Mr. Kissy Fairchild Bates ... Our Pup!

 

Mr. Kissy Fairchild Bates ... our Pup! 

Happy, Warm Colors! ... Choking Device ... We Depend On ME

 

Happy colors ... warm fall/winter colors! I have been working so long to make all colorful for Skip for the coming cold, cloudy days that this time of year brings.

You wouldn't believe how good Skip feels looking around seeing more colors in his life. Colors makes the difference.

Skip had begun to dread going to the bedroom in the evenings ... I didn't have many colors in there. Well ...

That changed some time ago ... he loves going into the bedroom now ... warm, happy colors for the fall, winter.

You would have thought I would have the most colorful home, right? I think Life's challenges had a lot to do with my moods, choosing colors ... Life. 

I have in my mind for the winter ... warmth, cozy colors, soft blankets when kicking back, watching TV, playing on my tablet, laptop.

You can see the choking device in one of my photos. I got one this past summer as a precaution ... sometimes,  Skip chokes eating, drinking. 

I, also, have different pieces of medical equipment. I feel peace of mind knowing I have equipment to help me with Skip. I am the one we depend on.

I am constantly monitoring,  watching, listening to know what's needed, what Skip would like to have to eat, drink.

I have to take care of my little world.

You Would Think ... 'The Human Fence' ... Puppets ...Pick & Choose Your Battles

 

My Grandmother Lola ... my father and I

Two photos ... I just found them yesterday. Two photos ... all looks happy... for a few minutes it was.

I visited as an adult ... maybe hoping to bridge the gap between my father and I. It wasn't meant to be ... one person stood in the way. Life ...

She manipulated, threw curves when she saw either one of us smile, feel a real moment being ... father, daughter. 

The strange thing is I saw, sometimes, heard her talking ... that person hated ME. She hated ME with big smiles, kind words ... with glints of ... malice in her eyes.

She wasn't allowing this father, daughter to ever become close. 

From the time I first met my father at the age of nine ... she hated ME with such caring, love ... when my father was around. 

She beat ME once while she had the opportunity ... she knew this little girl wouldn't tell ... she WAS the fence she'd put up across the bridge  ... that blocked ME to my father. 

I will call her 'the fence' when I make mention of her while writing. You will know who I'm referring to. Only this one time I will tell you her relationship with ME.

She was my stepmother whom surprisingly I loved, respected. You didn't expect that, right?

No matter what she did, say to ME ... I would always speak quietly, politely ... "yes, ma'am, no ma'am ... may I, please, thank you." I loved her.

 She had ME where she wanted ME ... this little girl trembled each time she met her father in the doorway.

I would politely step aside, he would nod ME through without words ... his expression always seemed angry at ME. 

Why? I was a baby ... I was the quietest, most polite little girl. I never bothered him ... well, maybe I did ... once.

My father had a workshop ... oh, it was a magical place! I would walk by it ever so quietly ... so, I wouldn't attract attention.

I would see my father standing with his back to the door ... working at his huge, drawing board!  Colors! Drawings, sketches, finished pieces he had set aside!

Oh my! Colors everywhere! Pencils, pens, paints for lettering, paints for wood, metal ... canvases ... ladders. Sunshine! Colors! 

All in one building ... my father's art studio/workshop. Not only was he a boilermaker, he was a professional sign painter. He also, painted for Coca Cola, other businesses.

My father painted portraits, he painted his world with happy colors. He never shared them with ME. I had to quietly tiptoe by to peek into his wonderful world ... a world I wanted with my very Heart to belong. 

Only once did I ask if I could draw in there. I never got to but, after I asked ... my sister who was a year younger than Me .. began going in his workshop. 

I feel ... 'the fence' ... arranged that. Yes ... she was a human fence, and an adult who could pull strings to make her 'puppets' do as she wanted. At that time I couldn't know, only suspect ... wonder.

Over time, my sister grew bored, stopped going into the workshop ... wasting a valuable opportunity to learn, to surround herself in a magical world of ... colors!

She and I were artistic ...I could draw better because I loved drawing with a passion. Yet ... my father allowed her in his workshop.

As a child I would draw, design clothes for the paper dolls I made. I wanted to be a fashion designer ... my Grandmother Lola was going to send Me to fashion school when I one day graduated. 

'The fence' was always there hearing, manipulating ... even with my inheritance.  

'The Fence' made my Grandmother Lola think I was dying, I was ...  but, I survived cancer. 

It affected my inheritance,  my son's, and grandchildren. What I had been told since a child I would inherit never materialized. 

I was the oldest of GrandmotherLola's six granddaughters, her only grandchildren. She always equalled all between us. Life ... 

Outside my father's workshop ... sat Coca Cola signs, vehicles with his artwork,  lettering on them. 

I remember a big Santa, reindeer, sled, bows, ribbons all he designed, cut out of wood, painted ... sitting in the yard. 

In my mind I associate the Santa with Coca Cola ... they were located near us. I think it was going to be placed out front of the plant for Christmas.

I remember our pantry was stacked high with drinks (soda), and Coca Cola!

My little Heart would squeeze with such wanting ... to be a part of that world my father entered in his sparetime ... he was a boilermaker, gone for a week at a time. A sign painter when home.

His workshop was full of sunshine, happiness, color! ... he was in a world I wanted so much to enter ... 'the fence' ... across that bridge always stood in my way. 

As a little girl, I respected boundaries  ... how in the world did I know how to respect? I came from Hell where all was chaos ... it was the wild west. Somehow ... I was learning without knowing what it was I was learning.

I never one time, not even once ... disrespected my father, stepmother, Grandmother Lola ... never.

They affected my life in a deep, quiet way ... my mother's side of the family affected Me in a loud, chaotic, violent way ... all left their scars ... several scars can be seen but ... since I never tell anyone ... no one knows. Life ...

Life ...

Life ... I loved everyone on both sides of my family ... even the human fence'. I never confronted anyone at how they treated ... Me. Over the years I just forgave ...before that?

I carried the quietest, white-hot fires of pure Hell in my Heart ... pure anger at how a little girl was treated. This little girl. 

As I grew older I made my family hate Me ... I wouldn't be manipulated, taken advantage of anymore. 

All my cousins would gather around ME whenever I came from the mountains to visit them. Oh yes... I was so loved ...  hugged, laughter ... I was so happy to see them all!

Each one asked Me for money, of course I gave it to them. I truly loved them. We grew up like brothers, sisters.

Someone close to Me opened my eyes .. they said I was only loved because of the money I gave them. Imagine the pain I felt ...

The last visit any of my many cousins ran to welcome ME ... was when I 'didn't have extra money' to give them. I  began to be called ... 'goody two-shoes, too good for them, think I was better than bitch'. 

From that day on ... the only bond I had with them ... was broken. I always stood on the outside ... walls were put up. 

Fake smiles when I saw the very people I was closest to, loved most in the world ... turned against Me because of money. At times I almost wished not to have become aware 'why' ... they loved Me. Life. ...

I smile as I relate these things in writing. No pain. I'm so glad I learned forgiveness many years ago. 

I'm kind ... a good person ... sometimes, making people think they can take advantage of ME. They think I'm too sweet, maybe a touch of dumb ... and don't see, know. 

They make a mistake ... I know, see. But ... they never know ... I know ... unless on rare occasions I let them know exactly.

I weigh things in my mind ... which things are important enough to confront. Which things are worth fighting over ... which things I would be willing to lose if I confronted anyone.

I am not willing to let go of people I love because of material things. So, nine out of 10 times ... I stay quiet. It just isn't worth the grief some little something-something could cause. Life has taught  ME this, so ...

I pick, choose my battles ... weighing all in my mind. Determine if it's worth it ...  nine out of ten times, it isn't worth the loss.

That's one thing I would tell anyone ... pick, choose your battles AFTER weighing in your mind what you are willing to lose. Don't go into battle blindly. Battles are lost that way.

Happy day full of warm, exciting colors! The sun is shining! I feel happiness in my Heart! I hope you do, too!

ME ...GLORIA ... Days Gone By ... Faded Photos Of What Used To Be ...Life ... Death

Photos from years gone by ... looking back just as you would flip through

pages in a book ... my book.

Some photos are pretty, some are ugly, all imperfect. All of the most real, unpretentious person. I used to be vain but, with one exception ... I was a kind person. I can say that in my defense.

Faded days gone by ... just like in that song ... some of the photos are just that ... faded.

I don't know why ... but, I am glad I have some pretty photos of Me'. Don't we all hope we do? 

Photos validate your very existence. If you don't have photos ... it's hard to say 'I used to be' or 'I used to do' ... or any 'used tos'. 

If I didn't feel any pain ... it's true, photos DO cause ME physical pain in my chest, my very Heart. That's not a good thing. 

It all has to do with so, so much grief in my Heart, my very soul. If I didn't feel pain ... I would sit, hold, look at our physical pictures through time. 

Photos of my only child, my son ... Tommy, my mom, Grandma Alma and George ... oh God, the list goes on and on ...... and on. I have to push this way back in my mind ... pain.

Every photo, almost ... every family member is gone ... they died.  

I have one brother whom I loved with my Heart, always will ... who is still living. 

I don't think I will ever see him again in this Life. I wanted to be close to him ... Life prevented it. 

I had another brother whom I grew up grieving as a little girl. He and I were together until our home split up when I was nine. 

He went to Wisconsin to one Hell ... I went to my own. We never could become close as much as the few times we tried as adults. It wasn't meant to be. He died.

Life is like that ... now, it doesn't matter, too much time has gone by. I never talk about the past , my family.  I don't answer questions.  

Why would I? No one would understand, why in the world would I try to explain to anyone why this, why that. I don't have to. 

Life can hurt us deeply, throw unexpected curves. ... sometimes  ... there's no coming back.

I learned to cope with that years ago. The only brother who truly loved ME died ... my Heart loved him so much. He always was glad to see Me. He cried over ME.

He came to see ME when I lay in a hospital bed, dying. My brother ... Rick-Rick. My precious brother whom I loved with my very Heart.

I could barely see him as he stood there, I was calling out his name ... he never heard heard ME. Tubes in my chest, throat, IV ... not being able to move made him think I wasn't in this world.

He couldn't see the tears I was crying  inside ... I was very aware for several minutes my brother was there. I wanted him to know I loved him, was so glad to see him. He never knew.

He was crying as he turned, walked quietly to the door. He closed the door softly, left. I closed my eyes ... I was my dark world, barely surviving. I didn't know, I was gone.

I had cancer ... non-Hodgkins lymphoma ... had undergone 2 major surgeries ... thoracotomy surgery ... each lung, chemotherapy  ... so many medicines, scans, tests, oh, so many needles.

When my brother came to see ME ... I wasn't strong enough or aware enough to know I was battling to live ... to survive. I was ...

Awareness came much, much later ... when it did ... I met it head-on, fought like Hell to live. 

I vaguely remember the oncologist saying, "you have cancer, you may not live" ... in my foggy mind it seemed she was so loud ... each letter of the word 'C.A.N.C.E.R loomed up a foot tall. 

I heard someone weeping their very Heart out. Before darkness I saw tears on Skip's face, eyes ... the nurse seemed angry at the oncologist ...

It was ME, weeping. Just like years before when I gave birth to my son... when I came to ... I was weeping as my eyes opened to trees swaying in the wind outside the window. 

I kept feeling this sensation I could go back through 'that' door ... this was a dream ... if I could get back through ... I wouldn't have cancer.

Life can be like that, mine was. No one can see all my physical, mental scars ... I have fought many battles ... I am still standing like a Redwood tree ... strong, so, very strong. 

This body God gave ME has been a strong vessel ... it has withstood the storms of time. If I had been one tiny bit weaker ... I would died many times over.

My mind goes back to my Grandma Alma and George ... without anyone realizing it ... they instilled amazing strength in a fragile, little girl. They never knew. I didn't know ... it took growing up, self-study to see where my strength came from.

Grandma Alma and George ... a blind man ... a paralyzed woman. Isn't it pure amazing ... they were THE strongest people I ever knew in my Life. I loved them with my very Heart.

Hell was raised in their home both day, night ... each time I witnessed it, it did something to ME. It strengthened, made Me determined never to allow Hell-raising in my Life when I grew up.

I have to say in all honesty ... I DO know how to raise tee-total Hell if I ever need to. I choose not to, don't want to ... but, I know how to, I learned from the best. I say this with a smile on my 💋 lips. It's not funny ... but, it is.

Life ... wow, Life is something else. No matter what, I love Life ... I still look for the good. I never give up.

I have gotten back up many, many times on these two feet ... I must have been a Redwood tree in one of my past lives. 

I must have been ... Humpty Dumpty in another past Life. I have put so many pieces of Life back together again. 

Things don't hurt ME now. The only thing is ... Photos can still hurt ME.

Why?

Because ...

They show, validate each person I loved deeply of when they used to be here ... living. Sadly they died, too many before their time through awful, terrible ways. 

If I don't look at photos, I don't see what ... used to be. Let them stay 'faded roses, faded days' gone by.

Life ... death ... photos to ME remind ME ... everyone has gone away. Photos have the power to hurt ME.

These are some of my thoughts today. The good thing is ... the day is bright, pretty ... yellow leaves are falling!

Happy day, happy colors to you!