I was about 8 the first time that I experienced the "Bear Hunt". It was always so magical for me. It felt so great in my heart, that it was my Dad that was up there leading the room full of scouts in the group participation part of the Pack Meeting. 

If you have never done the Bear Hunt I am not sure I can fully explain but the leader starts off telling a story about going on a bear hunt. He takes the audience through the tall grass, the river, the forest, etc. They all participate by swishing through the tall grass, splashing as they cross the river, climb a tree, etc. Then they eventually find a bear and in unison they need to go back through all the stuff they just went through to get out of there, real fast. Trying to get away from the bear. My Dad is 6'7" and very impressive on the stage while leading the scouts and their parents on a Bear Hunt. He was very good at it. Everyone in the room played along. I might have not been focused all during the Pack Meeting but he had my attention at this time. 

It had been years since I had the joy of experiencing this. I had 3 sons and they joined Scouts. I became one of the adults that helped plan the pack meetings. At one point I asked the others on the board if we could do a bear hunt. I wanted one of the Dads to do it so I could sit in the audience and watch. I wanted so bad to feel that feeling again. I guess I thought it would bring back memories. 

It was kind of a let down for me. It wasn't the same. It wasn't magical. It wasn't my Dad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytc0U2WAz4s

Remind me to tell you about the night we sat in the Nostradamus Triangle...

That's my Dad!!

My father is quite a man. He has many great qualities and a few I don't care for. He was originally from St. Louis, Mo. My Mother attended college near there and they met around 1950. They married and had two children there. When my Grandfather (in Jackson) passed away in 1955 my Grandmother offered to purchase a home in Jackson, if they would move here. If not for that sweet deal I would have most likely grown up in St. Louis area. 

From all I knew he was a great Dad. He is a handsome man and very tall. Some said he looked like Anthony Quinn. He provided for the family as a plumber. He entertained with slide shows of family photos in the living room. He was a well respected Boy Scout leader for Troop 310 at Bloomfield Elementary School. He could fix stuff. He kept the home in good repair. We were a typical happy family in the 1950'-60's. I don't remember him drinking at all. Never drugs!! I never heard a harsh word in the home. Just a hard working  straight up kind of man that drove a station wagon with the wood on the side. A family man. A civic minded man. 

Everything was just perfect.....until one day. The day I can still see clearly in my memory. We pulled up to the Burger Chef on Brown St. for our once a month or so treat to fast food. It was a new thing then. I remember the parking space we occupied. It was about 1969 and I still remember the parking space. He ran in to get the burgers and fries and as soon as he got out of the station wagon, my Mom turned around to the 4 children in the back seat and said, "I just wanted you to know we are getting a divorce."  

Mind you I never recalled a fight or a harsh word. WHAT?? A divorce. That is it? He just packed his personal belongings and moved to a little apartment. We barely got to visit it. I don't remember it at all. 

Within a year he invited us all to his wedding at the Greek Church. It was really strange for me. That is MY Dad. It didn't matter. He was moving on. We got invited to his home with his new family about twice a year. All I remember is the Christmas visits. We had to get all dressed up for company and they didn't seem to. I had 3 new Step-Sisters and a new Step-Mom. A few years later I had a new half brother too. It was awkward, for me anyway. I just tried to do the best that I could do. I tried to keep communication but it just kept getting less and less. Soon it was down to nothing. I figured out one day that he had never dialed my phone number. I was always the one that called him. It didn't seem right. 

I met a guy and decided to get married in 1979. I wanted my Father to know that I was getting married but because of very little communication and the fact that I was working for my Mom and Step-Father, I asked my Step-Father to walk me down the isle. I did not want to see my Father in the front row bothered by that choice, so I sent him an invitation with no time or date on it. Just an announcement. At the time I thought it was OK. Looking back it might have been passive aggressive. I was so young and hurt and naive that I really thought I had made the best choice for the situation that I was dealing with. It hurt him and I know it now. 

Time went on and the distance got further. I had a son and took him to go see him. He seemed interested, somewhat. When I got home from the visit I found a $50 bill in the baby carrier. 

Soon there was no communication. Nothing. Not a word. 

I was teaching Sunday School at the church that I attended and they  had a meeting for Summer Camp. They said it would be held at Camp McGregor for the whole week. That is the camp that I knew he ran. I almost backed out but I decided to be strong and go. All week I was in a small cabin with some Elementary school age kids teaching them love and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Mr. Jamieson would walk the grounds and pass the cabin and never say hi. The last day of camp we met in the big mess hall. The whole group was singing songs. Happy songs. Church songs. My seat was by the kitchen. Near the end of the gathering he walked in the building and went into the kitchen. I held my hand out. He held mine. He asked me what I wanted. I said to him that I knew he was a good person and so was I and I don't understand the distance. I was asking him if we could go talk about it. You know, try and be a Father and Daughter. His answer was, "You will have to go up to the house and talk to my wife and ask her if it is OK. If she says yes, then I will." I had to leave. Right now!! I grabbed my 3 sons and put them in the car and drove down the driveway. I left my smashed heart on the parking lot. I was so hurt. A lifetime of hurts. I cried and drove all the way home. Go talk to your wife?? I did not understand that at all. Turns out (I was informed) that his wife had told him that her kids were his "family" now and his children were not. He spent over 30 years with little or no communication with us. 

I do feel that this has affected my relationships. 

She passed away a few years ago and soon after that a package came in the mail for me from him. I had no idea what that would be. I opened it and everything was wrapped in newspaper. I reached in and took an item in my hand and unwrapped it carefully and could not believe my eyes. He had sent me the ceramic Christmas decorations that his Mom had handmade. The ones that every holiday I had taken down from the attic storage right after Thanksgiving and placed them with love on the top of the TV in the room where the children hung out. There was a ceramic tree with the little lights on it, Santa and 8 winged choir kids singing Christmas songs. I remember rearranging it daily to put them in different spots. He had taken it with him when he moved out. I had not seen them since. 

They now have a prominent spot in my home every Christmas. 

He is 84 and we talk once in a while. I send him the calendar that I make every year and he sends me a Christmas card that says....Love Dad

My inspiration....

I have wanted to write for years now but I always struggled with what the message would be. I didn't want it to be just me ranting about events in my life. I wanted what I wrote to have a purpose. Something to learn from it and maybe if you read what happened to me, you might not have to go through it yourself.

I opened a book by my bedside by Dalai Lama for inspiration. I told myself that the first page I opened to would be the message for me to base the stories on. The first one I opened to is.....

If you are a teacher, try not to merely transmit knowledge, but try at the same time to awaken your students' minds to basic human qualities such as kindness, compassion, forgiveness and understanding. Do not communicate these as though they were the reserve of ethics or religion. Show them that these qualities are indispensable for the happiness and survival of everyone. 

Then I thought to myself wow, that was really good what if I try another......

One family influences another, and then another, then ten, a hundred, and a thousand, and thus the whole of society will be better off. 

I bet I would like most of what Dalai Lama has to say, so to keep it simple I decided to use three of the quotes to base the writing of my life stories on.....

It is important to examine our suffering, to find out where it has come from and if possible to cause it to dissolve. Usually, we do not think we have any share of responsibility in bringing about our own problems. Invariably, they are blamed on someone or something else. But I doubt that this is always the case. We are a bit like students who have failed an exam and who refuse to admit that if they had worked harder they would have been able to pass it. We get angry at so-and -so or proclaim that circumstances conspired against us. But don't things become even worse when this mental suffering is added to the initial difficulty?

Out of 365 different quotes by Mr. Lama, these three were chosen at random. The first three I came to as I opened the book. I think you will see them as very appropriate for the writings.

Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Turn around.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Touch the ground.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Show your shoe.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
That will do.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Go upstairs.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Say your prayers.
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Turn out the light
Teddy bear, teddy bear,
Say good night.

Jump rope issues....

I first remember thinking something isn't right, when I bounded out of the doors at Bloomfield Elementary school, in the third grade, and looked around the large playground for something to do at recess. It was in the mid 60's. I was never much into drama. Causing it or dealing with it. At the time I guess I thought everyone was basically good and kind. You know, help each other, be friendly, join in.

I walked up to a small gathering of girls that had a long jump rope. Two of them had the ends and one (sometimes two) were in the middle, jumping to the rhythm of the ropes. It looked like something I could do. "I would like to play!" The look of  "Who do you think you are?" came on all their faces  simultaneously . Who would't want one more friend? We all were in the same class. I don't understand that reaction. A clique in 3rd grade?

I walked away broken hearted and have never really been the same since. My innocence was damaged. This blog will be the collection of life stories that I have endured, enjoyed and experienced in my 56 years. Some will be just plain unbelievable. I have never had anything happen that I would call real grief. Just an unending stream of circumstances that I never really asked for yet got handed anyway.

It started with a pretty typical all American family. My parents had two sons and two daughters. Everything seemed "normal" until they got divorced. That was really rough on me. I guess it is for most people. I kind of blocked out some of those years. Don't remember much. Little snippets here and there. I knew even then that I was not like the rest. I always had a different way, a different outlook, a different answer.

I could say I sorta liked high school and sorta didn't. I liked the idea of it but not really the way it was going for me. I took the ACT or SAT with aspirations of someday going to college. Thought I might like to be a professional photographer for some newspaper or a social worker and helping others. I did not find out that I aced the test with top 10% in the state until the day I graduated. I went to college a little bit. An advanced writing class and pilot school.

I went to work at 18 for Frito Lay as a sales rep/driver. I met a guy while driving the route. He thought I was a guy. He saw me one night at the Clark Lake Lodge, slightly dressed
as a girl and came up to inquire if I was the same guy that drove the Frito Lay truck. I married him then proceeded to have three sons. That is when the fight started.

I filed for divorce over 20 years ago. I have struggled with relationships since then. I guess you could say before that too....and during. Well, that would be all the time. I try but nothing seems to work.

A lot of people that I know have suggested that I write the stories of my life, so far. You will laugh and you might cry. Some of it is very sad and some of the characters I have met are crazy. I believe that you wake up in the morning and do the best that you can do and always be proud of the choices that you make. Somewhere in the day you try to help someone less fortunate than yourself and then you lay your head down again and give thanks for your blessings.

I might not find the time to write every day but I will write when the mood strikes me or when the next story comes to mind. There are hundreds of them.

I may or may not change the names. The rest will be the truth, as I see it.