my maternal grandmother wrote this note to me during the hardest times of my adult life.  i had checked into a psych ward at Stanford and wasn’t eating.  just a fetal position.  all that was happening was my breathe, in and out.  the funny part is that i was bribed into eating very easily.  looking back, i’d bet Jeff had thought of a possible solution.  my roomie brought in one of those huge bags of peanut m&ms.  i was sneaking some, one at a time.  after a while the roomie came back and gave me the bag, claiming she didn’t want any anymore.  thus was i brought back. actually looking back, friends and food have saved me more than once.  aymi brought me back with a banana.   my mom brought me back when i was 3 with a chocolate frosted donut. i haven’t had any of those massive depressions that lasted very long, yes, a caveat.  after The Talk between H and I when i thought we were over for sure was almost as intense as any other psych pain i’d had.   food did not bring me back that time.  it was much better when i was collected.  i got pissed.  healthier i think.  *rueful laff*. anyway, there’s part of the note my granny wrote me, post M&Ms, i’ll post the rest later, when it chooses to pop back up. My dear Minikin,

Last night I wrote you a long letter of my memories and thoughts.  This is Tuesday morning and I want to remind you of some of the good times we have had.  and excuse my writing as I do not have my new glasses yet which perfects the way I can see in every aspect.  I know there does appear to be lines on this paper, but they seem so dim, it’s hard to keep right on it.  I see beautifully for most any subject now.  Then to my arthritic thumb and forefinger which holds my pen is so misshapen that i do not always make the exact move I plan to make.  Well, anyway, can you remember the Easter Egg Hunt at Aunt June and Uncle Ed Roger’s up at Sacramento on Easter?  That was a fun day, I thought.  and we made so many lovely trips to the mountains and beaches.  Do you remember “Bear Mountain” and the train ride and picnic there?  Aunt Lois was also with us.  And I believe Louis was a baby that year.  I can’t recall for certain, or was Pam very young yet?  Anyway I think you would remember that.  Do you remember when we went to the big Beach Park in Santa Cruz (is that the right name?) and you girls walked in the edge of the water.  And we bought some big bags of popcorn.  And somebody’s popcorn got to leaking out of the bottom and you thought we out to stop and pick it all up? That’s the way I remember it.  I think it was solved by a grown up holding that bag and twisting up the bottom.  And you had such a lovely home in Livermore and the year it was so gorgeous with roses and shrubs and flowers and grass. Lucile Deacon 

The Partridge Family: They are neither birds nor a famly - Discuss.

A Day in the Life

It began with rising from my celibate bed
Added a cuppa and a logon to the wild
And wonderful world of the internet
Where my handle is Sappho Me
So lots of Queers do.

A hot sandalwood bath
With dreams of my lover
Sliding between my legs
Of her soapy hands stoking me to solace.

Bike wings flying me
to campus were all our iridescent chalking
of sidewalks has been washed away
the word Dyke being found too offensive
by the University President

personally, I think it was
the message, “there are over 1,750 queer students
on this campus!” in front of his office
that freaked him out.

We’ve been informed that we will pay
For the labor involved
In scrubbing the sidewalks pristine
White and crystal clear.

The fledging avengers
Climbed the mountain and gleefully
Laid a pink triangle the size
Of a Boeing jet upon the side
Facing the campus.

It was up for 90 minutes
Oh, and we’re paying to get that hidden too.
But it was worth it!
Laughter ran across the valley
As intoxicating as the wind.

Standing, crying, goose bumpy
As I listened to the queers
Shout into the microphone
At the quad and green hills
Where 1700 of us
Hid like Waldos between the buildings.

And I spun suddenly as was a breath away
From a stunningly beautiful woman
My breath caught
As I realized I was close enough to kiss her
And I wanted to, desperately.

She laughed deep and easy
At my wonder and turned away.
I smiled, fervently murmuring, “wow!”
As her sweet ass swayed sough
For the summer

4/27/95

[short bio of me. I am 47, middle sister of 6 kids. all of us, except for a brother, were beaten and raped regularly. My mother knew and never stopped it. More about me later.

I received this letter from my maternal grandmother after she died. I was too grief stricken to read it then, so I gave it to my older sister, Laura. I asked her to hold onto it for me until I was ready to read it. Then I promptly forgot about it. *whooops and chagrins*. 22 years later, Laura came across the letter and gave it to me to read. Laura will be mentioned in this letter a great deal.

A short bio of Laura: She is my half sister, we share a birth mother. She is 8 years older than I. She was my mother surrogate. She has saved my life, not to mention my pain beyond count.

A short bio of my grandmother: My gramma had one child, my mother.

Thank GOD she loved us. laura and i both lived because of that deep love. It's unfortunate that she didn't seem to realize there were options, such as calling CPS].

Short bio of my dad: He and my mother always told us how well we were raised compared to our dad’s childhood. He was raped and beaten and left for dead many times by his uncles (we never met them or their famillies.

Monday Night
My sweet Minikin, [in case you don't know, I'm Minikin.]

Your sweet letter came today. It’s very difficult for me to know the full stories of the life of you girls at home. And I’m sorry – I hardly know how to tell you of what I knew and did not know. You see I’d never known in my own experience of any such things. And it was not in my thinking to suspect it even for so long in others.

When I was there in 1964, I did not know it, but Laura was also a victim at 5 years old and on. But I did not know that. Laura gave me a poem she wrote and it was a bit weird and seemed to have undertones of fear and despair. About a year or two later you also wrote me one about the girl who was so sad. You may not recall it. You seemed to be trying to tell me something, but I even asked you and you said it was just a poem.

Not until one year in your home later did I think of things not seeming right in the “atmosphere” and I asked Linda was anything wrong? She said she was having extra trouble with Willis. She led me to think beside his drinking it was another woman. I noticed she was so violent in her whippings. I told her to cut it out while I was there. And I didn’t want it ever! There needed to be less shouting and knocking around and some more firm and sensible talking with you all about things. She said that I was just putting her down. She could not see I was in my own way, trying to help her, onto a right way. But she was real childish about it and I know none of us like much of even “constructive” criticism and given in love. It is often too painful to face our own short comings and what the facts are. We can’t face facts.

The year that Willis actually raped Laura when she was near 13. And Linda was afraid she (Laura) might be pregnant. Did I do some wondering. I did not know at that time what was going on. And Laura was up at Floyd and Elaine’s and Elaine and Floyd told me she cried all the time and asked them to pray for her. But we did not actually know what was going on as Laura knew how rough it might be for her if she did tell. I’ve always thought she told Aunt Lois one year when she was there. Because t about this time a lot of things happened. The school demanded, as I remember, that Willis, Linda and Laura all be in counseling. When I was there after Christmas once, she was (Laura was telling me) saying how she cried when she had been asked to play the part of Mother Mary, Mary of Jesus in the Christmas program. And she didn’t feel she was a fit person to do it and she told them she couldn’t and cried so they didn’t know what to do about it all. And I began to pry a bit but she never opened up. When I said I thought it would be an honor. But she said she didn’t feel fit to be. And I could not satisfy my mind on that and didn’t know for quite a while. Finally Laura told me her first molestation was when she was five. To tell you the honest truth I never thought of you father bothering his own children. I had an idea he felt Laura was not his and he could use her or mistreat her and it would not matter. And after she lived at Sally and Romans I wondered and I felt disturbed that Willis took you and Wilma to Tucson with him. Never a word has been said about Wilma’s being molested by him. But I suppose she was. And why did Linda send you two with him, I’ll never understand. Other things I did not know was that Laura was waylaid, as I now understand, by a black man as she left the hospital in Livermore one night after work there and was raped by him. And soon after when she found herself pregnant she (and I suppose David), both were afraid she might have a black baby. What a time Laura and David had. It is almost by logical coincidence. It’s beyond measure to think about. I did not know this until after Ronnie was born. And she was with me those 90 days when David could not have her in his early training in the Air Force. And she was so ill and had a stroke and kidney and liver problems and I had to get her to a specialist in Little Rock. The Dr. thought she could lose the pregnancy or die and ordered them to let David come to be with her, which he did, ad she did get able to come back and sty with me and later go to stay with me and later go to him in Texas. And she never discussed what was on her mind. I knew later that she couldn’t stand to tell me, and worry me with it. But think it might have relieved the pressure for her, had she talked. And I could have been more comfort. She had their baby among strangers and got him to their apartment. And he soon went through that “crib death syndrome” and she managed to get him breathing again and then went to pieces. And she called me and I went at once by plane and stayed a month. And she had fainting spells sometimes. Just quietly out and passing out. From then on they looked for trouble in her head buy you may recall that it was some time later before it was discovered she had a tumor in her skull which was crowding the arteries in her head and causing “short circuits.” Finally she got that out and Dorothy went out and staid a little while and Margaret went and staid 10 days or so and she finally got some better. Then David was moved out to California. And it’s a long story. Then each of you have your own memories of pain. I hope Louis has not been molested by woman or man. He seems like a real person. Maybe he has a chance to be free of bitter memories. He seems great. I pray for him, as I’ve always prayed and loved you. And I love each of one of you so dearly. I feel I can’t die and leave here until you are all settled. Isn’t that strange? Even if I was to go on ahead, I’m sure you could feel my spirit and concern always and be thankful we’ve known each other so well.

When LaNell was sleeping with me last summer she did some talking. She does seem to be able to accept that Willis had a poor life while young and he really had no idea how to show parental love and had a mix up of “sex was love.” But she told me and I may be should not repeat it, that she never could forgive her mom for putting up with all this and allowing it to keep happening. And disbelieving when she was told and beating her for it all. One time when I was there visiting in Livermore and came to sleep in the same room with her, she became awakened and she didn’t seem to know just what was going on. And I hugged her and told her I loved her and was just coming to bed and she said, “are they coming with that big, black belt?” and I said “No, they’re not, honey. You are having a bad dream, I guess.” Later I knew where hat was coming from. But LaNell does seem to be quite well adjusted in life. She told me that even with “Moe” not working his peculiarities, he was a gentle, kind, person and had actually helped her about living a life without so much rowdiness and drinking, etc. And she was trying to even quit smoking. I hope and pray for her. He is from such a different culture and I am wondering how it would all work out. But I love her and each of us have grown into our maturity and move out on our own lives and salvation. No one can do it for us really. But of course there is lots of help and comfort in good loving, kind friends, and family. An remember you are as precious in God’s sight as anyone is. And you can look at yourself and say, “I’m one of God’s children and there may be others who have had some things better than I, but with gods help and the help of a sweetheart, (and me!) Granny. I’ll make it! Everyone has their own problems, if we only knew. Maybe same or very different, but to me life was sweet. In all ages there is joy and compensations. My mother told me one time, “There will always be people who will have more than you, and people who have less, and be glad if you have a roof over your head and enough to eat and soap to keep clean with, and something to do, there’s always something to do. Even if it is in our own homes or in volunteer work for others, etc. Life can be beautiful. Of course I’ve lived past my young hard times. And one learns. And I’m from an optimistic family and from staunch happy Christians. That all helped me. We never subscribed to the stiff way of live, which some call religion. I believe real Christian living is love and caring and joy. Christ taught that. He attended parties and weddings and visited the people regardless if humble. Can you began to imagine what it has done to me sometimes, to know about your lives of pain and what a daughter of mine did. It could of nearly killed me. But all it did was give me many sleepless hours and time for meditation and good books and studies and of course, here I never let on. What good would it have done anyone? So all friends here know nothing from me.

Minikin, you may want to put this under a faucet, in a pan and burn it, or not, as you please.

Hi and love to dear Jeff. Love to everyone, Gran

I witnessed a murder. The killer knows it. I try to hide. I’m ok for a few days and believe I’m safe.

Then I wake up from a deep sleep. I’m covered with blankets and pillows on my bed. I can’t breathe, and I’m having to fight to get the pillows and blankets off. I’m screaming silently, not enough air to do more. Finally, I get them off and take a deep breath. But the murderer is there and he sees I’m awake. He is scouring my room, where he did the murder, filling up plastic garbage bags with my stuff.

When he sees me awake, he grabs a thin syring, like the kind diabetics use, and stabs me quickly with it. Yet, I have time to feel terror, to try to scream again before I go under.

Again I come too. The killer is holding my left hand delicately, gently scraping under each of my fingernails. I can see the bloody streaks on his check, and despite the horror of the situation, I almost laugh with glee. Got you, fucker!!

Then I feel and smell my skin charring. He has something like a long curling iron. He’s sealing shut the plastic rope i’m wrapped in. I fight hard again, but no luck. I stop struggling and try to talk to him. At first he totally ignores me, but then he tilt his head, like a parrot with black glittering eyes appraising a bit of a raisin. I say,”look, just totally knock me out, so I have no pain or fear, and I will stop fighting. Please I beg you, you’re burning me, please knock me out.”

The thin syring comes out again. A small prick, and I start to feel my brain numbing, one hemisphere at a time. My right brain feels my left brain going numb, dead, and I have time to think, “wow, this is how we die, one piece of a brain at a time!”

But I can’t go under all the way, the trip downward stops. I beg him for more. He considers again, as he’s kind of having fun hurting me. But after a short, curt nod, I feel one last prick. I’m swirling down, I know I will never wake again. Part of me is crying, but another part of me is just relieved that it’s all over.

He never speaks. He looks alot like a young Tim Curry. But I’m gone.

Yes, this recipe calls for yeast, but honest, it’s pretty easy! And that yeast taste in bread that has risen and massaged by you, is a work of love and antici………………..pation!

Preheat oven to 375 degrees
This makes about 20 rolls

Basic Sweet Roll Dough:
1t plus 1/4 sugar
1/4C warm water
1 (1/4 oz) pkg active dry yeast
1C milk (room temp or just slightly warmed)
1 egg
1/2t salt
4T butter, melted
3 1/2 to 4 1/2C flour (i had to use about 4 1/2 cups)

Apple Cinnamon Filling
4T butter, melted
1/3C sugar
1t cinnamon
1C cooked dried apples, or fresh apples

Glaze
2 1/2C powdered sugar
4T apple juice (or milk)

combine 1t sugar, 1/4C warm water, and packet of yeast
stir to mix and then set aside until bubbly
grease (or butter) 9″ cake pans or a 9 x 13″ baking pan
In large bowl, combine the 1/4C sugar, milk, egg, salt and the 1/4C melted butter
mix well
Add 1C of flour mixture, all of egg mixture, and all of yeast mixture
mix well

Gradually add enough of the remaining flour to make a slightly firm dough
(at this point you’ll need to start using your hands to mix the dough firmly)
on a lightly floured surface, knead the dough until it is smooth. This will probably take about 4-5 minutes.
Shape the dough into a ball
place into a large oiled bowl
turn dough so that all surfaces are lightly oiled
cover and allow to rise in a wam place for about an hour, or until dough has doubled in bulk
punch down and roll into a 10×14 rectangle
brush the dough with melted butter
combine the 1/3C sugar and cinnamon
sprinkle evenly over the dough and top with apples
roll the dough jelly-roll style, starting with the 14″ side
pinch edges to seal
carefully stretch the dough to about 18″
cut into slices about 3/4″ thick
place cut side down in prepared pans
cover and let rise about 45 minutes or until almost doubled in size
bake for 18-20 minutes

when rolls are cooled, combine ingredients for glaze, and spoon onto the rolls

Yesterday I got crabby with H over our usual issues. But then I stopped thinking about what she did to me that was not ok, and started thinking about how much I love her. She got really hopeless about us. That hurts more than anything. She did that on the weekend too when I blew up about finding out that she had propositioned L. I threatened to call L and J to find out what really happened, if H wasn’t being honest with me. H totally freaked about me calling them. That should tell me something, like maybe her sense of shame or honesty? i’ll never know. When I said I was going to call them, she started crying and saying our relationship was hopeless. maybe she WANTS it to be so she can be with these other women. But I lost it and started that little girl wail again. It was the most painful grief of my entire life, including the first time my father raped me (not saying at ALL that she did ANYTHING remotely like that!!!, just different types of pain responses, is why I mention it at all.). I begged her not to give up on me. How pathetic could I be, how pathetic could she let me be and why? I felt I was a Monster, I even begged her to forgive me for being a monster. Is this pathetic enough yet?

She said she felt she was a monster too. She didn’t think I’d ever forgive her because she can’t forgive herself. We cried long and hard, but i toldher not to give up on us, because if she did, she was giving up on me, and I couldn’t stand it.

I try to sleep as much as possible now. It’s the only way to survive the physical and emotional pain. I try to hide from my pain in the dark, my fear, my sorrow.I have to believe that H and I will make it, if she wants us to, because I can’t bear the thought of any other possibility.

I am permanently disabled with Ogilvie’s Syndrome. To read more, go to the link on the right. I am in pain always. I have had 75% of my stomach removed. It has helped some in that I’m not having to go to the E.R. every other night with a pseudo-obstruction, but still having alot of acid/bile and pain, even eating hurts.

I have a regiment of medications I have to take each day and I often forget to take some, so H thought I might solve the problem by buying an alarm watch that had mutiple settings for each of my med times.

10PM - H has recommended an alarm watch. I said I would research online. After looking for awhile, I said to H, “I found one for $70.” Her response, “70 DOLLARS?!” yelled at me while she scowled. I was pretty shocked at the reaction, because we seemed to be having a fine evening until then. I explained about the 3 types of alarm watches i found, the prices and the perks, to explain why that level of watch would work best for me. She just scowled and did not respond at all. I offered to try to find someting else, like a type of alarm that is “pager style,” in hopes that it would be cheaper. Again, loudly and aggressively she said, “tell me again why you HAVE to have that.” I ask, “what’s going on with the yelling and scowling? Was she upset?” “No” I asked again, explaining that she didn’t look very happy. Finally she sighed and said she was tired. I said, “OK why don’t we talk about it later?” Se repeated, “I don’t understand why you need this.” I said, “see, this is why I want a bank account with just MY money in it so I don’t have to fight you to get what I feel I need.” Of course she just responded, “Get what you want.” and left the room. Now I’m way too hurt and upset to get the watch. It’s not worth the hassle. And we were having such a sweet, loving evening before this. She had even come home with purple tulips for me, like she had in her wedding bouquet. Now i’m just crying.

I’m having a hard time with what I feel are H’s “demands,” what’s ok and not ok for me to do in order for her to still love me and not go sleep with someone else. One of them was that I was on the computer sometimes when she came home and didn’t get off to talk to her. But then H came home and right away got on the ‘puter. I said, “ok, if you can, so can I, we gotta be equitable.” She got off but acted crabby and said it was ok for her to get on because I was cooking. It was ok because I was busy. She sounded very defensive although all she’s doing is telling me why it was ok. She’s now “clarifyng,” it wasn’t a problem if I’m on the ‘puter for hours when she’s home even though there was a time that it was. who changes the rules? who even MAKES the fucking rules?!

I’m bristling with pain and trying to subdue my rage, but not doing very well. I feel like I’m the only one who has to change to keep H as my partner. I have to fuck her more, I can’t be on the tv or the puter when she is home. She can’t/won’t see that maybe I’m the one who will leaver HER sorry ass if she keeps on being a little shit and doesn’t even try to work things out.

May 2005

Ruthi, H’s mom, has always talked to H as if she were a same age friend, rather than her child. I wonder if that added additional stress, which she felt needed to be released by cutting herself when H was a teenager.

H said she talked with J a week or 2 ago. - platonic - just like “checking in.” First talk with her in 3 weeks. H didn’t want to “open herself up to convos she didn’t want to have.” H says she emailed me, but I don’t remember seeing it.

Told H today that she was the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her except for our wedding day. She had also just showered, and she was glowing and yummy. When I looked at her I began to cry this child-like wail (which I could never actually use when I was a child or I would have been severely beaten). I told H that I was afraid she was going to break my heart. I was right.