around 170 lbs at the time and I was small.  To me, she was very big. I got up, looked at her, and slapped her back, and told her that that was the last time she would slap me.  She went down to her knees in the bathroom, put her face in her hands, started balling big crocodile tears and yelling how terrible I was, and again, I was just like Susie!  Of course, as soon as my Grandparents came home, they didn't hear my side of the story.  Only Angie's.  

     That wasn't the last time she caught my temper.  There was a time when my Mom came home, I was around 15 or 16, I was very protective of my Mom and what people said about her, Angie said something to me and the story I was told was I took one of the dining room chairs over my head and went after my Aunt with it.  I believe my Mom was the one who stopped me.  I was actually so angry that time I blacked out during the incident and can't remember any portion of the chair lifting incident.  

     The bathroom incident was the last time Angie laid a hand on me.  However, she was still mean...mean....mean....mean!  For some reason, I felt as though I was completely hated or she was just disgusted by me.   But now that I think about it, maybe she was just jealous because I invaded her space? 

Christmas Time

Christmas eve was always good in the Green (My Grandparent's last name) household. The leading-up feeling to Christmas had me excited every year! Everything from my Grandpa complaining about having to bring the tree in, it being too tall and having to trim it, him complaining because he had to climb into the attic to get the decorations down....a whole lot of mumbling curse words while he was on a ladder to bring everything down. And then of-course being forced to sit on Santa's lap who and which I was so extremely scared of, to watching my Grandma and Aunt Angie baking cookies and make candies made it so exciting!

My Aunt Jean and Uncle Larry would come for Christmas eve and bring my cousins I think almost every year that I could remember. I think when my Aunt Mamie and Uncle Pete lived in Osseneke, MI, she would come on Christmas eve but I can't really remember them being there. I know when they moved to Traverse City they wouldn't come for Christmas, the visits would be very rare. Once-in-awhile my Grandma's siblings would come by on Christmas eve, if they would come out it would be my Uncle Bob and Aunt Darlene. We lived in a double-wide, it wasn't a very big house which made it feel like it was packed during the celebration. My Grandma would make dinner and about five different pies to fill my uncle's stomach until they would almost burst. The food and drinking a lot of beer would have everyone pretty stuffed.

After dinner, my Grandpa would take all of us kids out for a ride to find Rudolph! And of course, we found him. It was a blinking light in the sky everyone could see when there was a clear night because it was actually the airport light that would blink. The route he would take would be a loop so we actually wouldn't see Rudolph until the very end of the ride and after we saw him we would go back home.

Once we were back home we would see footprints from the snow in the living room and the tree would be packed with presents... Santa would have come to the house and not only would it be presented for me and my Aunt Angie but Santa would have stopped and dropped off gifts for my cousins also prior to him stopping at their house in the city when they returned home.

After all of the gifts were opened and the kids were playing with the gifts and just playing whatever they were playing and like clock-work, we would get a phone call from my Mom. This is when the long-distance phone calls would be "collect" calls. When the person calling didn't have enough money, or probably with my Mom's case she was calling from a payphone, the person on the receiving end of the call would have to pay for the phone call. I have no idea how much the collect phone calls were but I do remember what a big stink my Aunts would make when my Mom called and the complaints about how much money she was costing them. "Why does Susie always have to ruin Christmas?" I would hear from them. And then I would get the phone and hear "Hi baby girl!" "I miss you!" "I love you!" usually some other types of niceties in-between those statements which were her norm. I don't ever remember getting the collect call "will you accept the charges" from whatever jail she was in during Christmas. My Aunts (usually Angie) would say "what did she say? What did she want?" I think the only response I would give is a shoulder shrug and then move on to playing again.

Even though the phone call was a nuisance for folks sitting in the living room or maybe an annoyance, I actually liked the phone calls. I was reminded later in my 30s when my aunts would complain about the phone calls. They had no idea how it made a young girl who was missing her Mom feel hearing those comments every year.

I believe there may be only one Christmas she was home. I don't remember myself actually enjoying Christmas time with her.  I only have a photo. And the only reason why I think this is Christmas time is due to the homemade decorations hanging from the ceiling.

                                       1979: My Grandma, My Mom, My Aunt Jeanie (behind my Mom), My Aunt Mamie in the front