Slipped a Mickey

I have always taken precautions so my drink isn't contaminated or enhanced. It doesn't leave my hands. Ever!! If I get up it goes with me. I take it to the bathroom. No one is slipping something in my drink. I just feel safer that way. Until......

I don't recall where I met him. Keys bar? I mostly remember him coming up to me. I might recall him asking me if I would like to go for a ride on his motorcycle. 

I vaguely remember that I agreed and sometime in the next week, we went for a ride. He was nice enough. I had fun. I was attracted. At the end of the ride he asked me if I would like to spend Saturday at the lake. He lived in a small cottage at Gilletts Lake. Otney St. I think. Who wouldn't want to spend a day at the lake?

I arrived with two bottles of Piesporter wine. That was my normal limit. I typically don't drink any more than that but if I only had one bottle (4 glasses), then I might find myself wanting a little more. Don't want to run out. He offered to cook lunch. I uncorked the first one and poured myself a glass. He was very nice and accommodating. We went out to the beach and sat to talk for a bit in the sun. One of his neighbors waved and said hi and asked him if he could come down to look at her boat lift. It was not working right and she wondered if he could see what it was doing wrong. We wandered down there and I sat on the dock talking to her. We got along well. Time went by and my glass was empty. He was so nice he offered to let us keep talking and get me a refill. I handed him my glass and he went back to his cottage.

He returned a bit later with my glass filled with more wine. A few minutes later another neighbor came down the road and asked if we would like to see his house. The renovation was done. They did a very nice job. We got the whole tour. I sipped on my wine and chatted in the front yard, down the way from his cottage. We wandered back. We were getting hungry. We got to his yard and he fired up the grill. That is about when it started getting fuzzy.

He was cooking burgers. Since we were outside and I could no longer stand or sit up, I chose to lay down in the shade of the picnic table by the grill. I was hungry. He got on the phone and called up some next door neighbors and invited them to come down and have a burger. Some of them brought passing dishes. Mind you it is VERY out of character for me to lay down in the shade of the picnic table and two glasses of wine do not affect me. At all. I am very talkative and social. I could not get up. I remember focusing on the waves on the lake. I could see all the legs of whoever came to eat at the picnic table. I could hear them talking. No one really seemed concerned that I was laying on the ground and could not get up, if I tried. I was not sleeping. I could not really talk either.

After he cleaned up and they all went home he asked me if I would like to go in and lay down. He said I must be really tired to not join them in eating burgers. Fucker!! I still had no clue what happened. I felt kinda like a sloth for not being able to get up. I followed him into his bedroom. I flopped on the bed like a wet rag doll. I did not move for an hour or so. I might have fallen asleep there. Couldn't help it. I do recall him trying to approach me sexually. In my opinion it wasn't the time to ask me to make out. Obviously something wasn't right. Not sure what but I am going to say NO and fall back asleep. I recall some sort of struggle. Like get the fuck off me.

A couple hours later I managed to wake up. I wandered out of his room to sit in the first thing I could find in the same room as him. A living room chair, I think. I just sat there. Massive headache. I never have headaches, unless I have the flu or something. An unbearable headache. I wanted out of there but was not sure I could or should drive. He was watching the Simpson's Marathon on TV. That pretty much pissed me off. Not only do I hate all cartoons, the Simpsons are just stupid. I see no redeeming quality to that show. I think I sat through three of them. Maybe 5. I really could not get up. It was also very awkward there with him. I told him I had a massive headache, like my head had been hit with a brick. He called one of the gals down the street, that brought a pharmacy in a purse.   She opened one bottle of pills and gave me a couple. "Here, take these and you will feel better." I took them. I still had no clue what happened to me. I just wanted the headache gone. Looking back.....how did she know what the antidote was? I think she knew what caused it.

I had enough of the Simpsons, the day and him. I got up to find my way home. I made it.

I could not take a drink of anything with alcohol in it for about a week. It make me feel instantly like puking.

I am not sure what happened to me that day. Later when I put it all together that he filled my glass, it did not seem abnormal to him that I laid under the picnic table, that he tried to have sex with me while I slept, that he knew what would fix my headache and that something was messed up with my system that I could not drink for a week. I am pretty sure I was drugged.

He used to be a cook at the prison and later got a job at the Greystone Tavern cooking. He worked there for a few years. I don't recall his name. I would see him working there. He kept trying to come up to me to say hi. I really had nothing to say to him. Seems like I finally told him off to get rid of him, not sure.

His neighbor that brought me the remedy to my headache was seen next door to me, a couple years later, buying drugs from the dealer that lived there. 

Jealousy, Love, Sentiment and Joy.....The meaning of rings

Apparently the first ring I ever received was a simple gold band. A baby ring. I don't remember wearing it. I found it in my Mother's jewelry box and asked her what it was and she told me it was my baby ring. I really didn't get a story with that. Just your baby ring. Not sure if it was connected to baptism or when it was placed on my finger. For all I know the hospital might have given them away to every newborn.

Then there was the two or more rings that were given to my sister by my Aunt and Grandmother. The story I was told, was that the rings were won back in the early 1900's when they  (sisters) sold soap door to door as teens. They were very petite Opal rings. The Opal being very delicate. A ring with three stones. They were given to my sister because she was born in October and therefore her birthstone was Opal.  I was experiencing some pretty strong jealousy. Why would they give one sister all the rings and the other one none? It all made no sense to me. It was all done on the sly too. I had no clue until I saw them on her finger. Where did you get that? I was none too happy. It was almost like she was crowned the princess of the family. This is what I was thinking..."Because she is so perfect, she can have all the jewelry." It didn't help my teenage self esteem any.

At 16 I dated and fell in love. To profess our love for each other I wore his Rolling Stone Hot Licks enamel necklace with pride and he was presented my baby ring on a necklace.

 I still remember the moment, on Christmas at the kitchen table I was sitting in his lap and he presented me with a single blue star sapphire. It was a great moment. I wore that ring with love in my heart. It meant so much to me. When we broke up we made an exchange of the necklaces but I got to keep the ring. It spent years in my jewelry box and I looked at it often. It is the only ring in my life that was given to me as a symbol of his love, without me having prior knowledge of it. I loved that little sweet ring that so symbolized my first love. I let a friend of my sons stay with us for a while and he was into stealing things that he never thought I would miss. He got into my jewelry box and stole the star sapphire ring. I heard that he gave it to his girlfriend. I went over and pounded on their trailer and demanded that I get to go through her room to find the ring. I did too. I wanted that ring back. No luck in finding it.

When I was about 22 I was seeing a man and got pregnant. We decided to get married. Mutual agreement, I think. Anyway, I went with him to the jewelry store and we picked out two simple gold bands and I paid for them. That wasn't too romantic.

After 10 years of a not so good marriage, we went to marital counseling. In the numerous discussions I kept bringing up that I bought the rings and he bought a tractor. All vacation time that he took from work was used to go deer hunting. He professed to love me but had ceased to buy me any gifts of any kind, except vacuum cleaners or pots and pans. Maybe an iron. So, he agreed to get me a ring. A diamond ring. We went shopping and what I got was a 1/3 k diamond solitare. $1,200. Presented to me at my 10th anniversary. It really held no meaning. It was not given in love. We divorced within the next year. It was almost like, "OK, here is the stupid ring that you wanted." We divorced 20 years ago. It sat in my jewelry box all that time. I sold it this year on ebay for $200.

I always looked at the birthstone display and wondered why I got stuck with the ugly color. Peridot. Until one Christmas I was given a beautiful Peridot ring by my sons. They had gotten together with a friend that knew someone in the jewelry business and surprised me. Peridot was now the most beautiful of all the birthstones. That was so special. Years later when Montgomery Wards went out of business I went there to the jewelry counter and bought all the remaining Peridot. Rings, necklace and earrings. I have quite a few now.

I was dating a guy a few years ago. It appeared to be getting serious. He said he would like to buy me a ring. Not a $10,000 ring. Nothing over priced at the mall. He encouraged me to go find an affordable ring that I liked. I went to the antique store that is downtown. In the front jewelry counter I found a nice blue opal ring. I told him about it and he went to purchase it. I still have that one. I wear it most of the time. I rarely associate it with him. I know that he bought it but I just see it as my ring now. I don't look at it and think of him. It is just comfortable and I like the stone.

My favorite ring that I wear now is my Mother's JHS class ring. It is gold, silver and copper with the JHS tower. 1948. It is one of the few things of hers that I have.

I Gots da BLUES!!!

Ed was there when I first met her, he was standing right next to me. He can verify what breed she is. We went to go see her band to write a feature article about them for The Buzz News, our live music newsletter that we published back in 1999-2000. We watched a set or two then went up to introduce ourselves. The minute we said, "Hi, we are here to write about your band for a feature story for The Buzz News," she responded, "NO THANKS!! I want nothing to do with you or your newspaper."  "Really, why would you feel that way?", thinking what did we do? She apparently did not like one of our advertisers because she thinks he had done her wrong and stated that he must be my little buddy or something. If I recall we did not write the article or feature them. That was 14 years ago.

I still supported her and her band.

Mark Arshak and I at the first Jackson Blues Fest 2001

A few years later (2001)she started up a music festival. It was held at the Kuhl's Bell Tower Market. There was 4 bands and I knew all of them, personally. Let me see if I can remember Mark Arshak Band, Automatic Blues Band, Johnny Reed and the Houserockers and that other band.  I was sitting in the front row and had a blast. Talked to a lot of folks that I knew. Had a hot dog and an ice cream cone. If anyone wanted an adult beverage, they just walked up to the Red Moose. One part of the event planning that I liked was that the audience got a little taste of each band and then later they were all booked in downtown bars or restaurants. Great idea. There was great electricity in the air. It was a fun urban event. I think she tolerated my presence there but I am thinking she wasn't thrilled. There was a dispute with the Kuhl's and the next year the festival (I say that loosely) moved to the Jackson County Fairgrounds.

The next year at the Fairgrounds property (owned by Jackson County) the festival went on. There was a nice line up of blues musicians. Most of them I knew or had met through The Buzz News. I chatted backstage with some of them. If you wanted an adult beverage you just walked across the street to the bar. The traffic to and from the bar was heavy. I left when "that other band" played. Had a couple beers and wandered back. I met a man over there that invited me to enjoy a cold one at the festival. He had a cooler full. It was now dark out. We cracked one open and soon after that we decided (slightly drunk) to break open the dance floor. A great band was up and no one had danced all evening. They all just sat there listening. Well, I carried the freshly opened beer up to the dance floor. I set it down next to a trash can and proceeded to dance. It worked, a lot of people got up out of their seats and filled the dance floor. It only takes one brave fool. I thought I was helping her and was feeling good about myself. Then a tap came on my shoulder. It was her. She saw me set the beer down at the trash can earlier. She asked me to leave because I was seen drinking. There was no alcohol allowed on the premises. I was heading towards my seat. I had no beer in my hand. Prove that I had a beer. I was having so much fun I didn't want to leave. She knows I just opened her dance floor and started the party. I was given a reprieve. She allowed me to stay. I had no more beers out of the cooler, I just went across the street if I wanted another.

The following year went well. Don't really recall. There was a beer trailer on the grounds. It was authorized to drink there. All was well. But alas, there was a dispute with the Fairgrounds so they looked for another location.

She found the airport grounds. Owned by the County but beer could be served via the liquor license at the airport restaurant. I fully supported her festival and the growth of it. I was thrilled for Jackson that Blues music was offered to the masses.

I remember enjoying a couple of good years there. Just music, friends, beer, sunshine.

Years ago I dated for a while on Match.com and one of my dates was a harmonica player from the Detroit area. A tall drink of whiskey. Mark Robinson. He played in a band called The Motor City Sheiks. The Sheiks were scheduled to open the festival at 4 or 5 pm. I really wanted to see them and catch up with Mark. I had to work. By the time I got to the festival, they were just getting off the stage. He saw me and was coming straight towards me, she intercepted. I backed off. They hugged, she thanked him and then pointed him in the direction of the tent where he had to sell his CDs for an hour. He then came up to me and gave me a big hug and invited me to go chat in the CD tent. We sat down to talk old times and new stuff and he offered me a sip of his whiskey, that he carried in his inside jacket pocket. He really paid more attention to me than he did the CD sales. I was the one that sold the CDs. I would see someone that looked curious about them and I would get up and make the sale, then go back to sippin' whiskey and talking.

Mark Robinson, Motor City Sheiks is the handsome man, on on the right. 

I had taken a friend that knew most of the bikers in town and he was sweet enough to stand just outside the tent area and let me have time with an old friend. He kind of stood guard, so to speak. I sort of noticed the "goons" approach the tent area. I didn't really pay attention. Wesley was chatting with them. I figured they were all friends. Nothing happening here. Well, the hour was up and Mark and I hugged and parted ways. I went back to hang with Wesley and he then told me that the goons were sent over by her to remove me from the CD tent. He stopped them and told them that it was a personal issue and that I was doing nothing wrong and it would be best to stay out of it. They did. Good thing too but now I was kinda pissed. I really can get in that much trouble without trying?

Wesley

I went kinda upset to the beer tent to get me an adult beverage. It was kinda obvious that I was displeased. A friend approached me to ask me if I was OK. I said NO, I am not OK. I am pissed. He asked me if I would like to go hang out in her dressing room/motor home. I said, "Right, how are we going to do that?" He then said it was his motor home and he can invite anyone in it. I said, "Well, then let's go!"

The following year (the last time I will ever go there) I missed most of the festival. I did however promise Laurie that I would go see her. She was in the closing band on the final night. They were from Flint area. I had never met Laurie but we had talked a few times on the internet. My day started out at Noon. I had a graduation party to attend. I wasn't going to drink there so I could make it to the 10 pm band, at the festival. When I arrived the host had purchased me a bottle of Piesporter, my favorite wine. How could I let him down and refuse it? It was good.

Then the Red Wings were in the playoffs and the game was long and went into overtime. The fellas that I was watching the game with, passed around a bottle of Schnapps and every time the Redwings scored everyone in the room had to take a sip...for good luck. I think the score was 15-10. I don't recall the score but we were pretty drunk. The game was finally over and we were thinking our day was over.....until I remembered that I promised to be there to see the last band at 10pm. Shit. We have to go. We did. Three guys and myself piled into a little sports car and off we went. We all paid out $5 to get in and went front row. It was the last band of the last night and it was raining at a pretty good clip. I was so drunk I took a folding chair to sit in. I was determined to see this band. The vendors were all packing up, the audience was gone. There was no one there except us. Jimmy parked my chair in the center front of the stage. I parked my drunk ass in the chair. He went and got me a beer. Like I needed that!!! I propped my feet up on the edge of the stage and was just in music Heaven listening to the Rusty Wright Band. Live music is my drug.

 I was just getting into it and a little squeaky guy that was dressed like a biker, kicked my ankles. Hard. Above the music I asked him if I knew him. I thought someone was messing with me. You know, like a long forgotten friend tapping you on the wrong shoulder, to be funny. He said, "NO! Get 6 ft. back. You are not allowed to have your feet on the stage." I looked around and except for the three guys that came with me, I was the only one there. Is this really an issue? Remember I was pretty drunk. I am not an angry drunk. I am a hugging drunk. I just get happier. I wanted to comply with the unposted rule of "Stay 6 ft. BACK", so I got up out of the chair and went about 12 ft. back (just to be sure) and stood there with my hands behind my back. Peacefully. He then picked up the cloth chair by the back and threw it towards me. Beer in the cup holder and all. Now, there is beer spilled all over the chair and I can't sit down. Well I could I guess because if you remember it also was raining. I just straightened the chair up so it didn't look like a crime scene and backed off, peacefully.

The next thing I know there is three goons standing between me and the stage with their arms crossed. The average height was 5'1" so it wasn't really an issue because I could easily see right over them but it was kind of irritating like a fly that keeps hovering around your lunch. I did not confront them, I acted like they were not there. It was kind of foolish really. They treated me like I had tried to rush the stage or something. Whatever!!

Then Laurie left the stage with her cordless mic and guitar and walked over to me and stood about an inch from me. Nose to nose. The goons walked off. Their job was done. Laurie played for me and when the song was over she wandered back up to her position on the stage. She told me the next morning (via Instant Message) that she saw me walk in, sit down, get kicked, chair thrown and then surrounded by them and she figured she could solve all of it if it appeared that we were good friends. Game OVER. Thanks Laurie.

I took a program home with me. The goons were on the back page. I showed a biker friend of mine. She went to talk to them to find out the truth. She asked how it went at the festival. They said there was no issues except for this one woman on the last night. She asked what happened and they told her that they were instructed to go get in my face. Hmmmmm. So that is how it goes?

I decided that day to not return. I want to. I love the music. I know most of the bands. Most of my friends will be there. I am not a simple fan. I am connected to this music. I was on the board of the Capital Area Blues Society for 4 years. I would like to continue to support her. I can't. I won't play her little immature game of cat and mouse. Not any more. I am done.

I think I will clean my closet out this weekend. All of them.

I totally forgot about the day she came to the CABS board meeting in Lansing. I was voted in as President of the Capital Area Blues Society and presented my thoughts of holding a blues show at the Michigan Theatre in Jackson. One of the board members let her know. She called me at home and said, "Let's forget all the issues of the past and work together, for once. We can help each other." said the spider to the fly. A couple of weeks later she shows up to the board meeting and asked if she could have a couple of minutes on the agenda. She "acted" peaceful but you could see it in her face. We went through some items that needed to be done first then I looked at her and said, "It is your time now. What can we do for you?" She stood up and turned evil. She addressed the board members and said, "It appears that your President is thinking of throwing a blues show in Jackson at the Michigan Theatre. I am here to tell you that this is wrong and it crosses territorial lines. She has no business throwing a blues show in Jackson. This is the Capital Area Blues Society. I am here to ask you for your support in this matter. I would like a vote to see who is with me on this."

That is working together? Wow!! Turns out that her actions were motivated by money. She did not want me tapping Jackson businesses for sponsors for the show. 

My brain was still trying to figure out where the territorial lines were. Three out of the last four years, a Jackson area band had won the Blues Brawl that they have at the Green Door, to determine who they send to Memphis for the IBC competition. This year another Jackson area band won. So, our bands can come up there and win but we can't throw a blues show in her territory. I can't believe they voted against me. Well, I can because they didn't want to leave their comfort zone.....but still. I was their President. 

She also complained to the board that I had tried to take over the reigns of the Jackson Area Blues Society. She was the founder and President of JABS. I had no interest or intention of having anything to do with them. It was her gig. What happened was..... some of her board members had come to me and asked me if I would step into that position so they could remove her. I laughed and said Hell No. By the time the story got to her she heard that I had tried to de-throne her. Nope!!

Monday Moanin' with Bob Talbert

1936-1999

I liked the style of Bob Talbert's writing so much that I remember trying to be the first one to snag the Detroit Free Press off the front porch, in the morning, so I can open it right up to his column and read it, untouched by others. Monday Moanin' was always my favorite. I was only 12. What 12 year old read the paper? It appealed to all. Once in a while he ran an article with items written by some readers. I decided to write him in the early 80's to see if I could get in that.

The first time that I wrote him he put it in the first opening line and I got the headline too. That was pretty exciting for me so a few months later I wrote him again. The same thing happened, my words were the headline and I had the first few lines. Then a third time same thing. I was getting used to it.

Then one day he announced that he was going to let the readers write his entire column, while he was on vacation for two weeks. He gave us a month or so to submit something. I wrote every night for a month. I was actually getting in trouble for it. I was married and he was not happy with how much time I was spending on this. I did it anyway. I was on a mission. I tweeked it, fine tuned it, edited it, rewrote it and added to it. I had to submit a photo of me and had no current ones, so I sent along my photo off my high school ID card. It didn't look much like me anymore.  I finally mailed it off to him with enough time to get there by the deadline.

The day before he left for vacation he wrote that 401 people had submitted articles. He said it was really hard but they narrowed it down to 10 writers. I knew I could not make that cut. No way.

On Monday morning I got up before the Sun did to go check the Free Press and see who it was that wrote the first one. Knowing full well it wasn't me. I quickly turned to the Feature Page, I saw Ann Landers and looked right above her were Talbert usually was and saw the person that got the first day of his vacation....Jana Wallace and a photo that I didn't recognize. I closed the paper up, kind of bummed that it wasn't me. I sat there for a few minutes trying to calm myself enough to go back to sleep and thought.....wait a minute. Let me open that back up. Took a closer look and by golly it was me. How did that happen? How could I possibly beat out 401 people for one of the coveted spots in the Feature Page of the Free Press. This was big time. This was cool. I was so excited. I could not contain my excitement. I had worked so hard for this. I went and showed my husband and all he said was, "I bet you think you are hot shit now."

That was kind of a real buzz kill. After he left for work I went back to bed hugging the paper and tried to get back to sleep for a bit.

At about 11am the local radio station called and asked me if I would do an interview at Noon. I agreed and then proceeded to get real nervous. I called a friend and told her. Well, maybe a few of them. One taped the interview for me. The radio station called me right at Noon and the only thing I remember was them asking me how do I think I got the first day. Just a young woman from Jackson. How did I get picked over all the other submissions? I don't remember much about it. The friend brought over the cassette tape but I tried to listen to it and could not stand my voice and gave it back to her. I wonder if she still has it? It was Barb Winn if anyone knows her and wants to see if she still has it. I bet I could listen to it now.

Well, a few months went by. I had achieved the best that I had worked for. I went on to other things like cooking, cleaning and driving kids around.

I was cooking dinner one night and the phone rang. Kids running all over the place. The guy on the other end  appeared to have a southern accent and asked for Jana. "This is her." Then he said, "This is Bob Talbert."

Right!! Who is funnin' me? Why would he be calling me? No way. "Who is this really?" He then went on to convince me that it was him. Well, it was him. "What's up?" I ask, trying to act cool. Like this is a normal occurrence for me, to be talking to my IDOL. The man that I spent most of my teenage years reading his words, every day. The man that gave me the opportunity to write in his space. I was ecstatic. He called me to ask why I stopped writing him. I told him I had done what I wanted to do and was real busy doing other stuff with 3 young children.

I so wish he would have pushed it further and encouraged me to write. I remember talking to him for 15 minutes or so. I wish he would have directed me out of my marital misery. It was my choice to stay.

He sent me a note once. I still have it somewhere. He was cleaning out files and sent back the photo of my sons, that I had sent him. The note said he was cleaning out files and to write him sometime. Bob.

I got summoned to jury duty in Federal Court in Detroit and on the way to the court building I noticed the Free Press building. I went in. There was heavy security. You had to talk to the front desk person. I went in and asked if I could see Bob Talbert. They almost giggled and then told me that he doesn't come in much. He writes from his bedroom. I tried. 

A few years later a good friend, Dave Cummings, called me to let me know that Mr. Talbert was going to be at the Jackson Country Club to speak to the Women's Club luncheon. He was offering me a seat at his Mother's table to see him speak. I gladly accepted the invitation. How sweet was that? I ate lunch with a bunch of older women, that I did not know. I got pretty bored with the items on the agenda before the speaker. I excused myself to the bathroom and what do you know......Mr. Talbert was sitting in the side hallway waiting to be introduced. I stopped to say hi. I just looked at him and asked if he knew who I was. He said, "Absolutely!! You are one of my best writers, Jana Wallace." I am just going to fall apart with joy. I shook his hand and chatted for a bit. I am sure he asked me why I still don't write him any more. The conversation could have gone on all day and into the night but he was there to be the speaker for the luncheon. I did not want to dominate his pre-speech thoughts, so I thanked him for the opportunity and continued on to the bathroom.

I don't even remember him speaking. Not a word. All I knew was that we met, in person, in the hallway. I got to touch him. You don't even know how much I loved this amazing man and mind.

It was a few years later and the internet was just getting popular. I was looking around on the www. Surfing I guess. I ran across a headline that Bob Talbert had died that day. I am going to tell you that I was bummed. I was hurt. I was crying. He had meant so much to me. I only wish that I had paid more attention to him and realized my potential. I still don't get how you picked me out of 400 to be the first. I really don't get it.

Someday I might.



I took advanced writing at JCC a while back, I got a 4.0 and then proceeded to apply for an easy job at the Citizen Patriot. I had three interviews and did not make the cut to write the Countryside Page, in the late 80's. Not enough college. 

I wrote and published (along with Ed Childress) the newspaper about live music in the Jackson area titled The Buzz News, for a year back in 1999 or so. 

I wrote articles for a year or so for the Blazer newspaper in Jackson. My articles were quite often on the front page. 

I put together the newsletter for the art group JCAA for a year or so. 

I wrote and published the newsletter at Frost school back in the 80's. 

Pretty sure that I wrote some stuff for the Capital Area Blues Socitey newsletter. I was on the board of directors for 4 years. 

I might be expecting too much.....

Back in the 80's, when my sons were young, I signed them up for various art classes at Ella Sharp Museum. I had read the little blurbs in the newspaper about the classes they offered. I was so excited that they would be going to my beloved Ella. Growing up in Jackson, the Ella was near and dear to me. I love that park. Spent a lot of time there as a child rolling down the hills, flying kites, playing Frisbee, etc. As a teen I attended the Concerts in the Park every Sunday with a bottle of Boonesfarm wine and a couple of joints. 

We arrived just before the class was to start, I dropped them off and made sure they were secured and then went to leave. I over heard two women talking outside the door. One asked the other if she would like to go up to McDonald's for a cup of coffee. I wrongly assumed that they had just met also and asked if I could join them. I thought I was just being friendly and accepting of all. They both looked at me like, "Really, who do you think you are?" I was pretty close to devastated. I was trying my best to be friendly and make new friends and actually made a fool of myself. I am pretty sure I cried on the way home. Thinking to myself, "You dumb ass, what made you think you could just go have coffee with just anyone?" Actually, the feelings inside were similar to the *jump rope incident on the playground. I guess I just didn't get how you could talk to anyone like that. What if that person that you just rejected was sent to you for a reason. Anyway........

Fast forward to about 5 years ago.....I was asked to find a caricaturist for a local bar. I found one. We got to talking, while she was drawing and she said she had to leave early to go to an art group. I was interested. "Where is it?" Then she told me at Ella Sharp Museum. Now, I am not interested. She could tell that I changed my mind and asked me what was wrong. I said I don't really like the attitude there. She told me it really wasn't like that anymore. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. I hesitated but thought I could give it a go. 

A few weeks later I showed up and kind of sat in the back row. Not really wanting to be seen. Just wanted to feel it before I made any commitment. I was welcomed. That wasn't so bad. They made me a name tag to wear. Now, we are getting somewhere! If I raised my hand they answered my question in an informative way. I really liked the different speakers they brought in and I learned a lot about art. 

I don't fancy myself to be a public speaker and never really want to be. Sometimes it is necessary. One night they had "Story Time" where you brought a piece of art and told the story of it. I had no plan on telling a story. I was just going to listen. They started in the front row and one by one they all got up to the podium and told their story. It was usually a painting of a barn that they painted and they would tell the story of how the day went. When the Sun changed, the bugs that were biting them and the like. After they finished their story they received a round of applause from everyone in the room and then went back to their seats. 

When it got around to me I figured that I may as well give it a go. My heart will start beating like crazy, my hands will sweat but I can get through this couple of minutes. I am a trooper! I told the story of the night that I tried to draw for the first time as an adult. With a friend I decided to try and be an artist. We listened to music, painted, drank some wine and went out on the porch every hour or so to smoke a cigarette. I was crumbling up every sheet of paper. Could not get where I wanted to be. Didn't like any of them. 

About the third time we went outside, just after dark, a guy came walking around the corner and informed us that a cat was in the road apparently hit by a car. I knew my cat Smokey was out but she never left the yard. She was mostly an indoor cat and was timid. She did like to go out right before dark and chase fireflys. I guess her passion for that is what got her into the road and not looking both ways for cars. 

As I went around the corner to see if I could help remove someone's cat from the road, as I got closer I realized it was my sweet Smokey. She got hit pretty hard. She was bleeding from the mouth and not breathing. I bet I was hollering at that point. Not sure. Jimmy came and took her out of the road. He placed her in a box and let me sit next to her. I was a wreck. Smokey slept under my arm every night. I loved that cat. Jimmy asked me what I would like now. I looked at Smokey and said, "I would like her to be alive again." 

Smokey in her morning position in the Sunshine. 

We went and buried her and I came back home alone. It was then about 2 am and I walked back into my apartment and sat at the same table we were working at earlier. No music, no wine, no more cigarettes, no Jimmy to talk to. Just the blank piece of white paper and some water color paint. 

I looked at the paper and cried some more. Alone....

Then picked up the brush and started painting a little painting. It was three Poppies. One was standing up tall, the next was a little bent over and the third one had lost it's petals that were laying on the ground. I was the first one. Smokey's Mom was my other cat and she was still alive but getting on in years. Smokey was the one that lost the petals. 

The actual painting that I did that night. My first attempt at art. 

It was that night that I realized how much emotion is associated with art. 

My story was done. I waited for the applause and there was none. I walked to my seat wondering what I had done to the audience. No applause. The next person just got up and started their story. I was sitting there dumbfounded. How the heck could they not clap for such a great story? I was crying inside. I did not even want to be there. Did I tell you I was born a Leo? 

It took me a while but I got over the non-response from the art group. One member (when asked) told me that he thought they were all so overtaken with emotion that they could not clap or didn't want to clap for a story were your cat died. OK, maybe I can understand that. 

A year later, when it was story time again. I went through the same feelings only worse. Because of the non-clapping incident I hesitated once again about taking a turn. Well, I was there and I am no chicken so when my turn came around  I got up on the fly and told another story. *See the previous story, "They all come back home." About the man that built his farmhouse and how his portrait ended up on the same nail it was always on. Again......I ended up my story to no applause. A quiet room. Again I had them so emotionally distraught that they could not put their two hands together and clap? Cry? Laugh? Something. I think I cried that night. How could it happen twice to only me. Everyone else got a round of applause. What was it that I was doing wrong? Did I belong here? 

I was then asked to speak in front of the group. I had seen three years of speakers and they were always entertaining and warmly welcomed. I spoke on hand painted photos with oil paint and took the supplies for everyone to try it out. I spent a month or so researching the art of hand painting photos and presented a slide show and some historical information. I gave my little speech and invited them to try it out for themselves. Huh, what do you know there was no applause. I had never seen a speaker not be thanked with applause. I dreamed the night before that the room would become thunderous with applause. Nothing!

When I asked someone later how they saw that night and why they think no one clapped she said, "They were so excited about getting up to get the supplies and try it out, that they must have forgotten to clap." 

I am just not liking the way this is going. Three times now. I don't feel like I fit in. I can't figure out if I am someone they enjoy or if they would just like me to go away. I compiled and published their newsletter now. I volunteered for all kinds of stuff. I became a paying member and participated in their art shows and the wall of art in the hall.  I was the only one that sold a piece of art at the Art and Wine Fest. I attended all of the meetings and as soon as I got there I was approached by many, that needed to talk to me. I was into it deep now. I even entered photos into the Statewide Competition in the gallery at Ella. You had to submit and be accepted into it. I submitted two photos and got both of them in, the first time. I even sold one there. At this point the entire Granary Restaurant was filled with my photography. I was the go to person for any photos needed in the art group. It was feeling pretty good except for the clapping thing, that I didn't understand. I just knew how it felt. It did not feel good. 

Well, once a month we all brought a piece of our art and lined them up on the wall. We voted for Artist of the Month. I was the only photographer. The rest drew or painted. Some of them were really good. It was hard to win Artist of the Month. I was in the group for three years and never won. I always took something just to enter. Just to play along. Just to show off my newest piece. 

One night the Vice President got up halfway through the meeting and announced the Artist of the Month...........
It was Jana Jamieson. Oh my, that is me. Now there will be a rousing round of applause, like always. Nope. Silence. It couldn't be too emotional (like the stories) it was a photo of a blues singer with really curly hair. I sat there in the silence and saw no reason for it. Not one clap. Even the folks that voted for me failed to clap. What the hell? 

I was seriously crying inside now. It hurt bad. How could they do this? I really don't get it. Not at all. I sat through the rest of the speaker. It was a photographer that took photos of moss on the swamp and rust on stuff. I was not thrilled. She spoke for two hours on how to take photos of rusty crap. 

I got up at the end of the presentation and told one person to not expect me back......ever. I had no intention of hanging around for small talk or helping them clean up the room. 

I had enough. I was out of there. 

You really have run out of excuses for your bad behavior. I am glad I don't live in that world. 

They all come back home.......

It was a nice summer day and we decided to go out for a Sunday drive. You know, where you just drive till you get lost then find your way home. An old boyfriend and I headed South out of town on some back roads. Not sure if he had a destination, but he might have. When we got closer he asked me to turn here or there. Then he said, "Hey, pull into that driveway."

We were sitting in the driveway and he was pointing out the old barn and the hill where he used to play. This is where he grew up. An old man came out onto the back porch and asked if he could help us. My guy said, "We are just looking around, I used to live here." He asked us if we wanted to come in and see the old place. There was no hesitation, we went up to the porch and introduced ourselves. He was a very nice guy. After he retired from Ford he bought this old farm house out in the sticks and settled in. He did all the work to fix it up. It was all restored very nicely. He really wanted to show it off to us.

We entered into the kitchen that was still vintage but very nice. The one thing I remember was the "pass through" glass door kitchen cabinets. They opened on the kitchen side and on the dining room side. I was very impressed because I never heard of that before. They were original. The next thing that I had never really seen was a safe that was built in under the front stairs, by the front door. It had the name of the original home builder hand painted on the front. I think there was a scene painted on it also. Very cool. It took me back to sometime in the 1800's, when you might need somewhere to keep your possessions. It looked very original and unaltered.

We were then directed into a room that used to be the parlor. He had made a pool table room complete with the old fashioned pool table and those green shade and brass light fixtures over it. The entire home was a showcase of fine restoration. The guy did nice work. My boyfriend was so excited to see the inside of the home he grew up in. It isn't every day that you get a tour of something so memorable.

We all went into the next room. I think it was a living room. Paul (boyfriend) looked at a vintage photo of an old man in an oval frame, that hung on the wall. He asked the homeowner where he had gotten that photo. The homeowner proudly said, "About 20 miles down US-12 at an antique store." Paul was thrown aback. I think he turned a shade of green. It was a strange moment in time. The homeowner said, "Why do you ask?"
Paul then told us that the old photo was an image of the man that built the home. His name is on the safe under the stairs. "That photo was on that exact nail when I lived here, as a child!" When his Mom sold the house she liquidated some items and had sold the photo to the antique store 20 miles down US-12.

We talked for a bit, thanked the homeowner for showing us around and I don't think any of us will ever be quite the same. It was a memorable experience to have been there in that moment. I will never forget.

Damage Control and Sister Love

By the time I thought it might be best for me to do some damage control, it was too late. It never entered my mind that one person could be so evil, let alone your own sister. The one you grew up with. The one that shares the same birth mark, in the same spot on her body. I thought there was a sister code. 

Guess not. There is way too much to tell. I will try and just relate some of the stories, of the relationship of my sister and I. 

I must first clarify that I was directed to never speak of her to anyone, ever!! Any information will be about my perspective in this relationship. There will be nothing about her personal life, unless it affected me personally or was an interaction between us. 

The only snapshot of our childhood that continually comes to the surface of my memory, is the room we shared as teens. It was the master bedroom of a very big house. There was a zig zagged dividing wall down the middle, of 4' x 8' sheets of bulletin board, that were hinged together. She on one side of the wall and I on the other. It was like night and day. I could not believe how she could be so effortlessly tidy and she could not believe that I could be such a horrible slob. I seemed comfortable in my mess and she seemed happy in a pristine clean space. I guess that is when I first noticed there might be a radical difference between us. 

I frequently wanted to follow her around. I looked up to her. She rarely wanted me there and usually tried to shoo me away like a pestering bug. 

I am going to narrow down this lifetime of crap to the top 6 issues that we had. There are way more.

I got married in February of 1979. She could not find the time to come to the small wedding. She said she couldn't because she was in rehearsal for a play. I should have gotten some clue there.



She refused to ever watch my sons. Well, they did handcuff her to a chair the one and only time she stayed over to watch them. I guess I don't blame her for that. Still, she only had 3 nephews. I was the only sibling that had any children. She never remembered their birthdays, rarely got them something for Christmas, never took them anywhere and generally did not seem to care. 

I spent my childhood learning how to sew by making clothing for my Barbie doll. When my Mom sold the home that we grew up in, shortly after I graduated, she went up in the attic and took (among other items) my Barbie doll. She still has it or maybe sold it. Not sure. She told me, "Possession is 9/10 of the law. It is mine now." It isn't really about a plastic doll, it is about the attitude of the person holding it. 

She called my Mom, the week she passed away, and told her that I was trying to control her possessions and take over her life. Without time to sort out what she was told, my Mom passed away with feelings of mistrust about me. The real intent was to try and help her because she had gone through a few years of cancer treatment, mastectomy, chemo, etc. I had met with my two brothers to discuss what we might do to ease her responsibilities. My sister lived out of state. She was so out of the loop that when I told her how we planned on helping she flipped out and called Mom to tell her that we were getting greedy and wanted her money and property. She upset her pretty bad. 

I figured out (by listening to her) that she had sabotaged all family relationships. She had never given me the "benefit of a doubt". She always thought I must be wrong and spun it that way. She kept talking smack about me to everyone. 

She always did little stuff like I was sitting in her back yard talking to her and she went in and came back out with the classified ads. She sat there reading it (which seemed strange) until I asked her what she was looking for. Her answer was, "Thinking maybe you could look for an apartment in another part of town." I live, you see, across the street from her and she doesn't like it. 

We used to go up North to a cottage on Bear Lake, when we were teens. It has been over 35 years since I had been there. I loved it there. One day I asked her if we could go back up and stay in the cottage for a bit. She got all snippy with me and said, "YOU, are no longer allowed to go there!" See a previous story about my Mom giving me the safe deposit key. She however, inherited a 4 unit apartment building because I had the key. 

One Christmas instead of making plans to hang out for a bit, she saw me out shoveling the sidewalk and pulled up to the curb. She reached into her back seat and grabbed a gift bag and called me over to the open window of her car. I walked over there and she tried to hand me the gift bag. I wouldn't take it. I said hold on to that and when you have 20 minutes where we can sit down and have a cup of tea, bring it back. She asked me why I was being such a bitch about it. My only answer was, "I don't accept Drive By Christmas gifts." The gift that I had for her was up in my room. Was I supposed to run up real fast and hand it in through the open window?" She now just gathers up some old stuff in her house and puts it in a gift bag and drops it off at my front door and goes back home.

Which takes us to "The Conversation". I called her one day because I knew she had the flu. I asked her if there was anything that I could get for her. The answer was, "I don't want you to get me anything, EVER." Wow, jump back. Is there an issue? She answered....."Yes, there is. I have not liked you since the day you were born." Who would say that to anyone?? I felt like I should get to the bottom of this. She laid it on the table and I was going to help clear it off. "Let's talk about it", I said. I tried for two hours to come to some peaceful place but she wasn't having it. At one point, I asked what else was bugging her about me and she brought up that I borrowed a sweater of hers, when I was 12. That was about 40 years ago. That is the conversation that opened my eyes to all the damage she had done to family relationships. She pretty much explained it all to me, in detail. That conversation did not end well. She bitched me out that I better not meddle in telling Mike where his sperm donor lived. I had enough of her negativity and accusations of my wrongdoing. 

I am sorry but there really isn't a way to sugar coat this relationship. I live across the street from her and we have not spoke in over 3 years unless she chooses to bitch at me (only when there is a porch full of my friends over) or says hi real sweet when someone is watching her. Other than that, nothing. I don't want to talk to her. I want to talk to a sister, just not that one. 

She has never visited me at any place I ever worked. No one has ever taken a "happy time" photo of the two of us. I don't remember any good times. We went to St. Louis once on a trip to take my sons down to visit my nearly 100 year old Grandmother. The night before the planned trip she called me to say that she had to cancel the trip because she started her period. She ended up going but there was times when I wish she hadn't. 

The issues here are beyond me being able to solve them. I tried for years to be the perfect sister so as not to upset her. I still can feel the statement that she has not liked me since the day I was born. When she said that, it all started to make sense to me. All the behavior that I could not figure out, all of a sudden seemed normal for someone feeling that way. I wish it was way different but it isn't. I wish there was something I could do, but I can't. 

Life is too short for this crap!!